The Unknown Past and Untold Future *Les Miserables Romance (Enjolras)*

Part One - Unknown Past - Chapter I: A Burst of Light

Part One – The Unknown Past

Chapter I: A Brick to the Face

Paris, France. November 1826

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"Sit up straight...Marc...I said - sit up. You can't slouch like that."

 "This is as straight as it's going to get."

 "None of that cheek, boy-" 

"Or what?"

"It is entirely rude of you to-" 

"This thing is choking me! If I sit up like this- see? I can't breathe. "

"Well complain in silence at least. You look pitiful if you sit like that."

"It's none of your business to comment on my posture-" 

"How dare you-"

"Sebastian! Marc! Please, for once could you not bicker." His mother said softly but sharply. Enjolras sighed heavily as he fidgeted in his pristine suit. In his opinion, the waistcoat was too tight and the tail of his black coat made him look like some sort of bird. Not to mention the top hat and the choking cravat. I will never understand this fashion…He thought to himself, snaking a finger between the collar and his neck so he could breathe. His father and mother sat opposite him in the carriage; the tall, grim faced man dressed as he was, and the fair-haired women next to him in a lovely blue dress. They were on their way to a party, much to Enjolras’ dislike. His parents insisted it was to be polite, but he knew that there was a different reason. They were searching for a suitable match for him. They wanted him to meet some lovely young lady, daughter of some rich baron with some load of money; so that they would have a splendid rich life together and produce a bunch of children. Enjolras snorted out loud at the thought and looked out the window; ignoring the appalled gaze of his mother and the icy glare of his father. How common of me! He smirked and slouched. This is a terrible idea.

Enjolras was too busy for courting. He needed to study for his exams, ready his speeches, organize his meetings with professors and spend time with his companions. Besides, no girl could live up to his expectations; proud as it may sound Enjolras did not care for women in that way. 

Well, except one. Possibly. Maybe.

 But he hadn’t seen her in months; a year now. It was merely a memory.

The truth was his parents had removed him from the streets. He was at that age where boy becomes man. It did seem that way as his shoulders had broadened, he grew several inches, and there was always that irritating hint of stubble on his jaw that he hadn’t got used to yet. Now with this new appearance blooming, his parents knew that the time was right, so of course they arranged all these dances so he can socialize with the upper class girls. Enjolras did have friends in this department; Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Jehan… but that did not mean he stuck to it! There were others in working class; his other brothers. They all had a bond that had strengthened over time, something that rank could not break. But, typically his mother and father did not agree.

Now he sat, gazing with boredom out of the carriage window as the buildings of Paris sped past, glowing dully in the winter sunset. Enjolras noticed how the buildings changed as they rattled through different sections of town; the clean and polished area where he lived to the market place with they’re shop signs and closed stalls to the broken slums. By the time they had reached this section of the journey the sun had gone, and there were only flickering street lamps to light the way. The young man’s mind wandered. He saw the homeless and the poor huddled together for warmth on the frozen paths, he saw women begging and children crying. Enjolras frowned. This was not a pleasant place. Paris was a disgrace. His blue eyes flicked briefly from the passing scene to his parents. They weren’t even looking out the windows, as if they wanted to ignore such suffering! At least his mother looked a bit pitiful. Enjolras gave a cold glare to his father, who sniffed and fixed his hat over his own cold blue eyes. Typical. He went back to the window. How can the government just sit around and ignore the fact that the majority of Paris is suffering in poverty! How many are going to die this winter? This has to be work of the new laws, by God, if this continues France will have not a hope for the future-- The carriage slowed for a second, and the passengers turned in the direction of the driver. There were shouts, a neigh, a crack of a whip. Probably some poor person on the road. Enjolras turned back to the window as the vehicle carried on. 

It was as if a brick hit him in the face.

It was as if a golden light had flashed him in the eyes.

Her.

Enjolras sat up quickly and pressed his hands against the glass, as if to break this separation between them. But as the journey continued and the carriage rattled on, the girl disappeared behind it, into the dark abyss of the Parisian slums. No. It couldn’t have been...could it? But, he was sure it was she. Could it really be-? No. Yes. No. Possibly. A smile appeared on his lips as he let out a small breath of surprise. Well if it is, my-has she grown up well!

 What he had known a year ago was a scrawny, pale-faced girl dressed in rags with red hands and nose from cold. At sixteen years, she only looked eleven. 

But what Enjolras had just seen was a woman; a beautiful woman with golden hair and porcelain skin that glowed under the faintest of light. She was wearing a torn dress and ragged coat, but her loveliness out shone it. He couldn’t believe it. His mind was surely playing tricks on him. But as he repeated the few seconds over and over in his mind; Enjolras knew it was Joleigh. It had to be the braid that gave it away. Yes, it was. Only Joleigh would still wear her hair like that. She looked so sad. Don't get your hopes up. She's gone. 

 Enjolras’ hands were still on the cold glass, his blue eyes still searching for her skinny shivering figure. His vision gave up and focused on his hands instead. Hands that were clean and firm, not through any sort of labor, nor exposed to any sort of harshness. He cursed them, as much as he cursed himself and this life he was living. How could he be living such a fantasy when worthy people like Joleigh were forced to live in such poverty? His parents were dragging him to a party, and she was shivering in the cold. Enjolras slumped against his seat, now only realizing his social-climbing parents were talking to him.

"What is the matter, Marc?"

"Nothing."

"Answer your mother, boy."

"It was nothing! Just someone we might have run-over." Enjolras tipped down his top hat over his eyes so they could not see his glare. His father sniffed and his mother sighed.

It’s been too long. He needed to see her again. But, how? Would she even remember him? It’s been a year. He didn’t even say good-bye. She hates me, I bet.  Enjolras stared out the window as the carriage rattled on, clinging onto that image of Joleigh in his mind. 

No, no it couldn't have been her.

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'Ello again! Ah, it's so nice to get back into writing! You don't know how long I have been waiting to start this! 

Don't you love sassy, young Enjolras? I know I do! It's really interesting to write about the 'time before Les Mis'...sort of CHALLENGING.

Anyways, what do you think? Is this show on a roll? Was that really Joleigh, or just some girl? Hmmm...I do wonder... ;) I guess you'll have to wait and find out!

Love,

-Kat/Grantaire xx