A Decent Story In It Somewhere

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel charges ahead of Enjolras and into the red-walled caverns he shares with Prouvaire, still bouncing from the recent adventure. He charges in not because he's in any hurry, but because if he doesn't charge everywhere right now he's going to start shouting even more loudly than he already has been on the way down the hall.

"--but then the beast doesn't even stay around to laugh at us? Unkind! And showing no sense of-- ah! Jehan! Did you leave too? We've been away for months--at least on our side--how far did you wander?"

Jehan is in a costume that might be called medieval, if someone had only a general idea of what medieval dress was like, based mostly on illustrations. It involves a liripipe, to the apparent delight of little Marguerite.

But Bahorel's not wearing anything less picturesque at the moment. More unusually, neither is Enjolras. Bahorel, at least, is delightedly aware that they also both look like they stepped out of a fantasy story, and even more delighted that they have.

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[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel is absolutely not going to argue about the villagers! "They fought like wild! Like free souls against a tyrant must! Ah, you should have seen it, all of it!" For a moment, it's almost a sad thought; then Bahorel snaps his fingers.

"--You can't, not all of it, but some--hold on--if the thing still works after all---" he roots around in the bag he's been carrying for what perhaps seems a touch too long before bringing out the "camera phone" Joly's been teaching him to use. "--It was utterly useless for calling anyone, of course, but I took photos when I could--not the battle, we were fighting for our lives--ha, not our lives, there I must allow for inexact language! But-- ah, here we are! This was after it had calmed down, you can see them leaving."

...Yes, it's a picture of Enjolras holding up the glowing sword, warding off an undead army, looking severe and heroic and as dramatic as a couple of Romantics could ever want. Sorry, Enjolras.

Bahorel smiles at Enjolras as he hands the phone over to Prouvaire, not exactly apologetic but slightly sympathetic, at least.

"-- We were losing ground, you know. Whatever else you want to call it. It made the difference."

[vive_lavenir]

Jehan takes the phone. "Sublime," he says. Marguerite, looking down at the screen from Jehan's shoulder, mews her agreement. The dull-faced corpses, desecrated and turned into puppets by this Sorcerer King's wickedness, fading away before glowing steel wielded by an implacable Enjolras, and the determined villagers. It's the stuff of poems and paintings. "Do you have a picture of the villagers, or the Sorcerer King?"

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras, glancing at that picture as it passes him by, sees... a picture of himself, and a situation he remembers. Yep.

He doesn't really have what one would call an artistic eye.

"I know," he says to Bahorel, relenting a little from his friendly exasperation. (They've had this discussion, too.)

"It's only your interpretations I think are unwarranted."

[clayforthedevil]

"I'm just saying, I know how these things get told. You know kings have abandoned their reason and planned campaigns over stories with far less logic." Yes, by now it's a familiar argument, and Bahorel's letting up too, tapping at the screen of his phone. "--Those are the villagers. Look at those eyes! --Everyone had something like that, the first village we came to, everyone had whiskers; it must be very easy there to know where a man's from! --Except us, everyone marked us out as strangers right off, hah,not much chance of avoiding that! But it was good, it was good, it made sure no one thought we stood with their rivals. -- Here's that first village, from a month or so before. -- I told everyone we were from Carabas, to keep things from spilling back over, you know. The law's the law even if there's magic about it, and the law doesn't need to have a true name off us any day."

There are some who'd disagree, probably! He doesn't care.

[vive_lavenir]

Jehan looks at the eyes, squinting--they're set on the sides of the villagers' heads, and have pupils like thick horizontal lines, not unlike Djali's. And then the whiskers!

"Of course," he says. "Carabas is an excellent alias in any case. Did you have any trouble making friends, looking as unusual as you did there?"

[pro_patria_mortuus]

"Some, yes. We managed, but we were clearly foreigners."

Which is fine. They were, after all, and it didn't end up impeding the important things.

"--But Bahorel, you've left out the most important part." All the rest can wait, for all that some of it's interesting, and other parts are things Prouvaire will no doubt be interested in. "The king there, the sorcerer, he was overthrown. By the people. They joined themselves together and rose up. There was an old law about when a tyrant might be declared unjust beyond what his subjects would support, and they made it their banner and their sword; they rose up, and he quailed, and his power was broken. When we left they were setting up a new government. A republic, Prouvaire. Not another tyrant, not the next-strongest sorcerer, but a real new government of the people. New institutions, the dawn of a new age there."

Now it's his turn to be glowing. And who in this room isn't, at a prospect like that?

[clayforthedevil]

No, he was getting to that! "Ah, now you've gone and spoiled the ending!"

--But Bahorel's grinning too, yes. And possibly what might be glowing in someone else who was possibly wearing less extremely black clothing. The end of the story's too good to care too much about how it's delivered. "It's true--it's really true. They were working out the new constitution when we left, I heard them arguing last night--a proper argument, not one person dictating over a few token corrections."

[vive_lavenir]

An uprising against a sorcerer-king, a republic, a constitution, and an argument! Be still, Jehan's beating heart. Or rather, don't: Jehan revels in the excitement of a tale like this.

He sinks back against the pillows. "How fortunate you both are, to be part of it!" He pauses, patting Marguerite. "But how did you become part of it? Were you seeking out a quest?"

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Jehan, have you met Enjolras.

He shakes his head, with eloquently bemused eyebrows at the question.

And doesn't bother to say anything about magical fiery creatures and accidental world-crossing, because Bahorel will have fun telling this part, too. Not to mention that however he tells it, it'll be much more in line with Prouvaire's sensibilities than anything Enjolras is capable of producing.