This is written by E, I hope you enjoy ;)

Chapter One: A Blue Rose

It was raining, as is usual in Paris during autumn. Grantaire found himself in the middle of a downpour on a crowded street. It was wide and straight, with nowhere to go for shelter. Multiple figures scurried past him, and he tried to duck under their umbrellas. This was mostly unsuccessful, as all he obtained were suspicious glances and occasional shoves.

Then, a small, elderly lady with a blue umbrella seemed to sift through the crowd and stopped in front of Grantaire. She motioned for him to carry the umbrella and, taking hold of his arm, led him to a narrow side street. He noticed that in her other hand she held a blue rose.

The passage ended suddenly in an open space that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Then he saw the tall wall and massive doorway and recognised where they were straight away. Père Lachaise Cemetery. He had been there many times, paying his respects to his heroes and trying to uncover secrets about the past. He was always on his own because he knew his friends would find his innocent interest creepy.

But now, he was with this stranger, who had not yet let go of his arm. In fact, she had tightened her grip and was firmly heaving him along in a specific direction. Like Grantaire, she did not use a map, but unlike him, she knew where she was going instead of enjoying getting lost.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

'To the grave.' This answer, however ominous it sounded, was somewhat vague considering they were in a graveyard. Yet, they soon slowed down and he saw they were in front of Chopin's grave. He knew it from photos but had never seen it in person. It looked similar, with its abundance of flowers, lanterns and Polish flags.

'Why did we come here?' he asked.

'I come here every day,' she answered with a melancholy smile. 'Frédéric Chopin was a great man, composer and patriot. His mother was Polish and his father was French. He was forced to flee the country when he refused to play before the Russian governor-general. When he died, he even requested for his heart to be buried in Poland.'

Grantaire had not known that detail before and could not think of anyone else who was that dedicated to their motherland.

'Is the rose for him?' he asked.

'Yes,' she answered, and moved apart two flowerpots where another blue rose was lying. She replaced it with the newer one and concealed it between the flowerpots again. She then handed the old rose to Grantaire, even though it still looked new.

'Why did you just do that?'

'Do what?'

'Hide the rose. There are plenty of places here where it would be visible. If you go to this much of an effort every single day, you should at least have it recognised.' He moved to push the flowerpots apart, but she stopped him.

'I know it is there. That is enough.'

He couldn't fault her way of thinking so he remained silent while she knelt down in prayer.

'Are we done?' he asked when she rose up again.

'Almost.' She then got out a small broom and started to sweep the golden autumn leaves off of the grave.

'Let me help you,' Grantaire volunteered when she was struggling to reach a higher area. It was painstaking work, especially when the wind kept blowing new leaves onto the grave, but by the time they were done, he felt more accomplished than he had for a long time.

'We can go back now,' she declared. 'Do you want me to show you the way back?'

'No, thank you. I haven't been to this area before. I think I'll wander around a bit longer.'

He decided that a small path leading uphill looked most interesting, so he followed it. When he got to the top, the path seemed to branch off into several smaller ones, each leading in between some trees.

He picked one at random and managed to follow it until he found himself squeezing through trees. He closed his eyes while his face was being scratched by the needles and suddenly felt fresh air. He was in a miniature clearing with an impressive grave in front of him.

It was made of marble, and looked to be in good shape, even though it was dated the 6th of June 1832. On the other hand, there was not a single flower on it. It must have been overlooked entirely. There was only a second name – or only a first name perhaps. It was unusual, unlike any he had heard before. Enjolras.

Still, he felt bad for the poor human resting there, so he laid his rose there. Then, he found something he didn't expect: there was another tombstone just to the side of it. In truth, it was not a tombstone, only a fist-sized rock. It seemed as if it was connected to the main grave, but added as an afterthought. It had no name on it, but there was some writing. It was not engraved professionally, and it was hard to read.

"He sleeps. Although his fate was very strange, he lived. He died when he no longer had his angel. The thing came to pass simply, of itself, as the night comes when the day is gone."

This intrigued Grantaire as to who these two people were. They could not be related or their names would both be engraved on the same tombstone.

He turned the rock around and saw that it also had a date. He was not absolutely certain, but the writing he could make out and logic suggested it was the same day. The 6th of June 1832. The date rang a bell but he could not for the life of him remember what it was.

'They must have died together.' Grantaire decided he could speak to himself without the possibility of being overheard.

'Was it an accident? Maybe they were soldiers. That would explain why they were not buried together. Maybe one was from a wealthy family and one was poor? That's definitely romantic. And a cliché.' He had made up stories for unknown names on graves before, but never had he been so drawn in and convinced by his story.

He checked the time and realised he had been lost in thought for twenty minutes. He knew he should head back, but he was also certain he would not find the way there again.

'Maybe I could make a map? No, there isn't a proper path so I'd be at a loss even if I managed to get to this area again. Or… I could just mark my location on my phone. Technology.'

He headed back, but even though he found Chopin's grave again he spent half an hour getting back to the entrance.

That evening, he decided to look up the date on the gravestones. He turned his laptop on, but his internet was painfully slow. Renting accommodation in Paris was expensive enough without having high expectations as to internet connection.

He left a few websites to load and went off to do some reading on Chopin. Most of the books he owned were music orientated so they didn't have many details about his personal life.

Eventually, he found a biography and started to read it. It drew him in, and he forgot about his other research until he heard his laptop ping because of low battery.

He only had enough time to look at the first page, but that was enough to jog his memory. The June Rebellion. He knew he recognised it from somewhere; at school he had chosen it for a research project because there was not much information to do with it, so he could know everything about it.

He was tired so he went to bed, but he couldn't fall asleep for a long time. He was thinking too much: about the graves, the June Rebellion, the mysterious old lady, and Chopin. That resulted in staying up way too late reading the biography until he fell asleep.

That's all for this chapter! I guess you'll have to wait until next week to see where time travel comes in...