Revolutionary Fire

1. Wedding Chorale

"I, Apollo Enjolras, take you, Blaisaline Javert, for my lawful wife."

"You're never going to catch me!" I squealed, running through my mother's garden.

"Oh yes I will!" Enjolras retorted in his only just deepening voice. I let out a scream as he tackled me to the ground.

"Apollo," I whined. He grimaced.

"Don't call me that, Blaise," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Apollo. Apollo. Apolloooooo," I sang, giggling.

"Blaise," he whined.

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. I will love and honor you all the days of my life." My eyes were trained on my feet as he spoke, a lump forming in my throat. Behind me, my father cleared his throat harshly, causing my mind to flash back to the conversation I'd had with my mother just moments before.

Taking a deep breath, I glanced briefly at the man before me with a small smile before I looked away and said, "I, Blaisaline Javert, take you, Apollo Enjolras, for my lawful husband, to have and the hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

Turning to look at me from where he lay under the stars, Enjolras asked, "Would you die for something you believed in?"

"Of course I would," I replied automatically. "But dying is the easy part. It's much harder to actually make change. The man, or woman, who dies for what they believe only join the multitude that died before them. The person that actually makes change is the one that had the means and courage to do so."

"What, so martyrs aren't brave?"

"Of course they are," I laughed, "I just think they aren't the only important people fighting for change."

I have to clear my throat quickly to cover how weak my voice suddenly sounded as I finished, "I will...love and honor you all the days of my life."

"Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the bishop before us announced. "You may now kiss the bride." I felt nauseous as he leaned towards me, pecking my lips quickly before pulling away from me. Based on his behavior and the way he acted during the entire time we were courting, he is as unhappy about this arrangement as I am. I spent the next three hours with a fake smile on my face, accepting congratulations until I was finally able to go to what is now, I suppose, my home.

I sighed as we got into the carriage. I know my parents only want what is best for me, but forcing me into a marriage was not my first choice. Beyond that, forcing me into a marriage with my childhood best friend who I haven's seen in three years? I spent the last three years in Spain and while we wrote back and forth for a time, he eventually stopped answering my letters. I sighed again, glancing over at Apollo who also seemed to be deep in thought. Well, it was going to be a long ride.

Plastering on a fake smile, I said, "It was a beautiful ceremony."

"You don't need to do that, Blaise," he said quietly although not condescendingly, still staring out the window. Finally looking at me, he smiled faintly. "I can still tell when that smile is fake and when it's real." I let my smile and eyes fall as I plucked at a loose string on my stupid dress.

"Look, is there any way we can make this not awkward?" I sighed, looking back at him. "We used to be best friends. Let's not let our parents ruin that."

He smiled, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes as he replied, "Sure." I turned from him, not being able to help rolling my eyes. Being married was going to make my life a whole lot harder.

At last we pulled up to the building. We had a gigantic flat given to us as a wedding present by both our parents and I was dreading it. I firmly refused the help of the driver or Apollo as I grabbed my bags and headed upstairs. Once in the master bedroom, I began to unpack. With a small smile, I hung up one of my blood red dresses. Glancing at the door cautiously, I clipped to the inside a red, white, and blue patch, out of sight from anyone just looking at it.

Letting out a sigh, I traced the shape with my finger. There are only two ways this ends. With my death or with a crappy marriage.