Author's Note: Thanks to all again for the kind words! Sorry to hear that the torture scenes were a bit heavier than people expected. (If anyone thinks I need to up the rating, I certainly can, but I generally think of R-rated torture as maiming/blood everywhere.) As always, apologies for the wait.
Part Six: The Politics of Execution
Geroux comes into the café alone, but Enjolras knows that the other alpha has his gamma and delta outside, the two wolves watching nervously as their alpha enters the building.
He knows because Bahorel and Jehan tell him, the information transmitted sharply along a current of tense anticipation as his wolves watch Geroux's.
Combeferre had wanted to be here for this meeting, but Enjolras had sent him back to their den, though it pained both of them to separate. If someone's moving against the pack—if someone's already taken Courfeyrac—Enjolras needs to keep Combeferre safe. Because if any of these negotiations go poorly, if anyone manages to injure Enjolras, Combeferre is going to be the one holding the pack together.
"Enjolras." Geroux slides into the seat across from him, the female alpha's head held high, his lips pulled back from his teeth in the closest thing that Enjolras has ever seen to a snarl from the female.
"Geroux." Enjolras speaks quietly, his discomfort at the intensity of Geroux's greeting clear. Geroux has always been one of the more reasonable alphas, one of the ones who will side with him on some matters. They've always been cordial to each other, and he's sometimes thought they were even friendly. He's been glad to have his pack's territory bordering Geroux's, considering it a safe border that they don't have to patrol often. He can't think of anything he's done lately to merit animosity from Geroux, though, and he needs help. "I asked you to meet me today because I'd… like to request a favor of you."
"I'd like to request some answers from you." Geroux meets his eyes evenly for a few seconds before looking away with a frustrated snarl.
Lowering his head, Enjolras tries to ease the tension between them. "Anything I can answer, I will."
"Good." Geroux's lips press together, a thin white line, and the female studies him for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Why have you sent your stray into my territory repeatedly?"
Enjolras mouths the words silently to himself, but they still don't make much sense. "Pardon?"
"The stray." Shifting agitatedly in his seat, Geroux leans forward. "Gillenormand's brat. Marius, I think his name is. He's been in and out of my territory repeatedly, over the course of days. Why?"
"I don't know." Enjolras speaks the truth, though he immediately tries to slot Marius into the rest of their problems. Closing his eyes, he touches his pack-bond with Jehan. Go and find Marius. "I'll make sure to ask him, though, and to stop the incursions if they're bothering you."
"You've no idea?" A low sound, not quite a growl, not quite a human noise of disgust, resonates between them. "He's yours. You claimed him."
"He's not pack." Straightening, Enjolras frowns himself. "He's not mine. He didn't want to be, and I wasn't going to force it on him."
"He's living on your territory. You're offering him protection. He's your responsibility, whether you bind his soul to you or not." Each sentence is said forcefully, a condemnation, a nail in a coffin lid. "And he's been breaking Pack law. You really claim to not know anything about it?"
"I wouldn't have allowed it to continue if I knew about it." Enjolras lowers his chin, just slightly, a gesture of respect and contrition. "Not without your permission, at least. You and your pack have been good neighbors; I've no reason to jeopardize that."
"And if we weren't good neighbors? If I didn't get along with you well?" If Geroux were in furred form, his ruff would still be raised, bristling. "Because it looks rather suspicious, Enjolras, when the stray's been trespassing on my territory and then does it to Bellamy, as well, this time with Courfeyrac and Grantaire in tow."
For a moment Enjolras can't breathe, his entire being bent on processing this new information, on fitting it into what he knows and coming to a sensible conclusion. "Marius wasn't with them. When they crossed over onto Bellamy's territory, Marius wasn't there. Perhaps… perhaps…"
Geroux studies him intently, some of the hostility fading from his face, some of the tension from his shoulders. "You really don't know what's going on, do you?"
"I'm figuring it out." Licking his lips, keeping his head low still, Enjolras leans toward the other alpha. "I am sorry if you feel I should have stopped Marius' actions, or been watching him more closely. I honestly couldn't think of a reason for him to want to trespass in another wolf's territory. The reason I asked to meet you, though, is that Bellamy has two of my wolves, but he refuses to answer any of my messages. I want to know what happened, and I want them back."
"They trespassed." Geroux settles back, uneasiness in the way his fingers drum against the table, in the tenseness of his shoulders. Enjolras will gladly take his unease over anger, though. Angry people didn't think, and if Geroux thinks about this he'll see that there's something bigger going on here. "That's the note that Bellamy sent me, along with telling me that Marius had been trespassing in my territory. One of his wolves showed me where they'd found the scent crossing over from neutral trails, and my pack's found other places. If they trespassed, Enjolras, Bellamy's in the right to keep them."
"It's Courfeyrac and Grantaire." Enjolras can see the names register, the uneasiness increasing and the tension decreasing just slightly in Geroux's expression. "You've spoken to them both. They wouldn't trespass without reason. Do you really expect me to let Bellamy kill them without finding out what extenuating circumstances there were?"
"You don't know that he'll kill them. And if he did, he'd be within his rights." This time it's Geroux who looks away, his head down, lips pulled back in a grimace of distaste.
"Within his rights…" Enjolras speaks gently, sees the quiet words register more sharply than his anger could have. "Why should it be within his rights to kill my wolves without even telling me why? Without even giving me the benefit of speaking to me?"
"It's the way it's always been." Geroux's expression tightens as he speaks, closes off. "If you can't control your pack and your territory, Enjolras, perhaps it's because you've taken on more than you should have."
"I control my pack." The words are wrong, taste bitter on his tongue, and his own anger slides forward as he fixes Geroux's eyes with his. "No. I won't say what Bellamy and Dempsey would want to hear. I control my pack, but as they control me. I seek to make a better world for them, a world that they want to see, and I put all my effort and all of their talents toward that goal. Not that I even know what you're condemning. Is it my taking a large pack? I have the power to hold them. They all asked to join. Or would you rather I not because it frightens you, frightens the others, to see what I am?"
Geroux doesn't answer, the lie that he isn't frightened clamped behind tight-clenched teeth, and Enjolras can feel his anger fade back as quickly as it came. Geroux isn't his enemy, though Bellamy has done well to play this card now, to divide Enjolras' usual base of allies.
Gentling his tone, forcing himself to sit back in his seat, Enjolras dredges up a half-smile. "The White Lady told us that alphas are to care for our packs, not to command them, and I am doing that. I am trying to do that right now. Or do you want me to let them die for tradition, knowing full well that Bellamy's teeth are at their throats because he hates all that I stand for?"
"All that they stand for, too, if what you say is true." Geroux doesn't back away from him, doesn't lower his eyes, though Enjolras can see the wariness in them still. "I don't know what you and your wolves have done. It's easy enough to imagine you sending them into Bellamy's territory if you thought you had to, especially knowing you've allowed the stray to traipse all over mine."
"I haven't." Enjolras forces his voice to be calm. "To either accusation. If I sent them into Bellamy's territory, I would own to it and offer him my life in return for theirs. As for Marius, I swear to you, I knew nothing of what he was doing. I will sit down with you and Marius and we will come to an understanding and a punishment, if that's what you wish. But will you really let Courfeyrac and Grantaire die because of a stray's wrong-doing, when I swear no one in the pack knew of it?"
"What happens to your wolves isn't in my control." Geroux looks away, fists clenched in his lap, and then shakes his head. "But you've a right to hear why they trespassed, if you truly don't know."
"From their lips. No heresay." He doesn't say that he doesn't trust Bellamy's word; he doesn't need to.
"The alpha conclave is tomorrow." Geroux stands. "I'll send word to Bellamy that I expect him to make an appearance and explain the situation. But don't count on my vote for you, Enjolras. If Bellamy has a good case against your wolves, even if I find the traditional punishments… distasteful, I won't interfere."
Enjolras looks up at the other female. "You'll really let good wolves die for tradition."
"You'll let them die for change." Looking away, clearly uncomfortable, Geroux shrugs. "And like I said, there's no guarantee Bellamy will kill them."
"I say there's no guarantee the humans would kill us all. You still call me mad for wanting to help them—for wanting to make it so we can be ourselves in front of them. And none of them have shown me a fraction of the enmity that Bellamy has." Enjolras stands, facing the other female squarely. "If you vote to give him free rein, you vote for their deaths."
Geroux doesn't say anything, just turns and walks away, a bitter, frustrated frown on his face.
Settling back into his seat, Enjolras places his head in his hands for a moment, allowing himself a few deep breaths and some moments of peace before he decides what to do now. He's already talked with Paquet and been turned down for aid, as he expected. Gillenormand's response to his missive had been brief and blunt, telling him that his failure to return Marius to the old alpha meant they have nothing to talk about.
"Enjolras."
Jerking his head up, Enjolras tries not to look startled or concerned despite the fact that there is another alpha-level wolf close enough to touch him.
Armand smiles at him, brown-flecked blue eyes knowing, and settles into the seat that Geroux just vacated. "I hear you have a… problem."
Enjolras spares a moment to touch his pack-bonds. You could have told me Armand was coming in.
Didn't see him. Bahorel's reply is gruff, annoyed at having missed something so important. Need me in there?
No. Enjolras turns his focus back to Armand. Keep up your watch.
"I came in through the back." Armand smiles as a drink is brought over to their table and placed in front of him. "In case you're wondering why your wolf didn't notice me. I thought, given the… delicate nature of the problem, it would be best to avoid undo attention until we'd had a chance to talk."
Enjolras nods once, stiffly. "You already know the basics of the problem. It was in the letter. Bellamy has two of my wolves and refuses to speak with me about how that came to be or what kind of arrangement we could come to."
"Why aren't you simply going to take your wolves back yourself?" Armand takes a drink from his glass, eyes bright under light brown brows.
"Because he's told other alpha's that he's holding my wolves due to trespassing." Enjolras doesn't grit his teeth as he says the words, though it takes an effort. "I want to know the whole story. I want to discuss options. I've given my word to the alphas of Paris that I won't simply command all of you—that I'll work with you, work with our laws, and try to come to understandings that benefit all of our kind. Simply… attacking Bellamy and his pack, no matter how much I might feel it justified, would break that word."
"Fascinating." Armand smiles, eyes still bright. "He's had them for how many hours now, and you're still trying to keep to your word? Can't you feel their terror? Can't you feel their pain? Don't you know how much he hates you, and how eager he'll be to take that hatred out on them?"
Enjolras forces himself to draw a shuddering breath, though his lungs want to freeze, his chest vibrating with a barely-inaudible growl. Of course he wants to go to them. Of course he wants to save them—will save them. "I actually can't feel them as well as I should. Which is another thing I want to… discuss with Bellamy."
"So… if I agree to go speak with Bellamy for you…" Armand frowns, studying his drink. "What would you have me ask?"
"I want him to come to the alpha conclave." Enjolras leans forward, eager, trying not to hope too strongly that Armand will see things his way. "I want him to agree not to hurt my wolves until he's presented his case before all the alphas. If he can explain why they're trespassed, prove that he's in the right by pack law… that will be one thing. But I think there must have been something that drew them onto his land. I want to know what it was."
"That's all you want? Just for him to wait and present evidence before the rest of us?" Armand takes a small sip from his glass. "In return, you agree not to enter his territory, not to move against him, to wait for the decision from the conclave before acting, and to abide by the decision of the conclave. Agreed?"
"Agreed. My word on it." There is a knot of burning anger and frustration in his gut at the thought of spending a night away from his wolves, with a broken pack, but he doesn't think he'll be able to press for much more. "You should all be able to tell from my actions now that my word is good."
"It is. Better than most alpha's would be, in a similar situation." Armand drains his glass and stands, reaching across the table to lay a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "You are something special, Enjolras. I will happily be the go-between for you and Bellamy, and I will see that he gives an answer befitting an alpha."
"I'll meet you here when you're done." Enjolras manages a small smile for the older alpha. "Thank you, Armand. I'll be in your debt."
Armand inclines his head, smiling grimly, and heads to the door.
Sighing, Enjolras closes his eyes and asks Bahorel to come to his side.
If he's going to have to wait, helpless, he doesn't want to do it alone.
XXX
"Why should I wait?" Bellamy growls out the words, staring in undisguised anger at the male alpha currently standing unperturbed in the front hall of his den. "They're trespassers; I can do what I want with them."
"Oh?" Armand's smile is chilly, complete self-control, every inch the well-established alpha. "If you're so in the right, why should you hurry? Why should you fear proving yourself right to all of the rest of us?"
"I shouldn't have to prove myself right. I'm an alpha; I have control over everything that happens on my land." That is both true and not true, these last three years, and Bellamy can see that Armand finds that line of reasoning too simplistic. Bellamy's lip twitches up into a slight snarl for a moment before the female forces his expression back into one of cool disdain. "Besides, Enjolras has a way of twisting facts to fit his own vision. I've been slighted; I want to take my rightful recompense without having to argue with him about it."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Raising both eyebrows in silent query, Armand shakes his head. "If you wanted to simply take your rightful vengeance and be done with it, the three trespassers would already be dead. Yes, I know that you have Gillenormand's grandson as well. You're quite lucky he hasn't barged in demanding the boy back; only your insistence that you'll return the boy after the alpha conclave is protecting you from him, and he isn't one to be trifled with."
Bellamy narrows his eyes. "I'm an alpha, as well. I'm a power to be reckoned with."
"You are. You've done quite well for yourself over the last decade." Armand's smile doesn't reach his eyes, and it fades as he continues. "Gillenormand's been here, been head of his pack, since his mother died almost five decades ago. He doesn't move often; he doesn't like change and he doesn't like risk. But when he does move, he moves decisively and with a power born out of that many years as an alpha. You did well maneuvering him into your pocket before taking on Enjolras."
"I'm within my rights to attack and kill wolves who invade my territory." Bellamy won't admit to any political maneuvering, not to the smug alpha before him. If it wouldn't have looked overly suspicious, he would never have allowed Armand onto his territory. He's been on good terms with the older male, as all the wolves of Paris had been; it would look odd if he suddenly began acting coldly toward him, even if Armand's devotion to Enjolras is nauseating to watch.
Enjolras broke Armand's power during their first meeting, took his pack and his territory.
Enjolras clearly broke Armand's spirit at the same time, because even if he returned Armand's pack to him, Armand has never been the same since. Why else would he work with the one who did such a heinous thing to him? Why would he be Enjolras' staunchest ally, the one most accepting of the sweeping changes Enjolras has already forced onto Paris in the form of the alpha conclave, if Enjolras hadn't done something to make it impossible for him to fight back?
Sympathy and sorrow washes away some of his frustration, and Bellamy gentles his tone as he studies the older wolf. "Why are you doing this? You don't owe him anything. You don't need to come to me on his behalf. If he wishes to take issue with what I've done, let him do so to my face."
"You know very well that he tried to talk with you and you refused to answer any of his missives. You're baiting him, goading him, waiting for him to make a move that will allow you and, if I'm not mistaken, Badeau to attack him without offending the other alphas—for him to invade your territory, for him to threaten you, for him to break Pack law. I'm sure you think it's quite clever."
Bellamy says nothing, trying to keep his face and scent blank, pulling up his pack-bonds and borrowing from Yves cool detachment to try to keep Armand from scenting how close to home his words strike.
"If he comes to see you face to face, Bellamy, without the protection the alpha conclave offers you, you will die, and your pack will belong to him." Armand's voice is calm but certain as he delivers the ultimatum.
"You have such little faith in the rest of us being able to stand up to him." Snarling, Bellamy turns away, giving himself a moment to corral his rage.
"I've seen what he is. More than any of the rest of you, I know that, one on one, we wouldn't stand a chance." Armand speaks bluntly, stepping forward and into Bellamy's path, meeting Bellamy's eyes.
Bellamy doesn't step back, standing his ground, his teeth bared in a surprised snarl. Is Armand really going to challenge him, here, in his own den?
But Armand looks away, breaking eye contact, heading off the challenge before it can go further. His voice drops to a whisper, but he's so close Bellamy can hear it clearly. "It is so easy to end up in a struggle that you didn't mean to be in. For our kind, for alphas, it's so easy to make one miscalculation, one misstep, and lose everything. Our packs give their hearts and souls and minds into our safekeeping, and we gamble with them every single time we play politics. He could charge in here. He could destroy you utterly, and maybe it would make the other alphas turn against him, but maybe it wouldn't. Instead, he's giving you a chance to make your case."
It's what he wanted, mostly, even if it's not quite how he had expected it to turn out. And the fact that it's Armand here rather than Geroux likely means that the other female alpha is as angry as he expected about the intrusions Marius made into Geroux's territory.
"Take him down, if you can. Bring the others to your side." Armand's smile could cut glass. "But do it intelligently. Take this opportunity."
"All right." Bellamy returns Armand's smile. "My word—both Enjolras' wolves will survive, with no further injuries, at least until after the alpha conclave tomorrow."
Armand nods. "Word accepted. I don't suppose you'd let me see them?"
"Don't press me too far." There's not much hostility in the words, though. The hard part of this bargaining is done. "You've got my word they're alive and that they won't be harmed more; that should be enough."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Armand inclines his head in acceptance. "And I don't suppose you'd tell me how you're keeping Enjolras from sensing them like he feels he should be able to?"
He was right, then, that Enjolras' ability to read his wolves extended much further than most alphas. Using the silver was justified. It's cold comfort, and Bellamy draws a long, steadying breath. He's not going to admit to using silver on another wolf, not unless he absolutely has to. "Perhaps Enjolras isn't as all-powerful as you think."
"Perhaps." There's warmth in Armand's smile now, though there's an odd, hungry look in his eyes that doesn't quite match it. "Have you any other message I can bring to him?"
"Just tell him…" Bellamy hesitates, trying to gauge what impact his words will have on the various alphas he'll be debating with tomorrow. "Tell him that the law is quite clear in this matter, but if he wishes to discuss it with the others, I will humor him."
"Humor him…" Armand laughs, giving a brief shake of his head as he turns toward the door. "Your message will be delivered intact. And I shall see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, then." Bellamy follows Armand out onto the front walk, shaded by trees and a thick garden that's just beginning to blossom. It will be good to have leaves again, to have the extra protection that the living plants offer, soaking up any noise from the pack, especially on full-moon nights. "I trust you to vote appropriately, Armand, as befits tradition and your long history in Paris."
"I will vote as I see fit." Armand doesn't turn to look at him, simply continuing on his way, face tilted back to study the afternoon sky. "As will everyone else, I'm sure."
Bellamy doesn't bother saying anything more, simply watching the older wolf walk away.
If his actions can keep Enjolras from doing to any other wolves what he did to Armand, even using silver against others in the Pack will be more than justified.
XXX
"Cosette."
The girl ignores him, as she's been ignoring him for the vast majority of their five-hour walk.
"Cosette, child, it's getting late. We need to go home. We need to have dinner." Reaching out a hand to lay it on her shoulder, Valjean studies her face, the fixed frown, the small lines that wrinkle her brow. "If Marius were here to be found, we would have found him. He's—"
"He's close. I can feel it, Father." She finally looks at him, though her eyes are still distant, focused on something else—someone else, on the missing boy, and Valjean hates him, for one brief moment. "Just a few more minutes. Please."
Valjean almost says no. He almost grabs her arm and drags her home, despite her wishes, despite what would undoubtedly be loud and furious protests. He never should have allowed her to come here in the first place, to go chasing after a boy that Valjean doesn't even like.
There's something almost… holy about the look in her eyes, though, the rapt and absolute concentration, and though they've been gone for hours they aren't simply walking in circles. Cosette's led them from the well-traveled thoroughfare onto the smaller side-roads, from an area with well-repaired homes to one of dilapidated storefronts and dangerous back alleys. She's led them first north, then south, east, then west, but never over the same trail twice, always narrowing down on some unknown destination.
Could it be that she really can sense the boy?
Could it be that he really is in trouble?
Nonsense. It's all absolute nonsense, and yet…
"There." Cosette breathes the word, going utterly still, her eyes fixed on an old wooden door that sports a new lock. "He's there, Father, I'm certain of it. He's there, and he's hurt. Marius—"
Valjean's arms wrap around his daughter, keep her from dashing across the street to approach the door that she's indicated.
It's madness. There's no reason to think that Marius is behind that door. There's no reason to approach that ramshackle building, and plenty of warnings not to in the boarded-over windows and the shiny new lock on the door.
"Papa, please." Cosette whispers the word into his shirt, her hands clutching at him as they did when she was a child. "I know it makes no sense to you, I know that you don't understand, but I swear to you, he's there and he needs help. Please. Let me go to him."
Holding her trembling body close, Valjean's protestations die in his throat. Smoothing her hair back from her face, he smiles at her, taking her hand firmly. "All right. We'll at least try to look inside the building. Stay with me, though."
"I will." She presses closer to his side, and there is fear in the set of her jaw but no less determination than there has been all afternoon. "And I will say to be careful. This… does not look like a nice part of town."
He doesn't respond to that, keeping a tight hold on her hand and approaching the indicated building. The lock on the door means they likely won't have much luck entering that way, but perhaps one of the windows—
"You lot aren't with Bellamy, are y'?" The boy's accent is thick, his voice quiet, but he speaks clearly enough to be understood.
He's also demon-fast, skipping back three steps when Valjean moves to grab him out of instinct, staying well out of arm's reach.
"Bellamy?" Cosette takes a step toward the boy, eagerness in her voice. "I know that name… that's one of… oh, but… are you one of Bellamy's people?"
"No." The boy makes the declaration proudly. "I'm my own man. Gavroche, nice t' meet you. If you're not involved with Bellamy, why're you int'rested in that door?"
"Because…" Cosette hesitates, eyeing Valjean, eyeing the boy, and Valjean knows, with clear certainty, that there is much more to this than she is telling him. "I think one of my friends is in there."
"Courfeyrac?" Gavroche looks first eager, then disappointed as Cosette shakes her head. "Grantaire?"
"No, but… I think I know those names, too. Especially Courfeyrac. Marius has talked about him."
He's done no such thing, not when Valjean has been present, but he clamps his lips tight around that accusation. Now is not the time or the place for it, though he clearly needs to speak with the girl as soon as they're somewhere safe.
"Right. Must be the third prisoner, then." Gavroche chews at his lip thoughtfully for a moment, and then crosses his arms over his chest. "So, I think I know where your mate is, then, and you're right, he's in that buildin'. I also know how many other people're in there and how many men Bellamy has. If I help you get him out, I want your word that you'll help me get one of the other's out, too. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Cosette says the word hastily, before turning to look at Valjean once more with pleading eyes. "Agreed, Father?"
He should say no. He should tell her that they'll call the authorities, though he has no desire to involve the authorities in his or her life again. He should tell her that if the boy's gotten himself involved in something so clearly dangerous, he should be left to his own devices to get himself out.
Looking into Cosette's face, looking at the grim little boy who stares at him with eyes that look far older than they should, Valjean knows that's not what he's going to do, though.
