Author's Note: I am back from the funeral, and everything actually went really well. I'm very grateful for all the well-wishes and the kind words. I hope that this chapter was worth the wait!

Part Seventeen: Acceptance

Grantaire knows the instant a decision is reached.

He can feel it in the threads of magic that cling to him from Enjolras. The strands suddenly burn with power, bright and blue and hungry, and he draws in a sharp breath to keep himself from whimpering.

It can't be true.

It's impossible.

But it's happening.

Unless it's a trick. Unless they've decided to kill him instead, and Enjolras is simply trying to put him at ease, to give him a moment of hope and joy before the end.

He can't believe that of Enjolras, though. He can't believe that of this pack, not and keep his sanity intact, so he shoves away the doubts, closes his eyes, and simply revels in the feeling.

Courfeyrac's hand on his shoulder causes him to open his eyes, and he blinks up at the man's dark blond curls. A fierce smile brightens Courfeyrac's face, and his hand trembles where it touches Grantaire's arm. "You can feel it, Grantaire? You know what's been decided?"

"You want me." The words are a soft whisper, and he can feel tears in his eyes. "The pack… you've decided to accept me."

"We have." Courfeyrac pulls him into a fierce embrace, Courfeyrac's hand tilting Grantaire's head down as his chin rubs against Grantaire's temple. "You're going to be ours, Grantaire, for better or worse. Are you ready for the rest of the ceremony?"

No. He'll never be ready for this to be real, but he is so desperately happy to live in this dream. His voice is a strangled whisper when he speaks. "Yes."

"Do you know what to do?" Courfeyrac holds him out at arm's length, his hazel eyes earnest, though he continues to tremble with barely-repressed energy. "Do you remember how to act?"

"I simply… let him do it, don't I?" Grantaire stares back at Courfeyrac, dismay suddenly coloring his voice. "I let him bind me to the pack, and then I go down the ranks and challenge if I think I should, which I won't, and—"

"Let him control the magic, yes." Grinning again, Courfeyrac lays his hand across Grantaire's mouth. "He'll do that well enough, just don't fight him. Approach him. Ask your question again. And when he bites you, when he draws your blood, he'll want you to draw his in return. Do it. Don't fight him on it."

Grantaire stands in stunned silence for a few seconds. His voice is a thready whisper again. "Bite… him?"

"He says it helps the magic." Courfeyrac shrugs. "I don't know, I've never taken a subordinate, but it's what he wants of us, and our pack-bonds are the strongest I've ever felt."

"Yes, but… your alpha is also the strongest alpha anyone's ever felt." Shaking his head, Grantaire backs away from Courfeyrac. "I can't bite him. I can't…"

"You can and you will." Courfeyrac's voice is stern, his expression fierce, the smile gone. "He wants you, Grantaire. The pack's accepted you. You can do this. When he bites you, bite him back. Taste his blood as he tastes yours. Or have you changed your mind? Do you want to leave? It… might not be too late to make that choice."

"No!" Shaking his head, Grantaire reaches out and clutches hard to Courfeyrac's elbow. His eyes meet Courfeyrac's, and he can hear the desperation in his own voice. "No, please. I'll do it. I'll do anything."

"Ah, Grantaire…" Courfeyrac's voice is sad as he gathers Grantaire into his arms again, once more tilting Grantaire's head down to face the floor. "Don't be so fearful. Don't be so desperate. There's no desperation here, not right now. Only joy, and the completion of something that's been several weeks in the making. Now, are you ready?"

"Yes." Grantaire forces his fingers to disentangle themselves from Courfeyrac's clothing, straightening with a deep breath. "I have to be, right?"

"If you don't want him to come charging up the stairs, yes, I'd recommend being ready." Courfeyrac's grin is back, his eyes hungry fire as he pats Grantaire's cheek. "Now come, my stray, and see how amazing a pack can be."

He follows Courfeyrac, though he's slower than the other wolf, his feet touching each step rather than bounding down them two and three at a time in a fit of manic energy. It's all right, though. He doesn't need Courfeyrac to guide him to their common room. Even if he didn't know where it was, the thrum of energy and the scent of excited wolves would tell him where to go.

He knows the others are there. He knows the rest of the pack is watching him, as well, but all he has eyes for is Enjolras.

The blond wolf stands in front of the fire. His shirt is half-open, his shoulders almost bared, though his arms are crossed in front of his chest. His blue eyes catch Grantaire as soon as he's a fur's length into the room, and Grantaire suddenly finds it hard to draw breath, impossible to move.

Enjolras' power fills the room, fire and light and Change and the promise of home, and Grantaire lowers his eyes, tilts his neck to the side, makes himself as open and vulnerable as he can.

"Grantaire." Enjolras takes a step toward him, and Grantaire finds himself glancing up to see those beautiful blue eyes focused on him. "The pack has heard your request."

"And the answer, alpha?" The words are panting but coherent, something Grantaire wasn't certain they would be.

Enjolras smiles, an expression that brightens rather than dimming the fierce light in his eyes. "The pack grants you leave to join. Do you wish to be one of us, Grantaire?"

"Yes." There's no thought needed to answer these questions. They're simple, easy enough for a stray to answer without needing to think for very good reason. Thinking is impossible when faced with an alpha like this.

Enjolras takes another step toward him. "Will you fight with us, giving your support to our causes?"

That's not the right question. Those aren't the right words, a declaration of dedication to Enjolras, but it's close enough. "Yes."

"Will you willingly tie your magic to mine, to ours, bind your soul to us, knowing what you know of us?"

Grantaire has moved forward, somehow, and if he thinks back he can vaguely recall taking a step forward with each answer. There are only two steps between them now. Taking another step forward, Grantaire lets out a shaky breath. "Yes. Without hesitation, yes."

Enjolras obliterates the space between them, standing directly in front of Grantaire. His hand under Grantaire's chin, he stares up into Grantaire's eyes. "Then I declare you a stray no more. You are ours, Grantaire, and I welcome you gladly."

Enjolras pulls him down into a tight embrace, the alpha's breath hot and fast against his neck. Enjolras' magic is hot around them, a crackle of energy in the air, and Grantaire draws in a sharp breath as Enjolras' teeth brush his neck and Enjolras' thoughts brush his mind.

Hungry.

Eager.

Excited.

So excited, so happy to have another pack member, so hungry to be let loose, and Grantaire can feel his knees weakening as he realizes exactly how much this pack wants him.

Enjolras positions Grantaire's head against Enjolras' shoulder, Grantaire's breath panting against Enjolras' clavicle. Enjolras' voice is a strangled whisper. "When I bite you, bite me. Hard. Understood?"

He's glad that Courfeyrac told him about this ahead of time. He isn't able to make any coherent sounds now, wouldn't be able to sort through the morass of right and wrong that tries to flood his mind as he considers what Enjolras' asking him to do. All he can manage is a brief, shaky nod.

Enjolras' teeth are in the scruff of his neck before he can do any more, and he forces himself to open his mouth and bite down hard on the skin that Enjolras has placed his head against.

He can taste the blood, barely, but it's drowned out in the taste of fire, electricity, light, energy. He can feel Enjolras' teeth in his neck, but it's a muted feeling, no real pain, and it quickly disappears as Enjolras' magic mingles with his.

For a few glorious, interminable moments he can see the pack as Enjolras sees them.

He can see Combeferre, steady, caring, a rock to return to, a point to regroup at, a source of knowledge and caution and acceptance.

He can see Courfeyrac, fiery love and fierce desires, a font of unending ideas, a force eager to tie the pack to others and others to the pack.

He can see Bahorel, the smiling half-breed, so good at talking with the humans, so strong, a testament to perseverance and adaptation.

He can see Monet, beautiful love, proof that their people can see beyond tradition and learn to fly even without Enjolras.

He can see Musichetta, loyalty, love, determination, another who is able to think sideways when the way forward seems impossible and thus find new trails.

He can see Bossuet, good cheer despite all that the universe can throw at him, determination undaunted by any set-back.

He can see Feuilly, absolute fierceness, stubborn survival, proof that wasn't asked for or needed that humanity is willing and able to adapt to the Pack.

He can see Joly, kindness and compassion, the healer who will fight if he needs to, the submissive who dared to approach an alpha.

He can see Jehan, sharp poet, wordsmith, lover of love, proof that submissives need to be given leave to speak, that to be submissive doesn't mean to be weak.

He sees himself.

He sees a survivor. He sees a man who has held on to compassion and kindness despite years of loneliness and loss. He sees a man who could have given up long ago and didn't. He sees potential, so much potential, and he sees absolute joy at being able to find and protect and nurture that potential.

He sees where Enjolras expects him to fit into the pack. He sees himself with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, sleeping together, drinking together, helping each other. He sees himself with Bahorel, drinking with the other male, fighting side by side. He sees himself with Feuilly, sketching, experimenting, a riot of colors and shapes that don't make any sense but which Grantaire loves anyway. He sees himself with Courfeyrac, but that quickly segues into everyone with Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac as the center of a web of connections as surely as Enjolras is.

He sees Enjolras. He sees the deep, unyielding, unapologetic love that Enjolras has for all his wolves. He sees the power that Enjolras has, the ability to change and break and rearrange everything to create a better whole. He sees the certainty, the absolute unflinching conviction that he and his people can help shape the world into a better place. He sees the hope, undaunted hope, that they will see humans and wolves coexisting in harmony, unbound, unbent, unafraid.

He sees the world as Enjolras sees it. He sees the places that the world is broken, the places that it can be fixed, where the pack can be useful. He sees the danger it will place them in, the cost that it might incur, and he sees that the gains will be worth the losses, no matter how painful and terrible.

When coherent thought returns he and Enjolras are on the ground, Enjolras sitting on top of him, the alpha's fingers buried in his hair. The wound on Enjolras' shoulder has healed to a faint scar; Grantaire has no doubt that the wound on his own neck has healed as well.

Sitting up slowly, gingerly, Grantaire draws an experimental breath. The scent of the pack-bonds is thick in the room, Enjolras' blazing power overlying all of their individual scents… and his scent is part of it.

He can sense the others, dimly, a cacophony of joy and expectation as the pack prowls around him and Enjolras, and he can't stop tears from escaping. He doesn't even try. If they saw even a fraction of what he did when Enjolras claimed him, they'll understand.

"You are mine." Enjolras' fingers slide from his hair down his cheek, wiping away the tears. "You are ours. Find your place in the pack, Grantaire."

Standing on shaky legs, Grantaire turns from where Enjolras lounges on the floor to the pack surrounding them.

He approaches Combeferre first, keeping his head down and his eyes turned away. Swallowing, wiping the remaining tears from his face, he forces his voice to work again. "Beta. I submit to you."

Combeferre reaches out to him, pulls him in close and bites down hard on his neck. Grantaire doesn't resist, keeping his head tilted to the side.

Holding him out at arm's length, Combeferre licks his lips and releases a slow breath. "I accept your submission. I accept you as pack, Grantaire."

He's not certain about it. Combeferre's doubts are clear through the pack-bond, flowing through the links that are blazing brighter than any sun. He will accept Grantaire, though, give him the benefit of the doubt, and as long as Grantaire doesn't disappoint Enjolras too badly everything will be fine between them.

"My turn." Courfeyrac pulls Grantaire away from Combeferre's grasp.

"Gamma." Grantaire smiles. He can't help it. Courfeyrac's good cheer, sheer ecstasy, floods his mind as Courfeyrac touches his arm, and to do anything but smile would be impossible. "I love you, gamma, and I submit to you."

"I love you too, Grantaire!" Courfeyrac laughs, a pleased, eager sound, and wraps his arms around Grantaire. His teeth are gentle as they nuzzle against Grantaire's neck. "Welcome to the pack, old man."

Without another word, Courfeyrac turns him and sends him stumbling toward Bahorel.

Bahorel claps him on the shoulder, green eyes dancing as he looks up at Grantaire, clearly waiting.

"Delta." Grantaire grins back at Bahorel. "I prefer all my limbs intact. I submit."

"Ah, no sense of adventure." Pulling him forward roughly, Bahorel nips with surprising gentleness at his neck. "I'm glad to have you, Grantaire. We're going to have fun together."

Monet takes him by the arm before he can respond, eager, excited.

"Epsilon." Turning his head once more, Grantaire keeps his eyes down, not wanting to insult Feuilly's mate. "I submit."

"I accept." Monet's teeth sink into his skin fiercely enough to leave bruises, the type of bite that tradition calls for.

The eagerness from the pack is palpable through the pack-bonds, a desire for this to be done, for them to be free of all tradition.

Turning to Musichetta, Grantaire submits once more. "I submit, zeta."

Musichetta kisses the side of his neck, a gentle caress of his lips. "I gladly accept."

Bossuet's arms wrap around him from behind, Bossuet's lips touching the other side of his neck. "I also accept. Unless you wish to challenge me?"

"No, eta." Grantaire can feel the giddy energy of the pack rushing into him, a smile on his face. "No challenge from me."

Bossuet and Muschichetta pull away, leaving him facing Feuilly. Crossing his arms over his chest, Feuilly frowns at Grantaire.

"I submit, iota." Grantaire reaches out to touch Feuilly's arm, gently, wondering at the conflict he can feel in Feuilly's emotions.

Finally, with a low, frustrated growl, Feuilly darts forward and bites hard at Grantaire's shoulder. His body relaxes as he does, though he makes a displeased face. "Accepted."

Tilting his head, Grantaire stares questioningly at Feuilly. "Are you… unhappy with me as a pack member?"

"No." Joly answers, turning Grantaire toward him as he does. "He doesn't like biting us. It's one of the few human quirks he's kept, but it's not possible for him to resist his wolf when it's something like this."

"Ah… I'm sorry, Feuilly."

"It's not your fault." Feuilly looks away, his shoulders hunching, and some of the edge of expectant ecstasy fades from the pack-bonds. Scowling, Feuilly glares around at the other wolves. "And if the rest of you let this bother you, I'm going to be even more annoyed. Let's finish this and enjoy ourselves."

"Right." Turning to Joly again, Grantaire smiles. "Theta, I submit."

Joly's hand pats his cheek, gentle, and Grantaire can feel the joy in Joly's mind. Biting at Grantaire's neck, Joly grins widely. "I accept. Gladly. I look forward to talking with you more."

That leaves only Jehan, and Grantaire turns to the poet.

Jehan stares up at him, the smaller male's brown eyes slitted. "And me, Grantaire?"

If there was any wolf that he could possibly challenge, it would be Jehan. It would be foolish, because Jehan still has more magic than him, but with how much physically larger he is than the poet there's a chance that he could win.

Except he told Jehan that he wouldn't.

And Jehan has been nothing but kind to him.

And Bahorel would probably hurt him, badly, if he were to challenge the male's mate when their scents make it clear who should be dominant.

"Kappa." Grantaire bows his head, hunches down, exposing his neck. "I submit."

Jehan's arms wrap around him, pull him down even further until he's on Jehan's level, and Jehan's teeth sink eagerly into his neck.

It isn't like it was with Enjolras. There isn't the sheer ferocity, the intensity drowning out other thought, but the pack magic still flares bright between them.

Jehan is happy for him. Jehan is eager to have another pack member, to speak with him more, to watch how his bonds with Enjolras and the others form and change. Jehan is writing poetry even as Grantaire's blood fills his mouth, his mind awash in words that Grantaire can hear though the order they come at him in is all wrong.

Pulling back from him, Jehan licks his bloody lips and smiles. "I accept, Grantaire. Very happily, I accept."

Enjolras hauls himself to his feet, slowly, his blue eyes half-lidded as he watches Grantaire. "No challenge made, then. No ranks changed. Just one added. Be made welcome, Grantaire, lambda of my pack."

It's the end of the ceremony, the end of tradition.

It's the signal that the pack's been waiting for, and Grantaire is knocked from his feet as Jehan and Joly both pounce on him. He catches a brief glimpse of Enjolras being embraced by Combeferre on one side and Courfeyrac on the other before Jehan nipping fiercely at his neck distracts him as Joly's tongue slides along the side of his face. He can hear clothing being discarded, the soft yips of the pack finding their wolf forms. A rush of warm wind swirls through the room, the smell of leaves and growing things suddenly strong, and Grantaire can't hold back the Change despite his still being in his clothes.

It's all right, though. He's not the only one struggling out of his clothes, and when he's done he's free to run and wrestle with the pack.

One of them.

Truly, completely, undeniably one of them, his magic tied with theirs, his soul open to them as theirs are open to him.

He's never been happier in his life.