King and Lionheart
prologue.
It’s just past seven thirty on a Wednesday night, and Grantaire doesn’t think he’s been this nervous in years. He’s standing behind the curtain on the school stage, in a dark grey suit that is possibly the least comfortable outfit in existence, a green tie loose around his neck and wild, inky dark curls bouncing around his face. He has a glass of punch gripped tight in his hand –Feuilly had forced it upon him about five minutes ago, claiming he looked nervous. Grantaire had gratefully accepted, but was disgruntled to discover it hadn’t been spiked.
He feels eyes on him and turns to see none other than Feuilly himself studying him. The nineteen year old in question is sipping at his own glass of punch and fiddling with the unfastened bow tie around his neck, scrutinising the white paisley print. He nods at Grantaire when he notices the younger boy looking at him. He’s about to start up a conversation when Eponine bounces up to him, striped dress swaying around her knees.
“There’s so many people out there. Cosette just made me have a look.” She laughs excitedly, knocking her shoulder against Grantaire’s. “Go see.”
Grantaire grumbles, but moves towards the edge of the curtains anyway, gingerly pulling them back and subtly poking his head around. Eponine wasn’t kidding; the gallery hall is fuller than he’s ever seen it, packed with students and parents alike. What staggers him most, however, is the distinctive mop of golden blonde curls that currently appears to be studying his impressionistic painting of nineteenth century Paris. He sucks in a shocked breath and recoils quickly. Jehan and Cosette have since appeared, and the girl is braiding daisies into his auburn plait.
“Which of you gits invited Enjolras?”
He feels eyes on him and turns to see none other than Feuilly himself studying him. The nineteen year old in question is sipping at his own glass of punch and fiddling with the unfastened bow tie around his neck, scrutinising the white paisley print. He nods at Grantaire when he notices the younger boy looking at him. He’s about to start up a conversation when Eponine bounces up to him, striped dress swaying around her knees.
“There’s so many people out there. Cosette just made me have a look.” She laughs excitedly, knocking her shoulder against Grantaire’s. “Go see.”
Grantaire grumbles, but moves towards the edge of the curtains anyway, gingerly pulling them back and subtly poking his head around. Eponine wasn’t kidding; the gallery hall is fuller than he’s ever seen it, packed with students and parents alike. What staggers him most, however, is the distinctive mop of golden blonde curls that currently appears to be studying his impressionistic painting of nineteenth century Paris. He sucks in a shocked breath and recoils quickly. Jehan and Cosette have since appeared, and the girl is braiding daisies into his auburn plait.
“Which of you gits invited Enjolras?”