thecapitol | And I know there must have been some kind of sorrow

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And I know there must have been some kind of sorrow

Who| Courfeyrac, Marius, & Enjolras
What| Bros talk strategy
Where| Some public place
When| The day before the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Nope

It was the eve of their destruction, and for the second time in as many weeks Courfeyrac found himself facing the inevitable realization that he was standing at the precipice of his own demise. It was a heavy situation to find himself in again, though this time he found the anticipation more difficult to deal with. Before he'd felt so sure and right about what he was doing and how glad he was to lay down his life for the birth of the republic. This death would have none of the glory, none of the significance. This battle would be remembered by no one, forgotten just as surely as their victor had been crowned.

At least he had coming back to look forward to this time. Except, that in all honesty, he wasn't convinced that he would come back. Of course he'd been told of this predetermined fact, listened to friends and mentors swear it up and down, but some small part of him was convinced that this time his death would be a permanent one. If it lost the meaning, it would gain it's lasting effect.

As suicidal as he had been at the barricade, Courfeyrac now found that he was markedly less so as the hours ticked by and their entrance into the Arena approached. Had he found something to live for? No, but he hadn't found anything he cared to die for either, and that was incentive enough for him to set his initial idea of immediate suicide aside for later. There would be time for that, if it came down to it. It would stand as a resort-- perhaps not even a last resort, but a resort nonetheless.

That decision did little to calm his nerves. He was not an anxious man by nature. He was generally jovial, calm, witty. In the barricade he had remained one of the cooler heads, sure and committed, not shaking or afraid. He was not shaking now, but he was afraid. The barricade had been comfortable. It was known to them. Whatever the next day had in store would be foreign and terrible, and the anticipation might kill him before anyone else had the chance to. But there was no sign of that fear in his expression. He wouldn't allow himself to seem afraid. Courfeyrac could appear to be sure, even though his heart was racing. He could pretend he had no regrets, even though he was desperate for something meaningful to which he could attach this incarnation of his life.

Alone, with Marius and Enjolras, he confessed to them in an unnervingly serious voice, "I don't know that I can kill those people. What incentive do I have to harm them? I do not know them. I do not know what any of them stands for. How am I to choose a target if I am blind?"

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He did not shrink under Enjolras' gaze, though inside he almost wanted to. Instead, he managed to lock eyes with Marius, forging an unspoken agreement then and there. Marius' duty was to protect his wife, and it would be Courfeyrac's as well. If nothing else, the protection of Cosette could provide him with some sense of purpose amidst the torture and death.

"On the other hand," he began, almost to himself, as if he were picking up a left off dialogue from days before, "No one has yet provided me with the reasons why I should strive to stay alive in the first place. If there is no meaning in dying in the Games, and it is people by mostly dishonorable types, would it not be better to simply take my own life?"

He'd asked that of Cosette before (don't be mad, Marius) and had come up with no answer. He wondered now, again, if that would not solve his present crisis of fortune.

"The Capitol could view it as an act of defiance and either refuse to resurrect you, or punish you once you are returned. The very reason we are here now is because a young couple attempted to kill themselves as the last two in the Arena." I was be easy to see Marius, or any other lovestruck fool in a similar situation, unable to imagine living without each other or to live with the guilt of knowing his life was bought with another's. He had sympathy for the situation, but increasingly less for the result. If it was an act of defiance, it was desperate and poorly planned, if it was an act of love then he had little use for such things. His sympathies, therefore, laid with those suffering the fallout.

"Sometimes they are not even that civilized in their retributions. Anyone with whom you associate will become a target for them, and while I do not mind assuming such a risk, if you have spoken to anyone else in your time here, you can rest assured they will know about it and attack them. If you wish to die quickly, make it look like an accident for their sakes if not your own." His eyes fell abruptly, seemingly intently focused on the grain of the wooden table around which they were gathered. "I took my own life once, but I was only able to do so under the most extreme of circumstances. There is, I'm afraid, something of a disconnect between what one thinks in his head about the practicality of suicide, and what one is actually capable of in a given moment."

Marius turned to Enjolras, sharply drawing his breath as if in preparation for a retort, but then Enjolras revealed his attempt at a suicide in one of his arenas and his mouth snapped shut, His eyes had grown wide in surprise, and not entirely because of the disclosure.

Because when Marius recalled his own suicide, shortly after Cosette died, he knew it had not been particularly difficult for him.

So what was he to say? Do not take your life, Courfeyrac, I will not allow you to, but that will simply turn him into a hypocrite. He will not fight, and yet he will not allow Cosette do die. He will not kill, but only one person must emerge victorious, free yet chained to the Capitol. He will not allow Courfeyrac to die, but how else was Cosette to win?

There was no entwining of words that would not betray at least one of his resolves, so he fell into silence, turning his head to one side in avoidance, folding his arms together and picking at a stray thread on one of the elbows of his shirt.

Edited 2014-01-23 16:29 (UTC)

"If they refuse to resurrect me, then it is for the best." There was no mistaking the cold look in Courfeyrac's eyes. It was an unusual look for the generally gregarious and kind-faced young man. It was clear that the situation was pushing him into dangerous territory. "I do not wish to live in a world that is not free. If they kill me, then my problems are solved. Believe me when I say that I would kill myself now before being forced into that Arena. I love you, my friends, but I have made peace with my destiny and I have found comfort in knowing what was my fate."

But that did not erase the idea of others being tortured because of him. Immediately he was angry at Enjolras for burdening him with that guilt. That guilt mingled with the doubt he had in his own declaration. Would he really rather die now that be forced to murder the people he cared for? Would he really rather take his own life than risk potential harm to Marius, his wife, and anyone else vaguely associated with him?

"I have no chance in that Arena. That much is quite clear. Why should I bother playing the game if I will never win? You said yourself, Enjolras, you killed yourself. Did they punish you for it? Did they torture your mistress? Did they burn your possessions? I see Marius and his wife are safe and well, too." He looked at Marius then, trying to read the expression on his face and seeing only vacancy there. "There can be only one winner, Marius. It will not be me."

He let Courfeyrac finish his thoughts, already convinced by his friend's tone and mannerisms that the Arena would not be pretty even under the most favorable of circumstances. Courfeyrac was like him, suited to noble combat for an ideal that couldn't exist in Panem. The gratuitous, meaningless violence of the Arena would break him. It was unfortunate, but perhaps, in a way, also necessary. Finally, Enjolras met the other man's eyes, expression dark and pensive.

"Victory was my punishment. They knew very well my thoughts on the Arenas, they knew why I refused to kill, and why I attempted to engage them in a public debate on their morality. And so, rather allow me any sort of protest, they have made me a figurehead for their ritualized executions." He turned away again, searching out something, anything to distract himself from Marius and Courfeyrac. "How can my words have any sort of validity now? Let us congratulate Enjolras for his bravery in the Games; Let us celebrate him as a bloodthirsty opportunist.

"If you are so determined to end your life, my friend, I will not stop you from trying, and goodness knows I have considered doing the same outside of the Arenas. But there is work to be done here, there are people we can help even if they will do everything in their power to discredit us, or keep us from acting. It is in our best interest to be cautious and not attract their attentions prematurely."

Abruptly, he turned back to Marius, eyes still hard and unreadable. "When Cosette leaves the Arena, I intend to petition for her release from the Games, there is a program through which she can gain citizenship within the Capitol. With the permission of her husband, of course."

Marius started at that, his head snapping back to Enjolras, eyes round with surprise. For a moment nothing else mattered, not Courfeyrac's death wish nor his vexation towards Enjolras's response, but Cosette's premanent escape from the Games, that she would no longer be so close to hunger and violence and bloodshed that had never suited her kind soul.

After a few seconds he found that he had yet to respond. "Certainly."

That moment's materialization of hope and gratitude in his eyes hastily plummeted, however, once he had forced his thoughts back to the other topics of their conversation. He may never say it aloud, but he too had considered, countless times, to take his own life outside the Games, before Cosette had been summoned here, as well. Was it unkind to refuse Courfeyrac to do the same? But he did not want Courfeyrac to die.

So he turned to his friend and said, "I will not allow you to take your own life, Courfeyrac." Although, am I being selfish? "And I agree with Enjolras. There are those that we can still help, and our lives are of value as long as we can do so."

"You are only their prisoner if you allow it. If you do not believe you are free, then you will never be so." Courfeyrac spoke quietly, not bothering to fully enunciate his sentiments. It was likely to fall on deaf ears anyway. Enjolras seemed set in his ways and there would be no reasoning with the man. Marius, on the other hand...

His eyes narrowed at his old friend. His dog, he'd called him. His loyal hound. It was a slap in the face to hear him actually in agreement with Enjolras. Marius was supposed to be the dissenter. He was the outside voice, not always of reason, but of perspective. He wasn't supposed to be on Enjolras' side.

"If it came down to you and your wife, what would you have me do? Murder her to favor myself? You're a fool and a poor judge of men if you'd believe such a thing, Marius Pontmercy." His glare focused on Enjolras again. "Do not fall into the role of pawn, Enjolras. You are treading a dangerous line of inaction. I can see it in you. I know you too well."

If he seemed defensive, it was only because Courfeyrac's words echoed concerns that had been pricking at the back of his consciousness for months. It was hard not to feel powerless after months of existing around the system, of railing against it only to be forcibly, if pettily, shoved into submission. Was it really all an illusion? No, there were practical matters to concern. To rebel was to say no without renouncing an overarching entity completely. To rebel was to say enough. To rebel one needed to recognize that there was something to be renounced, something to which one could direct his rebellion. While he still aspired to idealism, Enjolras had learned with no small amount of difficulty to replace those tendencies with pragmatism. Caution did not signify acceptance, nor did it precipitate inaction. He cleared his throat, frown firmly in place as he regarded his best friend. "You know me well, Courfeyrac. You know our situation poorly. Marius and I have been here for months and we are both counseling you to consider your words and actions. Do not think I say these things lightly; Do not think that I would bother to pretend to play their games if there were a viable means through which to escape."

The words caught in his throat, harsh and uneasy, lacking his usual conviction. The anxiety of the Arena was getting to him. Still, if Marius was listless and dreamy, Courfeyrac was starry-eyed and unrealistic. "A time will come to fight back openly, but it is not now. Do not waste the chance you have been given."

Marius bit his lip at Courfeyrac's chastisement and cast his eyes back onto the table, though it was more a reflex from the harshness in his friend's expression than the idea in his words. Still, there was only the most infinitesimal of pauses before he uttered,

"I did not mean to say, in the Arena." It was only loud enough to be barely audible by both men but it was without a hint of a tremble or stutter. He had thought of the possibility that, against odds, the three of them would remain, and he would kill himself first, content with the knowledge that Courfeyrac would not raise a finger with the intent to harm Cosette. But he would prevent a friend's death outside the Arena with all he had, even when it was futile, even when he knew that Thanatos waited for them all at the end.

Just then he recalled, with great horror that reflected in his eyes, the eyes and ears of the Capitol, observing their every move. "Enjolras..." He was speaking in even lower tones now, his voice laced with warning.

Courfeyrac's attention snapped back to Marius. He caught the low tone in his voice, that stark alarm bell that was ringing. It suddenly occurred to him as well that their conversation would be monitored, especially considering how "popular" his compatriots were, being the most recent Victor and the very public bridegroom. Of course the Capitol would be watching.

Eyes fixed on Marius still, he spoke to Enjolras, "We should discuss this in depth. When it is safer. We we are not on the eve of destiny."

It wasn't the destiny he wanted, nor was it one he could embrace, but destiny was destiny regardless. He was fated to die in the Arena, and die he would.

"Destiny is a rather grand way of putting it," he scoffed bitterly, but let the topic drop nonetheless. They were right, of course. This was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. French would afford them only so much privacy within the Capitol, and certainly not in a very public, very crowded establishment.

"Have you considered strategy within the Arena? Outside of protecting your wife?" The question was directed at Marius, but his eyes lingered on Courfeyrac. What would his friend do? For his part, Enjolras had never put himself into that position with Marius and Cosette. Perhaps it had been selfish, maybe even cruel, but he had preferred solitude within the Arenas. The transient meetings between friends or allies was more than enough human contact for him, and it kept the potential more regrettable confrontations to a minimum. Besides which, everyone was to die anyway, in the end. There was a certain inevitability to it that was comforting, at least from the outside.

"The Arenas are, in my experience, outdoors, although I have heard that they change the layout with some regularity. To keep people from simply running off, there is a force field --an invisible fence, of sorts-- that you cannot pass through. It will hurt if you try, this I know well. It glints in the light, almost like a thin layer of ice on pavement, or very clean glass. I recommend you find it, and move around the periphery of the area." Avoidance, and constant movement. That would be the best way to keep them out of trouble, Enjolras figured. "If you stay too much in one place, a group of three or more will be found. If you stay too near the Cornucopia, you will be killed."

A question that startled Marius, for plans not aligned with protecting Cosette had not crossed his mind even in the slightest, and the thought that he had so easily and carelessly resigned Courfeyrac to his death caused him guilt. His eyes darted to one side, quickly, and he found he could not look either of his companions straight in the eye.

"Perhaps we must peruse the services of the Training Center, as well." He had, admittedly, been there only scarcely. There had been little reason to before Cosette arrived, after all. "Instruct ourselves on edible and poisonous plants, trap-making..."

He trailed off there, his throat closing up and his face paling from merely imagining what shape the next Arena would take, and what dangers and certain death awaited them there.

Courfeyrac didn't see much point in spending his last day of freedom cooped up in the Training Center. It was too late for that, and in all honesty, he'd rather seek out more pleasant company, such as Cinderella's. Other forms of strategy were lacking as well. He was never their tactician. He was the doer of deeds. He accomplished things.

It was this realization that had him angry. He was doomed. Marius was doomed. Marius' poor wife was doomed.

He wished, almost, that he could blame Enjolras for this. It of course was not Enjolras' fault, but he was so unhappy with his friend that it would have pleased him to take it out on him, if only for a moment. Even Marius was close to deserving his wrath.

"I am tired of this talk," he declared in disgust. "Whatever happens tomorrow will happen tomorrow. I shall enter the Arena with no peace in my mind or heart. I am angry and afraid and unhappy. Brilliant. I've craved solace and the pair of you have refused me completely. What perfect friends I have. Such fine brothers."

He wanted to excuse himself. He wanted to find better company. Marius would have his wife to cry to. Enjolras would have his books, and barring that, he would have his denied mistress. Courfeyrac had no one.

"You crave solace at the expense of the truth." He snapped back quickly, studying his despairing friend with something too close to clinical curiosity to be kind. It hit him then what he must have looked like from the outside. They were all, in their various ways, scared animals kicking and screaming impotently before the slaughter. He and Courfeyrac were shades of a general kind so perhaps this was the best reflection of himself however many months earlier. Though while Courfeyrac judged Enjolras and Marius and found them lacking, Enjolras had had no one so familiar in whom to confide his feelings. There were drawbacks and benefits to both situations, he supposed.

"A brother would do what is best for a man even when he himself cannot see it. A brother is under no obligation of kindness as much as he is of virtue and fair play. Reject us if you will, my friend," He bit his lip, considering the complications that might arise if Courfeyrac actually took him up on that gamble. "But we are the only brothers you have left."

And with that, he turned his attention from Courfeyrac, rounding on Marius instead. "I will be in the Training Center tomorrow. I am not very skilled, but there are guides to much of the plant life indigenous to this area. They crossbreed them for the Arenas, so you should not expect to find any of them so readily. Nevertheless, it cannot hurt to be prepared."

"No, wait, I..." But the harshness in Courfeyrac's tone caused Marius to cringe and the apology died in his tongue. His eyes darted reflexively to the floor; in that moment he very much wanted a hole to suddenly open before him, so that he could jump into it and escape this entire conversation.

Enjolras did little to assuage the tension. He could feel the irritation he held towards the other man pricking at him once more, a thousand tiny needles jabbing incessantly at his patience until it broke, even when he realized that his words rang true despite the unnecessary harshness in the way it was delivered.

But Marius did not want Courfeyrac to reject him. He raised wide, mildly panicked eyes to both of them, barely even acknowledging Enjolras's address. "B-But we need not argue..."

The look in Marius' eyes was almost enough to ease his anger. It was nearly enough to send him over the edge of rage and into the sunlight of forgiveness. What had Marius really done to deserve it anyway? Marius had always been dreamy and listless. That was to be expected on his accord. It was Enjolras who was the problem.

"There is no argument. Forget I've said anything. I know I need not ask that you do that." He didn't bother looking at Enjolras any longer, focusing instead on Marius. "I am leaving. Do what you will, I will not begrudge you. And when your friend here is in more generous and kindly spirits, perhaps we will have the opportunity to speak again. Farewell, Marius."

And with that, Courfeyrac stood to prepare to leave.

Nothing could be done to change Courfeyrac's mind once it was made up, Enjolras knew that well enough by now. Instead he stared darkly down at the table as the man made to leave. Would his perfections have been so different if their roles were reversed?

Marius is the anomaly, the unpredictable element in this equation. He'd never gotten to know the boy well enough to say for certain, beyond the realm of empiricism, how he was taking to Panem. He knew that between the two of them, Marius would choose Courfeyrac and so, without much thought, he waved him off. "Follow him, if you like. You'll both be dead in a few weeks anyway and then we can begin our actual work."

And Courfeyrac was, without question, the one that Marius had reflexively turned to, even before Enjolras's dismissal.

Still, he paused, darting an uncertain look first to Enjolras, then to Courfeyrac. Was it right for him to leave the discussion as it was, without either of them parting on favorable terms? Would it be overstepping his boundaries if he requested they first talk things out at length until they come to some sort of satisfactory agreement?

But Courfeyrac was leaving and he had never been entirely comfortable alone with Enjolras. So he gave the other man a hasty bow before hurrying in Courfeyrac's direction, stumbling a little as he called out, "C-Courfeyrac!"

Courfeyrac glanced over his shoulder, slowing his gate to accommodate Marius joining him. While looking back, his eyes met Enjolras' for a moment, just long enough that he could at last turn the corner to forgiveness. It was quick, barely noticeable, but Enjolras was a keen man and sure to pick up on the exchange.

That wouldn't prevent Courfeyrac from leaving, however. He waited the few moments it took for Marius to catch up with him before he continued on his way. "Come, Pontmercy. You and I must catch up. I've met your wife at last."

And with that, he was ready to abandon Enjolras. For now.

The trouble with essentially all living together was that it meant a lack of space. Marius and Courfeyrac may have felt content to argue and then walk back home together, but Enjolras was a deeply private person even amongst his friends and the months without them had done nothing to improve that tendency. He needed time to think, time to consider what he could do for them once they were outside the realm of his influence. This would be less of a problem if the actually had time at all.

He did manage to catch Courfeyrac's, and while all was not entirely forgiven (he wasn't certain there was anything to truly forgive in the first place), it was at least compartmentalized. But that didn't move him to get up and follow them.

With a nod small enough to keep the blond curls on his head from bouncing, Enjolras acknowledged Marius' departure. He'd known full well where his not-quite-friend's loyalties would lay.

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And I know there must have been some kind of sorrow

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why do you guys let me write? that tag was riddled with typos.

maybe but I am legitimately the slowest

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