Enjoltaire One-shots

Three: Pirate AU

A.N. This one's kinda sad, but I liked writing it. Enjoy ^-^

*

It won't be long now, Grantaire
thought while fighting, sword brandished high in the air as metal clanged against metal.
This fight was inevitable. No pirate ship was left alone for long, especially ones as successful as the Révolutionne. And sure enough, they'd been hunted down. No, everyone knew this would have happened eventually. But they'd been prepared. Enjolras was the finest captain sailing the seven seas, of that there was no doubt. To add to that, he had the most loyal, battle-ready crew. Any pirate captain would be jealous.
Grantaire fought with ease, and he was certain his teammates felt the same way. Their enemies seemed scared.

Enjolras' crew fought gracefully, as though they'd been born with swords in their hands. And Enjolras? He was the embodiment of fire, his red coat seeming to flicker with flame as he moved with the ability of a dancer. There was no reason whatsoever for the crew to panic.
So why was it that they lost? It was their youngest, Gavroche, who perished first. He hadn't even had a weapon. Their enemy fought dirty, taking no prisoners, and had no qualms about killing. Then it was Courfeyrac, who in his rage and grief over Gavroche moved too hastily, ending up with a sword in his back.
One by one the crew fell, until it was just Grantaire and Enjolras, surrounded. They eyed their foes, watching each other's back, knowing it was hopeless. But Enjolras decided to try anyway, and Grantaire followed.
They fought valiantly, each taking on half of their opponents. Enjolras had taken down five before Grantaire noticed he was in trouble. He pushed past everything in his way, not caring about anything but blocking the sword that he knew would kill his lover.

The sword lodged itself between Grantaire's ribs, but he felt no pain, only relief. After that the crew had gone, knowing their was no fight left in the captain and one dying man. Instead, they set the Révolutionne on fire.
Enjolras seemed to be in shock. "Grantaire?"

The brunet's response was a weak cough. His captain knelt down beside him, a lost expression on his face.

"That sword was meant for me. I should've taken it, not you."

Grantaire shook his head. "No, I couldn't bear to see that happen. Besides, I don't feel any pain." He smiled at Enjolras, who returned it sadly. "You should go. There's still time before the ship sinks."

"No. A captain goes down with his ship, and I won't leave you." Enjolras took Grantaire's hand and moved him so his head was resting on his lap.

"I loved you, Apollo." Grantaire said, breaths weakening until his voice was just a whisper.

"I loved you too. Heaven willing, we'll meet again in another life."

Grantaire nodded before he finally drifted off to death. Enjolras sat there, longing for his crew, longing for Grantaire, and wishing things had been different. When his time came, tears were steaming down his face, but he faced death bravely. As the ship finally sank, the two bodies went with it, hands clasped as though they'd never let go.