Notes: Finally, the conclusion. I apologize for the long, long wait, and I hope this finale is worth it. Thank you all for your patience, for your support and enthusiasm, and for giving this ridiculous AU a chance. If you want to read more of my fics, do check out my master list at youarethesentinels on Tumblr. For the beautiful (and painful) graphics, mixes, and meta that talented people have made for this story, head on over to my "fic: season unending" tag. It's been an exhilarating journey, and I'm glad I got to share it with all of you.

Chapter Fifteen

Over the Sea to Sky

The worst thing about the ungraceful state was this: you knew it was happening. Part of you remained untouched, could only look on in horror as the demon forced your body into actions that were not your own, look on in terror as your mind opened for the possessor against your will, letting them in, letting them see the places of you that you tried so hard to keep locked away from everyone else.

Éponine was standing in a long, dark hallway. Moonlight shone through the windows, glowing silver on ornate tapestries and expensive portraits. Why was she here? She had promised herself that she would never return…

You never left. The languid voice echoed through the gloom, resounding from every corner all at once. Not really. You made a new life somewhere else, but you always stayed here, didn't you? In the Chanvrerie.

"Where I was happy," Éponine whispered.

That's the thing, my dear. Lucifer chuckled, still unseen. You knew what kind of family you had. You knew the sort of man your father was. But it took you so many years to do something about it, yes? Perhaps you're not as courageous as you think.

"I," said Éponine coldly, "am not the one hiding in somebody else's mind."

Then let us see what else hides here. The doors lining the hallway flew open in tandem, creaking on their hinges. Move.

She moved; she had no choice, feet urged forward by an invisible, inexorable force, padding on the carpet as lightly as if she were a child again, laughing in the stillness of a summer night. She peered into the first room she came to, and regretted it immediately.

"Where are you going?"

One leg slung over the windowsill, Éponine glances back to see Gavroche staring at her from the doorway, all freckled cheeks and wide blue eyes.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath. She's seventeen years old, her hair in a ponytail, a knapsack dangling from one strap off her shoulder, heart pounding wildly and mind swimming with vague plans.

To Gavroche, she says, "I'm leaving."

"When are you coming back?"

He sounds so plaintive, so lost, that she has to look away. She turns her gaze to the silver-green ground sprawled out below.

"You know I'm not coming back, Gav."

"I'll…" He trails off, and she doesn't have to see him to know he's clenching his fists. "I'll sound the alarms. You won't make it past the gates."

She laughs, harsh and unsurprised. "Watch me."

And she jumps.

Éponine squinted at the memory, and it became clear to her, all the things that she'd been too young and too impetuous to notice. Gavroche's words warned her that he would alert the estate, but the crack in his voice said, Please don't leave me. She was only realizing it now, because, back then, she'd been mad at him for worshipping their father so blindly.

She edged away from the room. Somewhere, Lucifer was clucking his tongue.

You abandoned your siblings to their fate. Éponine Thénardier, always so shameless, always so selfish.

"Aren't you supposed to be fighting a war, or something?" she snapped. "Let's just cut the pseudo-psychoanalytical bullshit."

But I'm having too much fun. This is all part of possession, he purred. I'm taking everything. Next room, if you please, mademoiselle.

Another doorway, another life. Joly gingerly hands her a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup before beating a hasty retreat, as if the air in her apartment crawls with germs. Which it probably does.

"I didn't even know demons could get the flu," Éponine mutters, nudging the front door shut with her foot. She carries the bowl to her and Enjolras' bedroom, where Azelma is making faces at a pitiful golden-haired lump of blankets and crumpled tissue paper.

"Go watch TV," Éponine tells her sister, and the child complies, skipping back into the den with an air of smug satisfaction.

"You do realize she's punishing you for not reading to her while she was sick, don't you?" Éponine remarks, perching on the side of the mattress.

"I was busy," Enjolras snarls, glaring at her through bleary eyes.

"And now you've caught her bug," she says. "Fair's fair."

He sneezes violently in response. When he raises his head, his complexion is gray at the edges, like he's seconds away from throwing up. Again.

"I'm going to die, Éponine," he moans.

"Have some soup first," she offers. "It's bad form to die on an empty stomach."

"I don't want soup." There's a bit of a whine to his voice, no matter how clogged it sounds.

She leans over and kisses him. His lips, dry and fever-burnt, part in surprise, but his hand comes up to automatically curl fingers at her cheek. It's now instinct to him, this gesture, like the way she ruffles his hair when he lays his head on her lap. Before he can respond properly to the kiss, though, she pulls away and takes advantage of the situation to spoon soup into his open mouth.

"There." She smirks. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I liked the other thing better," he says, reaching for her again.

Éponine clapped a hand over her mouth, willing the feel of her own skin to erase the ghostly sensation of Enjolras' lips. The chime of the Morningstar's laugh tangled with the moonlight.

The most common personal failing, he drawled, in all the realms. How eager we are to give our hearts away. We forget that love is the providence of Ishtar. We forget that Ishtar is always cruel.

"Get out of my head," said Éponine.

Next room, was his only reply.

And, in the next room, Éponine saw Jehan again, four years younger, strawberry-blond hair pulled back in a loose braid.

"Hey." He was smiling, not at a memory of her, but directly at her, his gray eyes shining in the angel light. "Pretty cool place, huh?"

Éponine glanced around. They were in the basement of Templar headquarters.

"I'm Jean Prouvaire." He stuck out a hand. "But you can call me Jehan."

Look, you stupid little girl, whispered the voice of the Morningstar. This is the face of one who died for you. Who burned for you. Were you even worth it?

Éponine blinked, and suddenly there was a throwing knife in Jehan's hand. That wasn't right, was it? Four years ago, she'd simply shaken his hand and introduced herself.

"Take it," Jehan said, calm and achingly gentle. "Take my love, too."

Éponine took the knife and retreated from the room. She continued down the hallway of her childhood summerhouse as Lucifer laughed in dark amusement. She still couldn't see him, but he sounded so much closer than ever before.

When she peered into the next doorway, she saw Azelma. Not as she'd been the day she died, but whole and rosy-cheeked in the apartment on the corner of Requiem and Bone.

"Blood of my blood," Azelma said, small-voiced and solemn-eyed. "Sister. Mother I never knew. The bad man is coming. Be ready."

"Was it my fault?" Éponine asked. "If I had returned you to the family, could you have been saved? If I hadn't let go of your hand on the last day of the war, would you still be alive?"

The child didn't say anything. Éponine could hear footsteps in the corridor.

"Tell me," she whispered.

Finally, Azelma shrugged. "Love is everlasting."

The world exploded into fire and heat and smoke.

Lucifer, first of the Fallen, had forgotten just how entertaining it was to possess a human. Their minds were young and naïve, but also layered with a certain… richness. They felt too many things at once, dreamed and hoped so brightly that downfall was all the more painful. He had seen this, too, among the demons who returned to Dis after the Schism, those who had spent too long a time on the surface world. Humanity was contagious.

The girl ran down the burning hallway, but stopped once he appeared in front of her, flames nipping at her heels.

"So we come to this, the last," Lucifer crooned, savoring the panic and despair in her eyes, savoring the thrill of the tiny moments before she gave up completely. He was going to make her hurt.

"Fire of my blood." His taunting sneer mocked the old words from her old love, love long gone. "The air in my lungs. You. Always…"

He spotted the knife too late. She hurled it at him, the blade gleaming in the embers and the moonlight, and it soared straight into his ribcage.

Lucifer staggered back, surprised, and then Éponine was upon him, the hopelessness and fear on her expression replaced by pure rage.

"How dare you!" she screamed. "That was mine!" Her fist slammed into his jaw, and, as he reeled, it was followed by another punch, and another, and another. "That meant something to me! You can't take that away!" Her anger was terrible to behold as it filled the world and her blows rent his bones. "Get out!"

The rain had stopped. The gunblade was bearing down upon her, glowing as blue as Enjolras' wet eyes. If she timed it just right, Lucifer would be badly wounded, and she could live, she could…

Éponine gritted her teeth and pushed Lucifer from her mind. The agony was unbearable, like being split into two, and, when the smoke cleared, his body was hovering on top of her, torso impaled by Dark Sister, which was only a few centimeters away from piercing her own chest.

The Morningstar rolled away, howling in fury and in pain. The back of Éponine's throbbing head met the concrete as she gasped for breath, gaze full of sky and hellfire.

"Éponine." Enjolras cradled her face in his hands. His fingers trembled against her cheeks. "Is it really… I thought I…"

"It's me," she confirmed, still dazed, brushing away a lock of golden hair that had fallen into his eyes. "I came back."

A visible shudder went through him. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, the actions of someone who had been mere seconds from collapsing completely. "You," he mumbled, his voice hoarse with relief. "Always you."

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. And then, amidst those war-torn streets, amidst the rattle of gunfire and the red-gold glow of distant explosions, in all that air that smelled of rain and ashes, his lips found hers, giving her what he once would not. He was kissing her, broken boy under a broken sky, the tears on his lashes staining the tops of her cheeks, and it was just as fiercely sweet as she remembered, just as all-consuming, and, when she kissed him back, it felt like forgiveness.

Like coming home.

A blast of hellfire hit the ground a few inches away. They broke apart, twisting in bodies that were already crying out at the loss of contact. Lucifer stood over them, Dark Sister still buried deep in his stomach, ichor dripping from the wound.

"Well played." His breath was unsteady, his tone carrying only a little of his usual languidness. "But this invasion has been years in the planning, and I will not let this little love affair stop me." He glanced up, and smiled. "Ah, speaking of love- there you are, beautiful one."

The Queen of Lust descended, red hair streaming in the wind. She positioned herself in front of Lucifer, a deadly-looking lance in her hands, watching Enjolras and Éponine with calculating silver eyes.

Éponine tried to scramble to Enjolras' side, but he stopped her with a glare. "Stay back," he warned.

Lucifer chuckled. He pulled the gunblade out by its hilt, and carelessly tossed it aside. "How noble, but you are both going to die, anyway."

A few Templars and New Advent soldiers noticed their predicament and rushed to their aid, but a ring of ice spikes suddenly blossomed around the scene, preventing anyone from coming near. Éponine saw Belial, the King of Vainglory, floating in the air, observing the events with rapt fascination.

Ishtar glanced at Éponine. To Lucifer, she said, "Are you sure you don't want this one to live, my lord? She exorcised you from her own mind, without the ritual. She's interesting. It seems almost a pity."

"I have indulged your pity far too many times," snapped Lucifer. "First it was Orpheus, and then it was that Untitled wretch, and now this?"

"It seems to me," said Ishtar, "that exiling the Untitled wretch was the greatest thing I ever did for you. He squealed to the Templars, and that was what gave you legal grounds for declaring war, wasn't it? Perhaps you knew I would do such a thing, and that is why you sent me out into the Waste Lands to look for rebel survivors."

Lucifer didn't bother to deny the accusation. Instead, he told her, "You are not Astarte anymore."

"Hmm." Ishtar tipped the lance in her hands. "I think I was Astarte when Orpheus sang. I think I was Astarte when Lamarque spoke to me on his deathbed."

Lucifer sneered. "What good has being the Evening Star done? Tammuz is dead, died thousands of years ago, died screaming, like all those you've ever loved. You can't bring them back."

Resignation dulled the light in Ishtar's eyes. Éponine braced herself for the final attack, watching the war goddess approach.

But, once she had put some distance between herself and Lucifer, Ishtar stopped walking. "I just have one more question, my lord," she said, her back still turned to him.

Lucifer sighed with barely concealed impatience. "By all means."

"How many miles to Babylon?" Ishtar asked.

And she whirled around, as quick as lightning, and she plunged the tip of her lance into Lucifer's chest.

A hush gradually fell over the battlefield. All eyes turned to the sight of the Morningstar's most loyal driving her weapon deeper into him, driving it home, lifting him off his feet as it skewered his heart.

"I broke the Throne before I left," Ishtar said coldly, staring into her sovereign king's eyes as dark ichor gurgled from his pale mouth. "No more Limbo. No more oaths. I guessed that you had something to do with vestal light and Bonaparte's death, but my suspicions were never confirmed until you ordered this invasion. I waited too long to act, and that will always be my regret. But I'm making up for it now." Hellfire erupted all around her, a blazing conflagration that devoured Belial's ice spikes, that danced along her lance and sliced into Lucifer's wounds. "Long live General Lamarque."

Lucifer died, became the king of ashes, his amethyst eyes clouded over with betrayal. Love was always cruel, after all.

It was surprisingly easy to clear out the Chanvrerie, since most of the syndicate goons had been marshaled by Valjean and Fantine to join the battle, and what few remained immediately fled at the sight of a Templar and two angels wielding glowing swords and guns.

But Courfeyrac, Marius, and Cosette had run into an unexpected complication.

Old man Thénardier had renovated the interior of the Chanvrerie. From the outside, it looked like a normal two-storey house, but once you went in, there was a narrow hallway which led to a huge, heavy metal door, riddled with several security keypads.

"We could blow it up," Courfeyrac suggested.

"Vestal light is highly volatile," murmured Cosette. "Who knows how close the supplies are to the entrance? We might set off a chain reaction."

Marius raised his hand to the topmost keypad, but was stopped by a scratchy, mischievous drawl. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The whole place is rigged to blow if you get three combinations wrong."

They turned around to see a scrawny, surly-looking teenage boy leaning casually against the wall, hands jammed into the pockets of an ill-fitting suit.

"What kind of teenager goes around wearing suits in the middle of a war?" Courfeyrac demanded.

The boy smirked. "The Thénardier heir, that's who."

Marius, who had spent countless hours poring over the Five Family dossiers, widened his eyes in recognition. "Gavroche."

"At your service."

"Look, kid," said Courfeyrac, pasting on his most charming smile, "we need vestal light to get rid of the demonic forces currently swarming all over New Advent. Let's help each other out here, shall we?"

"I would rather help myself," Gavroche said airily. "So what if the demons win? My family's in good with them. They might even get rid of Valjean and Fantine, paving the way for my empire's continued expansion."

"Your sister is out there," Cosette said in a soft voice.

Gavroche's expression darkened. "I don't have any sisters. Not anymore."

Courfeyrac's heart went out to the boy. He knew what it was like at that age, to be so full of anger, so eager to prove yourself, so alone and starved for love. But he also knew that there were some kids on whom gentle coaxing almost never worked.

"This is what's going to happen," he said, his index finger pointed at the nearest keypad. "I'm going to enter in three wrong combinations and blow this place sky-high, taking out a major portion of your family's livelihood, all for nothing. Or you're going to input the right combinations, and help us use a major portion of your family's livelihood to stop an invasion. And save your sister's life in the process. She's out there now, Gav. She's fighting demons so you will never have to live under their shadow."

Gavroche opened his mouth to retort, but Courfeyrac cut across him, allowing a little harshness to seep into his tone. "And don't you dare tell me she's not your sister. We're at war, kid! The things that happened before- they don't matter anymore, you know? Not when it's like this." And he found himself thinking of Jehan, what Jehan had looked like when they said their goodbyes. "People I love have left me, too, but you don't see me holding it against them. Because, sometimes, what's personal isn't what's important."

The adults waited with bated breath, until, finally, the teenager pushed off from the wall and approached the locked door. He avoided Courfeyrac's eyes as he punched in the combinations, but, right before keying in the last digit, he muttered, "Tell Ep I miss her."

During the ferocious airborne fight that ensued, Musichetta had managed to wind her sickle's chain around Alecto's neck. The angel now had the Fury in a stranglehold, even as bloodied feathers fell from her own wings, which were so badly injured by Alecto's sharp claws that she was barely able to stay aloft.

Alecto was tugging at the chain, trying to loosen it, but she suddenly froze, and let out a bone-chilling shriek of anguish.

Musichetta turned to the horizon, and then blinked at the flashes of light she saw there, dancing above the shimmering green-glass skyline. Dis was raising its insignias. A black serpent was disappearing into the hooked beak of a bronze eagle.

"The Morningstar is dead," Alecto gurgled. "Belial has assumed command."

"'Chetta!" Joly was waving his arms at her as he tottered unsteadily on a nearby ledge. "Courfeyrac just called in. The Chanvrerie is clear; we have to go now!"

"Go on," whispered Alecto. She sounded almost encouraging. "My lord is dead. My sisters are dead. The ages have passed me by."

Musichetta stared at the Fury's back. And then she pulled the chain, sharply, with all her strength, yanking upward. The silver constricted around the ancient throat, snapped the ancient neck. Musichetta let go of her sickle, and watched Alecto the Implacable, daughter of Earth, the first to weep, plummet to the ground below.

"What happened?" Combeferre asked as he and Feuilly burst through the open doorway of the Chanvrerie, into a room full of crates of vestal light that shed an ethereal glow into the air as they simmered in their vials. "We saw the insignias change! Who killed Lucifer?"

Bossuet shrugged. "We don't know yet."

"It was Ishtar," said another voice. All eyes snapped to the new arrivals as they staggered inside. Enjolras was bleeding heavily, his arm around Éponine's shoulders as she held him up.

Marius frowned in puzzlement. "The Courtesan defected?"

"She's a double agent," Enjolras replied. "Or she turned double agent at the last second. I don't know." He disentangled himself from Éponine and hobbled over to a table covered with maps of the city that the others had been busy marking.

"Your brother was the one who let us in," Courfeyrac informed Éponine in an undertone.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I never thought he'd have it in him. Where is he now?"

"He mentioned something about an underground bunker…"

"I know that place," she said. "The panic room. They're probably all hiding down there. It's just as well. War is no place for a child."

With that, she turned her attention to the impromptu council.

"So Lucifer and Baal are dead," Cosette said meditatively. "Ishtar has defected. That leaves Belial, Mammon, Nemesis, Beelzebub, and Aergia."

Combeferre tapped his chin. "If we could take them and their generals out in one fell swoop…" He glanced around the room, an idea forming in his mind. "If we could lead them here…"

"We can detonate the place!" said Feuilly. "With hellfire, with vestal light, with man-made explosives… Not even the Seven can survive an explosion of that magnitude."

Enjolras frowned. "How do we lure them here?"

Courfeyrac felt something nudge at his mind, felt someone else's look out through his own. Before he could even cry out in surprise, Ishtar rode his mind to the surface, and left it just as quickly, appearing in the middle of the room in a flash of hellfire.

"Did someone say lure?" The Queen of Lust's lips curved in a wicked, intoxicating grin. In her arms she carried the head of Orpheus.

They quickly got to work, piling the crates of vestal light into several concentrated heaps in order to produce the biggest possible explosion.

"This thing's a masterpiece," said Courfeyrac, staring up at the wall of wood and glass in awe.

Combeferre squinted. "It almost looks like…"

"A barricade," Enjolras finished for him, nodding in satisfaction. "To open the way."

After they were done rigging bombs in every possible corner of the Chanvrerie, they retreated to the woods outside the house.

Joly watched Ishtar, who was deep in conversation with Enjolras and Marius. "Are you sure we can trust her?"

"She killed the Morningstar," said Feuilly in wry tones. "If that doesn't get her your vote of confidence, I don't know what will." He touched the thorn-tree mark on his face. "I now know why she didn't kill me. Despite what she said then, she thought exile would be kinder. Ishtar is the goddess of war, but Astarte… In the old myths, Astarte was the Queen of Heaven. The goddess of mercy."

Ishtar passed the head of Orpheus to Marius. "It's decided," she announced to the group at large. "The angel will serve as bait."

Cosette rushed forward, as if she were about to protest, but Marius stopped her with a gentle smile. "The demons' wings are injured. So are Musichetta's. We need the fastest flier, one who can get away in time."

"You will get away in time," said Cosette, her eyes searching his freckled face, "won't you?"

In response, Marius bent down and kissed her on the cheek, before walking back to the Chanvrerie. He hesitated when he passed by Éponine, and their gazes caught.

She blew out a breath. "It would never have worked between us, anyway."

As far as jokes went, it was weak, and more awkward than amusing, but the two of them laughed. Sometimes, laughing was all you could do.

Marius positioned himself on the steepled roof, painfully conscious of the bombs below. "Are you ready?" he asked Orpheus.

"Yes," the demon replied, "but there is something I must ask of you."

"What is it?"

"Drop me. When they come, make your escape, but drop me into the explosion."

Marius' brow creased. "I don't…"

"I have lived too long," Orpheus whispered. "Far longer than I should have. They took my eyes and I can no longer see into the future. No one needs me anymore. But, if I perish, there is one thing I can see, and that's her. I am tired. I just want to see Eurydice again. Do you understand?"

"But-"

"I follow the footsteps of one who came before me," said Orpheus in implacable tones. "Apothanein thelo."

The words of the Sibyl at Cumae, which had been carved into the walls of the Temple of the Dead.

I want to die.

At last, Marius nodded. "Very well." He raised his arms, lifting the head of the demon into the air. "One last song, son of dreams."

The song of Orpheus echoed throughout New Advent. It was a hymn of challenge, of defiance. From all around the city, the Kings and Queens of Dis took flight, followed by their generals, laughing and screaming as they traced the sound. The furious army descended on the Chanvrerie, tearing the air with wings and battle cries.

As they plunged down to the roof where the angel stood, the melody suddenly changed.

Beelzebub faltered. "I've heard this before," he said to Mammon. "In Atlantis. Don't you remember?"

"Now!" Enjolras shouted from the trees. He and Combeferre blasted hellfire at the house, just as Feuilly pressed the button which set off the bombs.

Marius took wing as the Chanvrerie detonated beneath his feet. He careened into the air, fueled by the momentum of the blast. The legions wailed and writhed as they were ripped apart by vestal light, and he hurled Orpheus into the heart of the explosion, and still Orpheus' lips moved and the song continued, a plea to return all that had been lost, a lament for sea and sky.

The breeze carried ashes into the woods, where the group flocked around Marius, clapping him on the back. He was shaking, pale-faced, but his eyes softened and lit up when Cosette flung herself into his arms.

"Is it really over?" Bossuet wondered out loud.

"I didn't see Nemesis and her legion," muttered Ishtar. "Then again, she was always the smart one." She raised an imperious hand into the air, and insignias unfurled in the heavens above, the crimson rose of Lust wrapping its thorns around the bronze eagle of Vainglory, the golden caduceus of Greed, the swarming flies of Gluttony, and the horned ram of Sloth.

Another blaze of light illuminated the horizon. It seemed to be coming from over Chinatown. It was the black crescent moon of Envy, which then flashed silver, in surrender.

They made their way back to the main city, and the next few hours were spent helping the injured and those trapped underneath rubble, as well as mourning the dead. Enjolras' frown grew deeper with every corpse he saw- human or demon, it didn't matter anymore. Too many lives had been lost.

The first stars glowed faintly overhead as Valjean and Fantine extracted Javert from underneath a crumbled pillar. He glared at them as he dusted himself off.

Fantine smiled sweetly. "It seems to me, Mister President, that you have a lot on your plate. Reconstruction, seeking for repatriations, and what not. Surely you have no time to chase after a drug pusher? Especially one who mobilized the civilian militia that held fast at Ghost Avenue?"

"Wipe that smug grin off your face!" Javert poked a finger at Valjean's chest. "I'm giving you three days' head start, and no more!"

Valjean shrugged. "Three days are all I need."

A few feet away, Éponine jumped to the side to avoid a portion of roof that came toppling down. She crashed into a strong, warm frame, which automatically held her by the arms.

She didn't look at Enjolras, but she allowed her cheek to rest against his chest, allowed herself this one last small thing, before she stepped away.

"I'll never be able to separate you from her, you know," she told the air, refusing to even glance in his direction. "Whenever I look at you, I will always see that moment. The day she died."

"I know," was his solemn reply. "But, as long as you remain safe, as long as you have a chance to be happy, and to live, then it is acceptable to me. I can lose you like this."

She walked away from him, and, somehow, even after all that had happened, it was the hardest thing she had ever done.

Ishtar knew she would never be able to win a staring contest against Nemesis, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to try. The remaining legions looked from one Queen to the other in trepidation, as New Advent glowed green in the night.

"I always knew," drawled Nemesis, "that you and I would outlive them all. We were never like them."

"So who rules now?" Ishtar snapped.

"Over a ruined kingdom with half its populace gone?" Nemesis sniffed. "It's all yours, dear."

Enjolras and Combeferre pushed their way to the front of the crowd. The two Queens each raised a perfectly-arched eyebrow in tandem.

"Ladies," said Enjolras, as Combeferre patted his shoulder supportively, "if we could perhaps interest you in an alternative form of government-"

He didn't get much further than that. There was a rumbling from above, like thunder, and everyone looked up as ethereal white light broke through the evening skies. Snowy feathers and fiery eyes filled the world as a host of angels descended, their marble-like beauty eliciting gasps of wonder from the humans while the demons' expressions soured.

A dark-haired Seraphim came forward. "Greetings," he said, his gaze on Ishtar because Nemesis had slunk back into the shadows with an enigmatic smile. "I am-"

"I know who you are," Ishtar said boldly, crossing her arms. "What I don't know is what brings you here, Lord of the Fifth Heaven."

"I have come to discuss terms of transfer," replied the archangel Samael. "With the fall of the Morningstar and the Isis Throne, the old oaths have been destroyed. Dis reverts to the possession of the Silver City."

Combeferre turned to Enjolras. "Don't," he warned, but he was too late.

"Well, isn't that convenient?" Enjolras yelled. "You just reclined back in your fluffy little clouds and watched as the two other realms were torn apart, but it's all worked out in your favor in the end, hasn't it?"

Samael stared at Enjolras. "Who is this?" he asked Ishtar out of the corner of his mouth.

Ishtar grinned widely. "Your problem, not mine."

"Allow me to explain," said Combeferre in calm yet bright tones. "What you will be taking over is, in fact, a realm in an anarchic situation due to a failed revolt and a lost war. The power structure has been greatly tampered with, and society is in upheaval. Can you imagine the administrative headache? You will be faced with many rebellious elements." Beside him, Enjolras' glower left no room for doubt as to exactly who and his ilk would comprise those elements. "Not to mention the fact that New Advent is, as of the moment, not very well-disposed towards a State that failed to help them in their time of need. Unless, of course, the humans who saved their own city can speak for your government's intentions-"

"No way!" shouted Courfeyrac from up ahead, but he was immediately hushed by Éponine.

Combeferre continued, unperturbed, "-and perhaps one who still has power in Dis can bring the people to heel."

A muscle ticked along Samael's jaw. "What are you saying?"

Ishtar picked up where Combeferre left off. "Nemesis of Envy has no desire to rule. For all intents and purposes, in the eyes of the Untitled and the remaining legions, I am the High Queen of Dis. I speak for them, and this is what I say: We will agree to the Silver City's terms. If you agree to ours."

"And what are these terms of yours, pray tell?" Samael demanded coldly.

Ishtar and Combeferre turned to Enjolras.

His blue eyes gleamed. "The hierarchy in Dis will be abolished," he said slowly. "No more titles. There will be elections, popular rule. Greater social mobility for all. Dis will belong to the Silver City, but its administration will be left up to its own citizens." A smile began to grow on his lips. "The Metatron agents who opened the portal and ignored the recall will not be punished. Will, in fact, be promoted, for actions of valor that helped save an entire race." He took a deep breath. "And the Silver City will exercise its dominion over the Void. Everyone who died during the rebellion, all the lost souls in Limbo, will be brought back. If they want to be."

The celestial spheres churned in Samael's eyes. Finally, he said, "I must consult with my superiors."

It was early morning in the City of Dis. The grassy plains of Nineveh clamored with activity as demons climbed out of the black chasm that had materialized in the air. Grantaire and Bahorel were the last ones to emerge.

"Man, fuck Aergia," snarled Grantaire. "I thought she would go easy on me." He shook his head, looking a little bit worse for wear, but otherwise simply bewildered. "I don't recall anything at all from our time in Limbo. It really is nothingness, isn't it? What's the last thing you remember?"

Bahorel inhaled a huge lungful of fresh air, savoring the feeling. He smiled. "Glory."

Grantaire clapped him on the back, and they went off to look for their friends.

"You realize, of course, that this is highly irregular." A pale, gaunt demon dressed in black sniffed as he glared admonishingly over a long scroll of parchment. "Usually, petitions take years to process, and, had it not been for the intervention of the Evening Star, I would never have considered-"

"Shut up, Hades," Enjolras growled.

The Lord of Death desisted, albeit a little peevishly. They had let him keep his bureaucratic title, because, honestly, who the hell would want his job? He rolled up the scroll. "Remember," he warned the newly-resurrected human in front of him, "six months on the surface, six months here below. Those are the rules. If you break them, you go back to the Valley of the Dead."

Jehan nodded, wide-eyed.

Courfeyrac squeezed his hand. "It'll be cool," he declared with assurance. "We'll be, like, a glamorous jet-setting couple. The sort you see in tabloids."

"Couple?" Jehan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Courfeyrac shrugged. "You know, if you want."

Jehan grinned. "Yes," he said, laughing. "Yes, okay."

Éponine peered into the mists of the Valley. Try as she might, she couldn't see anyone else coming forth.

"It happens," Hades told her. "Sometimes, they… have suffered too much. Sometimes, they don't want to come back."

She nodded, barely hearing his words. The fragile hope that had been blossoming in her chest withered into ashes on her tongue.

Enjolras touched her shoulder, a gesture of mute, helpless comfort. She ignored him.

"Hey, look," said Courfeyrac, pointing with the hand that was not in Jehan's.

A ray of brilliant, dewy light streamed through the clouds, falling somewhere deep beyond the mountains. As the group watched, a small, long-haired figure rose up from the Valley, little wings fluttering on her back. She stretched out her arms, and they were grasped by two other winged figures who had also appeared.

"Oh," Éponine said softly as Marius and Cosette helped Azelma ascend, murmuring words of encouragement all the while. They were too far away, but, somehow, Cosette seemed to wink at the people on the ground, the smug wink of one who had pulled a lot of strings, and it had paid off.

Enjolras' hand had not left Éponine's shoulder. They both gazed up at the heavens.

"I love you," he said softly, and she didn't know if he was saying it to her or to Azelma, but she echoed the words as well, as she watched her sister disappear in a flash of angel light.

It was two months later, and Feuilly and Éponine were washing dishes at the sink, when the doorbell of the apartment that they shared with Jehan and Courfeyrac- for half the year, at least- rang.

"Want me to get it?" Feuilly asked, already starting to rinse his hands.

Éponine smiled. She was a lot nicer to him these days, because exile was exile and it had to suck for him, never being able to return to the land where he grew up. But he seemed content, for the most part, especially when Joly and Bossuet came over to watch Estelle et Némorin. Sometimes they brought Musichetta in tow, when she was visiting.

"I'll do it," said Éponine. "Gavroche probably forgot something."

"It better not be his firearm," Feuilly called good-naturedly to her retreating back. "Honestly, what does a teenager need with an Akdal Ghost TR-01, I'll never know."

"He just wants to make sure you put extra cheese in the macaroni whenever he drops by for lunch," Éponine retorted, wiping her wet hands on her jeans.

She opened the door, and groaned. "Why are you all here?"

"Surprise!" Bahorel, Grantaire, and Combeferre yelled in tandem, bounding into the living room.

"Your apartment has been assigned the honor of hosting our political meetings," Combeferre informed her. "And, before you ask, yes, Enjolras will be along shortly."

"Meetings for what?" Éponine snapped.

"Independence, baby!" Bahorel's fist punched the air. "Dis will be free of those tyrant angels, come what may!"

"They're not exactly tyrants if Ishtar is your president, you know," Éponine pointed out.

"But we are technically still a colony," Combeferre countered. "An unacceptable state of affairs."

"Just go with it," Grantaire muttered in Éponine's ear. "It gives them something to do."

Éponine huffed. "I don't see why you have to hold your meetings here."

"Funny you should say that," said Combeferre, "because I posited that exact same thing. However, Enjolras was particularly adamant about the need to conduct the crime of sedition beyond State borders, so that there would be plenty of legal loopholes to slip through."

Éponine was seconds away from stomping her foot. "But why here? In this apartment?"

Bahorel grinned. "It was the only place the chief would agree to." He coughed. "I mean, of course, because it's so convenient, being so near the portal and all…"

The demons flocked to the kitchen, which was soon echoing with glad cries as they reunited with Feuilly. Éponine sighed, and was about to shut the door, when she met resistance in the form of a hand bracing itself against the wood.

Éponine turned her nose up at the new arrival. "You're late for your own meeting."

Enjolras nodded. "I had to drop by the Basilica and explain to a very infuriated Javert why it was perfectly aboveboard for Valjean to seek asylum in Dis."

"And, let me guess, Javert got even more infuriated."

His smirk was answer enough. She rolled her eyes. "You really do like making people angry, don't you?"

"Not everyone in equal measure," he replied. "You're still my favorite."

They regarded each other in silence for a while, content merely to look, to reassure themselves with the simple fact of presence, at the end of it all. She realized that she'd missed him.

"May I…?" Enjolras finally asked, in a tentative voice, gesturing to the door. Or maybe at her.

Éponine breathed out the weight of the past years. "Sure," she said.

She opened the door wider, and let him in.

The End

Postscript:

You deserve this :)

Love,

Thea