Antony's hands waltzed slowly against the slim black and white keys of his piano, the movements of his composition precise and excellent as his dark, sullen chords drifted into the air gently. His eyes were closed as he concentrated on his music, attempting to drown out his anxiety with the smooth, almost liquid comfort of song. Today was an important day, and, as pleased and excited as he was, he could not help but feel aggravated. While producing his supremely beautiful sonata, Antony gasped suddenly, having forgotten to breathe momentarily while he was immersed so deeply in the sounds he was obsessed with. Today was an important day. Today he would be married.

As soon as the word married entered his train of thought, his fingers slipped and slammed unevenly against a group of harsh chords, making him sneer at the pale skin of his wrists before withdrawing his hands from the keyboard, looking almost guiltily at the wrinkled expanse of the sheet music spread out before him. He rarely made even the slightest mistake while exercising his talent and his anxiety about today's events was no excuse for ruining the particular movement he had been playing. Antony, his green eyes narrowed and his dark hair tousled, made a face, sighed, and tried in vain to make the blood pounding in his finger tips vanish. A silent, brooding man by nature, he was successful in controlling himself.

A distant but present hand placed itself over his shoulder, and the young man looked up into his father's disapproving face, the older man taking no pride in his son's flighty nerves.

Eponine watched somewhat distantly as Cosette placed a gossamer veil over the bride's face, the opaque fragment of fabric hiding everything about her head besides her long, blond hair, brushed and combed until it shone in shiny waves. Nervously, the young woman twitched her white gown about her hips, straightening and straightening the garment, trying her best to look as beautiful as she could for her fiance who would, by the end of today, be her husband. Eponine's liquid brown eyes slipped down the woman in white, her heart panging with both sorrow and happiness. She could easily remember when the woman in front of her had just been a little girl, smiling, singing, dancing. Next, she caught the eye of the beautiful young girl sitting in the seat across from her. The girl did not smile, but her dark eyes were soft and her pink lips were molded into a graceful form, her swath of brown curls swept over her shoulder fashionably as her doting father had arranged it. Seeing that she was in a serious mood, Eponine did not bother attempting a conversation with her.

Despite the room being crowded with woman, the only sound that filled the air was the rustling of skirts and the muffled sound of Antony's music upstairs, a music which made the bride before her sigh nervously before looking up at the ceiling above her, a small smile barely visible behind the sheer material covering her face while she heard the music which came to him so easily. Suddenly, a sharp, ugly clang resounded through the air, followed by nothing but a heavy silence that pressed down on all of them. Unable to cope with the quiet, Eponine stood, and, whispering to her companions that she was going to check on the disruptance upstairs, she stepped out of the room and into the hallway. She dwindled on her journey up the stairs, remembering, her hand lingering on the smooth wooden railing, but she eventually found her way to the door of the room she had once occupied many years before.

Politely, she knocked on the door before entering with a smile, taking in the sight of the men of her life all crowded in this one room. Lestan, who had made a rare visit from his home in Montfermeil for this special occasion, was sitting comfortably in an old plush armchair, his two sons standing obediently at his side, listening to Antony's resumed sonata peacefully, their sweet, youthful faces soft as they were immersed in the gentle harmonies. On the opposite end of the room, Jehan Montparnasse, now once again mostly sane after years of treatment and still utterly handsome, was lounging over her old bed, his eyes closed and his head resting against his folded arms. Marius was there, too, his hair beginning to gray, and she quickly made her way in the room to stand beside him. Leaning against the wall of the bedroom, Javert looked up and nodded at her before turning his attention back to Antony, his intense gaze filled with both confidence and pride.

"Who would have thought," Marius murmured in her ear with a smile, folding his arms behind his back comfortably. "Your son, my daughter. In love." He sighed to her, his lips happy but his eyes sorrowful as he thought of the day when Antony had come to him, terrified of denial, stuttering like a fool, nothing at all like his usual self as he asked his Uncle Marius for the right of ownership to what was most important in a young man's life. "Getting married."

"Little Fantine looks very beautiful." Eponine whispered to her old love, quiet enough so that her son would not be able to hear her, picturing the nervous vision of a younger looking Cosette that stood downstairs, no doubt still spreading her white skirts and fixing her askew veil. "I'm only sorry I haven't got a daughter for Jean." She said, her voice lifting upwards as if she meant to laugh, her expressive eyes somewhat sad. True, she adored her son, but she would have liked to have had a daughter, as well. However, her first pregnancy had been too hard on her body for her to ever bear a child again and Antony would be the only child of hers to walk the earth. Years before, she had often watched charming Fantine play with her mother enviously, then in turn feeling guilty as she watched Marius observing her son with his own jealousy. But Cosette had soon been able to give her husband a son, an heir who he adored just as much as his first child.

"Hmm," Marius mused, still smiling handsomely. "Well, he and Nina have always been quite close."

"How many damn times do I have to tell you, Marius?" Montparnasse barked loudly, blinking his eyes open to stare blankly at the ceiling. "Keep your son away from my daughter." He commanded, grinning to himself contentedly when Eponine gave a snort of laughter. He lifted his eyes to her, his face softening. He no longer loved her and he had taken no interest in a woman since the discovery of his daughter. Afterwards, little Nina was all the female companionship he needed in his life. "Besides, she is far too young for me to even discuss marriage with her." He said as an afterthought. "Hard to believe that it's already been seven years since she showed up on my doorstep one day, dressed in little more than rags, tugging on my shirt, grinning, calling me father, demanding some food because her mother had died and she hadn't a way to feed herself." He said, twisting his lips in sour reminiscence. "She reminded me of your younger brother."

Eponine could remember the events of 1837 without trouble. It was the year Montparnasse had been released from the care of an asylum where he had been treated. It was also the year Montparnasse had debuted as an actor, repenting and washing away his sins after vowing to never resort to crime again. It also happened to be the year that the handsome man had discovered he had sired a daughter.

It had been a strange and stressful time for Montparnasse, a young man barely accustomed to a normal life after so many years of enduring poverty and darkness. She had retained her promise, however, and had visited him frequently during his treatment, despite objections from a slew of people including doctors, friends, and even her own husband. But she had headed to no one's commands but her own and, because of that, they had become incredibly close friends, as Eponine seemed to be his only hint of light in a place where treatment was more macabre than medicine.

Following her example of reaching out to those who needed a face to talk to, Cosette and Marius had also befriended Montparnasse, but only after he was released from his institution. The handsome man had sworn both Eponine and Javert to secrecy regarding his previous mental state, and they had willingly agreed. It would not help him rehabilitate any further if he was constantly treated as an outcast.

After little Nina had announced herself in his life, it cemented the bond between Montparnasse and his friends. Eponine never denied assistance nor advice to him in times of parental trouble, and she readily became something like the child's adoptive mother. The young girl was a beauty, but she was also prone to long periods of silence only broken by random outbursts of fits. Cosette, her maternal instinct for her own two children stretching towards all others, had taken a hand in raising Nina, as well. She knew very well what it was like to grow up without a mother. Despite their always willing appliance, however, Cosette and Eponine were only needed for things that only a woman could teach a girl. Montparnasse had quickly taken a liking to his daughter, who he had taken off the streets without an ounce of hesitation, doing everything he possibly could to redeem himself in the eyes of the lord so that he may deserve the incandescent glory of the angel that had merely stepped up to his doorway, wanting nothing more than food after her mother had died.

Montparnasse often reminded Cosette of her own father.

In extent, Antony, Fantine, Jean, and Nina rarely passed a single day without each other in their lives. Antony and Fantine, their ages separated only by a little less than a year, had grown even closer to each other than the others. It had been no surprise to anyone when Antony had come to Marius one evening and discussed all the affection he held for his daughter, asking him for her hand. It had been strange for Marius seeing the son of Inspector Javert as sincere and poetic as he had been that night, having to force himself to remember that the tall, broad shouldered man in front of him was also Eponine's son. Her dark hair was not the only thing the mother had given her son.

"I don't think any of us ever grew up with a proper idea of what marriage was." Antony said from where he sat, his manner almost sullen, his fingers still absorbed by each of the glimmering keys of the instrument before him as he produced arpeggio after arpeggio.

Eponine smiled, glancing at Lestan's sons. She wondered if the two even knew what marriage was, their lives were so lost in their own world. Their father had once confided in her that he had proposed to Azelma countless times throughout the years, but she had always denied him, though it was obvious to any onlooker that the two loved each other with an infinite capacity. When confronted about this, Azelma had smiled, somewhat sadly, saying that a woman with her past could never deserve the title of wife. But that had not stopped her from giving Lestan two sons, a pair of strange, thoughtful boys who carried their parents' blond hair and their mother's icy eyes. True, both Azelma and Lestan were shunned by prude eyes, but neither of them cared. They were each lost so deep in their worlds that, the only time they submersed, they needed only the greetings of Eponine and Javert, Marius and Cosette, and the almost ever present company of Montparnasse to sustain their small need for social interaction. But these needs were rare. Even now only the occasion of Antony and Fantine's marriage had barely persuaded the grown lovers to come to Paris, although no one could blame them for their reluctance. A lot of bad memories associated themselves with this city and these people for the pair. It was no wonder they did not want their beloved children to witness the same environment they had been subjected to.

Music stopped, Antony's melodies having come to an end, their final notes still lingering in the air as he kept a single foot on the pedal, and Javert felt his lips slip into a grin. He himself had never been fond of music, but, when his son had confessed his love of song to him at an early age, he had found himself intrigued by the prodigic quality about his seemingly ordinary son. Ordinary, that is, to Javert and anyone who knew Javert. The son was just like his father in nearly every aspect, only excluding some physical differentiations and Antony's tendencies to display hints of positive emotion towards his friends and family, primarily his mother and Fantine, both of whom he loved dearly. But Antony was everything Javert had ever wanted in a child, giving the young man's plans to become a police officer were currently being followed through. And he was taking a wife, a beautiful and kind companion at that, and one he approved of greatly.

And, Javert had to admit, though he was sharing the room with a former murderer, an ingorant and sometimes pretentious baron, an emotionally wrecked former officer, and the daughter of his would be assassin, he was happy. Perhaps he might have preferred a mostly isolated life with only his family, but his wife had forced these other people into his life, as well, and there was nothing capable of removing them from his presence. Instead of being cold, Javert simply chose to accept them all. They were there, after all. There would be no point in being unable to tolerate them all.

Everybody else was happy as well. Montparnasse did not have a wife, but he a daughter, a young rose who he cherished as much as life itself. Lestan and Azelma were pleased with the life they led with each other. They had one another and their sons, two young, handsome reminders of the bond which held them together so closely. Marius and Cosette's happiness had never been had to obtain for them, and not a single person doubted the endless affection that still poured from each of them and into each other as if they were still the spring lovers of nineteen years ago. Antony, Fantine, Jean, Nina, and Azelma's two sons were all content with their lives, too, a fact that pleased Eponine in particular. None of them would never know the disastrous pain their parents had all gone through at one time. They would never experience poverty, loneliness, isolation, separation. They would never have to feel the ordeals of a life without love, a life filled with the hatred of many and the affection of none, a life of pain and promises that were never fulfilled. Everyone had struggled for days, months, and years all for this. The misery was gone. Happiness was all that remained.

Happiness was their reward for never giving up on their quests.

I'm afraid this is the terribly happy end. Alright, I'll admit it, I'm a little shocked that it's over. This is what seven months' work has amounted to. I suppose I'm quite pleased with the improvement I have made in my literary skills since the first chapter to now. But, a of late, I have been dragging myself through life with nothing much to do after I finished writing this chapter. (Yes, this is how sad and boring my life is!)

I thank all of you, especially ahgamora who has provided some great feedback and who inadvertently encouraged me to keep writing this story even after I lost interest in it by publishing their own story, thereby resubmersing me in intrigue. I would also like to thank all of you for putting up with late reviews while I was ill.

I owe a lot of explanations, as well, I'm guessing. Somebody asked me why Montparnasse specifically quotes Juliet. Here is the anwer: Juliet, in comparison to Romeo, is almost always portrayed as the more emotional of the pair. I thought for a while of having him quote Ophelia and a few other of the Shakespeare tragiques, but I grew content with the idea of my 'Parnasse being fixated on a single play (and a darkly romantic one at that). He is, after all, a dark and romantic character.

And then, somebody noticed that both Javert and his mother have Greek names. They then asked me if I had done this on purpose. The answer is yes. In everything I have ever written names play an important role. Arcturus is the name of a star, which was, of itself, named after a Greek warrior. The name means 'Protector' or 'Guardian'. I found it fitting and the sound of it pleased me. Calpurnia, though I am a huge fan of To Kill A Mockingbird, has no relation to the said novel by Harper Lee. Both Miss Lee and I did use the name for similar reasons, though. The Greek historical figure Calpurnia, though kind and motherly, never had any children of her own. She, however, did adore her husband's daughter and cared for many other children in her lifetime. Javert's mother never had children of her own, either, but she did care greatly fo her adoptive son. And again, the name Antony, though not Greek, is Roman. As a historical person, I liked to see the transition from Greek to Roman power that happened in reality embedded in literature. Therefore, it made sense to have a man named Arcturus to produce a son named Antony. In addition, following the lines of the affair of Cleopatra and Mark Antony, I found it to be a fairly romantic name which fitted the character, even if Mark Antony was still a soldier.

To cease other questions, Montparnasse's name is Jehan simply because I have found it to be a common man's name in France during this particular era. I wanted it to be simple and not overly thought out as his parents would have likely named him as such. I also liked the idea that he, as such a complexly mad man, would be embarrassed to have such a simple name.

And, lastly, Lestan. It sounds strange, but it is a real name. Stranger still, I have no real explanation for this name, mostly because, when I first wrote the character, I had no plans to intwine him in the story the way I did.

I had plans for a while of writing for another Les Miserables story, but I've exhausted almost all of my creativity in this one. Perhaps, if I am given time, you may find yourselves presented with another. God only knows how the fanbase will spike now that the movie is out. Maybe I'll get more reviews for this hahahahahahahaha. I need sleep...

Well, for now at least, this is goodbye. If anyone should have any questions concerning this, do not be afraid to message me.

"Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me."