May I set the stage?
We take the reader to the great city of Paris, a year somewhere in the early 1830's. A charming young man called Pierre Enjolras studied law and the general wretchedness of humanity until he knew he must do something about it. He briefly considered overthrowing the government, but decided that that would result in too much bloodshed.
A plan finally formed in our Enjolras's mind. How could he help himself get over the state of society? Why, to fix it!
He took leave of his sanity.
Enjolras became a knight-errant, galloping through the streets of Paris on his nonexistent steed with his trusty squire Grantaire at his side. People looked at him oddly, but he interpreted this as awe.
After all, he was a knight.
"Come along, trusty squire!" Enjolras called over his shoulder.
Grantaire galloped after him, panting. "I'm trying, your gr-" the poor sop tripped over a pebble and went sprawling across the rue.
"What ho? A foe!" Enjolras cried, waving his glinting sword at this agent of the king.
The pebble did nothing in the face of the deadly threat.
"Ah! You show no fear!" he shouted, slicing the enemy into a thousand pieces.
Grantaire pulled himself to his feet, watching his master smack the street with a fire poker. "Your grace," he slurred, "careful you don't put somebody's eye out."
The brave knight laughed. "Don't worry, my Grantaire! You shall not have died in vain!"
"Actually... I'm not quite dead."
Enjolras paused. "Ah," he said at length, "then you shan't have been mortally wounded in vain!"
"I... I think I'm quite all right."
"So brave," Enjolras said, wiping away a tear. "I am not worthy of such a squire."
"Um, your grace? I think that the pebble – that is, the agent of the king – has been sufficiently destroyed. May we continue?" Grantaire asked.
"Oh, of course!"
They took off at a gallop again. Grantaire carefully watched his feet, making sure that he would not trip and inspire another outburst from his master. With his eyes on the ground he did not see Enjolras come to a sudden stop and ran full into him.
"What is it, my lord?" he gasped, picking himself up from the ground.
Enjolras pointed at a lopsided and hideous tenement. "A castle!"
"Um... I see a house."
"You are not looking, my Grantaire. Come, let's have a word with he who is lord of this splendid palace!"
Grantaire sighed, shrugged, and followed him into the building.
A/N- So... how's it looking? I know that was a sickeningly short chapter, but... I felt like stopping. Don't worry, I won't abandon The New Production or In Your Embrace at Last.