Author's Note: Last real chapter, then one little epilogue and this arc is done! Thank you all again for sticking around for this. I do intend to write arcs three, four and five (we've already laid the groundwork for all of them), but I will be taking a short hiatus from this story to get "Dreamers" up and running again before starting arc three because I've been neglecting "Dreamers" for a while. Again, thank you all for your support and your kind words and I hope you enjoy the end of the arc!
Arc Two, Part Twelve: A Dangerous Waltz
"Bellamy is gone. I give third verification to the news, meaning that the sentence of exile has been completed." Armand settles back slightly in his chair—the same chair he had been in yesterday, all the alphas returned to their usual spots, one chair glaringly empty. "The matter of Bellamy and his pack is closed, not to be opened again save in the event exile is broken."
Badeau lounges in his chair, his waistcoat a bright yellow that brings out highlights in his brown eyes and immediately draws attention to him. "I don't think it should be closed quite yet."
Armand turns to Badeau, one eyebrow raised. "Oh? And why is that?"
"Because Enjolras hasn't been punished for trespassing." Badeau turns a bright, artificial grin to Enjolras. "And he admitted that he trespassed in front of all of us."
"He did what he had to do to save his wolf." Geroux stares at Bellamy with utter disgust evident on his face. "Can you really say none of us would have done the same?"
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I obey Pack law and I expect my people to do the same." Badeau leans forward, still smiling. "The blame for this fiasco isn't just Bellamy's. Half of it belongs to Enjolras for his mishandling of the situation. If Bellamy was exiled, why not exile Enjolras and his pack?"
"Because Enjolras didn't use silver against other wolves?" Paquet stares across the table at Badeau as though he's mad, and Enjolras just barely manages to suppress a smile. He's been the recipient of that look too many times before. It's satisfying to see someone else get it. "Because Enjolras went out of his way to try to do things properly, going to the Conclave, contacting other alphas for assistance and advice? Because Enjolras wasn't acting like a rabid dog?"
"The only reason Bellamy acted like he did was because of Enjolras' presence here." Badeau's smile fades as he stabs an accusing hand toward Enjolras. "He is the reason things have been so tense and difficult for all of us these past years. If he wasn't here, Bellamy never would have considered using silver. He was a well-established alpha who had three batches of pups in the city. Did he cause any of us trouble during that time? If we exile Bellamy, we should exile the cause, as well."
Enjolras hesitates, glancing around the table. If no one else will speak for him, he will be just fine speaking in his own defense, but after the show of power he gave yesterday he'd prefer not to be seen as trying to force his views on the Conclave. Still, he can't allow an accusation like that to go unchecked. Perhaps if he has Combeferre, standing still but alert at his side, do the speaking—
"No." Geroux's voice is firm as the female wolf stands. "I knew we would hear this argument today, if not one for Enjolras' death. I congratulate you on the checking of your bloodlust in this case, Badeau, though we all know it must have been difficult."
Areli and Paquet both straighten in their seats, matching looks of apprehension on their faces. Though it's well-known that Badeau is the fiercest alpha in his defense of his territory, his pack prone to hunting and killing any strays they find even during spring, it isn't something that is brought up in polite company.
"But no, we will not punish Enjolras for what he did, because I would not have had him do anything different." Geroux looks around the table. "By punishing him for acting as he had to when facing a dishonorable, possibly mad opponent, we become monsters. We say that a lambda—the lowest, most submissive wolf any of us have ever met—should have been allowed to die for Bellamy's pleasure. We say that trying to help another wolf should not be done, that striving to give aid to another should, indeed, come with the possibility of meaning a forfeiture of one's own life.
"When I first learned that Marius was trespassing, I was furious." Geroux glances at Enjolras. "But Enjolras swore, and I have no reason to believe he was lying, that he knew nothing about the trespass. I didn't care. I refused to offer assistance to Enjolras. I thought Bellamy had caught trespassers fairly, without trickery. I was wrong. Because of my decision, because of my unwillingness to consider the possibility of extenuating circumstances, wolves were tortured with silver. And now you tell me that this Conclave should vote to punish Enjolras for saving his wolf from such torture without doing any collateral damage? No. I will not vote for that, and any wolf who does is a shame to the Lady."
Geroux settles down, and silence spreads once more across the table.
This time it's Gillenormand who speaks. "I have never been fond of Enjolras or his policies."
Paquet gives a brief bark of laughter that spreads to the other alphas in a quick ripple.
"You all know that." Gillenormand's eyes scan the table, a faint smile at the edges of his lips. "And so you know I don't support him lightly. But I was also promised something by Bellamy. I was promised the return of my grandson in exchange for support. He then tortured my grandson as part of his plan. The wolf had no honor. He was not fit to be called alpha. I will not punish Enjolras for acting as he did, not in this case."
The older alpha meets Enjolras' eyes, just briefly, his expression going very grim, and Enjolras understands the meaning in the look even without a bond. I support you this once, for what you did for Marius. Expect nothing more.
Inclining his head, Enjolras acknowledges the favor and stands himself. "My fellow alphas, I freely admit that what I did went against Pack law. I saw no other way in which I could act, though. I could not allow a wolf who depended on me, who looked to me for protection, to die when the Conclave had spared his life. I meant what I said to Bellamy. If he had simply returned Grantaire, I would have turned myself over to the Conclave for justice. That isn't how things went, though. What else would you have had me do? What other course would you have found?"
Settling back slowly in his seat, Enjolras watches the wolves, hoping that he's played his hand properly. Badeau and Cavey won't support him no matter what he says. Areli and Paquet, on the other hand, might be swayed by the request for other suggestions, and Geroux and Armand will side with him.
He meets Geroux's eyes, just for a brief moment, not enough to make the other female nervous, and draws in a deep breath as the relief of having their alliance repaired washes over him.
Steady there. Combeferre's presence is suddenly bright in his mind, a source of power and strength to lean against. It's almost over.
I'm all right. Enjolras glances up at his beta. Really.
The debate about who should attend the Conclave had been heated that morning, but Enjolras was determined he was going. He wasn't going to create a hornet's nest and then throw Combeferre and Courfeyrac into it—or, worse, Combeferre and Bahorel, because that combination wasn't likely to inflame matters even further.
When we get home, you are resting again. Combeferre's expression doesn't flicker at all to give away their conversation.
Understood. Enjolras turns his full attention back to the Conclave, regretting letting it wander even though he's certain that Combeferre would have directed him to anything he was missing. And the sentiment is appreciated.
"Shall we call the vote, then?" Areli speaks hesitantly, nervously, glancing between Enjolras and Armand.
"Certainly." Armand smiles at the younger alpha. "Call the vote."
"And… uh… Enjolras shouldn't vote." Areli can't quite bring himself to glance at Enjolras, a fact that saddens Enjolras. He doesn't want these people to fear him or vote for him because of fear. "Because he's the subject, yes?"
"Agreed." Armand nods. "As for me, I vote to drop the matter now. Bellamy is gone. There is no need for further action."
"Let it go." Geroux glares across the table at Badeau, though the female can't meet the male's gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. "There's nothing to be gained by punishing Enjolras and his pack now."
"Disagreed." Badeau doesn't even bother to glance at Geroux, instead focusing his attention on Paquet and Areli. "If we let him off now, who knows what territory will be next? He must be punished for breaking the law."
"Bellamy created the only situation in which I would trespass." Enjolras speaks to his hands, not wanting to intimidate the already-skittish alphas. "If you intend to steal my wolves under false pretenses and deal dishonorably with me, perhaps Badeau has a point. Otherwise… I am content with my pack and my territory. Why should I make your lives more difficult?"
"But you aren't content." Paquet says the words heavily, as though they are a condemnation, though the male's expression alternates between sympathy and fear. "Or have these events changed your opinion on our world in general? Have you given up your quest to change the human government and rework the fundamental relationships between wolves, wolf packs, and humans?"
"I have not given up on anything." Enjolras draws a deep breath, trying to choose his words diplomatically despite his tiredness and his usual preference for simply stated truth. "Though I do not think I am asking for a fundamental reworking of anything. Packs are supposed to be places of safety for all; that is what I would like to see be truth. The human system of government is broken; I would see it fixed. Having humans hunt us is untenable; hiding forever is, I believe, also untenable, places too great a strain on our people, and will become more difficult if the humans continue to expand, as they always have. I will not simply ignore problems. I will engage with them, and I hope that you will all assist me in that."
"But you'll do nothing major without consulting the Conclave first." Geroux makes the interjection. "Correct?"
Enjolras lowers his head so he can study his hands again, a move that some will interpret as a nod. "The humans becoming aware of us again will happen in one of two ways—by an accident that is so great we cannot wave it away, or because we decide to do it. I very much hope it is the latter, and that you all will help me to choose the right time."
"Never." Badeau hisses out the word. "There will never be a right time to trust humans, and you know it. But let us end this farce of a vote now. What do the rest of you say? How do you vote? And remember, this could be your last, best chance to rid ourselves of influences none of us asked to be exposed to in the first place."
"Change and progress are not things that are asked for." Armand favors Badeau with a disappointed look. "They are things that come whether we will them or not, whether we stand in the way and are crushed or whether we guide them to the paths of creation rather than destruction. Enjolras has shown himself remarkably capable of restraint; would you prefer a wilder force of change? But yes, let us continue the vote. Cavey, your opinion?"
"Punish him in some way." Cavey crosses his arms over his chest. "There should be some punishment for the breaking of Pack Law."
"So many Pack laws were broken, I don't know which should count anymore." Paquet draws a deep breath. "For Grantaire's sake, though, because I am glad that he lives and hasn't been lost to this infernal tangle of… of politics, I vote that this be over now, with no further punishments meted out."
Areli glances at Paquet. "We cannot simply ignore the laws because it's complicated. I don't vote for death or exile or anything like that, but… some punishment. Something."
"What punishment could we devise that is worse than having silver-scarred wolves?" Gillenormand shakes his head. "Let it go. Let us all return to our packs, where we are supposed to be."
Badeau growls, a barely-audible rumble. "Even if we vote to let this matter go unresolved—which I strongly object to—there is the matter of Bellamy's territory."
Armand flicks his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "Unpunished is not the same as unresolved, pup, and yes, this Conclave just voted to let it go unpunished. As for Bellamy's territory…"
Combeferre speaks, his voice soft and deferential, his eyes cast to the floor. "There will be many strays coming through soon with the Spring. Given that all the alphas currently present have been content with their territories for the last several years, and given the new restrictions on strays, I would suggest leaving Bellamy's territory unclaimed and seeing if any of the young ones wish to form a pack of their own."
"A new pack." Areli looks considering.
"Outside blood." Paquet nods slowly. "And some of our of-age pups might very well be interested in open territory in Paris."
"Then we'll leave Bellamy's territory as it is, until such time as another alpha claims it." Armand waits for objections, looking pointedly to Cavey and Bellamy, but none come. "Are there any other matters that need to be addressed now?"
Silence, glorious in its simplicity, greets the question. It is a silence of consideration, of hope, a loosening of the tension in the room as alphas turn their thoughts to their pups and the future rather than the past and its dangers.
Nicely done. Enjolras congratulates Combeferre over their pack-bond.
Thank you. Combeferre smiles, just the faintest upturn of his lips. I have my uses sometimes.
The Conclave disbands without fanfare, alphas and their seconds leaving in pairs. Enjolras waits until only he, Gillenormand, and Armand are left before leaving. He wants to talk to Armand—needs to talk to Armand—but he also suspects that Armand will want to talk to him without any other alphas present. Leaving just before him will give them a chance to meet up without it being quite so obvious.
The sun is setting, painting the city in hues of red and orange and gold that make it look radiant and otherworldly. The air is warm still, true spring peaking through the chill of late winter, and Enjolras enjoys walking with Combeferre like this, not running from or to one disaster or another.
He and Combeferre are barely a block from the Conclave, debating whether or not to grab a bite to eat on neutral territory, when Armand approaches them.
Armand stares pointedly at Combeferre, who in turn glances at Enjolras.
"Leave us for a bit." Enjolras opens his pack-bond. Armand won't hurt me, and when this is done we'll head home.
Combeferre inclines his head to Armand and then bows to Enjolras before walking ahead, his steps sure and even.
Only when Combeferre is out of earshot does Armand's expression change from one of polite inquiry to one of anger—almost fury. "What were you thinking?"
Enjolras blinks, taken aback by the emotion in the usually reserved wolf's voice. "Come again?"
"Why would you order your wolves to trespass? Do you know how dangerous that was? Do you know how much we could have lost?" Armand raises his right hand to wipe at his forehead. "If Geroux were quicker to hold a grudge… if that lambda of yours didn't somehow manage to charm everyone despite being an unholy aberration… if Gillenormand didn't love that fool pup so much… if I hadn't managed to goad Bellamy into attacking you like that… and all for what?"
"For one of my wolves." Enjolras meets Armand's gaze evenly, not willing to back down. "For what was right. They gave themselves to me. I will not let them die needlessly and senselessly."
"Enjolras…" Armand's hands wring together, his face and voice still betraying his distress, a cloying scent of mingled excitement and fear rising from him. "You are something special. You know that, right? You are the alpha who will not be alpha. You are a gift to us from the Lady. You, Enjolras, not your pack. Your pack is important, of course, and I understand your desire to protect them… but you risked yourself. For a lambda. You must not do that."
"I couldn't do otherwise." Enjolras frowns, fighting the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest as he watches Armand. He's never felt this uneasy around the other wolf, not since their alpha battle years ago. "I will not do something simply for politics, not if it's wrong, not if it's immutable. I cannot raise the dead. If I did nothing, Grantaire would have died. I had a way to prevent it. I had to take it. And you are hardly in a position to lecture me when you're making my job as alpha ten times harder with that ridiculous decree about strays."
"Harder?" Armand blinks at him, clearly startled. "Enjolras, in one move I just separated myself from you in their minds and gave you an army to train and use as you see fit. The others are afraid—of you, of each other, of their own power. There will be no safe space for strays in Paris this year save for Bellamy's empty territory and your land. Once a young, inexperienced, wary alpha claims Bellamy's territory, it will only be your land. You will be able to talk with and influence all the strays who come through Paris. What I did was give you a gift."
"That I can easily hang myself on, if one of these strays decides to do something reckless as Marius did. I would prefer to be consulted before being given any more gifts such as that." Enjolras rubs his hands together, warming them against a gust of chill wind. "I have appreciated your support and camaraderie over the years, Armand, especially given how… how everything started with us. But I do not regret my choice in saving Grantaire, and I would do it again."
Armand studies him for long seconds, face drawn. Then he nods, slowly, to himself, and his scent shifts to its more usual mixture of calm and consideration. "You are tired now. Even for one Lady-blessed such as yourself, what you've been through over the last few days must have been difficult."
Armand pauses, and after a second Enjolras realizes he's waiting for a response, a confirmation of some kind. Shifting uncomfortably, Enjolras nods. "It has been difficult at times, yes."
"You do know that you are Lady-blessed, don't you?" A flicker of surprise shows in Armand's eyes.
Enjolras wishes, briefly, that he hadn't sent Combeferre away. Religion and religious debates have never been his forte. "I… have no opinion one way or the other on the matter. I believe strongly in the Lady's proclamation that alphas should protect and defend and honor their packs. If she did indeed bless me, I am grateful."
It doesn't matter where his power comes from, if it's from the Lady or from nature, from something unknowable or something Combeferre will one day unlock in one of his experiments. All that matters is that he has it and he will use it to the best of his ability.
"You are chosen, whether you understand it or not." Armand presses his lips together. "And because you are chosen, because you are so powerful, you have to be better than the rest of us. A protective instinct is a fine thing for an alpha to have, but you can't afford to give into it. You are better than the rest of us, Enjolras, and you have to remain so."
Enjolras shakes his head. "I'm no better than the rest of our people could be."
Armand shakes his head in turn, the gesture gravely serious rather than mocking. "Save talk like that for Geroux and the others. You and I—and Bellamy now, I assume—both know it's not true. You are not a normal wolf. There is nothing wrong with being better than us, you know—nothing wrong with being above us, just as there is nothing wrong with being such a strong alpha. It just gives you different… purposes."
"I have articulated my purpose." Enjolras frowns. "I have never been anything but honest with you and the other alphas."
"No." Armand finally relaxes, smiling for the first time all day. "You are honest. I think that's part of what frightens them. So accept my honesty in return, and remember should we find ourselves in a similar situation again that you must be better than the rest of us. You must not be an alpha, Enjolras. You must be something more."
"I will be myself." Enjolras shrugs. "And I will do the best I can to handle any situation that I come to with honor and integrity."
"I suppose that will have to do for now." Armand crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head. "We play a dangerous, difficult game, Enjolras, but I think I am glad to have chosen your side."
"I am grateful to have you on my side." Enjolras smiles. "And I am glad to talk with you further, but my beta—"
"No, go, see to your pack and the healing of the rifts with your human contacts." Armand's grin flashes quick as lightning when Enjolras pauses. "Don't look so surprised. You know that we watch you and yours, and unlike some of the others I have no difficulties asking humans for information. Your beta frightened them quite a bit."
"His mate—my gamma—our friend and theirs was being tortured. I would say my beta showed remarkable self-control." Enjolras can hear the ice in his own voice. "We will set them at ease, though. It will just take time."
"Time and a fast tongue, and at the moment you've both things in spades." Armand settles his hands into his jacket pockets. "I look forward to the next Conclave, Enjolras, and our meeting there, though I hope that the weeks between will be a bit less… fraught than this one has been."
"Give my regards and well-wishes to your pack." Enjolras turns toward where Combeferre waits for him, then pauses. He is not deeply religious, but Armand clearly is, and it's best this parting be on completely amicable terms. "And may the Lady's grace and strength keep you and yours."
Armand returns the ancient blessing and they part, each toward their territory.
Enjolras is glad when Combeferre falls in at his side.
"Was everything all right?" Combeferre asks the question quietly.
"As well as I think it could have been." After a second's hesitation Enjolras continues. "Combeferre, do you think I am an abnormality as an alpha?"
They walk in silence for over a minute as Combeferre considers. "I think that you are stronger than any other alpha I have seen. I think that together with the rest of us you are trying things no other alpha has ever tried. But overall… I think that overall you are the best alpha I could have asked for, and that our pack has combined the best attributes of all of us to create something greater."
Enjolras smiles, touching his pack-bonds gently, glad to feel his people without pain. "Yes. I think so, too."
They return to their den in silence, both of them tired but finally, temporarily, content with what they've accomplished.
Marius is there as soon as they walk in the door.
He doesn't run to them. He's simply there, quite suddenly, standing two meters away in the hallway, staring at Enjolras with pleading eyes.
"Marius." Enjolras finds a smile for the stray. "You need to talk with us?"
"Yes." Marius hesitates before stepping forward, tension written in every taut muscle of his body. "Did… things… go well?"
"The situation is settled. No further actions will be taken against our pack." Enjolras frowns, peering over the stray's shoulder, sniffing. "Is the boy here? Gavroche, wasn't it?"
"Ah, yes." Marius blinks a few times, clearly startled by the turn of the conversation. "He appeared shortly after you left. Courfeyrac and Grantaire took him into Courfeyrac's room a moment ago. I'm not sure what they're doing. What I wanted to talk to you about, though, was—"
"Cosette." Combeferre straightens at Enjolras' side. "This is a conversation I would very much like to have, as well."
"Here, or with a bit more privacy?" Enjolras asks the question of Marius, the stray's jittery nervousness far too clear.
"Privacy." Marius' eyes flick to Combeferre.
"What I know, he will know, as will Courfeyrac." As will most of the pack, probably, but Enjolras usually tells things to his beta and gamma first, a force of habit picked up from their early days.
Lowering his head, Marius nods. "All right."
The stray steps aside, pressing himself against the wall, and Enjolras leads the way to his own room.
He offers Marius a seat in the solid wooden chair set before his writing desk, but Marius simply shakes his head, pacing the room instead, seeming to jump at every creak of the house or carried whisper of pack antics. It's late and quite dark outside, the sun having finally given up and sunk beneath the horizon, the moon not quite showing yet.
"You're mated to Cosette." Combeferre starts the conversation, studying Marius intently, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his right thumbnail tapping against his chin. "How? That's the main thing I would like to know, Marius. How did you manage such a thing? She's human. She's part of no pack. But Courfeyrac smelled it on you when you summoned her to your side, and I could smell it when I questioned the two of you."
Marius freezes, a young deer caught facing hunters for the first time, and Enjolras can't help but feel pity for the stray. "Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, Marius?"
"I…" Marius swallows, drawing himself up and strengthening his voice. "I have to see her again. I have to. I know that how I went about it before was wrong, was dangerous, but… but I need to see her, be near her. It's torture being separated and not knowing when or if I'll be able to see her again. Because… because you're right. She is my mate."
Marius raises his chin as he says the last declaration, his voice ringing out strongly, as though the force of his determination could banish any declarations of impossibility and impropriety.
And impossibility is clearly not an option, since both Combeferrre and Courfeyrac confirm that the human is somehow mate-bonded to Marius.
"How much does she know?" It's the most important question.
"Everything." Marius whispers the word, his face draining of color as he does. "I… she wanted to know, and I showed her. That was a month ago. Since then… I've answered any question she asked. By now, I think she's asked about nearly everything."
Combeferre begins to pace. "Begging the question, then, of how good a teacher you are. Have her questions gotten more complex? Does she actually seem to be grasping everything you're telling her?"
"Does she understand what you've done, mate-bonding with her?" Enjolras watches Marius' face closely.
"I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't… intentionally choose to bond with her. I didn't think it could happen. It just… did." Marius' expression can't seem to decide between elated joy and abject misery. "I know what I did broke Pack law. I know… I know what the punishment is supposed to be. She hasn't told anyone else, though, not even her father. She will keep our secret. And given your views and what you've said about humans—"
"We're not going to kill her, Marius." Combeferre spins toward the stray, exasperation in his voice. "Or you. Don't you understand what this means? We've always thought that wolves are unique, that our magic can't work on other species. We aren't like the Wild Ones, because the god who made us doesn't belong to the Earth. There are folk tales from long ago and far away of strange things, but this is true. I can document this. I can study it! The amount that we could learn from you and her—"
"Provided you agree to it." Enjolras makes the hasty addendum as the stray turns paler still.
"Well, yes, provided you both agree to it. But why wouldn't you?" Combeferre waves a hand as though dismissing the matter, then pauses as he notices Marius' wariness. "You are going to agree to it, right?"
"I don't know." Marius looks absolutely despondent. "I don't care about the magic or what it means. I just want to see Cosette again. She's been so kind to me, and I… I love her."
"Ah, Marius. It's a terrible thing to be separated from your mate." Combeferre walks over to the stray, placing a hand on both his shoulders, his earlier elation at the scientific possibilities pushed aside in favor of empathy. "We will see you reunited with her. It's just going to be difficult, and take time. Please be patient."
"Geroux may just kill you if he sees you on his territory again without permission." Enjolras settles down on the edge of his bed, annoyed at how his body and mind are still tired from his exertions yesterday but unable to do anything about it. "I think he blames you, now, for what's happened. He's unlikely to grant you permission to trespass, especially when there's no reason we can give him that won't cause panic."
"Meaning the girl has to come to us." Combeferre begins pacing again.
"Which would be fine, except her father is suspicious of us and doesn't want her alone with us—especially you, Marius. I'm not sure he wants to be seen with us again, though he's a good enough man not to turn us in or blackmail us." Enjolras drums his fingers against his knee. "We'll have to work slowly, I suppose. Invite them to events or dinners in our territory or on neutral ground, work to gain his trust. If the daughter handled it well… perhaps in time we'll be able to tell the father."
"But what if he panics? He's a very religious man, he attends church all the time, and according to their religion we're demons. What if he declares we can never see each other again?" Marius' hands flap wildly for a moment, the scent of panic filling the room. "What if he tries to kill us—what if we have to kill him? I can't kill her father! I—"
"No one is going to be killing anyone, Marius." Enjolras cuts across the stray's rambling.
"The other option…" Combeferre hesitates. "I know the risk would be higher for her as a lone human female, and it may anger her father if she's caught, but she could come to meet us alone."
"I can't put her in danger." Marius shakes his head, dejection replacing the manic terror. "If it means waiting… I will have to wait."
"We do have the boy as a go-between. You can always exchange letters." Enjolras is glad to see a flicker of hope blossom in Marius' expression at the thought.
"And it may not be a bad idea to offer her the option of meeting you or not." Combeferre shrugs. "We aren't her—she may decide the risk is small and worthwhile."
Marius looks dubiously at Combeferre.
Any reply he's going to give is cut off by a shout from the next room over.
"Lord's bloody balls, that's awesome!"
Marius turns to stare at the wall, as does Combeferre, matching expressions of dismay on their faces.
Enjolras smiles as he stands. "And that would be why you should lay any fears you have about her safety with us to rest, at least. I believe Courfeyrac just showed our little street-rat what we are, meaning we currently have two fully aware human allies to protect. More will come, I'm sure. Now, you should get a message ready for Cosette…"
Enjolras guides Marius to sit in the desk chair, presses a pen into his hand, and slides a blank piece of paper in front of him.
It's only when he presses Marius' pen to the paper that the stray begins to write, but when he does it's with gusto and a grin on his face.
Collapsing on his bed while Marius works, Enjolras allows his eyes to drift closed, possibilities for the future unfurling like a many-branched tree before him.
"Does it hurt? Is it hard? Can you do it again?" Gavroche circles Grantaire, currently sitting in wolf form on the ground of Courfeyrac's room, his tongue hanging out as he pants. "Do it again and show me how to do it!"
"You can't do it, Gavroche." Courfeyrac speaks gently, struck again by the boy's eagerness and his sharp control of any fear. He had been startled by Grantaire's transformation, but he had recovered quickly enough. "It's something that we're born to. Wolves transform every month on the full moon from the time they're born—some say we Change even in the womb, though I don't know the truth of that. It's not something I can teach a human child, just like the healing magic isn't, though I would if I could."
Gavroche reaches out one tentative hand toward Grantaire's head. "He's still… him, though? He's not, like, a crazy blood-hungry thing now?"
In answer Grantaire licks the boy's hand before dropping down flat on the floor, ears pricked forward, and rolling slowly onto his back.
Courfeyrac smiles at his pack-mate. "He's still himself. Our senses are a bit different—harder to see, easier to smell and hear—and it's a bit harder to think in sentences like we do in human form, but there's no fundamental difference between us like this and us like that."
Gavroche hunkers down slowly by Grantaire's side, still with a hint of fear in his scent but with stubborn determination and awe in his expression. "It's fantastic. It's really, really fantastic, and I wish I could do it. You're sure people can't learn it?"
"Well…" Courfeyrac hesitates, not wanting to give the child false hope, and then decides that honesty will likely be best. The child will learn soon enough if he stays with them, anyway. "There are stories of human-born wolves—humans who don't Change until later in life, who are human and then, somehow, become like us. We thought they were always just stories until two years ago, but now one of our pack is human-born."
"So it can be learned!" Gavroche's crow of triumph is almost as loud as his scream of fear and elation had been when Grantaire began transforming. "How did he transform?"
"He doesn't know." Shrugging helplessly, Courfeyrac gives the boy a half-smile. "None of us know what triggered it. It was… difficult for him to adjust at first, but he's doing well now."
"Well, yeah." Gavroche grins up at him, both his hands now buried in Grantaire's chest fur as Grantaire's squirms and wags his tail. "He's got magic now! He can heal just by touching and he can change into a giant wolf and no one can hurt him anymore!"
"It's… not that simple." Courfeyrac settles down by Grantaire's side, as well, stroking Grantaire's neck fur as the low-ranked wolf makes little mewling sounds of pleasure. "There's a reason we hide, Gavroche. Humans were hunting us for two hundred years, and they almost killed us all."
"Oh." Gavroche stills for a moment, his eyes dropping to his hands where they rest on Grantaire's body. "That's why you're not allowed to tell anyone. That's why you said others might want to hurt me if you told me more of your secret."
"Yes." Courfeyrac nods. "And that's why it's very important that you don't tell anyone without asking us first. It's to protect you, but also to protect us. We need people to be ready to accept us when they find out that we're real."
"All right." The boy nods decisively, starting once more to pet and tickle Grantaire. "But I still think I'd like to learn how to do it all. If you don't know how it's done, maybe I can figure it out. Maybe I can still learn your magic. And if I can't… well, I saved the two of you already. Be a waste of energy if I let you get dead now."
Grantaire slowly bunny-kicks his way out from under Gavroche's ministrations, rolls onto his stomach, and Changes back to his human form. "We'd really hate to get dead now, too."
Courfeyrac touches the boy's shoulder, drawing the human's attention to him, and smiles as the boy looks fearlessly into his eyes. "Are you all right?"
"I'm good." Gavroche grins.
"Do you have questions?"
"Lots." Gavroche scratches at his ear. "Not sure which to start with, though."
"I've a question for you." Grantaire gathers his clothes together and begins to dress. "How's living with Cosette and her father going?"
"Not too bad. The house's big, but it's nicer than my old place, and the old guy treats me pretty good. He's got it into his head that I ought t' learn how to read and do figures—says math's important 'cause everyone from the king on down wants t' cheat you—but he's not a bad sort. Weird, though. He has the girl and me eat right fancy though he's got this strange love for bland food for himself, why you'd want bland food when you can have anything I don't know, and the girl's got more fabric on one of her fancy church-dresses than I've ever seen in my life, but overall it's good." Gavroche finishes his brief summary of his two nights with Cosette and her father before pulling a loaf of bread that looks suspiciously like one that Musichetta had made for dinner and left on the counter from his shirt and biting into it. "If I've got to hide somewhere, you certainly could've chosen a worse place for me to go. Cosette's pretty nice, too, even if she's as sheltered as a foot in a boot."
Grantaire laughs. "Well, that's a ringing endorsement if I ever heard one."
"So…" Gavroche hugs his knees to his chest and looks up at Courfeyrac. "What now?"
"That depends on what you want. Bellamy's gone now—out of Paris, not allowed back into the city." Courfeyrac watches as the boy straightens, assimilating the information, wary and eager as a rabbit that knows it's hunted to get information, finishing off the bread in his hands in a few quick bites. How could humans let their pups live like this? "You're welcome to return to where you were, if you want. But given what you know… we could use your assistance."
"With wolf things." Gavroche chews on his left thumbnail.
"And human things. We have… a lot of dreams."
Grantaire snorts. "That's an understatement."
Courfeyrac ignores him. "You could stay with us. You might be able to stay with Cosette, if you wanted."
Gavroche hesitates. "I've… kind o' been liking it there, yeah. I might stay with them at least for a little bit. And I promise, again, cross my heart, stick a needle in my eye, I won't tell anyone about what you've shown me."
"I believe you, Gavroche."
"We both do." Grantaire ruffles the boy's hair before grabbing him into a hug from behind. "Because what child wouldn't want to help the big bad wolves?"
Gavroche shrieks out a bark of laughter before squirming around in Grantaire's arms, quick and lithe as an eel, and tickling him furiously in return.
Watching the boy and the submissive wolf, Courfeyrac allows body and mind to relax, dreaming of the day he'll see Grantaire play that way with the pack's own pups.
Enjolras is reading when Grantaire comes into his room the next evening, trying to catch up on some of the work that he missed during the incident and by sleeping through the vast majority of the last forty-eight hours.
Grantaire doesn't look very good. It's the first thing Enjolras notices, the submissive wolf's face shiny with sweat, his hands trembling slightly where they hang by his side. The second thing that Enjolras notices is Grantaire's scent, a mixture of frustration and something rancid.
He immediately stands, reaching for his pack-bond with Grantaire, but Grantaire takes a hasty step back from him and shakes his head, shying away just as much from the mental contact. "No, Enjolras. Not yet. Not unless… um… Lady, I don't know how to start."
"How about at the beginning?" Enjolras speaks slowly, gently, though his heart is pounding, too many shades of terror from the last few days brought back to haunt him.
"That would be a very long time ago." Grantaire closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm not hurt and I'm not sick—well, of course I'm not sick, our kind don't tend to get sick. It's… I haven't had a drink in five days now—no, four, I had a single glass of wine right before I went with Courfeyrac and… everything. And I want one. I think… my body thinks it needs one, which is ridiculous. Though, thinking back on my life, it's been something like six years since I last went more than twenty-four hours without imbibing some kind of alcohol."
Enjolras nods, slowly, still not quite understanding.
"And I desperately want to go just pour myself a shot and be done with it." Grantaire studies his shaking hands, and there are tears in his eyes. "I wanted to drink while they were torturing us. I had a silver collar around my neck, and I had Courfeyrac maybe dying next to me, and one of the things I thought of, one of the thoughts I couldn't get out of my head, was that I wanted a damn drink. And I… I don't want to be like that. You shouldn't have a wolf like that in your pack."
Standing perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, Enjolras watches the submissive wolf. When Grantaire doesn't continue after a few moments, Enjolras breaks the silence. "Grantaire. What would you have me do?"
"You tried to tell me. Before everything." Grantaire raises his eyes to meet Enjolras', just the barest fleeting moment of contact before the instinct to submit drops his gaze again. "After I made a mess of things with Marius, you tried to talk to me… and I was too drunk to listen. I said… awful things to you. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to find myself in this situation again, sitting by an injured pack-mate and desperate for a drink. So… I decided I wouldn't drink. But now…" Grantaire holds up one trembling hand, and tears shine in his eyes. "I tried. I thought if I just stayed in my room long enough it would pass. But it didn't. So I… I either give in and go get a drink, or I tell the rest of you and ask for help. And I don't want to be like this. So… I hate to ask this, after everything. You must still be tired, and drained, and I want to be a help and not a burden to you, but…"
"If there is something I can do for you, please ask." Enjolras reaches out his hand to mirror Grantaire's trembling one, their fingers not quite touching. "If I can help you, Grantaire, I will do it."
"Tell me not to drink." Grantaire closes his eyes, but the tears start falling regardless. "Order me or at least stay with me and help me not fail at this. Because I want to be a real, true part of this pack. I want to be worthy. And this is the first step toward that, I think."
"I think you're right." Enjolras moves forward slowly, linking his fingers with Grantaire's trembling ones before pulling the male into a tight embrace. "And we'll all be happy to help you, Grantaire."
"I'm sorry." Grantaire's voice is ragged, his tears warm as they soak through Enjolras' clothes to touch Enjolras' shoulder. "I'll be useful. I promise."
"You've already been useful. You sacrificed yourself to save Courfeyrac." Enjolras strokes his hand through Grantaire's hair, comforting, and reaches along their bond. This time Grantaire doesn't fight him, allowing Enjolras to see through to the burning determination and desperate want that's currently tearing his mind in two. "We'll help you, and this will pass."
"I know—" Grantaire gives a sound halfway between a sob and a hiccup. "I know it won't fix everything. I'm not… like you all. It's hard for me to see the future that you see, to imagine the world so much better… but I'll be less of a hazard. It will be better."
"It will be better." Enjolras imbues the statement with a ring of truth and certainty that Grantaire's desperate plea lacks as he continues to stroke Grantaire's hair, guiding the submissive wolf over to his bed and urging him to lie down before curling his own body around Grantaire's shivering form. "That's how everything gets better, Grantaire. One stubborn step forward at a time."
"One stubborn step." Another shiver runs down Grantaire's body, and he whimpers as he presses back into Enjolras' embrace. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Enjolras rubs his chin against Grantaire's hair, marking the male more strongly with his scent, and threads what he can of his still-recovering power into Grantaire's body to try to lessen the compulsion and shivering. You do not need alcohol. You do not.
Grantaire sighs, a bone-deep exhalation of relief, and relaxes.
Enjolras doesn't call the others to him, but they trickle in anyway, Courfeyrac first, then Combeferre, then Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta, then the rest, and he doesn't tell them to leave though his room is usually his place, not to be entered without permission.
He's just happy to have them there, their strength right at hand, their hearts and minds and souls ready to support each other whenever there's need.
