A/N: Don't ask me why. Or how. Or anything really. All I can say, is this idea has been rattling around in my brain for a bit. And I figured, "well, why not?" It will be pretty heavy on the politicking, just to warn y'all. And Enjloras' writing may seem rather poetic. But he's a speech writer, his words are half meant to be 'performed.' I had way too much fun with this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"Why do you write like tomorrow won't arrive?
Why do you write like you need it to survive?
Why do you write every second you're alive?
Every second you're alive?"

~ Hamilton The Musical ~

In a Parisian Alley a cloaked figure can be seen handing papers to a monsieur for an undisclosed sum of money. The figure can be seen stuffing the monies into their cloak, before turning tail and sprinting out of the alley way. In the darkness nothing more can be noted but the slim and slightness of the figure.

The next day an excerpt, from a hitherto unknown paper, is included in the political section. This paper circulates throughout the day, and eventually finds its way into the hands of a student as he is making his way from class to a nearby cafe that he frequents with his friends.

The student, not one to take easy offense, turns-at once-to the political section. Eager for material with which to mock his rather impassioned friends. What he finds, instead, strikes a chord in him. As-despite his jovial nature-he was not one to suffer a sleight against those whom he'd call brother. Unless, of course, the sleight was uttered by him.

So decided he raced to the Cafe where he hoped to run into the one person who could set things right. The one person, to whom, a rebuttal would flow quite naturally. All the while, the words of the excerpt were floating around his mind.

~:~

"…You have heard it said 'liberty or death,' school boys screaming 'fort es fort una adiuvat,' as they urge you towards the barricade.
Vivre la Vie, Vivre la France, Vivre la Revolution! Sparkling words to placate the rebel in our souls. Yet, still, I urge you to caution.
Urge you to listen not with the 'beating of your heart' but, rather, with the tool that is your mind. Urge you; nay implore you, to
question with what knowledge these boys speak. They ask for revolution, what know them of such things? Of the Bastille?
Of the Guillotine? Nothing. They know of nothing sans la Trois Gloriessue is not as 'glorious' as they had hoped. They call for arms
that have only just been laid to rest. Their words may shine with the light of innocence, but dulce bellum inexpertis.
Such sweetness may be Patricia's undoing."

An Excerpt from A Plea for Sense
By: Le Defense du Sens

~:~

"Have you read this dribble?!" A voice called before that days paper was unceremoniously tossed on top of the speech Enjloras had been in the middle of writting. The speech that had yet to dry.

"Grantaire, have you no sense?!" Enjloras yelled while staring forlornly at two hours waste.

"Nay, sense I have not. For it is being held captive by her denfendre." A rude gesture, "a poor Maiden, veritable Persephone, being forced to mingle with Hades. Winter, it seems, is coming."

It was a rather calm day in La Cafe Musain, the various Parisian professeurs having banned together to assign 'enough work so as to keep you boys out of trouble.' Leaving Les Amis du l'ABC with no chance to stumble towards the Cafe. Thus, Enjloras had been using the peace to work on his latest refrain.

The key words being, had been, peace, it seems, does not remain long in the company of Monsieur Grantaire.

"What nonsense are you on about, now? Persephone? Hades? Winter? Grantaire, I was in the middle of detailing a new set of financial reforms that I wished to put to the people. We can not be expected to continue to live on only bread and cheese, while those Orleanists feast like the very King they overthrew!"

"Save some of your passion for your paper, mon amis. We shall need it, if we wish to take up this monsieur on his challenge." With his words, Grantaire managed to direct Enjolras' attention to the excerpt he himself had read not but an hour ago. An excerpt that directly targeted his Apollo's words. As it was Apollo who had asked for a call to arms, just last weak. Stating "when the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the drums. Patricia shall at last, know freedom."

"But this..." Enjloras mumbled, shocked, "this is so...uninformed. 'Le Defendre du Sens' Sense's Defender? Please, they do nothing but urge the people to inaction! Surly they must understand that La Trois Gloriessue was not as glorious as they would have us believe? We merely exchanged one shackle for another!"

At this point Enjloras rose from his chair and began pacing, as he was wont to do whenever impassioned. Continuing to rant, "And I would not have to call the people to arms, if there existed a way for this to be resolved peacefully. If there was a system in place in which the people could influence government. But there is not! Our options are only, have only ever been, inaction or conflict. Am I to be blamed for refusing to settle for inaction?"

It was at this point that Grantaire took up a quill, and some parchment. Beginning to draft a letter that would soon begin the war of the century-if only on paper-as well as seal the fates of two very impassioned individuals.

"What's more, were does he got off calling us inexperienced? I note that he used an alias, for this 'paper' no long list of accomplishments to back his name. A name he does not even have the courage to share with the public! And-Grantaire, what is it you are doing?"

"Drafting a letter."

Enjloras sighed at his friends cheek, "yes, I can see that, but to whom are you drafting a letter. And, pray tell, for what purpose?"

"Well, Apollo, it seems someone has challenged you, does it not?" Here Grantaire's eyes sparkled, as they tended to whenever he could sense entertainment was on the horizon, "so it only seems fair the you respond in kind."

"Respond? But I know not who this monsieur is, and you know I have no interest in dueling. It is a barbaric, and outdated practice that has stolen the lives of many-

"-stolen the lives of many civil servants, before their time, I know. But you misunderstand me Enjloras, I am suggesting a duel of words, of ideals. I happen to know the monsieur who runs this paper. I am simply writing him to ask if he would be interested in printing your rebuttal."

"My rebuttal?"

"Yes," Grantaire chuckled while motioning to the fact that Enjloras was still standing, "the words you were so quick to throw at me, the fire that is your namesake, Apollo, simply pen them, and send them on their way. See how this monsieur responds to the flaming arrows of 'The Archer'. And-" Grantaire shot out, when Enjloras went to open his mouth. "Before you dismiss this off hand as a 'waste of [your] time' think of how many people are being led astray by this man's words. Is it not your moral duty to inform them of the truth?"

At the resigned, but annoyed, face of his friend Grantaire laughed. Handing him a new piece of parchment, and the ink pot and quill that he himself had just finished using. "Now, Apollo, pen your words. For I am off to start a war."

The next day the paper ran a special issue, 'A young man has come forth' it claimed, 'arguing against the piece we printed just yesterday. Asking for a recall. Claiming that 'La Defense du Sense' had been deliberately attacking his own political views in a demeaning and uninformed way.' The paper went on to explain, how they had granted the man permission to post his rebuttal. Going so far as to guarantee the paper be delivered to its intended, in person.

The man's written response would slowly circle amongst the Parisian upper-class and scholarly types alike. Causing them to raise an eye at his brash, and frankly insulting, manner of calling out his opponent. Bets were being placed as to how 'La Defense' would respond. And people eagerly awaited what they assumed, would eventually lead to a Dual of Honor.

Meanwhile, a young lady sat in her bed-chambers an unfolded copy of the Monsieur's article clenched in her hand. Next to a note stating 'True to your word, he has responded. We are willing to pay to required amount, provided you can have something written up in time for Next Weeks addition.'

The lady lets her eyes scan the paper, eating up its eloquence, and committing to memory every turn of phrase. An almost respectful look in her gaze. Before she too reaches for a quill...

~:~

" 'Liberty or Death' you say. I find it interesting that you can so casually quote Henry's speech, and then preach of our ignorance.
You call us inexperienced, claim our sweet words shall begin the decent of Patricia's glory, but dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
See, I too can quote Latin. Yet it is not in quoting the words of others, that I shall draw my defense. For, unlike some, I do not lack
the sense to see that words without action are lacking in meaning. You urge them to discretion I urge them into Being. Life is more
than shadows on a wall, I ask them to turn from the Cave. To either Rise or Fall, for that which continues beyond the Grave.

Freedom is not something to be forgotten, but achieved. Does that make me ignorant? To believe that we have yet to reach
perfection? That our government might still be in need of correction? And if the only way for change to occur is through pain,
then is that not further proof our system is arcane? You accuse me of gilded words of innocence. Fine. I gladly accept your slur,
If it means that I will be making a difference, then with your words I must concur."

A Rebuttal to A Plea for Sense
By: Antoine Enjloras

~:~

...and begins to write.

A/N: Such is the beginning of 'Correspondence' I warn you now that up-dates will be sporadic, and entirely at the mercy of my moods. But I do intend to finish this. At some point. Hope you all enjoyed it, if so alert/favorite/review please, and thank you!

Here is a translation for the Latin phrases mentioned.

fort es fort una adiuvat: Fortune favors the bold

dulce bellum inexpertis: War is sweet to the inexperienced

dulce et decorum est pro patria mori: It is sweet, and honorable, to die for the Fatherland.

Thanks again,

Ja Ne