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Will You Tolerate This Injustice?

Chapter Text

Grantaire picks idly at the sleeve of his shirt. He twirls the green thread around his finger, pulling it as his eyes flicker around the room. He stands at his father's right shoulder, knowing that he should be taking everything in, trying to learn the ways of the world and the Council of Nobles, so that when his father passes on, and leaves him as Lord of Knighton, he will be able to fulfil his duties to his fullest extent.

Instead, he doesn't listen. The world is corrupt and he knows it; Sheriff Thénardier raises taxes after taxes to send to King Richard that fights in the Holy Land. Everyone in this room knows that they do not go to Acre, that they do not even leave England. Instead they travel to London to Prince John and line his pockets, and yet they do not try and change or challenge Thénardier's authority. 

Grantaire knows this and instead of speaking out, he sits idly by, pulling a hole into his favourite green shirt for the millionth time, knowing that the servants will have to sew it up again when he gets back home to Knighton. Not that Grantaire will care about that, for when he gets home he plans on stealing a bottle of his father's finest wine, before retreating to his room and sulking. 

It's never just for the Lost Cause that is England he sulks over. No. There's another Lost Cause that's close to Grantaire's heart. 

Enjolras of Locksley. 

Grantaire had been fawning over Enjolras ever since he can remember; he became Lord of Locksley, Earl of Huntington when he was just ten years old, after both his mother and father were killed in a fire. He took in Éponine and her little brother Gavroche, who had also lost their parents that day to the fire, and made them like his brother and sister. All the while, he looked after his people with knowledge, understanding and wisdom that excelled his years. And Grantaire had just fallen for him with so much force he couldn't even fight it. 

They grew up together, always arguing over the state of the world; both could see how corrupt it was, but Enjolras wanted to change it - could see a brighter future… Grantaire just saw it getting darker and darker until it ended up combusting in flames. 

And yet, even behind all that arguing, there was always something hidden under the vicious words, but when Grantaire finally got up the courage, with the help of his father's wine, of course, to sit him down and tell him how he felt, Enjolras beat him to it with the massive revelation.

I'm joining King Richard in the Crusades in the Holy Land. 

Every idea of admitting his feelings evaporated from Grantaire like smoke does in air, and instead he went to turn away, leaving Enjolras with a quite "you'll be a hero". However, before he could leave Enjolras had grabbed ahold of his arm, pulled him so close to his body that Grantaire was sure he had melted and was now moulded into him - that he was part of Enjolras' body - and then his lips were on Grantaire's. 

They stumbled into Enjolras' room, littering their path with their clothes, before they fell into Enjolras' bed, sweat slicked bodies moving against each other, grinding and thrusting, hands always joined, always caressing so gently. 

Afterwards, when their pleasure had ebbed and they were lying in the afterglow, Grantaire realised that it would be his first and last night with the man he loved - his Apollo. So, he draped himself over Enjolras' body and worshipped him like the god he was, knowing that he needed something more than what he already had experienced to tide him over all the years that he would be away - to help him deal with the knowledge he may not come home.

When he woke up the next morning, Enjolras was already away to join the Crusades and Grantaire had to pretend he spent the night in the forest when his father asked him where he had been. 

England and Enjolras… Grantaire's two Lost Causes. 

'Don't mind me,' a voice cuts through his thoughts, and he drops the thread from around his fingers, head shooting up so fast that his black curls fall into his face. He doesn't even try to brush them away, though, when his startling blue eyes fall onto the man strolling into the room. 

'Enjolras.' Grantaire whispers in shock, and whilst Enjolras' eyes flicker over to him, they don't stay there for long. He wonders if he's changed that much that Enjolras doesn't remember him; his hair was longer, his face was adorned by dark stubble, the beginnings of a beard he wasn't prepared to commit to. His limbs were more toned from the constant riding and all his practice with his bow. He knew he had matured, but he didn't think he had changed so much that Enjolras wouldn't even recognise him. 

Enjolras, for his part, hadn't changed at all. Well… that would be a lie. His body was firmer, there was a glint in his green eyes that showed he had seen things beyond thinking. But for the most part, he still looked the same as he did all those years ago; still a head of curly blond hair, still an air of elegance and Grantaire wondered if he still had that ability to go from gentle and caring, to being absolutely terrifying. 

'Lord Locksley, back from the Holy Land unscathed I see? I hear the king is winning?' Thénardier murmured, his eyes narrowing into slits as Enjolras pulled off his coat, and threw it at his manservant Combeferre. There's a grin on his plump, beautiful lips as he slumps in his chair. 'I trust everything at Locksley Manor has been managed to your satisfaction?' 

'I believe that everything has been managed to your satisfaction.' Enjolras declares, pursing his lips as his eyes flicker around the room once more. His eyes land on Grantaire once more, who still hadn't turned his gaze away from him, even though he felt like he was staring at the sun. 'As for the king winning, he is killing more people.' 

'That is the same as winning our Holy Land, is it not?' 

Enjolras' grin became crooked, 'If you show me an argument ever settled with bloodshed, then I will call it winning. And are you sure it our Holy Land? Or perhaps it is Pope Clement's.' 

Thénardier gives him a tight smile, 'We stand shoulder to shoulder with Rome.' 

'Yes, and we force shoulder to shoulder too. I have seen it.' He pushes himself off the chair and moves to stand in front of the Sheriff's desk. He rests his hands on it, leaning in closer to him. 'What you need to do is stop all taxes. Today.'

'What?' Thénardier gasps at the entire room starts to mutter at his declaration. Grantaire allows himself a small grin when he realises that Enjolras still has that amazing ability to rouse an entire crowd. 

'It is market day today, and yet there is no market. If a man cannot sell his wares, how is it expected that he can raise enough money for these ridiculous taxes? Forget the taxes and get the man trading again.' Enjolras turns on his heel and settles back into his chair, looking over his shoulder to shoot Combeferre a crooked grin.


Grantaire's lips purse as he makes his way through the castle. Enjolras put the meeting of the Lords in uproar, and the Sheriff had stormed out with the biggest sneer on his face, muttering about damning Enjolras of Locksley to the darkest pits of Hell. Enjolras had merely laughed, took his possessions back from Combeferre and walked out of the room, his head held high and curls bouncing with each step. 

Once he had left, Grantaire's father had beckoned him to lean down, so he could say, 'Ask him to come by later, Grantaire.' 

Grantaire couldn't understand how he could do that, seeing as Enjolras apparently didn't even know who he was now, but he couldn't disappoint his father. 

A hand encloses around his wrist and pulls him into an alcove of the castle, and he lets out a small yelp until his eyes focused on the man yanking him closer to his body. 

'Grantaire.' Enjolras sighs and he goes to move forward, leaning, titling his head to press his lips to Grantaire's, but then the image of Enjolras ignoring him during the meeting with the nobles, looking right through him comes back to his mind, and he raises his hand, pressing his fingers to Enjolras' lips and pushing him away. 

'My father thinks he should see you now that you're home. Unfortunately the house is watched and the last thing I need is trouble from Thénardier, so come after dark.' 

Grantaire goes to move away, but Enjolras' hand is still tight around his wrist and his grasp tightens when he takes a step out of the alcove. 

'You are still unmarried.' 

Grantaire's jaw clench. Before he had left, Enjolras had took Grantaire's hand in his, pressed a kiss to his knuckles and told him that one day, he would marry him. That he would change the way the world was in such a way that it would be possible to marry whomever you loved. 

Enjolras fingers start to gently caress the sensitive skin on his wrist, and Grantaire swallows hard; ten years away at war and he still knew the spots that made Grantaire shake and shiver. 

'I can feel you,' Enjolras whispers, 'I see you. And even after all these years, you, my beloved Grantaire, still feel me, and see me too.'

'I never thought you'd still,' Grantaire leans closer to him, moving until his lips are only a breath away from Enjolras' and all he would need to do is tilt his head, and he would have Enjolras' lips against his again. Enjolras seems to realise this, and there's a smile pulling at his lips and he goes to close the distance, when Grantaire pulls his hand free and continues, 'be spouting the same old dribble.'

He pushes away from Enjolras, putting even more space between them as he turns on his heel. 

'Remember, after dark.' 

Chapter Text

Grantaire feels dirty in his formal wear. He's not sure why, it's not that different from what he usually wears. He still has a white shirt, it's just in better condition, and he still has a green vest on, only this one a more emerald shade and made from some sort of expensive material, instead of plain cotton. 

'Do I really need to go to this?' He demands of his father as they walk through the halls of the Castle of Nottingham. He sees his father's brisk nod from the corner of his eye and stifles a sigh. Of course. It's not enough that he just had to ask Enjolras to come and visit them tonight, now he has to attend a feast dedicated to his safe return. 

He steps into the hall after his father, who brushes past Enjolras and Combeferre as if they weren't there. His father continues down the stairs but Grantaire falls still, eyes focused on Enjolras' green eyes that fly to him the second he steps into the room. 

'Grantaire.' It is not Enjolras that speaks and the voice that comes instead makes Grantaire's blood run cold. 

He forces a smile onto his face and tears his gaze away from Enjolras, turning to Montparnasse who's looking him up and down with a growing smile upon his face. 

'Montparnasse. How are you?' 

Montparnasse pushes away from the banister he was leaning on and saunters over to stand in front of Grantaire, moving so far into his personal space that their chests are almost touching. Grantaire is nearly positive he saw his brown eyes flicker over to Enjolras, like he was judging his reaction; like he were doing this just to get a rise out of him… Grantaire really wouldn't be surprised. 

With Enjolras is back in town, he has no doubt that they're going to be the talk of every inch of the Shire - just like they were before. 

'Much better now you are here.' Montparnasse sends another challenging glance to Enjolras. 'It would please me greatly if you accompanied me to the feast for Lord Enjolras.' 

Grantaire's eyes flicker to Enjolras, who looks like he's in physical pain at watching the encounter. He also knows that no matter how much he wants to kiss that look away and ease whatever it is he's feeling, he's got a act to perform and he can't break character. 

He clears his throat and turns back to Montparnasse, giving a tight nod before walking with him down the stairs, his arms crossed behind his back. 

And as he goes, he can feel Enjolras' gaze upon him, but when he turns to look at him, his blond god is staring resolutely ahead - anywhere but Grantaire. 


Grantaire paces back and forth, feet scuffing against the hard wooden floor. He can feel his father's eyes track his every movement; knows just what must be going through his head. If he didn't know his father, he would say he invited Enjolras here just to cause his son pain. 

However, Grantaire does know his father - knows him enough to know that'd mean he'd have to think of Grantaire first. That would be too much effort for the Lord of Knighton, and Grantaire wants to tack up his horse and go for a ride in the woods, just to escape his father's look.

He knows what his father is thinking - knows he doesn't see Grantaire standing in front of him. No. He knows that if his father relaxes his gaze a little, lets the wine wash over him, he could pretend Grantaire wasn't slender but curvy; imagine his hair didn't end at his collar but at his waist; he could imagine that Grantaire was the woman that bore their son into the world and then died hours later. 

He falls still the moment the knock comes and he turns to his father, who's eyes have finally refocused and remembered that it's his son in front of him, not his wife. He raises his hand and waves Grantaire towards the door, signalling him to answer it and whilst he feels like he's swallowed a hundred stones, he does as he's bid. 

His slender fingers wrap around the handle before he tugs the door open, finding Enjolras leaning against the frame and Combeferre standing just behind him. Enjolras lifts his head and regards Grantaire lazily but makes no move to enter. 

'Well? Don't just stand there if Montparnasse's men see you here, who knows what trouble my father and I could get into.' Grantaire hisses and Enjolras gives a chuckle that makes his legs weak. 

'You could simply offer him the pleasure of your company.' 

Grantaire clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes, 'Grow up.' He turns and walks back into the room where his father was still sat, and stands behind the chair that his father was reclined in. He hears Enjolras follow him and then hears the click as Combeferre closes the door behind them. 

'I am sorry that we had to meet like this, so late at night. My house is watched by Montparnasse and the sheriff.' 

Enjolras takes a look at the single seat set in front of Grantaire's father, realising that it is for him, but when he does not see anywhere for Combeferre to sit, he chooses to stand alongside him instead. 

'So I have been told.' Enjolras retorts, his gaze flickering briefly over to Grantaire, who's jaw clenches once again. 'Tell me… how did Thénardier become sheriff?' 

Grantaire's father gives a harsh chuckle. 'LeMarque did not watch his back. Prince John gives out the Shires in his brother's absence and the old man was not picked up again.' 

Enjolras shakes his head in disgust, looking like he wants to say more on the subject, but realises they don't have much time and there's more to discuss. 'I have three men due to be hanged tomorrow. Courfeyrac, Jehan and Feuilly, as well as Bahorel, another man who does not belong to Locksley but managed to acquire the same fate.' 

'You must let them die,' Grantaire speaks up for the first time since Enjolras stepped into his home. 'It is a test. If you fail it there will be consequences-' He trails off when his father raises his hand and dismisses him, cutting off his declaration with a harsh swallow. 

'My son seems to forget that I am still the Lord of the manor. Forgive me.' Grantaire grits his teeth together but says nothing in protest. 'But he still speaks the truth. Thénardier has set this up just to see you fail. This game is a long and patient one, I am afraid.'

'I cannot wait! I cannot let innocent men die for a crime they did not commit.' Enjolras growls, shaking his head in annoyance before he turns and storms out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Grantaire does not think about what his father would say and runs after him, calling out his name and finding that his hearts swells when Enjolras stops his horse from galloping away after hearing his voice. He jogs closer, coming up beside Enjolras' dark bay steed and he raises his hand, running it through the horse's black mane and forelock. 

'What is it Grantaire?' Enjolras demands when Grantaire still hasn't spoken for a minute. 

Grantaire's eyes flicker over to Comebeferre, who's sitting on his horse a few feet away. He looks like he's not listening but Grantaire can't take any chances. He turns back to Enjolras, meeting his green gaze and he fights back a smile when Enjolras sighs, apparently still being able to read him like a book.

'Combeferre, return to Locksley Manor, I shall be home soon. Ask if Potts will draw a bath for me, please. If he's got the time, of course.' 

Combeferre nods his head and after looking briefly at Grantaire, the faintest of smiles on his lips, he kicks his horse into a gallop leaving Grantaire and Enjolras alone. 

'Are you going to offer me your company?' Enjolras questions as he throws his leg over his saddle, dismounting and landing in front of Grantaire with a soft thud. 

Grantaire's face falls and his hand drops away from the horse. 'Sometimes I look at you and wonder whether you put the sun in the sky… other times I see you and wonder how I could even think such a thing.' 

Grantaire shakes his head and turns on his heel, but before he gets a step away from Enjolras, there's a hand snaking around his wrist, pulling him backwards and stopping him from leaving. 

'What is it, Enjolras? Clearly -' He trails off when he realises he can't finish that sentence: clearly you're not capable of looking past the fact I moved on because you chose the war over me. He couldn't say that to Enjolras; it's hard to even think it about him. 'Clearly… you need to hear what I've got to say.' 

'That is the reason I stayed, yes.' Enjolras replies slowly but Grantaire can hear the concern hidden in his tone. He pays no attention to it, however, and puts it to the back of his mind. If he just tells Enjolras why he ran out after him, the sooner he could send him on his way and pretend he didn't still love him.

'Listen, I know you don't want to let the prisoners die; I don't want to see them die either, but I know you and I know you won't sit by and let it happen like I would - like I have done. Just please, Enjolras…' he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, finding it best not to look at him as he continues, 'please don't do anything that will get you killed.' 

When he opens his eyes Enjolras is studying his face and is much closer than he originally remembered him being. He swallows hard at the close proximity and takes a step back, even though Enjolras still holds onto his wrist. 

'I'm also surprised you haven't asked about Éponine and Gavroche.' Grantaire supplies, deciding to change the subject. He just wants Enjolras to stop looking at him like that. 

'Potts explained what happened to them - how they moved away when Montparnasse moved in.' Enjolras shakes his head. 'And yet you still fawn over him.' 

Grantaire grinds his teeth together at the cheap shot, unable to stop himself from seeing red. He yanks his hand free from Enjolras' grasp with a snarl. 

'When will you see sense? Éponine and Gavroche asked me to come with them - they wanted me to go, but I couldn't. My father may hate me and I may not respect him, but he's still my father and I will be with him till the end. I had to stay and by staying, I had to join in with the game that Thénardier and Montparnasse were playing. He cared for me, Enjolras, and that stopped the sheriff from winding a noose around both my father and I's neck! So excuse me for surviving because you weren't there to give me the belief that I could just drop everything and run.' 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, reaching up to rub at them with his knuckles, making the stinging from the gathering tears disappear with a dull throb of pain. 

'Now, I'll let you go. I believe you have to find a way to save four prisoners.'

And without looking back, Grantaire turns to go back inside, leaving Enjolras alone.

Chapter Text

Sleep doesn't come easy for Grantaire. His thoughts are plagued with visions of Enjolras trying to save his people only to be slaughtered himself. Every time he closes his eyes, it is all he sees - Enjolras filled with arrows; Enjolras swinging from a noose; Enjolras being run through with a sword. Enjolras dying

No matter how hard he tries, every time he closes his eyes, trying to fall asleep, the sight of Enjolras being killed fills his vision and makes his heart race; makes his eyes shoot open and making it impossible for him to sleep. 

It's that reason he finds himself in the stables.

He gives his father's horse a small carrot and a gentle kiss to the swirl on their face, showing the poor thing the love that his father does not. Grantaire then moves over to his own two horses, Patria and Faith. Patria was his oldest - his first horse ever - and was named ironically, just as a way to make Enjolras smile when he came around and asked the name of the horse. 

Faith was a later purchase, an impulsive act that made his father annoyed and nearly had made him return the horse. But Grantaire stood fast and in the end, all his father warned was that Grantaire would have to pay for them himself.

Grantaire was totally fine with that. He'd chose his two horses over his father's gold any day.

'Hey there, girls.' He murmurs, reaching out with both hands to give both Patria and Faith pets simultaneously. 

'I'm worried about tomorrow.' He declares with a sigh before he lets his hands drop. It takes a small moment of hesitation before he jumps up onto the dividing wall between Faith and Patria's stables, and sits there with each horse desperately trying to gather his attention.

'He can't die.' He whispers after a moment, shaking his head because there's tears stinging his eyes now and he's not supposed to feel like this about Enjolras. He walked away. He chose glory and war over Grantaire, and there is no way Grantaire should still be… like this. 

And yet here he is, in the stables with Patria and Faith, both of who tie him and remind him of Enjolras in their own separate ways, seeking comfort from them because he can't be comforted by Enjolras. No matter what he says, no matter how much he pretends, if he had to - if Enjolras had to ask him to come back to him - Grantaire knows he'd go willing; hell, he'd run to him. 

'He can't die.' Grantaire repeats and Patria snorts in what Grantaire assumes is agreement. 'I only just got him back.' 

Tears are definitely stinging his eyes now, threatening to spill over, and with a scoff, he reaches up and rubs them away before they can actually fall. It took him six months to stop crying over Enjolras when he first left, now he's back and he's doing it again. 

'God, what a fool.' Grantaire murmurs before he gives Patria and Faith one last pet. He then hops down off the wall and throws a carrot into their stables. 

When he gets back to his room and slides into bed, he realises that whilst Patria and Faith offered him some sort of distraction, it wasn't enough to stop him picturing Enjolras' death every time he closes his eyes, and so with a sigh, he resigns himself to a sleepless night. 


'Have you a plan?' Combeferre questions, distracting Enjolras from his thoughts. The fire is dwindling away to nothing, and it's only when Enjolras blinks, focusing again because of Combeferre's words does he realise this. The last time he checked, the fire was roaring, the flames dancing wildly in a way that somehow reminded him of Grantaire.

Enjolras thinks about lying; thinks about just saying that he does have a plan to save the innocent people from the noose, just to give Combeferre false hope, but then he realises who it is he's talking to. Combeferre. 

The man was his best friend; the man followed him into battle, the man held him when he cried over deaths, and woke him up when nightmares got to him, and listened to him over and over again when all he wanted to do was talk about Grantaire. 

He knew Enjolras inside out, and he knew that he would see through his lies. There would be no point. 

His shoulders slump and he shakes his head with a sigh. 

'No. I can't… there's nothing coming to me. Everything I do think of will certainly end in us getting captured and killed, and I…' He trails off, but they both know the end to that sentence anyway: I can't do that to Grantaire. 'I just cannot think of a single way to save them.' 

Combeferre sighs and walks over to stand in front of Enjolras, placing his hand on top of his friends. His dark skin is a sharp contrast to Enjolras' pale complexion, and it makes Enjolras smile. 

'I know you won't take Grantaire's father's advice and let them die, so I'm not going to ask you to do that.' Combeferre explains as he uses his hold on Enjolras' hand to tug him to his feet. 'What I am going to ask you to do is go to sleep. You won't be able to think of a plan if you can hardly keep your eyes open; you're not going to be able to shoot straight if you're seeing double.' 

'But I need-' 

'Sleep.' Combeferre cuts him off sharply, starting to lead Enjolras through to his bedroom before he shoves him down onto the bed. 'I'll wake you up early so you have more time to plan, and who knows, maybe when you're rested an idea will just fall into place.'

He takes Enjolras boots off for him once Enjolras is settled on bed and not trying to stand back up again, or protest with Combeferre's orders. He sits them down on the floor and blows out the candles that light the room, plummeting it into darkness.

'Sleep, Enjolras. I've seen you do brilliant things to save people - you saved the King after all - and I know you'll do right tomorrow.' Combeferre informs before he turns, closing the door behind him and leaving Enjolras alone. 

He doesn't move until he hears Combeferre's footsteps retreat to his own room, and have stopped completely when Combeferre has slid into his own bed. 

Enjolras throws his covers away from his body and slides out of bed, moving over to the window. He knows he needs to listen to Combeferre. And he will. He just needs to check on something first before he decides to fall asleep. 

He used to do this before; come to his window and stare out of it, his eyes scanning the sight in front of him, before they always end on the exact same place. Knighton Hall. He can't see much of the manor from his place, seeing as it was a decent distance from his own, but the only room he cares about is the only room he can see.


It is to the rearmost of the house, and when his eyes finally land on the room, he finds that it is still alight. 

A soft smirk pulls at his lips as he sees this, realising that it means Grantaire is awake as well. He doesn't know what it is that's keeping him awake - usually, before he left, he would just go over and each other's company would be all they needed to sleep, but Enjolras knows that he wouldn't be allowed to do that anymore; that Grantaire wouldn't let him enter.

Both of them had changed in their time apart, and it was stupid for Enjolras to ever assume that he would return from the Holy Land and just be able to take Grantaire into his arms again. They were changed people; older and more mature and trapped in the game of life, playing very different roles. 

Yet, there's still something there - something that hasn't faded away throughout the years apart, and that gives Enjolras the hope that there's maybe, someday, a chance that they'll return to what they had before.

But for now, the knowledge that Grantaire is still awake and is having just a restless and sleepless night as him is enough to make Enjolras turn and crawl back into bed. 


Grantaire passes Enjolras as they walk out of the castle to the yard, where the crowds are waiting for them. He tries to get Enjolras' eyes but Enjolras just keeps his gaze away, eyes turned down as he marches out the castle, staying just behind Thénardier with a scowl on his face.

Grantaire sighs and finds Combeferre's gaze, who offers him a sad smile as they make their way outside. The cold bites at his skin and he tightens his cape around him, wondering why the hell his father asked him to wear the pins to hold them together, instead of the regular clasp. It is more formal, Grantaire!

'These four men,' Thénardier starts up and Grantaire watches as the prisoners are led out onto the scaffold. Their hands are bound and their eyes furiously scan the courtyard, looking for their loved ones before their final moments. 'Have been found guilty of grave crimes and have been sentenced to die.' 

He then hands Enjolras the parchment, pushing it into his stomach with a sadistic grin on his lips, as if he's just waiting for Enjolras to refuse this task.

Enjolras' lips curl in disdain but he unfurls the piece of parchment and begins to read: 'Let it be known that on the 17th day of April, in the year 1192 in the land of our brave King Richard, that these four men, Gérard  Courfeyrac of Locksley, Jean Prouvaire of Locksley, Adrien Feuilly of Locksley and Dimitri Bahorel of Locksley, have been sentenced to hang by the neck until they are dead.' 

Enjolras' voice is tight and clipped and when he finally finishes reading, he crumples the parchment in his hands and throws it to the ground. Grantaire watches as the dampness from the ground seeps into the paper and makes it turn a different colour; makes the ink run and bleed.

He has no plan, Grantaire realises a moment later, his eyes darting back to Enjolras and finds his jaw clenched tight; so tight it must be causing him some kind of pain.

'May the souls of these men rest in peace.' Thénardier declares with a roll of his eyes before he gives a wave. The pedestals that the men had been sitting on fall away and they are left dangling, their hands twitching, desperately trying to fight free from their bonds so they can claw at their neck; so they can try and save themselves. 

Thénardier turns and starts to walk back into the castle, glad that he's finally managed to teach Locksley a lesson and he's got special plans to gloat when the bodies are finally dead.

Enjolras hears the shouts and cries from the townspeople, sobbing and grieving for their friends that aren't dead yet - that will be soon if he does nothing.

He can remember being greeted by each of these men the second he stepped foot in Locksley. Montparnasse had tore his lands apart, but these four men still managed to look to Enjolras and see hope. They had looked happy; relieved. They looked like things could finally be changing. 

And here he was, no longer trying to change things, but being part of the problem instead. 

Enjolras' eyes narrow and he shakes his head. 

'No.' He whispers, just loud enough for Combeferre to hear him, who cocks his head to see his friend's eyes frantically scanning around him, looking for his way out. 

Combeferre spots the man next to him with an bow and arrow, and he coughs, clearing his throat and gathering Enjolras' attention. He nods his head and when he sees the recognition flood Enjolras' face, he takes a step backwards to move out of the way. 

Enjolras runs over as soon as he moves, throwing a punch to the man's stomach and stealing the the bow and arrow from his grasp. Combeferre blocks any further attacks whilst Enjolras moves down two steps, preparing his arrow and shouting to gather the people of Nottingham's attention. 

'These men have committed a crime worth no more than a spell in the stocks!' Enjolras shouts, letting loose his first arrow and cutting Courfeyrac's noose. He pulls another onto his bow and lets it loose again, smirking when Jehan falls to the ground a moment later. 

The people scurry to help, guiding their fallen friends off the gallows and into the crowds, effectively hiding them from the guards that Thénardier starts to send out.

'Will you tolerate this injustice?' He cuts Feuilly's rope with another arrow, and when his next one goes, freeing Bahorel, he finally throws his bow to the ground and snarls, 'I, for one, will not.' 

He turns, looking to see where Thénardier is, and finds him standing at the entrance of the door, a look of pure hatred on his face. Enjolras' eyes flicker to Grantaire them, finding him a much more pleasurable sight that Thénardier. Enjolras notices that Grantaire actually looks worried for him as the soldiers that Thénardier had ordered to shoot Enjolras stop in front of him. 

Enjolras pays no attention to them and instead blows a kiss to Grantaire, watching as he flushes a colour that he has envisioned for so long. 

'Sir!' One of the guards calls, as if seeking confirmation from the sheriff, who nods his head. The guard tightens his hold on the bow, but just before he lets it loose, pain shoots through his arm. He falls, letting the arrow loose too far to the right and too slowly so that Enjolras can just step out of its path. 

A frown eats at his face as he sees something shiny embedded in the guard's shoulder, and when he turns back to Grantaire, the glint of only one pin on his cloak gather his gaze. 

Enjolras bites his lower lip and slowly shakes his head, but before he can say or act on it, Combeferre rushes over to him, pushing his shoulder and turning him around so they run away from the guards that Thénardier manages to gather and send after them.

'Looks like his return was short lived.' Montparnasse whispers in Grantaire's ear. 'I'll be returning to Locksley.' 

Grantaire swallows hard and forces a smile on his face. 

'You should be proud.' He replies in a clipped tone, before he turns and walks away, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest. 


'You saved our lives!' Jehan declares for the millionth time and Enjolras is starting to lose patience with him. He knows he means well, but he has no patience for this right now. Luckily Combeferre and Courfeyrac are listening to him ramble, meaning Enjolras doesn't have to right now. 

'Bahorel!' He calls after a moment, only continuing when Bahorel comes jogging up beside him with a cocked eyebrow. 'Do you know these woods?' 

He feels embarrassed asking the question, but he has been away for so long. The only times he stepped foot in these woods was when he was younger and he wanted to be with Grantaire. 

Bahorel nods his head and raises his hand, pointing to certain places and Enjolras drinks it in, memorising everything he tells him because he has a strong feeling he will be needing this knowledge now.

'Right… let's go this way.' He declares but stops a moment later. Courfeyrac goes to ask what's wrong but he raises his hand to silence him, thankful that he follows the signal and doesn't say another word. Enjolras almost strains himself trying to see if he can hear the noise again. 

But he can't. 

Instead he takes another few steps forward, then stops short when he hears it again. It only takes a brief moment of looking around himself before he realise what's happening. 

He turns so he is facing all the men that have joined him in the woods and he gives them a tight smile. 

'We are not alone, gentlemen.' 

Chapter Text

Enjolras' hands goes for the hilt of his sword. His long, elegant fingers wrap around the ruby emblazoned handle of the sword that used to be his father's. His grasp is strong yet mindful of the elegant object - it's the only thing he has left of his father. 

His worn eyes desperately scan the forest. He spots one person on either side of them and then one person behind him and his group. He doesn't even know if there are others - there may even be more, lurking in shadows. 

'What do we do?' Courfeyrac questions, but Enjolras silences him with a wave of his hand. He then waves to Combeferre in a silent request, and the other man understands immediately, moving so that he's on the other side of their group. Their new friends are protected by both of them.

'In answer to your question, Courfeyrac,' Enjolras grins before he turns to the other man and winks. 'We simply say hello.' 

Without any warning, he turns on his heel and stops. His hand doesn't leave his sword, but he waves his free one out to the side. 

'Gentlemen, if you wanted to say hello, you should have just come to us. No need to follow us through the forest!' Enjolras declares smoothly. A grin eats away at his lips as the men who had been tracking them stop and look at Enjolras with confusion. It's obvious why. No-one else has done this to them before. 

'We're not all men.' A voice speaks up, the owner stepping forward. Her curly hair is pulled back into a simple bun. Her dark skin is worn from a life in the forest. Enjolras frowns as he scans the crowd. How long had these people been living in the forest?

'Apologies, miss, I did not think to find a woman in the forest.' He bows his head at her. It's an effort to ease the tension in her lined eyes. He offers a smile. 'I am Enjolras of Locksley, and this is my right hand man, Combeferre.' He signals to Combeferre, who raises his hand in a small wave. 'We recently freed these men of the village; Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel and Jehan.' 

At the mention of their names, each man raises their hand and offers the outlaws a small wave. Courfeyrac steps forward, his eyes narrowing at the men in front of him. 

'Musichetta… is that you?' He questions, cocking his head to the side. A small smile starts to spread across his face when the woman's face floods with recognition. Her face whips to the side and she whistles a melody. A signal. Two men come out from behind the trees, and Enjolras realises they were the ones that had been to either side of them. 

'Joly. Bossuet. Look who it is!' Musichetta smiles, waving her hand towards Courfeyrac. They frown as they study the other man, but when recognition floods their faces, they both let out a loud laugh. 

'I'm guessing you four know each other?' Enjolras questions, his eyebrow raising as his gaze flickers between Courfeyrac and the three outlaws. Courfeyrac nods his head and waves his friends over. 

'I thought they were dead!' Courf explains. 'You can trust, Enjolras. He saved my life today. He's a good man. A brave man. He's just what this place needs.' He informs easily, as if he had known Enjolras his entire life. Enjolras bites his lip and looks down to the ground. If only everyone could believe in him that easily. Not everyone - just one person, Enjolras.

'This is Bossuet,' he introduces, waving to a man with dark copper skin. His bald head shines in the light that glows in through the trees. He offers Enjolras a smile as he extends his hand for a shake. Enjolras watches as the other man, Joly, he's certain he heard Courfeyrac say, finally catches up with them. His uses a large stick as a walking aide, and Enjolras wants to know what happened to his leg. Accident or punishment from the new sheriff?

'I'm Joly.' The man introduces, moving his weight over to one side so he can over Enjolras his hand. 'It's not as bad as it looks,' he signals to his leg. 'Somedays are worse than others. This just happens to be one of the worse days.' 

'What happened?' Enjolras enquires. 'If you don't mind me asking, of course.' 

'It is no problem.' Joly assures, he waves his hand to Musichetta. 'But it is a story for another day - after all these introductions. This is Musichetta. A fierce, loving and loyal woman.' 

'Here, here.' Bossuet concurs, sending Joly and Musichetta a teasing wink. Enjolras studies the three of them and realisation hits him. He smirks to himself but says nothing. He knows such relationships are frowned upon by the Shire. He wonders if that's why they moved to the forest - why they became outlaws.  

'It is lovely to meet you all.' Enjolras replies, finding that it's not a lie. He's so used to saying those words when certain Lords came to Locksley for a visit. It was a lie he learnt to tell flawlessly, and it has been so long since he said it genuinely.

'What brings you to the forest?' Joly questions, folding his arms over onto his walking stick. He cocks his head to the side. 'I'll tell you the story of my leg after you tell me the story of your outlawing.' 

'I saved four people from their unlawful death. Apparently that is a crime in the eyes of Sheriff Thénardier.' Enjolras girts his teeth together. His hands ball into fists in an attempt to divert some of his anger. 'What has happened to this place? King Richard fights the enemy over in Acre. And yet the real enemy is here, within his own country.' 

'Sheriff Lamarque did not watch his back.' Bossuet informs. 'Thénardier and his hound work for the King's brother. They care not for raising funds for the Crusades, but for gaining money for Prince John. He wants to be king, and he's placing men like Thénardier in the Shires to raise money to support that.' 

Enjolras doesn't know how to feel about the news. He has fought by the side of King Richard for years. He has never known a better king. And now, he learns that the king's brother wants to overthrow him by pushing cruel laws onto his brother's people? 

He shakes his head. 'We need to do something. We need to get rid of Thénardier - he is sucking the Shire dry. And all for the sake of a false claim to the throne!' 

'Only King Richard - or Prince John in his absence - can revoke the Shires. We technically cannot get rid of Thénardier, no matter what.' 

Enjolras smirks at Combeferre's words. 'You're right. Technically we can't. We can make his life a living hell, though. We can disrupt his system and take down those who follow him!'

'Here, here!' Joly grins at him. 'We would need to compile such a list. It would amaze you, Lord Locksley, the changes your fellow Lords have gone through.' 

'Exactly! For instance, Lord Knighton used to be a friend under Lamarque. Now he's plotting with Thénardier. His son has even been seen with Montparnasse. He is an enemy!' 

'No, he is not!' Enjolras snarls, eyes narrowing at the man who had spoken. He doesn't even know who he is. After this talk, he really has no intention of ever finding out who he is. He knows that people will fall away from him as he makes his home in the woods. He hopes this man in one of them. 'We don't touch Grantaire or his father.' 

'But, his father -' 

'I don't care about his father! But Grantaire does and that's all that matters.' He fixes everyone with a levelled stare. 'We do not touch Lord Knighton or his son!' 

Everyone is silent around him, unsure of how to react to his words. It takes a moment before they seem to thaw, Combeferre clearing his throat and breaking the tension that had washed over them. 

'Do you have somewhere we could sleep? A camp or something? Somewhere we can store things and plan everything out. If we're going to do this, Enjolras,' he turns to Enjolras and fixes him with a steady look. 'We need to find somewhere to be.' 

Enjolras nods his head, turning away from Combeferre to study the rest of the band that had descended upon him minutes ago. 

'This is true. Do you have anywhere?' Enjolras enquires, his eyes darting from Joly to Bossuet to Musichetta, before taking the path back again. They all turn their heads and hold a silent conversation with their gazes, and something lodges in his throat. It's much like what he and Grantaire used to be able to do. The silent conversations - the no need to speak to voice what they meant. 

'We do. We'll take you there now.' Joly speaks up, waiting until Enjolras nods his head before turning. He readjusts his hold on his stick as he starts to walk away. 'Let's go then.' 


Musichetta turns to them as she reaches up to pull her hair from the bun she had it wrapped up in. It cascades around her face in a way that hides her features, instead of complimenting them. She runs a hand through her brown locks, massaging her scalp to soothe the pain. 

'Well, here it is. Home sweet home.' She declares, letting her hand drop and extend out to her side in a sweeping motion. The newcomers look around themselves, gleeful smiles on their lips. 

The cave was a little damp up at the top corners, from where the heat of the fire and candles couldn't reach. The large fire in the middle was enough to make the cold air disappear, and the candles that littered the cave offered enough light that one could fool themselves into thinking it was the sun shining in. 

'How long have you been living here?' Courfeyrac questions as he takes in the room, eyes flickering back and forth from Combeferre, as if he cannot decide what he wants to look at more. Enjolras' lips quirk when he sees it, but says noting in return. 

'Coming up on two years.' Musichetta answers as she sits down on a rock with a groan. 'Just as Sheriff Thénardier came of power. We realised what he was doing and decided we wouldn't live in a town run by him. We try to do little things; take food and money to the poor, but now there are more of us… we can do more. If you agree to join us.' 

'When it comes to such acts, never question me or ask permission. Helping the villages from the cruelty of Thénardier is what we are aiming for - if we can't revoke him or overthrow him, we do whatever we can to have the people of this shire believe in us, instead of him.' 

Jehan chuckles loudly as he sits down on a rock, readjusting himself to a more comfortable position with a grimace. 'I don't think that will take much convincing.' He winces to himself again as he turns, trying to get comfortable. 'We need more comfortable seats in this place, however. This is ridiculous.' 

'You get used to it. Trust me.' Bossuet mutters in reply, but before he can say anything else, Feuilly adds in, 'I don't think we'll have to. We're surrounded by wood. I'm a carpenter by trade - I can make something for us all. Just like I can create a hinge of some sort for the door to this cave.' 

There's a stunned silence for a moment, before Bossuet starts chuckling, throwing his arm around Feuilly's shoulder. 'Look at that, Chetta, our house may become a home yet.' 


Grantaire stares out one of the windows in his room, his head leaning heavily on his hand. His mind is still reeling from the events of today. Thénardier had cornered him afterwards and asked if he knew what Enjolras had planned. He had shook his head. Of course not, my Lord, I haven't spoken to him since he returned

It had been a hard lie to tell but an easy one to make sound convincing. 

Thénardier had only pushed him away and stormed inside, not holding back shouts of anger or acts of violence. Grantaire tried not to let his happiness for Enjolras saving everyone and then managing to escape show. The last thing he needed was for people to really think he had something to do with it. 

His hand comes up and strokes the pin of his cloak. He had readjusted it as the commotion ensued, making it look like he had one all the time. Even his father didn't notice. Then again, his father never pays much attention to what he wears or does anyway. 

He heaves a sigh, lifting his head so he can run a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and tries not to think of the way Enjolras looked as he fought; as he freed the people who had done no wrong. He fails.

He's so lost in his thought that he doesn't hear anything, not until three sharp knocks appear on the wooden shutters of the window at the other side of the room. Grantaire startles, falling backwards with a gasp before he reaches for his dagger. He holds it in his hand, adjusting the blade so it's tucked up his sleeve as he walks over to the window. 

With only a moment of hesitation, he pulls the shutters open and grabs the person on the other side of the window, pulling them into his room. 

'Calm down there, R!' The voice chuckles and Grantaire releases him immediately, as soon as he hears the voice and he recognises the owner of it. 

'Bossuet! What are you doing here?' Grantaire questions as he pulls the dagger out from under his sleeve. He sits it down on the table nearest him, turning to stare at Bossuet with a frown. He doesn't understand what his old friend is doing here. He hasn't seen him in so long. 

'We thought you'd like to know that Enjolras is with Joly, Musichetta and myself, along with the four men he rescued from the noose.' He reclines against Grantaire's desk with a small smile on his lips. 'Just incase you ever want to find him.' 

Grantaire grinds his teeth together and turns away. 'Why would I want to find him?' 

Bossuet chuckles again, giving a one shouldered shrug. 'Who knows? But if you do… he's safe, Grantaire. And he has big plans. Chetta and Joly thought you'd like to hear that.' 

He moves over and rests his hands on Grantaire's shoulders, before he sighs. 'I better go. But you deserved to know. We'll be seeing you soon.' 

Grantaire frowns at that, taking a step forward when Bossuet turns to move away. He grabs ahold of Bossuet's arm and turns him around again. 

'What did you mean by that?' 

'Just wait and see.' Bossuet replies, shrugging out of Grantaire's grasp and moving back over to the window. He slips onto the edge and swings his legs over, turning back to Grantaire with an almost panicked expression on his face. 'If I fall and break a leg, promise to come and help me before your father finds out.'

Grantaire chuckles, shaking his head. 'I will do. But I don't think you'll break a leg.' 

'What about falling?' 

'Oh that? That you definitely will do.' Grantaire chuckles, he then hears a creak from the stairs and quickly adds, 'Now go. I think my father is coming.'

Chapter Text

Grantaire steps into the hall, trying to ignore the weight that's settled in his stomach. He knows why the meeting of the council has been called - knows that it's to talk about finding Enjolras. He knows he will never be able to tell them where Enjolras is, but it still doesn't stop him from worrying that they'll try their hardest to get it out of him.

Thénardier has a way of knowing and a way of getting whatever he wants.

'You're just in time, Grantaire.' Thénardier explains as he settles down in his father's chair. 'Tell me, where is your father?'

Grantaire swallows hard, wringing his hands together as he rests them on his lap. 'He's not feeling well, I'm afraid, my lord. He's asked me to come on his behalf.' He stops, pauses for a moment as he tries his hardest not to let his hands ball into fists with the last sentence of his father's message. 'I am at your disposal. Whatever you need, my father will make sure I am available.'

Thénardier studies him for a long moment, narrowed eyes studying Grantaire for the longest time before he nods his head. He says nothing, only waving his hand to signal the beginning of the meeting.

As soon as he does, the first man starts speaking. He announces that Enjolras has been spotted running south, and Grantaire raises his hand to his mouth, hiding the beginning of a smile that's tugging at his lips. He disguises it with a cough, and when he pulls his hand away, his face is sculpted into perfect neutrality.

'Enjolras hasn't gone south.' A voice drawls and Grantaire's eyes flicker over to Montparnasse, surprised by the conviction in his voice. 'This is home. He's not going to run away from the only place that he's ever belonged. The people he loves are here,' his eyes flicker over to Grantaire, who immediately looks down to his clasped hands, trying to ignore what that means. 'He's not going to just run away. Enjolras isn't the kind.'

There's a beat of silence around the room, until Thénardier lets out a long sigh as he nods his head. 'As much as it pains me to admit, Parnasse is right. Enjolras is not a fool and he is not a coward. He's not going to run away just because I want his head on a spike.'

'So, what we need is a way to lure Enjolras out of hiding?' Another Lord questions, and Grantaire's head flies up, eyes scanning around the room to see whether anyone was looking at him, as if he was the answer to that question. No-one is staring at him. No-one but Montparnasse, that is.

Grantaire swallows hard and turns away, turning his entire attention to the Lord that's speaking, knowing that if he had to look at Montparnasse right now, he'd give something away. He needs to look like he has no idea where Enjolras is, and Montparnasse is the only one in the room that knows how to read him.

He needs to be unreadable right now.

'Enjolras has a love for his people. It's one of his remarkable faults.' Someone declares, and Grantaire's throat clenches when he starts to realise where this is going. 'If he feels that something is going to happen, or is happening, to his people all because of him, well, it won't sit well with him.'

'Yes!' Thénardier exclaims, his hand coming down in a harsh bang against his table. He stands from his seat, a gleeful smile upon his face. He scans the room as he straightens himself, his eyes cold and calculating. 'We can use his caring nature against him. He's not going to stand by and let people be tortured in an attempt to get to him. He's going to do everything that is possible to save these people, even if it means turning himself in.'

'He always was a martyr.' Grantaire finds himself adding before he has a chance to stop himself. All eyes fall upon him and he has to refrain from closing his eyes, trying to pretend that he's no longer in the room. Why on earth did he have to open his mouth and bring everyone's attention to him.

'Well, in that case we know we have a marvellous idea here, if even Grantaire realises its potential.' Thénardier grins. 'It's settled, we shall go along with this plan!'


The wind blows Grantaire's hair away from his face, the black locks curling around his face and getting in his eyes. Not that he complains about that. He rather cherishes it. It stops him from being able to see the sights in front of him; if only his hair could curl into his ears and block the screams too, he would be golden.

But it doesn't and he can still hear them, loud and shrill and piercing. It's not just the poor soul's screams that are ringing out, oh no, there's friends and family and loved ones, begging Thénardier to stop; that they will do anything if he just stops torturing their son or husband or father or brother. He hasn't moved onto the women  and children yet, and for that Grantaire is thankful.

He knows that it won't be long before the news of this gets to Enjolras and when it gets to him, he will come to rescue them. He will do whatever it takes to free these people from the cruel torture that Thénardier is inflicting upon them - and he will land right in the middle of a trap when he does.

That is if he doesn't plan on giving himself up first just to see it stopped. His own life doesn't matter - not compared to the hundreds of people he'd be saving. For a day. Then Thénardier would find another excuse to have them hanged or tortured. It's his favourite past time, Grantaire thinks with a grimace, hurting the people he's supposed to protect.

'Now, I will ask you again, where is Enjolras of Locksley?' Montparnasse questions and Grantaire shuffles, pushing his hair away from his face so he can gaze around him. Everyone may be worried and concerned about their loved ones but they're not giving up the location of Enjolras. Whether because they simply do not know or because they love and care for him too much to, Grantaire has no idea.

He knows just how much the people loved Enjolras - how much the people still love Enjolras. He doubted they would ever betray his trust as easily.

'No-one knows, Parnasse.' Thénardier crones from his seat which had been brought out just for him. Guards had raided houses until they had found one acceptable enough for him - funnily enough, it had come from Enjolras' house. Grantaire thought that maybe it was a new one that Montparnasse has put in but when he was ordered to stand beside it, he realised it wasn't; it was the one Enjolras always made Grantaire sit in. 'How can no-one know?'

A beat of silence and Grantaire swallows.

'What if I had to raise the reward to one hundred gold coins - surely that would inspire you all to loosen your tongues?'

Grantaire almost scoffs, having to fake a choking fit in order to stop the sound from escaping. Montparnasse claps his back to help ease him, his touch lasting longer than the should have and Grantaire has to slide to the side to disconnect the contact.

Even if the money did entice anyone to sell Enjolras out, they weren't going to see it. Thénardier didn't part with money unless he was sending it to London for Prince John.

'Oh well,' Thénardier sighs in mock concern as he holds his goblet out for a refill of wine (which wafts over to Grantaire and makes his mouth water), 'I've grown tired of your screams, my dear fellow, another!'


Grantaire had no idea how long this had been going on - how long he had been forced to stand beside Thénardier and Montparnasse and just listen to the screams; watch the torture they inflicted on innocent people as they looked for Enjolras.

He had no idea how long he was going to have to continue. Thénardier was determined and if all else failed, he'd continue well into the night until Enjolras got wind of the torture.

Several times he opened his mouth and considered saying that he was in the forest somewhere but he immediately slammed it shut a moment later. He would never be able to betray not only Enjolras, but Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta too? As well as the others that had been saved by Enjolras' hand? He couldn't do it and knew that every time he opened his mouth, no reason was a good enough reason to give them up.

But then the screaming just stopped and Grantaire's eyes flew open without even realising they had been closed in the first place.

His breath lodged in his throat when he saw the dead body in front of them - that of the torturer - with a single arrow through his neck.

'If you wanted to talk to me this badly, Sheriff, all you had to do was ask.' Enjolras calls down, his words joking but the tone in his voice as far from light as possible. There's a steel in his words that makes Grantaire swallow hard, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he gazes around himself.

There's no-one else with him.

No Combeferre or Joly or Chetta.

He's alone.

No! His mind screams at him, knowing exactly why he's here alone and it's only confirmed a moment later when he throws his bow behind him for someone to pick up later. To keep for him if he ever escapes again. Dammit, Enjolras, why fight for freedom if you continue to throw yourself back into captivity? Grantaire's teeth grind together but his entire jaw goes slack when Thenardier's words come.

'Grantaire, you're the one that showed so much faith in this plan,' and Grantaire has to fight back the tears from seeing the hurt and accusation in Enjolras' gaze then, 'why don't you do the honours?'

Without even realising it, Grantaire takes the shackles from Montparnasse and walks over to Enjolras, who doesn't even try to fight him. He holds his hands out for Grantaire and for the first time since Enjolras returned, he craves the touch of his smooth skin.

Grantaire slides his fingertips over his wrist as he pulls his billowy shirt up, revealing his arms. He closes one shackle around Enjolras' wrist, gazing up into his eyes when he gives a hiss in pain. He doesn't look away from his gaze as he slides the other one on, watching as Enjolras hisses again, lips curling over teeth as he hisses for Grantaire to take it easy on him.

'You're a fool.' Grantaire hisses in reply, tugging the shackles just to send more spasms of pain through Enjolras' wrists before he turns and stalks away, leaving Montparnasse to deal with Enjolras and getting him back to the castle.

Grantaire merely mounts his horse Patria and gallops away from the scene; the screams still deafening his ears, tears stinging his eyes and Enjolras' gaze burning in his back.