Jehan walked to the middle of the room, a big smile on his face and a stack of parchment in his hands. "My friends, as many of you may know, has been recorded throughout history that it is not uncommon to sing when going to war." he said "So I took the time to compose us an anthem for when the time has come. Our own Marseillaise, if you will."
Combeferre shook his head. "Don't you think there are more pressing matters that we should attend to? Perhaps we should plan the revolution before we write chansons about it."
The younger man shrugged. "Perhaps. But once we have it planned, it won't be long before it is set into action. Then there won't be enough time to compose anything. Besides, it's already written."
Combeferre sighed. "Well then, go ahead."
"It's called 'À La Volonté du Peuple'." He said as he started handing out the parchment. The words on each paper were handwritten, and there were about 50 sheets. "The title of 'most dedicated member' goes to Jehan!" Bahorel declared loudly, "How long did this take?"
Jehan shrugged. "About a week."
Everyone started reading through their paper as soon as they were handed one (with the exception of Gavroche, who struggled with a lot of the words). It read:
"À la volonté du peuple, et à la santé du progrès, remplis ton cœur d'un vin rebelle et à demain, ami fidèle. Nous voulons faire la lumière malgré le masque de la nuit pour illuminer notre terre et changer la vie.
Il faut gagner à la guerre notre sillon à labourer, déblayer la misère pour les blonds épis de la paix qui danseront de joie au grand vent de la liberté.
À la volonté du peuple, je fais don de ma volonté. S'il faut mourir pour elle, moi je veux être le premier, le premier nom gravé au marbre du monument d'espoir."
Enjolras walked over to Jehan and put an arm on his shoulder. "This is brilliant!" he exclaimed, "This chanson perfectly expresses the ideas behind our cause and makes them understandable for the general public. It contains a lot of passion, and I would be honored to be able to chant these words with all of you by my side!" Jehan beamed.
Upon Enjolras' insistence, the young poet taught you and the rest of the students the melody. You sang the song over and over again. Initially, everyone was reading off the paper they were given, but gradually, more and more of the men started to pick up the lyrics until eventually, nobody in the room even had to look at their parchment anymore.
It was a good song, quite catchy, and therefore easily got stuck in your head, and once it was there, it was near impossible to get rid of.
Éponine had heard of a fan shop opening and begged you to go with her, and you, as her "very bestest friend in the world", couldn't refuse. The two of you entered the store and looked around; it was pretty small, yet beautifully decorated.
"Since Marius is into bourgeoisie girls now, I need to find something that makes me appear rich yet humble." she said, and you laughed.
"What?"
"I just find it hard to imagine; you being humble."
Éponine shoved you and laughed.
You turned your attention to the fans, which were a sight to behold. One, in particular, stood out to you: It had a white guard with golden patterns. When you opened it, the leaf had white poppies on the top half and red poppies on the bottom. The sticks showed a doubled-headed black griffin wearing crowns; on the middle of its chest was a red emblem with a more miniature, white griffin on it.
As you admired the piece, you subconsciously started humming. You only ever realized when you noticed someone standing next to you. You turned your head, to see a rather petrified Feuilly staring at you, his mouth agape. You stared back at him, quietly hoping, praying, that he didn't recognize you.
He closed his mouth and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, mademoiselle," he said, "but may I ask where you know this melody from?" Damn it.
You swallowed. "I..." you looked to Éponine, and Feuilly followed your gaze.
"Are you a friend of Moulin's as well-" he asked.
"Yes!" you blurted out "I mean, I am. I heard him hum it a few days back, and I suppose it must've gotten stuck in my head." you laughed nervously. "Anyway, this fan looks beautiful. How did you paint it?"
Feuilly was all too happy to tell you about his work, seemingly forgetting about the song.
You bought the fan with the poppies (which, as you were told, were the national flower of Poland), while Éponine decided on a fan with a landscape filled with marigolds.
"You know," she said as you left the shop, "if you go in there dressed as 'Moulin', maybe we can get a discount next time."
YOU ARE READING
Enjolras x Reader
Historical FictionAs the daughter of Pierre Moulin, the army general of the national guard, (Y/N) Moulin grew up rather wealthy, never having to worry about where she'll sleep or if she'll eat. Despite this, she did worry. Not for herself, though, but for all those w...
