His heart was full of fire,

At the man he had become,

And his soul was seldom higher,

With the falsities of fun,

Could embrace sweet desires in moments as they pass,

But he feared it ever more

He saw it didn't last.

…

The grey in this city is too much to bear,

And I believe we are meant to be seen,

But not to be understood.

…

And I want to be held by those arms

…

You'll work your thumbs `till they're sore,

And you'll work my heart until it's raw,

And you'll call and you'll call but you'll never be told.

And I'll fall and I'll fall and I'll fall.

…

We are basic light

-Laura Marling

It was difficult for him to spend the night at the deceased man's small cottage, which juxtaposed the extravagant mansion owned by his own father, a mansion that he had the good fortune to call his home, but several reasons would keep him from entering that place so as to avoid an uncomfortable meeting.

His uncle Lucian's funeral was to be held the next morning, and Enjolras could not help but be reminded of the old man's presence while roaming through the different rooms.

Lucian made due with a very simple lifestyle when he took the cloth at an early age, living virtually in solitude aside from the company of his elderly housekeeper, Lydia, who welcomed Enjolras and his travelling companions into the home earlier that afternoon.

Ada and her mother had settled themselves in the guest bedrooms, and were now sound asleep.

Enjolras drifted from the comfort of his small makeshift bed within the loft of the house, and decided to spend a few minutes looking around. He discovered the old woman to be sitting outside, sitting by the threshold of the cottage as she stared down at a small trinket. The sound of his feet startled her from her reverie. "Oh, I didn't mean to surprise you," he apologized quickly.

"That's alright, my boy," she responded wistfully.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked curiously, knowing that she had a long day of mourning ahead of her.

"I should be…I was just going through some of his things that he wanted to give away."

He helped her from the chair, watching her closely as she placed something within his hand.

"Pastor Lucian wanted you to have this. He always saw you as his own. I remember the first time you came here. You were only two years old," the elderly woman replied as she handed over a small timepiece over to Enjolras.

"I had good times here, " he replied as he rubbed his thumb over the enamel dial gently, while eyeing the hands of the clock set to the right time, just as he remembered his uncle to always have kept it by twisting the watch key.

"I should go get some rest, and you should too. He would want us looking our best tomorrow."

Enjolras eyed her sadly before he answered. "I will. Good night."

She nodded before heading into the house and closed the door behind her.

He stood in silence for several moments while studying the detail of the silver pocket watch against the backdrop of blackberry blossoms that were lined along the front of the dwelling.

"Well, you managed to show your face here after all," whispered a voice from behind him.

Enjolras whirled around quickly and greeted the newcomer who shared a striking resemblance to him. "Hello father, what are you doing here?"

"What…Just a hello? No hug for your old man?" he asked with a smug grin, noting how different his son looked from the last time he saw him.

Both men stared at one another amongst an uncomfortable silence before the younger of the two finally spoke, "Well, an embrace would go against my better judgment, considering our last meeting."

"Why can't we let bygones be bygones? A loved one has just passed away. Wouldn't it be best if we could start anew?"

"We could have, had you not abandoned your obligations to other loved ones."

A dark look fell over Enjolras Sr. as his voice began to shake with rage, "For all your breeding, boy, you've proven to be enough of a disappointment."

Enjolras flinched under the elder man's tone, remembering the fear his father's voice sent through him as a child, but he mustered enough strength to hold his own. "I am my father's son."

The man walked closer to stare his progeny square in the face. "Yes, I am your father, and it would do you good to show me some respect."

"What? Like the respect you showed mother?"

"Leave her out of this!" the elder man growled.

"Why should I? Have you even thought of her since you married the widow Jar din? Of course not, because your heart went after what it wanted, and nothing got in the way of that, did it? Not even a preceding marriage contract!"

"Your mother was lost to me long before I was engaged to Genevieve."

"Yes, but your infidelity helped that along, didn't it?"

"You bought into all her nonsensical madness, and now she's poisoned you against me!"

"She wasn't the only one who doubted you! Do you think I didn't know where you disappeared to at night?" Enjolras said in a deathly whisper, remembering the dysfunction of his childhood that partly drove him away from home when he came of age.

The older man went silent.

"You didn't hesitate to leave her once Jar din's husband passed on."

"That's not true. I tried to remain content with your mother, but she expected too much from me!"

"Because she knew that she was losing you to another woman! Mother greatest fault was that she loved you in spite of everything, and that divorce did everything but kill her. You knew of her constitution, but still, you deceived her all the same. How can you go on as if nothing happened?"

His father gave a quiet reply. " You don't think I suffer? I do, boy. I pay for what I've done every day of my life. I married your mother for all the wrong reasons. Your grandfather orchestrated our union, and I had no choice but to accept, otherwise my inheritance would've fallen to Lucian. Knowing him, he would've thrown it all away on charity."

Enjolras had little patience for the man's warped reasoning, but he listened on without cause for interruption.

"I just wish I could've realized the repercussions of our mismatch much sooner than I did, but we cannot help whom we fall in love with. Men are all prone to break hearts one way or another. I'm sure you've broken several yourself."

"I am not you…I would never betray someone so selfishly," Enjolras answered, swallowing hard.

"Nonsense. You are your father's son, are you not?"

The younger man became quiet as the forsaken look of a brunette burned through his recall. Yes, there was a matter that likened him to the man he had come to loathe, but he did not want to act in the same manner as his father. Enjolras could not let Eponine be driven to hatred by his refusal.

No, he had to let her properly know that she would always have a friend in him, even if he could not give her his heart. He wasn't sure of how to go about doing this, knowing that she had not taken the news so well the last time they had spoken."I must go. Tell your wife that I wish you and her the best."

"Is that all my first born has to say to me?"

"I have only been yours by name since you abandoned her, and that is how we'll remain."

"Do you think me to be so heartless, Andre? I did care for her, in my own way, as I cared for you," the older man said softly, making the apparent pain present in his voice.

"Maybe you did, but it wasn't enough, was it?" Enjolras replied decisively.

His father grew impatient again as he sought to put the boy in his place. "I know I didn't do enough, because I would never raise a traitor."

The younger man froze, giving a chilling gaze to the other man. "What are you talking about?"

"News travels fast around the estates, Andre. I know what you've been up to, leading a revolt against the monarchy, the very thing that is the lifeblood of our class."

"I am not one of you. If you weren't so far removed from reality within that grand manor, perhaps you would be able to see the monarchy's disintegrating infrastructure, especially within a city like Paris.

"You should watch your step, son. Thank your stars that our name might have prevented you from swinging from the gallows in the public square."

Enjolras huffed impatiently, knowing there was some truth behind his father's infuriating words. It was a miracle that Enjolras and his handful of friends had slipped through the National Guard's fingers after the rebellion (thanks in part to the cloak of disguise offered the city's working class civilians), but he knew that luck would quickly run out if they tried to attempt another insurrection.

He was not willing to risk any of their lives at the moment, not when their numbers were so few and their resources so low. He would have to wait and watch for a safer route to achieve his means, but this bothered him to no end. Combeferre would be overjoyed by this change of heart.

It was a subject that Enjolras knew to not be a topic of discussion with his father, a man who spent many years of investment in the crown. "If you had any sense about you, you would abandon these wild ideas and come back to your home, where you'd be safe from losing your neck," the older man implored.

"Not everyone can abandon what they've started," Enjolras responded before turning around to enter his uncle's home. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll see you tomorrow at the funeral."

"Why did I ever think I could keep a rein on you? You're mad. Just like your mother," the older retorted while storming off in the other direction.

Better to be mad than be a coward, he thought to himself as he made lowered his head to enter the cottage.

…

The next day…

A red-haired woman sat across from her companion as he studied her palm with interest.

"Fascinating," Grantaire remarked, guiding her wrist toward the afternoon light of the window within his small loft.

"What?" she asked curiously, leaning in to hear the prediction he claimed to foresee.

He pulled his face closer to hers, attempting to muster a grave look as he traced his forefinger across a strong line. "You might not want to hear this…"

Laure raised an eyebrow. "What is it? Tell me," she urged.

He gave a pregnant sigh before continuing. "It says here that you will live out your days as a bitter old maid, yelling at children from your porch as you tend to your many feline companions."

She frowned while folding both of her arms in slight annoyance. "Very funny."

"The palm does not lie, my dearest," he said with a sullen shake of the head. "What a pity. With a face like yours, I'm surprised you'd meet such a fate."

"You told me you were an expert with readings," Laure pouted while pinching him on the shoulder.

"Ouch. Was I not convincing as a mystic? I didn't mean to disappoint you…"

"It's not the first time you've disappointed me with your…performance," she said with a smirk, turning over her palm to look at her nails so as to agitate him. "Besides, cats are easier to look after than men. Old maids might be better off."

Her undertone made his mouth fell slightly agape as a flush color fell over his face. "Me…a disappointment? That is a lie."

"How could you ever tell?" she smiled devilishly.

"I can tell when a woman is pretending," he said, trailing off before the conversation left him with a bruised ego.

Laure reveled in the hilarity of his embarrassed blush. "So you admit there were moments where you didn't quite hit the mark?"

"I always hit the mark," Grantaire defended huffily as he hovered over her, causing her to lean backward. "Always."

She shrugged with an indifferent pucker of the lips, "Now, that would just be your word against mine, and only one of us would know the truth."

He narrowed his eyes at her, pressing his hands over her stomach until her back met the floor. "Perhaps I need to refresh your memory on how pleasing it felt?"

"Pleasing would be a bit of an overstatement, no?" Laure responded with a wide grin, not able to carry on her somber act for much longer as she watched his face fall in humiliation.

"You really know where to hit a man where it hurts," he whispered, resting his cheek over her shoulder.

Laure ran her fingers through dirty blonde hair that fell slightly over his eyes. "Well, that's what you deserve for insulting spinsters. What right do we have to mock them?"

"Oh, don't go all righteous on me. I meant no harm," he groaned against her neck.

"I'm serious. Who's to say I won't meet such a fate. You should hold your tongue or you'll cast a bad omen on me."

"Like I would ever leave you as a spinster…" he mumbled, grazing his mouth over the base of her neck.

She shuddered underneath the tickle of his beard against her skin. "Is that what you tell all the girls you've brought here?"

He paused, raising his head to meet her eyes. "You know I've never brought a girl here."

"Your acting skills have miraculously improved over the last few seconds," she jested, attempting to pull her gaze from him. "I know you've boasted to have been with many others."

"Where did you hear that from?"

"From all of our friends. Since the moment we met, they've been warning me about you."

"Those bastards," he pouted. "Well, I hope I've been able to prove them wrong."

She kissed him firmly on the lips. "I don't care where you've been or what you've done with whom. As long as you intend to make this last, and promise to stay true to me and who you are, that's all I care about."

He smiled warmly, staring at her with a new confidence. "I'm sure I could have that arranged permanently, but I would just need one thing from you."

She cocked her head to the side in confusion. "I don't understand."

Grantaire had been looking for an opportunity to do what he had planned out for some time now, and it seemed as if the perfect moment had finally presented itself. "I'll need you to extend your hand again, mademoiselle," he said with a formal tone.

"Another palm reading?" she asked in confusion, wondering what on earth he was up to as she pulled up her right hand.

"No, not that one," he said cunningly, reaching behind his back pocket. "I need the left hand, and for you to close your eyes."

"Why?" she asked hesitantly. "This isn't another one of your silly magic tricks, is it?"

"Yes, you could call what I'm about to do, magical."

"What's happening?"

"Will you just close your eyes, Laure?" he implored, reaching for her left hand himself.

"Fine…" she obeyed, feeling a small weight drop onto her palm. "What is that?"

"Alright, open them," he said quietly, watching her expression turn from vacant to astonishment upon seeing the gleaming object.

"That's…a…ring," she stuttered, losing all clarity in her voice at the sight of the golden band encrusted with square cut diamonds all across the center.

"That's my grandmother's ring, to be exact," he said with nervous look, silently wishing that he had the help of liquid courage to help him along, but he had promised himself to remain lucid for this moment, just to be able to fully retain the light emanating from her face.

"This is for me?" Laure asked in disbelief.

"No, it's for your neighbor, Mme. Agnes," he said with a chuckle.

She covered her mouth almost immediately, feeling an overwhelming sensation to sob as she struggled to stifle it.

He took a free hand from hers and kissed it firmly. "If you would have me, I will be true to you until the end of my days."

Laure emitted a sound, or more of a squeal from what Grantaire could tell as he watched tears slipping down her cheek, but it was enough to send him into a fit of laughter again. "If you can't decide, I'm sure that old Agnes still has some fire left in her to accept me. I saw her giving me the eyes the other day," he wriggled one eyebrow suggestively while puckering his lips.

"Shut up, you idiot!" she shrieked happily while slapping his arm in excitement. "Of course I'll have you!"

Her hand shook slightly as he slowly slipped the ring along her finger. "I am your idiot now, until death do us part."

Laure shrieked with enthusiasm again as she lunged toward him while he followed in suit as his hands roamed down the length of her skirt.

She was about to do more before a knock was heard at the door, causing her to turn her head toward the window. "Darling, I think Marius is outside."

"Hmm…let him come back later…I'm busy," Grantaire mumbled, attempting to slide her blouse from her shoulders.

The knocking became more urgent, causing their embrace to come to a complete halt.

"I think it's important," she suggested while sitting upward.

"Damn that Pontmercy. Just because he's married now, doesn't mean he has to spoil the fun for the rest of us," he sighed while smoothing out the wrinkles from his shirt.

"Does that mean you'd rather not be married?" Laure asked challengingly with a playful look, attempting to fix her skirt back into place.

"Of course not! This decision will never be a part of my regrets," he said while kissing her vigorously before he got up to stand and answer the door.

"No, wait!" she laughed as she got a full-length view of him.

He turned to face her. "What?"

"I'll get the door. Put on your breeches!" she ordered while throwing the articles of clothing his way.

They both laughed before she finally made it to the front of his home. As the mahogany door flew open, a worrisome Marius appeared before her. "Ah, monsieur Marius. It's been so long since I last saw you," she said cheerily.

"Mademoiselle Laure, I'm glad to see you're here as well. I hope you are doing well," the young man said, bowing politely.

"Yes I'm doing fine, and you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Where is Grantaire?"

The other man's voice rang through the corridor before he came to Laure's side and slid his arm around her waist. "Marius! Finally found time to slip away from your expecting missus?"

"Well, I'm not exactly slipping away," Marius dithered as his mind rehearsed what he what he wanted to say aloud.

"Come inside for a drink…" Grantaire offered, opening the door more to invite the other in.

A grave look fell over the man's face before he continued. "That might have to wait. Something's happened."

…

The winds of the sea had gathered more strength, producing a heavy current to crash upon the deck of a rather small sailing ship attempting to navigate through the harsh waters of the Atlantic.

A new addition to the crew was in a state of panic, striving to keep calm amidst experienced men that appeared hardened by years of life on the ocean.

However, the constant movement of the vessel was pushing his resolve to the limit, eventually sending him toward the railing where he began to vomit incessantly.

"You must be new," came the drawl of an elderly fellow, causing the younger man to fall backward in surprise.

Montparnasse struggled to regain his footing, but failed miserably as the swishing of the ship continued.

The old man laughed roughly before lifting the other to his feet. "There you are, boy. You'll get accustomed to your sea legs soon enough."

The young man mumbled a small thank you, trying to hide the embarrassment over needing assistance from someone who looked to be four times his senior.

"The name's Rene…" the stranger said with a small nod of greeting, breaking out a small flask from his dampened vest.

"Montparnasse," he responded, returning the gesture.

"What brings a young one like you to this gate of hell," the man who called himself Rene laughed with his mouth open, revealing the loss of several teeth, and a front one set in gold. He took one swig from the container, and then offered it to the other man.

"I had to escape another hell because my life depended on it," he responded rather quietly while spitting out the aftertaste of bile on his tongue and refusing the drink.

"You're not a convict, are you?" Rene whispered slyly with an interested look in his eye.

"What would make you assume such a thing," Montparnasse's eyes darted downward in anxiety.

"Don't wet yourself, boy. I won't blow your cover. You're among friends here."

The other man eyed him warily before he spoke again. "You're on the run too?" he asked in surprise.

"It's been twenty years since I've stayed put on the mainland, but the authorities lost their trace on me. Petty crimes aren't as high priority once your convict's an escapee. I make my life here now, on this old girl here," Rene said contentedly while slamming his fist over the wooden railing.

"What were the charges against you?" Montparnasse asked curiously.

"Let's just say, I nicked a low-life of high birth," Rene said with a satisfied smirk. "They walk around with their noses in the air, but they bleed the same deep red as you and I."

"You didn't see a speck of blue in there, did you?" the blue-eyed youth deadpanned.

Rene's nearly toothless grin came out again. "Not one drop."

A question came upon the younger man, but he hesitated to ask. "Why did you do it?"

"We've only just met. How can I trust a stranger with such knowledge?"

"Fair enough," Montparnasse said while wiping his mouth and casually resting his back against the ship.

"So, what was your sentence?"

"I thought we were strangers…I don't have to tell you anything," Montparnasse retorted with raised eyebrows.

Rene shrugged, not fazed by the reply. "It's just peculiar. Men your age are usually chasing about the ladies if they've got the freedom to do so. Tell me, are they still as ripe and feisty in the homeland as I remember?"

Her face flashed before him before he gave an answer, "that…and much more."

"Really? Surprises me to see you travelling without one by your side. If I had taken one of our girls as a wife, you'd never see me here living the life of a sailor."

Montparnasse sighed heavily.

Rene took note of the young man's forlorn look, giving into his prying curiosity. "Was there someone you wanted to drag along to the Americas?"

The other man remained quiet, not in the mood to discuss such a matter.

"She refused you then?" Rene prodded on.

Montparnasse kept a steadfast look toward the black sea as the murderous countenance upon his eyes spoke enough of his answer.

Rene shrugged for a second time, clapping his younger counterpart over the shoulder. "Life goes on. There are countless other fish in the sea, and I can tell you that from firsthand experience."

The bones in the blue-eyed man's cheeks stiffened from that response, knowing that he had already repeated the mantra to himself several times, but its message failed to seep through to his heart.

"Rene! We need you over in the barracks!" shouted a stout man who Montparnasse knew to be the first mate.

"Keep your scurvy legs on, I'm coming!" Rene yelled back, looking back over to Montparnasse one last time. "There's no point in dwelling on that world anymore, son. There's a whole new one awaiting you. It's hot as death, but there's a beauty about it that'll astound you."

"Better not keep him waiting, Rene, if that is your real name," Montparnasse replied, not willing to let his guard down on a ship full of so-called criminals.

Rene smiled on in spite of the discourtesy before disappearing into the night fog.

The man still standing by the railing turned his attention back to the sea as his thoughts slowly drifted back to what he had averted until now. Have you spared a thought for me, wildling? Where have you run off to now?

…

A/N: Special thanks to ZeGabz for beta'ing this chapter!

Please check out my original story over at fictionpress! The link is in my profile and under the username emmesfigment.