[Logically, they had all known Bahorel would go, if any of them did. That he'd almost see it as his place of honour, as the eldest and the boldest and their most protective force. But all the same... all the same, a death so gruesome, in broad daylight? The death of so dear a friend? It was something that no amount of logic could possibly convince Jehan that there shouldn't have been some prevention for, some mercy about. No. Surely not.
Of his own death, he could not say. But by Combeferre's reactions, it seemed that at least one person was as affected as he had been by Bahorel. None of them showed it, of course, on the barricade itself but in small ways; they'd all accepted the terms of battle, and acted as men. However, the part of them that made a group, that bonded them as friends-- well. Perhaps everyone present had been finally shaken by someone or other's death, before meeting their own.
Not a cheerful thought, truth be told. But a loyal one, in its way.]
Perhaps we cannot see it fully in such a light because we are men. But I do imagine that should a woman; say, your mother, or my grandmother, or Reynaud's aunt; were to show up, she might strike the knowledge back into our minds with her purse, for all of the worry we caused, all of the grief. And if she has tears in her eyes while doing so, we shall know we did everything for a great good. And if she does not, we will known we were very flawed in our thinking. Such is a wisdom only women carry.
I am glad to be with you too, all of you. And so grateful. Enjolras is many things, and most of them grand. But this-- no. [Jehan shook his head.] He would not understand it on his own. This it might take a philosopher to explain to him, and not a poet to exude.
[There were many things Enjolras had trouble understanding and yielding to, and Combeferre had always made him see them clearly. Jehan said so because it was true, but also because he thought that little compliment might warm him; he, who admired Enjolras so much, having the reminder of how important he was to that man in return.
When Combeferre returned to the other subject, Jehan drew away and sighed. Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out a bit o folded paper and set it on his knee, smoothing it out. There were poems crossed out (not very good, from what was visible still) and then the words 'I love you.' This, he held up to Combeferre to inspect.]
Nothing is wrong... perhaps. It's-- this. He. Well. [Voice faltering a bit, halfway sheepishly flattered and halfway seriously concerned.] While I was 'away'. He wrote many things, and this one he gave to me when I was back.
I.. I did not mean to frighten him into greater emotions.
[Jehan had a tendency to get attached, and to fawn; in the way poets did; over a loved one. He did not wish to become seriously attached to Courfeyrac (too late, perhaps) and unbearable about it, and suffocate him and drive him to dislike. But that was difficult, when he had said these words. Jehan felt very much in fear of taking them seriously, when it seemed they might just be a product of Courfeyrac's worry.]
no subject
Of his own death, he could not say. But by Combeferre's reactions, it seemed that at least one person was as affected as he had been by Bahorel. None of them showed it, of course, on the barricade itself but in small ways; they'd all accepted the terms of battle, and acted as men. However, the part of them that made a group, that bonded them as friends-- well. Perhaps everyone present had been finally shaken by someone or other's death, before meeting their own.
Not a cheerful thought, truth be told. But a loyal one, in its way.]
Perhaps we cannot see it fully in such a light because we are men. But I do imagine that should a woman; say, your mother, or my grandmother, or Reynaud's aunt; were to show up, she might strike the knowledge back into our minds with her purse, for all of the worry we caused, all of the grief. And if she has tears in her eyes while doing so, we shall know we did everything for a great good. And if she does not, we will known we were very flawed in our thinking. Such is a wisdom only women carry.
I am glad to be with you too, all of you. And so grateful. Enjolras is many things, and most of them grand. But this-- no. [Jehan shook his head.] He would not understand it on his own. This it might take a philosopher to explain to him, and not a poet to exude.
[There were many things Enjolras had trouble understanding and yielding to, and Combeferre had always made him see them clearly. Jehan said so because it was true, but also because he thought that little compliment might warm him; he, who admired Enjolras so much, having the reminder of how important he was to that man in return.
When Combeferre returned to the other subject, Jehan drew away and sighed. Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out a bit o folded paper and set it on his knee, smoothing it out. There were poems crossed out (not very good, from what was visible still) and then the words 'I love you.' This, he held up to Combeferre to inspect.]
Nothing is wrong... perhaps. It's-- this. He. Well. [Voice faltering a bit, halfway sheepishly flattered and halfway seriously concerned.] While I was 'away'. He wrote many things, and this one he gave to me when I was back.
I.. I did not mean to frighten him into greater emotions.
[Jehan had a tendency to get attached, and to fawn; in the way poets did; over a loved one. He did not wish to become seriously attached to Courfeyrac (too late, perhaps) and unbearable about it, and suffocate him and drive him to dislike. But that was difficult, when he had said these words. Jehan felt very much in fear of taking them seriously, when it seemed they might just be a product of Courfeyrac's worry.]