Actually, they'd planned a party. Halfway through setting up, months of sleep-deprivation finally caught up to the otherwise invincible vanar sena. Nal and Neel were laying sprawled over a haul of coconuts, blissful in a world of coconut-filled dreams.

Angad had been in charge of organizing music, but opted on using the acoustic drums as a bed instead. Sugriv rested on a mound of sand, managing to make it look like a throne even as he snored. The moon watched the brave warriors of Shri Ram fondly, slipping behind the clouds to provide some respite from its silver light.

Something in Vibhishan's many creases had softened. The kettle of green tea was empty, and his crown tipped over as he napped. Lakshman lifted his legs onto the cot gently.

"Look at that," he murmured, stepping back to observe his surroundings. "Peace at last." The medical tent was perfectly empty. Monkeys curled around each other, no longer tortured in their sleep. It was over. "So some things turn out well after all."

He turned to leave the tents, but caught two purple silhouettes against the black sky.

Ram was grasping Sita's hand in his own. "Come, Sitei," he whispered. He had, for so long, wailed her name to the unpitying nights and the distant gods. Now he could take it as a jewel again, no longer tainted by marks of sadness. "Let's go to the tents and rest for some time."

Sita neared, the curves of her soft face dipping tenderly. "Do you not want to sit on the beach? You love the sea, Raghunath."

Ram's shoulders relaxed. "I do. That I do. But-" He lost his breath, and then found it again in Sita's eyes, in her accepting gaze. "I've got you back after so long, is all. It feels like if we stay outside, then you might be taken away from me again. I wouldn't be able to bear the agony, Sitei. I would simply perish-"

Sita surged forward, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing. It was the sun hugging the moon again, the rain soaking into a parched earth. Sita had returned into Ram's arms, and the rage of the gods had dissipated into love again. "Your only mistake, Ram," she laughed, muffled by his angavastra. "Is thinking that I would allow myself to be taken from you ever again."

Ram slumped into her, his own arms lifting to hold her again. "Well, then I shall never make it again."

Their outlines were burned into the universe. They were all that ever was.

Lakshman watched them for a second longer, and then shut his eyes. There was someone in the darkness whom he could embrace too. A flowery perfume, cascades of black hair. "Urmila," he breathed, allowing himself the indulgence of her name again.

------O-------

Urmila's eyes flew open and she sat up. She hadn't been dreaming, but the presence of a man flitted through her mind still. His smile was brilliant, and at once, she knew.

The Princess of Ayodhya threw her doors open and sprinted down the hallways. The bells on her feet and the bangles on her wrists echoed off the high ceilings and through even the heaviest doors. "Wake up, oh brothers and sisters! Wake up, my mothers!" she called exuberantly, thrumming her hands on each wall she could find. "Now isn't the time to be sleeping!"

The lanterns burned brightly, hearing her before any person could. The curtains of the night sky rippled, delighted. For a moment, the sun pressed through the darkness and allowed a burst of light to rest upon the savior's homeland.

"What is it, Urmila?" Mandavi croaked, stepping out from her rooms. "Why have you woken us? I was just about to get some good rest too." Bharat followed, eyes sunken permanently into dark circles. From the south side, Shatrughan and Shrutakirti emerged, blinking sleep away from their sagging faces.

"Listen to me, didi," Urmila cried, grasping both of Mandavi's hands and spinning her without any effort at all. The epiphany had put an elephant's strength into her thin arms. "I have just realized the most wonderful thing." She let go of her sister, and stepped back, making sure each eye in the room was focused on her. "Are you listening? Are you paying attention? You'll remember this moment for the rest of your lives."

"We're listening," Bharat grouched, combing a lock of hair away from his neck. "Tell us, Urmila."

Urmila's eyes brightened, and a beautiful smile stretched across the lines of her face. The golden walls of the palace took a deep, heaving breath in anticipation. The flowers peeked out from their withered leaves, and the birds found their sleep stolen from them.

"Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram has won!" she shouted, to the walls and the flowers and the birds. "Did you hear me? Ram bhaiyya has won! He has won! Ravan is dead, my family. Adharma is dead on the island of Lanka! Sita is back with her beloved once more!"

Kaushalya burst forward, a pure white maiden in the shadows. "Surely, Urmila, this is some dream you've had? Are you sure, my dear? Are you absolutely sure?" Sumitra and Kaikeyi lingered in the darkness, expressions caught between infinite joy and wretched apprehension.

It was then that a messenger stepped through the great doors. Everyone turned to him. Despite fourteen years of mourning, they still remained the Suryavanshis. He bowed his head, wondering at the way their figures were glowing. The sun is shining on them, but it's midnight, isn't it? "A bird has come with a message for you," was all he said through, holding the scroll forward.

Bharat took it gently, unrolling the parchment. No one breathed.

"Message from Lanka," he read, at last. His lips trembled. "Ram bhaiyya has won."

The layer of ice shattered. The royal family melted into pools of rejoice. Shrieking, Kaushalya embraced Sumitra. Kaikeyi sobbed until they took her into their embrace too. Bharat was a perfect still statue until Mandavi grasped his shoulders and began to shake. "Do you understand, dear husband? They will return soon! They will end our misery! They are alive. Our brothers and sister are alive!"

"Maan," he whispered, and couldn't say anything else. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his wife and lifted her up, burying his face into her hair. For the first time in fourteen years, they cried happy tears.

Shatrughan and Shrutakirti smiled at Urmila before waltzing around the room in long, smooth movements. Waltzing quickly became too refined, and they began to dance a tango instead, grasping drying flowers from their dusty vases and throwing them into the air. The youngest were the youngest again, dipped into the bath of innocence which had awaited them. The flowers rained down on them, fragments of pink stuck in their hair.

And Urmila? She turned away from this party and headed for the balconies instead.

The wind was warm on her face, and she grasped the railings so as to not fall straight over. "Do you hear, father, oh Maharaj Dasharath?" she yelled, and the clouds thundered in response. "Your son is victorious! Dasharathnandan Ram is victorious!"

Next, she craned her neck to look upon the empty markets and desolated streets of once-resplendent Ayodhya. "Do you hear, my dear, wretched citizens? Your king is returning! Your queen is returning! They emerge from their exile, triumphant over the evils which have assaulted them!"

She stepped back, lungs desperate for air. Her heart beat heavily. "Do you hear, Urmila?" she rasped. At once, a pair of dark eyes flickered before her. "Your husband is returning."

Urmila, his voice said, in abrupt clarity. Urmila. Urmila.

Surya Dev began to ascend on a fortunate Kosala, a brilliant orb of orange and fire.

-----O------

Lanka basked in the day. The palm trees swayed, and Nal and Neel did a little tropical dance under them in lieu of the massive party they had planned. At the end of the exhibition, the five spectators (Angad, Hanuman, Ram, Sita, and a very unwilling Lakshman) all clapped.

After taking a bow, the two talents approached their lord for the necessary inquisitions. "So how long are we waiting here, prabhu?" Nal asked, resting at Ram's feet. "Ravan has been vanquished, justice has been restored, and Sita Maa is back. I, for one, have had enough sand and sunbathing for a lifetime." He gave the sands a little consolatory pat upon deciding that they might have been offended.

"And our fourteen years are over now," Lakshman piped up excitedly, and they all turned around to shoot him a surprised look. He turned red at all this attention, and directed his gaze towards the warring seagulls instead.

Ram couldn't help a smile. All at once, his brother seemed eager to get home. He and Sita shared a look. "I, too, wish to return to Ayodhya." Then, Vibhishan caught his eye. He was chatting with Sugriv, shoulders at ease and chin a little higher than before. "But," he continued. "There are things other than my exile which keep me here in Lanka."

Sita followed his gaze to the two, and understood, like she always did. "Why don't we start making preparations for a coronation, Chandra?"

Ram wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned his head on hers. "Why don't we?"

Everyone--yes, even Lakshman--awwed.

-----O-----

There was something about that throne. Vibhishan approached it, a little remorseful, a little proud. The throne halls of Lanka echoed with prayers and sacred mantra. Even the golden rooms were a little dimmed, no longer blinding symbols of extravagance. It was the Lanka he had always wanted. For his countrymen. For his family.

From childhood, he had never longed for the throne. He had been a devoted servant. Had he not seen Lanka's court through its highs and lows? Had he not followed his brother's every command? Jealousy wasn't a sensation he'd never felt before, not for power. But now that power was put into his hands. The very hands through which coursed Ravan's blood. Rakshas blood.

Before the tides of regret could drown him again, his Prabhu's form caught his attention. Shri Ram stood there, so godlike draped in his saffron dhoti. Even without his bow, he towered over the rest of them. He was a giant, a titan, but nothing like Kumbhakaran or Ravan. Just thinking about him put Vibhishan's worries to rest. Approaching him was like approaching an endless sea of tranquility.

Now the stairs were in front of him. They were coated with flower petals. He took one step. Then another. Then a final one, until he was finally atop the shining pavilion where Ravan had reigned for so long.

Vibhishan's court looked back at him. From one side, his wife beamed. That wonderful lady, who had supported him for so long. Who had remained pious with him, ignoring all temptation. Who had stayed back in Lanka, under persecution, while Vibhishan pursued his own dharma. He felt a new burst of love for her.

From the other, there was Mandodari. His bhabhi. Vibhishan began to feel sick all over again. He was the source of all her misery. He was now taking the throne of her husband. She must have hated him with every fiber of her heart.

She didn't curse at him though. Neither did she scowl. Instead, she nodded her head. Slowly and surely. It's alright, Vibhishan. This is the way things were meant to turn out. Then, Mandodari did the impossible. She stepped out from the gray shadows and joined the crowd of eager Lankans.

A burden removed itself from Vibhishan's shoulders. He inhaled and exhaled, taking in the thrumming crowd. In the end, dharma hadn't been eliminated, even in his absence. It only hid in the hearts of demons who were meant to be men. Rakshas was only a race, after all. If it wished to, dharma could occupy even lifeless things.

Okay. Back to the coronation. God, he knew he should have had a sip of green tea this morning.

Though he was about to become king, Vibhishan inclined his head down. It only felt right. Kings were nothing in front of gods. Shri Ram, smilingly, grasped his shoulders and squeezed. "May your reign be long and admired, Maharaj Vibhishan," he said, his voice like the imprints of a hundred thousand drums. "For you will bring the breezes of dharma to Lanka's heated shores."

Vibhishan felt compelled to sit down. The throne was cold under his hands, but he didn't shiver. The gurus and rishis chanted, voices benevolent. Shri Ram took the glimmering crown from its plate and put it on his head.

There was a new King of Lanka. His citizens raised themselves on the plateaus of dharma, his wonderful name spilling from their open throats.

The gods smiled. The sun had set on Ravan's Lanka and risen upon Vibhishan's. Now, Surya Dev bid the clouds goodbye and swept the sky with a flood of warm colors.

From outside the palace, the vanar sena celebrated in the adorned streets. Hanuman squeezed Sugriv until they were both blue. Nal climbed a tree and blew a trumpet. Neel and Jal danced in the squares. Angad wiped a tear from his cheek.

Lakshman had never been within the golden gates before. He looked around at the festivities, imagined it tenfold, and saw the streets of Ayodhya instead. Lanka was a golden city, both in color and joy. But even within a city designed by the gods, all he could think of was Kosala.

Exhausted, he left the city and stepped onto the beach again. Even the trees were dancing for Vibhishan's reign. The sea was ebbing, and the sands were cool. His calloused feet found relief in them, and he glared into the coming sunrise.

Following Ram bhaiyya into exile had given him no pain. He'd follow his bhaiyya and bhabhi into deserts and hells, if it was necessary. But it wasn't. The fourteen years were over. The promise which had bound them was fulfilled, and a kingdom waited, so what was the point remaining in a jungle? Or on an island?

Even paradise could get weary after a while. These ten months provided all the seagulls and sands he'd ever want to see.

Still, he thought, admiring the swaying shadows of the palm trees. There wasn't anything quite like Lanka at dawn. 

A/N: Hello. *walks back in, left stage, sheepish wave to audience*

This book has surpassed 100K reads. 

...

How is this possible, you ask? No clue. How? When I first logged in, stories with over a thousand reads seemed famous. This has 100,000 reads. One hundred thousand. That is scary. It is crazy. It is unfathomable, but I'm looking at it, and it's real. My goodness gracious. It's been almost 3 years since this was published. 100K reads is just...AHHhHHhHHHHhhhhhhHHhHHhh. Ah. Hai Ram, in the very literal sense.

The Ramayan community seemed so friendly. I just wanted to join the fun. Somehow, I've gotten this far. Because of you. Really. Thank you so much for reading these little stories about Ram and Lakhan and Sita and their exploits. 

I did promise, once, that even if I didn't update for half a year, I would never abandon this. Well, I didn't update for half a year. I didn't write a single word for months. Then, I remembered PoA a few weeks ago, logged in, and screamed. 100K views. 

I will try my best to finish this. I owe it to this massive, 3 year project, and I owe it to you all. Hopefully my writing style has not changed (or degraded) too much. God, I feel old, haha. I can't believe I used to be funny. :( Will try my best to keep the humor going! The story for Ram, Sita, and Lakhankumar will be over soon, and that feels unfathomable too. But it is real. I will try my best to make it a reality. 

Writing away! We'll keep this below 200 chapters, but if it gets close, I'll start deleting the AN chapters. No worries! 

In the meantime, let's hope I can get 1 more update out before the 4th anniversary, December next year. Praying. Thank you everyone again!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.