Chapter Text
The guards on either side of the door bowed to Enjolras as he entered the throne room.
“You asked to see me?”
His father addressed him with a cold stare. “As you are aware, ten years ago on this very day, a treaty was signed between Patria and Montfermeil. This marked the beginning of an era of peace.”
“Yes,” Enjolras responded cautiously.
“It is of utmost importance to maintain political unity between neighboring kingdoms in times of unrest such as these. Thus, as a sign of goodwill towards Montfermeil and to commemorate our longstanding friendship, I sent a proposal on your behalf, in request for the hand of Princess Cosette in marriage. King Valjean has graciously agreed.”
Enjolras’s head shot up. "What? " he blurted, forgoing all formalities.
"A marriage between the heirs of each kingdom will please the people," the king went on, as though Enjolras wasn't staring at him in mute horror, as though he hadn't just uttered the words that would seal Enjolras's fate for the rest of his life.
Enjolras couldn't help it.
He snapped.
"Please the people? " he repeated incredulously. "Do you really believe that's what the people want right now? A wedding ? Father, the people are suffering! You’ve seen the lines of people coming to the city begging for aid. I am needed here , Father, I will not allow you to marry me off to some princess to settle an alliance which could be resolved in a million different ways—"
"Silence! " the king hissed, his eyes smoldering with rage. "It would do you well to remember your place! This is not up for you to decide. You will marry the princess." He took a breath to compose himself. “I have tolerated your outbursts for far too long. Perhaps punishing your friends instead will teach you a lesson.”
Enjolras’s mouth snapped shut. He did not trust himself to speak as his father swept out of the room. He could taste bile burning at the back of his throat.
Marriage.
The king spoke once more. “I have arranged an entourage to accompany you to Montfermeil. You will depart tomorrow.” The footsteps paused. “I am certain you understand the importance of this alliance, Enjolras. There is no room for error.”
The words hung in the air between them, each one pronounced like a death sentence.
Enjolras bowed his head. “Yes, father.”
* * *
The procession was moving at a painfully slow pace. Enjolras could hardly blame them, however. The entourage consisted of over two dozen soldiers in addition to the prince’s personal guard, and traveling with that many was, well, difficult, to say the least.
But maybe it was better this way. After all, the faster they moved, the faster they would arrive at Montfermeil.
“Your Highness?”
Enjolras turned, bringing his horse to a halt.
Marius flushed, dropping into an awkward bow, the buckles on his uniform knocking into each other. “Your Highness, the horses need water, sir.”
Enjolras nodded and dismounted from his horse. “This is a good place to stop. We should all rest for a while.”
“Yes, of course, sir.” Marius bowed again. “I’ll let the others know.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Marius?”
“Yes, Your Highness?” Marius nearly tripped over his feet in his hurry to turn around.
Enjolras smiled. “Call me Enjolras.”
Marius bowed. “Yes, of course, You—Enjolras. Sir.” He hastily scurried off.
Enjolras saw Combeferre come up to him from the corner of his eye. “Do you think it was a good idea letting Marius join the Guard?” he wondered aloud.
Ferre took a moment before answering. “Yes, I think so. He wasn’t chosen just because his grandfather is Head Councillor, although it’s true he might have had some influences. Marius may be a bit naïve and, ah, uncoordinated, but his heart’s in the right place. He would give his life to protect you.” He looked at Enjolras. “Just like the rest of us.”
If Combeferre trusted Marius, that was good enough for him. Enjolras nodded, watching the water swirl between the pebbles in the river.
“Are you alright?” Combeferre asked after a while.
Enjolras scoffed. “How could I be? I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a bunch of loud, rowdy soldiers on my way to being sold into a marriage I want no part of.”
Courfeyrac appeared out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Combeferre’s shoulder. “Maybe all the soldiers are here to keep you from running away rather than for your protection,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.
“Knowing my father, you might just be right,” Enjolras said ruefully.
“I gotta say, Enj, your father is a real —” Courfeyrac cast a wary glance at the group of soldiers. “—dick,” he whispered.
Combeferre elbowed him in the ribs. “Shouldn’t you go help set up camp?”
Courf clamped a hand over his heart. “Looks like someone’s eager to get rid of me,” he pouted, elbowing him right back, but left to rejoin the others nevertheless.
Enjolras exhaled slowly. “How many more days until we reach Montfermeil?” he asked quietly.
“Three, maybe four days.” Combeferre was studying him carefully.
Enjolras nodded, doing his best to keep his face impassive.
“It’s getting dark. They should have the tents ready by now,” his friend remarked gently.
Enjolras murmured his agreement. “I just need a minute to clear my head.” Handing the reins to one of the guards, he wandered downstream, away from the bustle and the commotion.
Enjolras sat down under a tree and tipped his head against the trunk wearily.
Marriage.
If Combeferre was right, and Enjolras had no doubt he was, they had less than a week before they would reach the capital.
Breathe, he reminded himself. There are people who’ve faced far worse and survived.
But that didn’t calm the pounding of his heart.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the quiet, steady babbling of the stream, but all he could hear was the sound of his father’s words ringing in his ears.
...You will marry the princess...
A sudden nickering shriek brought Enjolras scrambling to his feet, his hand instinctively going for his sword. He froze, listening, his pulse accelerating in apprehension.
The sound of thundering hooves reached his ears, followed moments later by a horse bursting from between the trees, the empty stirrups jingling wildly against the saddle. Enjolras grabbed the reins to keep himself from getting trampled, easing the horse to a halt with a reassuring hand on the side of her neck. “Whoa, girl! Easy! ” he soothed.
The mare reared, tossing her mane. Enjolras continued murmuring words of comfort to the horse as he turned and squinted, checking for any movement. He heard a yell coming from somewhere within the dense trees and tensed, instantly on alert.
Enjolras let go of the reins as another scream rang out, followed by the sounds of metal clashing against metal. He gave the mare a last pat on the neck and broke into a sprint, his heart echoing the pounding of his feet.
Enjolras paused at the edge of the campsite, eyes wide as he took in the sight before him.
The campsite was completely overrun, Enjolras's guards locked in combat with masked opponents. He caught sight of Marius, face pale with a mixture of concentration and terror, fending off three attackers at once. Surprisingly, he seemed to be holding his ground.
Drawing his sword, Enjolras rushed into the melee. Immediately, he was rushed by two bandits. He slashed open the chest of the first and brought his pommel crashing into the skull of the other.
“Enjolras! Behind you!”
He whirled around, blocking the sword just in time.
There was a shriek of metal against metal as Combeferre parried an attack, making his way towards Enjolras. “Run! ” he yelled.
"I'm not leaving!" Enjolras shouted back. He spun, disarming his attacker with a flick of his wrist and plunging his sword into his chest without sparing time to think.
“Enjolras.” Combeferre locked eyes with him, an eddy of calm in the midst of chaos. “If you die, what then? Think of what—” He knocked a bandit off his feet with his shield, “—will become of the kingdom? Who will help your people?”
Reaching Enjolras’s side, Combeferre thrust a satchel into his hands. “You have to go. Get to Montfermeil in any way that you can. We’ll catch up with you.”
“I’m not leaving you! Ferre—”
“Enjolras, my job is to protect you. Don’t take that away from me.”
“Meet me at Montfermeil,” Enjolras said reluctantly, backing away. “Be there. All of you.”
“We’ll catch up with you,” Combeferre repeated. Enjolras didn’t know if he could believe him. “Now go.”
Enjolras drew a deep breath. “Be there,” he echoed. Then he turned and sprinted into the woods.
* * *
How long had he been running? Minutes? Or was it hours? Was he even going in the right direction? Enjolras didn’t know.
He could no longer hear the sounds of battle behind him. He stopped, gasping for breath. Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes.
He had to make it to Montfermeil.
If he ever wanted to see his friends again, he had to.
Montfermeil.
He took a deep gulp of air. Mustering his strength, Enjolras began to run again.
“AGHHHH!”
He had gone less than a dozen steps when he stumbled, and found himself yanked into the air without warning. Enjolras flailed around furiously, suspended several feet above the ground.
With his arms pinned to his side by the net, there was no way he’d be able to extract his sword without impaling himself. Uttering a string of curses, Enjolras racked his brain for some other way out of this predicament.
He glanced around nervously. The sun was already setting, and soon it would be completely dark, and everyone knew what darkness meant. At this rate, it’d be a miracle if he wasn’t dead by daybreak.
A blood-curdling howl echoed through the woods. Enjolras' pulse quickened and he began to squirm around in the net. Surely there was some way to loosen it—
“Who’s there?” an unfamiliar voice said sharply. Enjolras froze, his heart pounding. He reached towards his sword instinctively, then stilled as he remembered it was out of reach.
“I said, who’s there? ”
Enjolras bit his lip and resolutely remained silent.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll assume that the net caught a wild beast and I’ll have no choice but to shoot you.”
Enjolras stayed quiet for a few more seconds before caving in. “Don’t shoot.”
A figure stepped into the clearing, lowering his bow. He drew back his hood, revealing dark curls and eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s your name?” he asked, jerking his chin.
Enjolras hesitated. “Jean,” he lied.
The man raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look like a Jean.”
Who does this guy think he is? thought Enjolras, feeling more than a little irritated. “Well, I am. And who are you?”
“Grantaire,” the man responded easily.
There was a pause as they looked at each other, neither willing to back down. Grantaire’s gaze bordered on indifference, but there was something unsettling about the way he was watching Enjolras. Enjolras stared right back, refusing to be daunted.
He finally broke the silence as the ropes were starting to dig uncomfortably into his back. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?
“Maybe indefinitely. Unless you can convince me to let you go.” Grantaire grinned, but there was a wariness in Grantaire’s gaze, as though he still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Enjolras. “So, Jean, what are you doing in this part of the forest?”
“I—” Enjolras considered his options. He couldn’t tell him they were attacked by bandits, what if he was on their side? “I got lost.”
“You must be incredibly brave to come here alone when you don’t know your way around the forest. Either that, or incredibly stupid.”
Enjolras glowered at him.
Grantaire snickered. “Why don’t you use the daggers you’re glaring to cut the ropes?”
Enjolras only scowled harder.
“Okay, okay, I’ll let you down.” Grantaire raised his hands in surrender. “Watch your head,” he warned, immediately before slashing through the rope with his dagger.
Enjolras let out a yelp of surprise as he tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap. He stood, brushing off his shirt, and sent his deadliest glare in Grantaire’s direction.
“I don’t even get a thank you? Where’s my eternal gratitude and devotion? Hey! Where are you going? ”
“Montfermeil,” Enjolras tossed over his shoulder, marching back in the direction he had come from.
Grantaire jogged to catch up with him. “You’re really going to go out there alone at night?”
“Well, I hardly have a choice, do I?” snapped Enjolras.
“I’ll take you to Montfermeil.”
“What?”
Grantaire shrugged. “I’m headed in that direction anyway. Some company couldn’t hurt.”
“I…” Enjolras trailed off, eyeing Grantaire warily. “Do you know the way there?”
Grantaire snorted. “I’ve been hunting in these woods for years. I think I know my way around.”
Once again, Enjolras found himself debating his options. As much as he hated to admit, the guy was probably right. The chances of him making it out of this forest on his own was incredibly slim.
Enjolras gave a stiff nod. “I’m warning you now, though,” he said coldly, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword, “if you try anything, and I mean anything , I won’t hesitate to defend myself.”
Grantaire waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. A curse on you and all your descendants, etcetera, etcetera. I get it, Apollo.”
“What did you call me?” asked Enjolras, more out of surprise than curiosity.
“Apollo. God of music, poetry, and the sun, to name a few.”
“I know who Apollo is,” Enjolras said irritably. “ Why are you calling me Apollo? Last time I checked, I wasn’t a god.”
“Well, for starters, Apollo used to strike down his enemies with his special arrows that brought plagues and diseases that would wipe out their entire family.”
“I fail to see the resemblance.”
Grantaire shrugged. “What can I say? You have a godly complexion. Take it as a compliment.” He grinned. “Besides, ‘Apollo’ is a lot better than ‘Jean’.”
Enjolras bristled indignantly on behalf of his pseudonym. “ Jean is a perfectly respectable name, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” He chuckled as Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You might as well make yourself useful. Go gather some firewood or something.”
Enjolras huffed, but stood and headed into the woods.
“ Don’t wander too far or you’ll get lost! ” Grantaire called after him.
The fire was already crackling merrily when Enjolras returned, his arms laden with fallen branches. He dumped the branches at Grantaire’s feet and flopped down on the ground.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired from just that bit of work?” teased Grantaire.
Enjolras did not deign to respond. He stifled a yawn.
“You should go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
“How do I know you’re not going to kill me in my sleep?” Enjolras pointed out, frowning.
“You don’t.” agreed Grantaire. “Goodnight, Apollo.”
Enjolras stretched out on the ground, too overcome by exhaustion to protest further. If he was going to kill me, he could have just left me in the net , he decided, and closed his eyes.
* * *
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! ”
Enjolras groaned. Now that he was awake, every muscle in his body was aching with tension from spending all night on the bare ground.
“Oh, by the way, I used all your money to buy a tiger pelt coat,” Grantaire commented offhandedly from somewhere near him.
“You what? ” Enjolras sprung up and frantically rummaged through his satchel until he found his purse, thankfully still intact.
He looked over to where Grantaire was barely containing his laughter.
“I was only joking, but hey, now I know where you keep your money!”
Chucking his purse back into his bag, Enjolras cursed under his breath. “Asshole.”
“Never claimed to be anything but,” replied Grantaire, winking. “Catch.” He tossed something at Enjolras.
Years of training allowed him to catch the apple instinctively. He glanced down at it in surprise. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t poison it. And even if I did, I can always kiss you awake,” Grantaire added, laughing, when Enjolras continued to stare at the fruit.
Enjolras felt his face heat against his will. He tried to hide it by taking a bite of the apple, but that only made Grantaire laugh harder.
”Ready to go?” asked Grantaire, still chuckling.
Enjolras nodded.
Grantaire beamed. “Then let the journey begin!”