DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES OR BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, OR ANY CHARACTERS FROM EITHER STORY. NOR AM I MAKING ANY MONEY OUT OF THIS.

Hi People! Obviously, I have to change a few details of both stories to make them work together. I hope that doesn't upset anyone! Please enjoy reading, and feel free to point out any mistakes I have very likely made.

Once upon a time, there was a young prince who lived in a castle and presided over a small village. The prince was a strong but merciless ruler and his heart was cold as stone. The village was going through poor economic times, but the prince did nothing - he wouldn't allow them to become dependent on his aid. As a result, the people starved and discontent spread. A small group of rebels set up in a local pub and held meetings on how best to overthrow the tyrant, planning to run the village themselves and restore it to peace and prosperity. Before they could act, however, a girl knocked on the Prince's door. Her skin was withered as an old woman's, her hair was raggedly shorn and some of her teeth were missing.

"What do you want?" the Prince grumbled impatiently. He was busy planning the arrest of the rebels from the village. They were becoming far too vocal for his liking…

"Please, sir, my name is Fantine." murmured the girl weakly, drawing a thread-bare shawl about her thin shoulders to keep out the chill of the night. "Do you have any money to spare? My child is dying and I cannot afford a doctor."

The Prince sighed exasperatedly. "I have heard such stories as yours every day for 20 years. If I give you money it will doubtless be spent on alcohol and other trivial indulgences you people squander livings on. Leave me alone."

He turned to shut the door on her, but there was a flash of light and suddenly the woman was clean and healthy, with long flowing hair and a pure white gown. She seemed enveloped in a kind of glow. "You know no mercy, sir. Your heart is stone. I curse you to never feel joy again and to lose all you hold dear until you let it be of flesh." With those words, she disappeared.

Dense, monstrous thorns broke up out of the earth and swallowed up the village. The inhabitants fled. The sky darkened and the castle lost all cheerful aspect and became bleak and imposing. The Prince felt a terrible coldness come over him and he retreated inside, full of misery and rage, remaining isolated in that now desolated terrible place for the next ten years.

Far away from that castle was another small rural village, the inhabitants of whom were peaceful, dull, and simple folk. Amongst them was Jean Valjean - a humble young tree pruner. He lived in a tiny vicarage with a Bishop called Myriel, who had adopted Valjean at a young age. Valjean loved Myriel as though he was his father because he was good and very kind. Together they would distribute alms (though they had little themselves) to the poorest of the villagers, who were always immensely grateful.

Valjean was not content however. As he was strolling down the path to the centre of the village he said aloud "why am I not happy here? Is it not everything anyone could desire?" He looked about him at the fresh greenery, clean blue sky, and pure white chickens happily pecking at seeds in the nearby yard. He smelt the scent of baking bread and listened to the birdsong all about him. But Valjean felt a yearned for adventure. Something new. A place he had never seen before that made his heart race with excitement. Living in perfect serenity for too long leads to lassitude.

"Oh well…" sighed Valjean and smiled. "It will not do to be discontented on a day such as this." Enjoying the warmth on his skin he picked up his pace and was soon at the fountain in the town square. He bought a book from the impoverished bookstore owner, not only to be kind but because he also loved to read. He then completed the weekly grocery shop and was turning up the path to return home when he heard a voice calling his name.

Valjean recognised it. "Hello Enjolras." He sighed warily, turning to face the handsome and charismatic young man behind him.

"Why haven't you been attending the meetings, Valjean?" demanded Enjolras, staring intently at him through large sapphire eyes.

"Um…" said Valjean. He considered Enjolras a bit of a fanatic. He was always hosting meetings in the tavern to discuss and promote various methods of republicanism. Valjean sympathised with his aims but his heart wasn't really in politics. Neither did it hold with him to plot against the king, though that view may be considered old fashioned. Valjean wasn't really a man for physical action. He preferred peaceful negotiation. Of course, he didn't dare tell Enjolras that, fearing a fiery impassioned lecture from the Apollo-like young man. "I've been busy with the vegetable garden…" he tried hesitantly.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Gardening?" he repeated disbelievingly. He ran a hand through his golden curls. Always a bad sign. "You do realise, Valjean, that while you've been watering your runner beans there are people out there starving and repressed, forced into the worst paid jobs due to the stranglehold of bourgeoisie society over the common proletariat? Uneducated, because the rich upper classes fear this will give them ideas above their station? That station essentially being slaves to the capitalist system. Diseased, because the rich refuse to use the money they reserve for dinner parties, balls and fancy clothing to help the men, women and children they rely on as industrial workers to have a better healthcare service. I hope you are aware…" and so on.

"-I do give to charity, Enj." Valjean managed to squeeze in a little defensively.

"Charity!" scoffed Enjolras. "Charity might be beneficial, but long term? Do you ever think about long term? What we need to do is protest for better quality of life for the working class. I know a great many who are willing to lay down their lives to…" At this stage, Valjean stopped paying attention. As stated before, he did not like violence, believing it to make any situation worse.

"Now I used to live in a village, far away, that was ruled by a cruel and heartless man who paid no attention to the sufferings of other," Enjolras continued (Valjean's ears pricked up a little. He loved stories from the outside world - any other place than the simple, boring village he lived in) "But now he's paying for it. One day, a terrible storm came over the village and brambles rose out of the ground and wrapped around the buildings. Totally inhabitable. Those who lived there fled, though I've no idea what became of my friend Grantaire who worked as a servant in the castle. It seems to be utterly deserted, so bleak and cold and impenetrable. The Prince lost everything for his behaviour and so did we. Now, here's a leaflet for the meeting next week."

He shoved it into Valjean's hand before striding off to find another victim to bully into socialism. Valjean had been interested by Enjolras's story, but the main thing that caught his attention was mention of Enjolras' friend Grantaire. Valjean never considered Enjolras to have friends, not because he was a bad person, but because he devoted his whole life to the cause and seemed to be made of cold, emotionless marble when it came to actual real-life people.

Valjean merely gave a shrug, however, and returned to the vicarage. He found Myriel in the kitchen. He was packing his saddle bags with bread, cheese and apples.

"Are you going somewhere, Father?" asked Valjean.

"Yes, Valjean. I am going on a pilgrimage far from here to the holy land. You'll keep up our good work while I'm gone, won't you my boy?"

Valjean's eyes had widen at the thought of travel. "Oh father, please take me with you!"

Myriel smiled kindly. "I know you long to stretch your wings, Valjean. But your time is not here yet. You do not feel the call of the sacred journey - you feel the call of adventure. You will find it all in good time son. Now I really must be gone."

Valjean sighed. He went to fetch his adopted father's soft woollen cloak. "Alright father. Don't forget to send word from time to time so I know your safe." He saddled Victor, their elderly good-natured pony, and watched as his father rode toward the forest and disappeared amongst the trees.

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