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Under the Hood

The long, dark, forest road was rife with rumours of two hooded heroes. One who wore red, and the other in black; they stole from the rich to save the poor of their town from starvation and debt. Under their hoods and behind their masks were secrets that they didn't even trust with each other. He was a sheltered prince, striving to right his Father's wrongs whilst maintaining the image of a perfect son. She was a baker's daughter, putting her life on the line day in and day out to save her family from being cast onto the streets. They couldn't have led more different lives, but they needed each other – no matter what name they lived by.

Prologue

A long, long time ago, or so the stories say, there was a great and beautiful land named Eurasia. It came to be split into thirteen kingdoms, ranging from the western isle of Bretagna to Cina in the far east, and, as the history of any nation would tell you, it was defined by war.

After centuries of near endless conflict, when the idea of peace between the kingdoms was little more than a dream in the hearts of the young, King Adrien I of Francia decided he was tired of sending good men to their deaths on the battlefield. As a grand, but risky, gesture, he extended an invitation to his enemies and allies from all the Eurasian kingdoms; urging them to bring their finest knights and warriors to partake in a tournament that would test their speed, skill and strength.

Although this tournament would not resolve the hostilities between the kingdoms overnight, it did mark the beginning of a proud and celebrated tradition in Francia and the start of a new diplomatic era for the whole of Eurasia.

Years passed, and the realms flourished. Francia became known for its acres of lush countryside and the stunning architecture of the capital, Parigi. Artists from all over the land would visit for even the smallest chance of painting the views of the Francian Grand Palace, which stood proudly atop the western cliffs. The tournaments hosted there were renown across the continent for knights and peasants alike to prove their worth.

King Gabriel VII, a direct descendant of Adrien I, ascended to the Francian throne far earlier than expected. As a result, he learnt how to put on a cold and harsh exterior to keep the lords and ladies of his court in line. The woman he took as his Queen, Princess Emilie of Bretagna, was almost his exact opposite. She was warm, kind and generous, directly balancing Gabriel's nature and oh, how he loved her for it. They were each other's world and ruled over Francia with all the wisdom and joy that the country needed.

It was not long before they were blessed with a beautiful baby boy, with his mother's bright green eyes and his father's defined features. They named him Adrien, after the Great King, and his name day was declared a national holiday throughout the land. Everything was peaceful and good.

But of course, like all good things, one day it had to come to an end, and everything changed the day Emilie took ill.

The Southern Kingdom of Intia, jealous of Francia's resources and wanting to extend their territory, invaded and began to pillage and destroy the villages closest to the border. Not that that mattered to the King, who remained at his Queen's side and left the people to fend for themselves. His subjects began to lose faith, along with all their possessions.

Emilie died just before Prince Adrien's first birthday. Her death broke something inside Gabriel, who led his troops into one of the bloodiest battles Francia had experienced since the days of Adrien I. Intia was beaten out of the country, their armies destroyed, as Gabriel lashed out with all the pain and grief that had accompanied his loss.

When the war was over, Gabriel became obsessed with making the country that Emilie had loved so much stable and secure. Every political move was calculated meticulously, and the Francian Army was drilled with the utmost precision. He collected and hoarded all the money he could scrape together so if the time came and they would have to return to the fighting, they would be ready.

As for his son, the young prince grew up in a cold world where he was just a pawn in his father's games. He never knew the joy and warmth that used to inhabit the castle and the rest of the land. Time went on, and Gabriel grew more and more fixated on his ever-changing goals for Francia. The poor were starving, begging and stealing just to stay alive as the king taxed them into poverty. There was no hope for the people anymore.

That was until two hooded figures started appearing in the shadows of the trees.

Chapter One: Masked

In which all good fairy tales begin with a robbery and hidden identities.

It was a late, lazy afternoon towards the end of spring. The sun had just begun to set in the sky over the horizon, and the townsfolk in Parigi were closing their shops and heading home for the night. Children were playing in the green meadows just outside the town's gate, and the birds flitted among the trees, singing and squawking at each other.

A soft breeze hung in the air and tickled the rosy cheeks of a man who was sat on a brilliant ornate carriage. He was short and stout enough that the buttons on his jacket looked as if they were ready to pop at any moment. He had a roundish face, with small, sunken eyes that revealed the years of stress and exhaustion he carried on his shoulders and, although it was currently covered nicely with a hat, his hairline was receding, and he was starting to find a few more grey hairs than he desired.

But, as this man drove the carriage nervously along the road, he cursed himself because he knew that at that moment, he was a complete and utter idiot.

He had heard the stories and heeded the warnings, but still decided to take the Kwami Pass back to the castle instead of the longer coastal road with the smooth track and pleasant sunset views. The man shifted on his cushion, clutching tightly to the reins of two beautiful white horses and, with a quick glance back towards the carriage door, he urged them to go faster. The trees started to thicken overhead, and the branches crept lower, threatening to clutch at his clothes and scratch at his face. He paled, shaking and sweating nervously, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was afraid of.

Until he felt it.

A slight dip in the road, barely noticeable but it did cause the carriage to jolt. The man bounced in his seat with a thud and tensed. He had been in this role for a long time and as if by clockwork, a screech erupted from the inside of the carriage, sending familiar shivers down his spine.

"MY HAIR!"

There were a few muffled words in the carriage, followed by three thumps on the side. The man dejectedly pulled the horses to a stop and sighed as he watched them paw the ground, frustratingly waiting for their next instruction. Following the usual routine, he looped his reins around the post by his seat and slid ungracefully down to the ground. He walked reluctantly around to the carriage door and opened it, standing to attention as he did so.

The first woman to step out was his mistress' handmaiden. A woman by the name of Sabrina, who had bright orange hair that she tired back neatly with a white ribbon, and a dark green gown with a criss-cross purple tie around her waist. She didn't look at the man who had been driving the carriage, standing with her nose in the air and her hand held out instead.

A second hand slipped out and took hold of Sabrina's tightly as his mistress took the two steps out of the carriage. Her dress was made of the finest gold thread and the best yellow fabric that money could buy. It was so wide that she was almost stuck in the door frame. She was known as the Lady Chloé Bourgeois, daughter of Duke Andre Bourgeois, the second most powerful man in Francia, and current guest of the King. However, judging by the way she was moving her entourage into the Palace, it was evident she was expecting her 'guest' status to become a little more permanent.

Chloé looked at her driver and began to rant loudly about the man's incompetence. It was something that he had heard multiple times in the past and expected to listen to it on many future occasions as well. However, it had been a long day carting Chloé and Sabrina to the dressmakers and other upmarket places in Parigi, and he had no desire to listen to her go on about the importance of her hair and what the bumps in the road did to it for the umpteenth time. So, he let his mind wander, looking past her into the trees and being distracted by the rustling as the wind passed through them.

Or what he assumed to be the wind, anyway. If the driver had looked a little closer, he might have been lucky enough to see a slither of movement as a young man, around the same age as Chloé, quickly climbed into the branches of the trees and watched the conversation with keen green eyes. He was known only as Chat Noir, top and tailed in a black tunic and boots. He also wore a black hood that hid his golden hair, and a black mask across his eyes. A wooden staff was his usual weapon of choice, but he would brag about his swordsmanship often as well.

He had been following them for a while, dodging through the trees to try and keep up and now he lay on his stomach on an overhanging tree branch, scratching behind his ear and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Chloé's reaction to a small hole in the road. Looking across at the other side of the path to where his partner was standing, he met her eyes and grinned. She cocked her head questioningly and pointed towards the carriage.

She was wearing a similar outfit to him: a dark red mask and a red hood to conceal her identity and a matching tunic that fell halfway down her thighs. She had her longbow and quiver strapped to her back, a dagger holstered at her hip and a thin grappling hook looped precariously around her waist as a belt. The people called her Ladybug, due to a spattering of black smudges along the hem of her tunic. This, she had once confessed to Chat Noir, was due to an ink spillage whilst she was making the outfit. She couldn't wash it out, nor did she have the time or money to start over, so she had left it. Eventually, it had become somewhat of an iconic fashion statement – one that many high-end Parigian's had been copying onto their own clothes.

Chat Noir nodded to her. They had been partners for almost a year now, and they would meet up daily, and as a result, he felt as if he could tell exactly what she was thinking. The two of them never needed to talk to coordinate their plans.

Slowly but surely, he twisted so he was hanging from the branch and landed with catlike grace on top of the carriage. He then turned to hold out his hand to Ladybug, who slipped seamlessly from the trees and allowed him to pull her up into his arms. With another quick look at where Chloé still happened to be ranting (she had moved on to a lecture about how it was essential to look your best at all times), Chat Noir helped Ladybug down through the open door of the carriage. Quickly and quietly, she raided it for any spare coins she could find, passing them back up to him unbeknownst to the three occupants.

Once Ladybug had finished, Chat Noir slid off the roof of the carriage and coughed to attract their attention.

"So sorry to interrupt," he called, grinning widely once Chloé, Sabrina and their driver turned to stare at him. The blood drained from the driver's face, and Sabrina looked as if she was going to be sick. "Try not to worry too much, and this will all go purr-fectly." He didn't need to see Ladybug's face to know that she had just rolled her eyes as she jumped out of the carriage and walked to stand next to him.

"You will have to excuse my companion," she said, "he believes he is hilarious. Ignore him and let's get on with business." She held her hand out, looking Chloé directly in the eye. "I want your coin purse."

Chloé sputtered and shook her head.

"I cannot believe you think it's alright to come and attack my carriage like this! Do you not know who I am?"

"Lady Chloé Bourgeois," Chat Noir interrupted. He knew her without this mask on, back in his everyday life. She was a bratty girl, who might have been beautiful if not for the look of complete and utter disgust he saw on her face. "Don't think of it as an attack, think of it more as making a forced donation to the poor!"

Chloé huffed and opened her mouth to say something else, but Ladybug held up a gloved finger and shushed her.

"Coin purse please," she said expectedly, holding out her other hand and beckoning with a finger. Sabrina took a step forward and timidly untied the purse from around her own waist.

"I… I carry this for Lady Chloé," she murmured and quickly deposited the purse into Ladybug's waiting hand. She then took a step back and ducked behind her mistress' skirts. Chloé looked ready to burst, and her cheeks turned to scarlet.

"Sabrina!" she yelled, "That. Purse. Is. Expensive! You cannot just hand it over to these heathens. Especially not people who are making me late for my dinner with Prince Adrien tonight." She stamped her foot on the ground with a resounding thud as she yelled. "I demand you return my purse at once!"

Everyone ignored her.

"Is that a wrap then, m'lady?" Chat Noir said, hoisting the sack with the money over his shoulder. Ladybug nodded, but then appeared to change her mind as she glanced over at Chloé one more time. She smiled somewhat spitefully as she looked the girl over.

"I want your dress, the one you are wearing right now," she said plainly.

"What?" Chat Noir looked at Ladybug in surprise. They usually just stole the money and other expensive trinkets before disappearing. What would she even need with such a hideous yellow fabric?

"What?!" Chloé's face twisted and turned to thunder. She took a step towards Ladybug, whose hand strayed dangerously close to her dagger as a warning to the girl. Chat Noir caught his partner's eye, and she gave him a wink.

"I am happy to undress you myself," Ladybug continued, "You don't deserve something so finely made if you are going to be rude to those who made it. Besides, spare cloth is always useful, and you are wearing enough layers to clothe half the palace."

Chloé gulped as Ladybug tapped the hilt of her dagger, waiting impatiently. She clicked her fingers at Sabrina who moved behind and started undoing the ties to the dress with shaking hands. The ghastly fabric soon fell to the ground, and Chloé stepped out of it, turning her back on Ladybug and sticking her nose in the air. Ladybug scooped up the fabric with a grin and a small bow.

"Thank you so very much for your time," she said, "your contribution to the effort is much appreciated." She nodded to the driver and Sabrina in turn and then bowed to Chloé once again before turning on her heels and sauntering into the trees.

Chat Noir loitered around the carriage for a few more moments, helping both Sabrina and Chloé up the steps before making sure the driver was able to steer them back to the palace without fainting himself and then followed Ladybug's path through the overgrowth.

Even though there was no sign of his red-hooded partner, Chat Noir knew where she had been headed, and it was easy for him to pick up on her trail. He liked to pretend that this was because they were soulmates and he instinctively knew where she was at all times. But that was childish fantasy, for, in reality, she was following the same route they always took.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had unofficially claimed an abandoned cellar for their own, the only remains of what they assumed had been some sort of house once upon a time. It was only a stone's throw from the Kwami Pass but hidden by the thick trees of the forest to most passers-by. Small slithers of sunlight crept through the gaps in the leaves, bathing the whole place in an eerie green glow. The entrance to the cellar was hidden by a moss-covered trapdoor, and he followed as Ladybug jumped down into the dark.

The cellar had become their hideaway and storeroom, the place where they stored all the money they stole from the wealthy aristocrats that journeyed back and forth from the palace. Then, once a week, they combed through and counted everything before delivering it to the most deprived areas of Parigi ready for taxes in the morning.

That night was always Chat's favourite. Where he and Ladybug would just talk about anything and everything, or walk in comfortable silence around the town in the dark. It was as easy to be around her as it was to breathe.

There was just one problem.

He had absolutely no idea who she was under that hood.

It had been one of the conditions that he had set out when they first met way back when the only things they had worn to conceal their identity from each other had been a cloak and scarf. They had bumped into each other on the Kwami Pass and Ladybug had distracted a driver while he had stolen some trinkets from the trunk at the back. She had then confronted him, making sure that he was not stealing for selfish reasons. He could still remember how she had stormed over and kicked him hard in the shin when he wasn't able to provide an answer she approved of. The bruise had been there a week. She had pulled out the coin purse that she swiped from the driver, explaining that her family was in debt and needed everything that she could manage to get. She didn't appreciate someone taking her spoils for fun.

Afterwards, Ladybug had taken him to Parigi, and they had walked for hours through the streets. He had watched as she gave the coins she had stolen to the beggars and children who were wearing little more than sacks. By the time they returned to the forest, she only had a few coppers left but told him how the gratitude on the people's faces made everything worth it – even if she had to go without this time. She knew she had it better than many others. She was lucky. He had never experienced anything like that day before, and it touched him.

At that moment, on the Kwami Pass under the low hanging trees, the boy who would one day become Chat Noir had looked at the girl destined to become Ladybug and made a promise to her, himself and all the people that lived in suffering in the town. He would help, and if this was the only way either of them could for the time being, then that is what he would do. She agreed, making the difficult decision to trust a stranger.

The two of them were near unstoppable from that day forward. Combining their skills in archery, combat and charisma, they stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They became heroes to the people of Parigi and stories of their heists spread across all Francia. The people once again had hope and could look forward to happier lives, free from scrambling in the dirt for the spare change needed to pay their taxes.

But they knew that no one must know their real identities. Ladybug and Chat Noir were vigilantes, existing on the wrong side of the law. The guards would go after them and their families if they found out, and then what would they do? Of course, he had another reason that he kept close to his heart, knowing that everything would change the second Ladybug found out who he really was. He never wanted to see that look in her eyes.

Chat Noir smiled as he watched Ladybug dump Chloé's dress on the small table rather unceremoniously and lent across to light the single oil lamp in the centre. It flooded the small room with a dull orange glow, causing the coin pile in the corner to glint softly.

"Another purr-fect heist completed," he drawled, smirking at her proudly as he dumped the sack containing the days loot onto the floor. Ladybug rolled her eyes once again, her usual reaction to any of his puns which was soon followed by a small delighted laugh.

"They are practically giving their money away," she said, "it's almost too easy, we have not even had a proper fight in weeks now."

"I think it is our formidable reputation," Chat Noir said, reaching into the sack and pulling out one of the coins. He flipped it into the air, just missing it as it came down and clattered onto the floor. Ladybug laughed again.

"You and I are just that good," she said

"That we are." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently as they both grinned at each other, hearts beating fast and just enjoying the adrenaline rush following a job well done.

"Though, we could have been done a lot earlier than this if someone hadn't been so late this evening!" Ladybug said after a moment, her tone playful.

"My utmost apologies m'lady," he said, scratching the back of his head with his free hand, "there was quite the cat-astrophe back home, and it was rather unavoidable."

"Sounds positively paw-ful," Ladybug ventured, eyes lighting up as she attempted the pun and looked to him for confirmation that he had understood it. Chat Noir gave her a firm nod of approval.

"Very good. Though I feel that we could do with a little more practice, don't you?" he asked, "Maybe this time tomorrow?"

"I'll be here," Ladybug said, nodding, "Just as I always am, but tonight I have to run. My parents are going to be wondering where I am if I do not return soon." She flashed him another smile, squeezing the hand she was still holding once more. Chat smiled back, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the back gently. "I wish I could stay longer, we can count up the money tomorrow?"

"I have some time before I will be missed," he replied, "I'll get it all done now before I go."

"That is so lovely of you." She dropped his hand and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a brief hug. He squeezed her waist tightly, then reluctantly let her go.

"Don't forget to take the dress with you," Chat Noir said. Ladybug's face twisted into a grimace as she reached for the bundle of fabric. "Would love to see you in it one day."

"I think red is more my colour, don't you?" Ladybug replied, winking at him. "I'll see you tomorrow Chat,"

With that, she climbed up the rungs of the ladder, out of the cellar and disappeared out of view with a wave. Chat Noir was left to count the money alone, with a happy, satisfied, smile on his face.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated, as are follows and favourites!

Find me on TUMBLR at Miiiraculous

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