A.N. This work has been an immense labour of love, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

While this fic does reference some historical stuff like the Day of the Tiles at the beginning here, it's not really the main focus of the story hence why I chose 1788 as it's the year before the revolution rather than the year everything kicked off at once. Mostly the historical stuff is in here because I spent so long researching and trying to figure out if it made sense that I refused to cut it out. Oh well.

Updates will be every Friday

Prologue

Grenoble, 7th June 1788

Under any other circumstances, it would have been considered a nice day.

A day for riding perhaps, or a picnic, Adrien mused, enjoying the way the early evening sun warmed his face. On any normal day he might have simply taken the time to stroll through the town and browse the shops for local wares.

Of course, on a normal day the shops would all have been open, and the streets wouldn't be littered with roof tiles—or what remained of them. Some were entirely whole, while others had shattered on impact (either with the ground or the soldiers they were being hurled at) sending clay flying out in every direction. The shards crunched beneath his horse's hooves as he made his way slowly down the street, despite his best efforts to steer Voltaire around the debris.

At least the streets were beginning to empty this far out, though he could hear the cries of "long live the Parlement!" as the mob herded the judges back towards Palais du Parlement du Dauphiné. Adrien winced. His father might have agreed with the people of Grenoble's protest, but he wouldn't quickly forget the indignity of being paraded through the town by those he deemed beneath him.

This was why Adrien was going in the opposite direction of the crowd. His father had commanded that he make his way to Paris as soon as he could to prepare the townhouse for his arrival later and the streets had only now emptied enough for him to leave without difficulty. A few soldiers still lingered in the street and they nodded at him when he passed, recognising him or—more likely—simply not deeming him a threat.

He had always had that sort of countenance.

A shadow passed overhead, making him look up. To Adrien's horror, a lone straggler stood on one of the roofs, a tile held over his head, ready to throw at a soldier beneath. Beginning to dismount, Adrien's warning died in his throat when three things happened at once.

The soldier, oblivious to oncoming danger, stepped out of range. Another man exiting the building upon which the protestor stood, involuntarily replaced the soldier as the target, and the protestor let go of the tile.

Adrien moved without thinking.

"Watch out!" Diving forward he pushed the startled man out of the way, hissing when the tile caught his temple. Landing heavily on his side, Adrien grunted.

Cracking an eye open, Adrien found the man staring wide eyed at the tile that had split in two by his head. Sitting up, he inspected himself for injuries while the man hovered anxiously over him. He'd scraped his palms when he'd fallen but the sting would fade. His head, however...

"You're bleeding!" the man exclaimed and Adrien bought a hand up to his temple, blinking in surprise when it came away wet with blood. "Come with me, son" the old man helped him up, despite his protests, ushering him into his house.

Adrien relented, allowing the man to fuss over him, cleaning his wound with a washcloth. Holding the rag to his head, he watched, bemused as the old man pottered around mixing some kind of poultice before beginning to apply it to his head. Adrien tried his hardest not to recoil at the smell, but the man noticed the disgusted curl of his lip and simply laughed.

"It may smell foul, but it will heal the wound much faster than anything else. Now don't move."

He stayed for a few hours, until the old man deemed him fit to travel again. 'We don't want you getting dizzy and falling off that horse now, do we?' Adrien had begrudgingly agreed. Now, as he stood to leave, the old man pressed a small wooden box into his palm.

"A gift," he held up a hand, silencing Adrien's protests. "I can no longer use this, but you…" he sighed. Turning the box over in his hands, Adrien examined it as the man spoke. There was an intricate design painted in red on the lid.

The old man continued "I sense a great unrest coming to this land. The people will need a figure to guide them, someone to rally behind. I am too old for that now, but you have proven yourself more than capable, young man. There is great power in this box," he warned "wield it wisely."

21st July 1788

Stéphane Archambeau leaned against the side of the carriage, eyes closed trying to ignore his daughters' voices. The assembly had been a long and tiring affair and for what? Hardly anyone seemed to agree on a single thing, rather several nobles had seemed hell bent on changing their positions, making it clear that they were only there to keep up appearances.

"-do you think that Monsieur Agreste has started looking for a bride for his son yet?"

"He's so handsome…did you see him at the assembly? I saw him leaving when our coach arrived... maybe father can send a proposal for me…"

"Not if I can get him to send one for me first—oh!" his eldest daughter shrieked and Stéphane's eyes flew open when she flew across the carriage into him.

What on earth-?

The carriage seemed to jolt as the driver urged the horses to go faster. His daughters clutched at each other, looking to him with panicked eyes and Stéphane yanked the curtain back to demand answers from the driver.

He didn't get the chance to ask his question however, because at that moment, he caught sight of the finely dressed young man drawing up alongside the carriage on a mighty stallion. As he watched in horror, the man pulled out a shiny pistol from inside his coat and pointed it at the driver. "Pull over, if you please" he said pleasantly, hardly sounding winded at all, despite how fast his horse was going to keep up with them.

Stéphane licked his lips. "D-do what he says" he called to the driver, flinching when the rogue's eyes flicked towards him. His eyes were unnatural, entirely green apart from the pupils which were slitted.

Drawing himself back into the coach, Stéphane tried to give his daughters a reassuring smile. The three of them sat, tensely waiting as they heard the man, no—those unnatural eyes flashed in his mind and he shuddered—the demon relieve their driver of any valuable possessions.

All too soon, the door to the carriage was swinging open and the man stood in the entrance. Taking in the interior, his eyes paused on Stéphane's daughters before coming to rest on him. The rogue's lips quirked upwards, smiling genially, almost as if they were old friends. "Terribly sorry for interrupting your journey Monsieur, but I must ask for you to relinquish some of your coin."

Stéphane straightened, adopting his most imperious tone and glaring at the thief. "And why should I do that?" He cursed the way his voice trembled, but the amused glint in the other man's eye sent a shiver down his spine.

"Well I suppose we could duel, but I must warn you monsieur, I am a very skilled swordsman. Can you say the same for yourself?" His polite smile turned sharp and Stéphane gulped. With shaking hands, he pulled out his coin purse and practically threw it at him.

Weighing the small pouch in his hand the thief smiled. "This will do quite nicely. Your daughters may keep their coin today." He winked at the girls, who bristled, clutching tighter to each other.

"Good day, sir!" He swung the door shut and Stéphane breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into his seat. And then the thief poked his head back in through the window, making the girls shriek again, although he didn't look at them. He only addressed Stéphane, a sheepish look on his face as he spoke. "...You'll find your driver tied up by the trees."

Stéphane watched him mount his horse again but as he turned to go, he couldn't help but ask "who are you?"

Tipping his hat, the thief grinned at him over his shoulder. "Call me Chat Noir."