What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Seventeen

~TW: descriptions of heavy violence and warfare. If you're sensitive to such imagery or topics, please scroll through or proceed with caution. :)

There was smoke. Smoke and screaming. That was what woke Thomas late that night, what had him scrambling for his letters. His head started to pound again, and he shook himself to focus.

"What's happening?" he shouted above the noise.

"I think people are breaking in!" Byron shouted. "Quick, we have to get out of here!"

Thomas ran to his cell door, pulled at it, but it didn't budge. "First we have to get out of our cells!" he said.

Guards ran by, screaming orders at each other over the noise. As of now, in the chaos, their prisoners are forgotten and left to defend themselves.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and Thomas sprinted to the wall, jumping up on his cot to look out the window. There was a large crowd of people shouting and waving torches, charging across the bridge towards the Bastille. Through the firelight, another group was already at the large doors, breaking off the aging hinges and forcing the doors open. The guards on duty were defenseless to the mob, being shoved into the river under the bridge or trampled underfoot.

"Merde," Thomas cursed. He jumped off the bed, and ran over to the bars separating him and the couple. "They're breaking down the doors. What are they here for?"

"I don't know!" Isabelle panicked, running her hand through her dark locks. "Surely the revolution has grown since we've been in here, but I didn't think they'd come here!"

"None of us did!" Byron was crouched down at the cell door, using a rock to hammer away at the hinges. His efforts were futile, but they were better than nothing. He pounded away for long, painstaking minutes before someone appeared, running down the hallway and over to the doors.

"Stand back!" the stranger shouted in French, and Byron pushed Isabelle to the wall to shield her with his body. There was a loud crack of a gunshot, making Isabelle squeal, but the door was off and they were free.

Quickly, they did the same with Thomas's door, and as he ran from his cell, he realized he had underestimated how weak he was, and his knees nearly buckled under him. But Andre, who had already been freed by someone else, came to support him, slinging one of his arms across his neck. It was surprising and comforting to Thomas, their loyalty to him. He understood now the bond Alexander had shared with Lafayette, Laurens, and Hercules.

"Where to?" Byron asked the stranger, who gestured for them to follow him.

"Vous pouvez soit rester et vous battre avec nous," he said, "ou il ya une porte arrière au rez-de-chaussée." You can either stay and fight with us, or there is a back door on the bottom floor.

Thomas groaned as they stepped into a particularly bright patch of moonlight, and Andre turned to the stranger.

"Cet homme ne peut pas se battre." This man can not fight. "Emmenez-nous à la porte de l'arrière." Take us to the back door.

The stranger opened his mouth to respond, but a cannonball smashed through the wall, bringing down the wall around them. Andre shoved Thomas out of the way of the falling rubble, and he glimpsed the stranger falling out of the hole. He was thankful for the loud crashing that followed, otherwise he would have heard the impact of the man's body on the pavement below.

Isabelle let out a scream as Byron pulled her away from the hole and further down the stairs. "Keep moving!" he yelled. Andre followed, nearly dragging Thomas with him. He could barely speak, let alone move, frozen by shock.