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Since completing the ritual at dusk, Enjolras had popped his hoops back in his ears, more for safekeeping than that he felt he needed something to draw strength from, on today of all days. Despite the darkness that had visited the city, despite his sadness over losing yet another friend to the unknown, he'd been happy today, as the kedan celebrated. He'd found some presents for Taraja, not wanting to forget her birthday, after all, been invited to join the family who had owned the cafe in Wood for a few days of celebration, and now, felt himself rather curious as to what, if anything, the Night may choose to send him.
Connecting with the past could mean just about anything, he realized, shifting a little as he tried to fall asleep. Dreams had proven so strange in this place that he was not sure what to expect. Living out a memory once again? Walking through a dreamscape, like the one he had noticed in the dream where he'd first spoken with one of the hatchlings, or something else entirely. Eventually, all the questions did subside, as he actually managed to quiet his mind to find some rest at least, and fell asleep for the first time in a few days.
For all that Enjolras was confused still as to the nature of this dream, watching his earrings spinning wildly in the darkness, tugging at a bit of light, then increasing speed until everything became a blur was clearly a part of whatever he was meant to see, and so he sat up, best as he could manage in his dream and watching still, as the hoops spiraled around flashing light and color once more, before taking on a human shape, quite a familiar one at that, which waited until it was completely grown, then plopped itself on the edge of the bed, a smirk playing across the features of a face he'd known too well.
“If you would permit me once again?” Grantaire drawled at last, reaching out a hand for Enjolras to grasp. “I will take but a moment of your precious time, if you would dare to stoop so far into the gutter where I dwell. You need not look so shocked you know. I'd heard you finally worked it out.”
“You'd heard I...” Enjolras found himself hesitant to mention more, finding everything he'd wished to tell the man before him was currently impossible. “You need not have thrown your life away for me.” he managed, a bit unsure of where to go with this. “You might have lived though it, somehow.”
“I? Live without you there for me to follow, worship and adore? With no pair of your feet to fall on, and no boots to black.” He smirked at that last statement, and there was a part of Enjolras that would have slapped him for the implication, if it was not for the fact he'd been there at the end, and that he was not exactly sure how you managed to slap or even touch someone who obviously showed up in a dream. Instead Enjolras rolled his eyes, as he had often done with Grantaire in the past, and tried to make some sense of all of this.
“You hardly need to be so crude.” He caught himself snapping, as he might have done in life, to some of Grantaire's suggestions. “You might just tell me what you want. As I recall, you've never been silent when it comes to that.”
“And yet, it took nearly a year for you to work some of it out.” His visitor muttered, eyes suddenly downcast. “Or did your talk with,what's her name, Epiny, completely slip your mind? While I'll admit you are not quite as unobservant as Courfeyrac's Pontmercy, I should have thought realizing you stood in his place would invoke...something.”
“I...” The realization had been shocking, and it was shocking still, as Enjolras found himself at a loss for words. “It's not as though the fact erases the gesture, but Grantaire, if you'd believed in anything at all, I would have hoped you'd fight for it, lived as well as you could despite our loss. Despite my loss. I'd never meant, or hoped for anyone with a conscience that stood against our cause to die. Your lives were never meant for me to spend, particularly not yours. I would never have dreamed of asking you...”
“You never would have dreamed, perhaps, but since when was it given you to choose another's fate, another's reason for dying as he willed? Since when would you seek to limit, to control our souls? If that is your idea of revolution, then I say I was right, to want no part of it. Has our Jolllly not made it clear to you yet? They did not die because of you, a truth you somehow see no need to contest. Is that not enough to prove everything else? Why should they share some punishment you passed only onto yourself, a punishment you never needed to see carried out until HE got hold of you, I'll add. As terrible as my mathematics are, as much as you prefer shaping words to figuring problems, there's hardly denying that the facts do not add up.”
Was it Enjolras now, or had his words turned less from mocking, more to sympathy? At any rate, he stretched his hand to meet Grantaire's, and took it, still not certain that he knew what was going on, only that he felt lighter than he had in months. Lighter, but somewhat sadder too, as though he lost something by doing so, only it managed to make sense.
“You control less than you believe, you know, but can't you see that is not bad? You could not stop a worthless wretch from loving you, dying for you, or coming to see you now, you can sure as hell not stop the tides here doing what they will, whether they give, or take away. And you are not a power who decides what punishment you suffer for a judgment you did not have authority to pass.”
As soft as Grantaire's words became, there was a hint of sternness in them now, a firmness to the set of his jaw that Enjolras was not certain he could argue against, himself, and the squeeze on his hand was firm, enough to make him pay attention, rather comforting if he was honest with himself.
“The sooner that you realize that, the happier you're going to be. And the better Combeferre will feel, when you stop hurting the man he loves. I've obviously got experience with that. You've never learnt to let things go, but that's what I've come here to say. You might keep that in mind, at least.” He added, and Enjolras felt the weight slipping from his hand. “If nothing else, I still believe in you.”
Hearing the statement now, after everything else that had passed between them in life, after how confused Enjolras had been discovering the truth, and after how odd this visit had been helped a little anyway.
“I don't know if I'll come again.” Grantaire continued, the seeming “weight” of him shifting and then leaving as he seemed to stand up from the bed, “But you might try again tomorrow, all the same. Rumor has it that a few more of us would like to speak with you. I...well, it's been good seeing you again. Tell Combeferre he's a lucky man, but once, before I go...” The ghostly form bent once again, and Enjolras felt lips against his forehead, almost a benediction, brotherly, and though Grantaire had not exactly been a brother until the beautiful and awful last moments they'd spent together, it was good enough.
As he raised his own head to return the gesture, something shifted, and he pressed his lips against the empty air instead. Somehow, despite all else, perhaps they'd understood each other once again.
Connecting with the past could mean just about anything, he realized, shifting a little as he tried to fall asleep. Dreams had proven so strange in this place that he was not sure what to expect. Living out a memory once again? Walking through a dreamscape, like the one he had noticed in the dream where he'd first spoken with one of the hatchlings, or something else entirely. Eventually, all the questions did subside, as he actually managed to quiet his mind to find some rest at least, and fell asleep for the first time in a few days.
For all that Enjolras was confused still as to the nature of this dream, watching his earrings spinning wildly in the darkness, tugging at a bit of light, then increasing speed until everything became a blur was clearly a part of whatever he was meant to see, and so he sat up, best as he could manage in his dream and watching still, as the hoops spiraled around flashing light and color once more, before taking on a human shape, quite a familiar one at that, which waited until it was completely grown, then plopped itself on the edge of the bed, a smirk playing across the features of a face he'd known too well.
“If you would permit me once again?” Grantaire drawled at last, reaching out a hand for Enjolras to grasp. “I will take but a moment of your precious time, if you would dare to stoop so far into the gutter where I dwell. You need not look so shocked you know. I'd heard you finally worked it out.”
“You'd heard I...” Enjolras found himself hesitant to mention more, finding everything he'd wished to tell the man before him was currently impossible. “You need not have thrown your life away for me.” he managed, a bit unsure of where to go with this. “You might have lived though it, somehow.”
“I? Live without you there for me to follow, worship and adore? With no pair of your feet to fall on, and no boots to black.” He smirked at that last statement, and there was a part of Enjolras that would have slapped him for the implication, if it was not for the fact he'd been there at the end, and that he was not exactly sure how you managed to slap or even touch someone who obviously showed up in a dream. Instead Enjolras rolled his eyes, as he had often done with Grantaire in the past, and tried to make some sense of all of this.
“You hardly need to be so crude.” He caught himself snapping, as he might have done in life, to some of Grantaire's suggestions. “You might just tell me what you want. As I recall, you've never been silent when it comes to that.”
“And yet, it took nearly a year for you to work some of it out.” His visitor muttered, eyes suddenly downcast. “Or did your talk with,what's her name, Epiny, completely slip your mind? While I'll admit you are not quite as unobservant as Courfeyrac's Pontmercy, I should have thought realizing you stood in his place would invoke...something.”
“I...” The realization had been shocking, and it was shocking still, as Enjolras found himself at a loss for words. “It's not as though the fact erases the gesture, but Grantaire, if you'd believed in anything at all, I would have hoped you'd fight for it, lived as well as you could despite our loss. Despite my loss. I'd never meant, or hoped for anyone with a conscience that stood against our cause to die. Your lives were never meant for me to spend, particularly not yours. I would never have dreamed of asking you...”
“You never would have dreamed, perhaps, but since when was it given you to choose another's fate, another's reason for dying as he willed? Since when would you seek to limit, to control our souls? If that is your idea of revolution, then I say I was right, to want no part of it. Has our Jolllly not made it clear to you yet? They did not die because of you, a truth you somehow see no need to contest. Is that not enough to prove everything else? Why should they share some punishment you passed only onto yourself, a punishment you never needed to see carried out until HE got hold of you, I'll add. As terrible as my mathematics are, as much as you prefer shaping words to figuring problems, there's hardly denying that the facts do not add up.”
Was it Enjolras now, or had his words turned less from mocking, more to sympathy? At any rate, he stretched his hand to meet Grantaire's, and took it, still not certain that he knew what was going on, only that he felt lighter than he had in months. Lighter, but somewhat sadder too, as though he lost something by doing so, only it managed to make sense.
“You control less than you believe, you know, but can't you see that is not bad? You could not stop a worthless wretch from loving you, dying for you, or coming to see you now, you can sure as hell not stop the tides here doing what they will, whether they give, or take away. And you are not a power who decides what punishment you suffer for a judgment you did not have authority to pass.”
As soft as Grantaire's words became, there was a hint of sternness in them now, a firmness to the set of his jaw that Enjolras was not certain he could argue against, himself, and the squeeze on his hand was firm, enough to make him pay attention, rather comforting if he was honest with himself.
“The sooner that you realize that, the happier you're going to be. And the better Combeferre will feel, when you stop hurting the man he loves. I've obviously got experience with that. You've never learnt to let things go, but that's what I've come here to say. You might keep that in mind, at least.” He added, and Enjolras felt the weight slipping from his hand. “If nothing else, I still believe in you.”
Hearing the statement now, after everything else that had passed between them in life, after how confused Enjolras had been discovering the truth, and after how odd this visit had been helped a little anyway.
“I don't know if I'll come again.” Grantaire continued, the seeming “weight” of him shifting and then leaving as he seemed to stand up from the bed, “But you might try again tomorrow, all the same. Rumor has it that a few more of us would like to speak with you. I...well, it's been good seeing you again. Tell Combeferre he's a lucky man, but once, before I go...” The ghostly form bent once again, and Enjolras felt lips against his forehead, almost a benediction, brotherly, and though Grantaire had not exactly been a brother until the beautiful and awful last moments they'd spent together, it was good enough.
As he raised his own head to return the gesture, something shifted, and he pressed his lips against the empty air instead. Somehow, despite all else, perhaps they'd understood each other once again.
