Maglor in the 1848 French Revolution by Aprilertuile

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December 1947

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Somehow, since little Louisa’s birth, Maglor had ended up her primary caretaker, Joséphine happy to just have to feed her, and Louis preferring to see the baby from afar when he was actually available.

Because babies are actually ogres.

Or something.

And much to Maglor’s annoyance, Joséphine had just… Stayed living with them, using what had been Louis’ room on a more permanent basis.

Ismérie, at the tavern, had taken the room back to rent for her patrons… And the only one this arrangement seemed to bother was Maglor, much to his annoyance.

However, somehow Joséphine seemed to have gotten the message that she was on thin ice for she was, it seemed, very careful not to cross him.

It wasn’t enough for Maglor to take an active role with helping her get a chance at a better future life, as he did once in a while when he liked someone. But it was at least enough that he had stopped fantasising about poisoning her.

He was however pretty sure that this living arrangement would have never been possible in a less… hm… Poor and destitute position in society. Maglor was pretty sure it had been the talk of the neighbours for a while anyway.

Alas, what also was the talk of the neighbours was that Joséphine was barely ever seen with her child…

Something about the fact that she didn’t feel she should take care of her child, because where she was raised a nanny did it all, and yes, she’s destitute, but it didn’t mean she learnt how to take care of a child, or wanted to take care of one at all.

Meanwhile Louis had argued that it was the woman’s duty to take care of a child anyway, not the duty of the father, and she should at the very least ensure the child was well.

So as a result Maglor was still days later the primary caretaker of little Louisa, and wondering how on earth he could have fallen for a complete CHILD of a man, who came along with his aggravatingly and childish ex.

But as Joséphine refused to stop her life for the sake of the child, and refused to take Louisa with her to work, Maglor took to playing minstrel less than 5 minutes away, for him, from where Joséphine spent her days, be it the apartment or Ismérie’s tavern when she resumed work.

Sadly, that also meant he was in an excellent position to see the social situation degrading more and more.

The poor getting poorer and the rich richer was not a new situation by any means, but the people arbitrarily thrown in jail?

Granted, on humanity’s scale, that was nothing new either, but considering the French people had already overthrown at least one government in recent history, and made more protests besides, one could have thought that the current government would be more careful about throwing in jail, or silencing forcefully anyone they didn’t want to hear.

But no apparently, the government didn’t care, and used their soldiers to silence the voices of the common people, but that meant more and more people were actually joining the ranks of the discontents.

And Maglor could see it go one of two ways: First, the government would turn into a cruel monarchy where the king’s power was feared by everyone and no one dared to breathe even so much as a whisper of protest, or second, the people would throw the government off.

There was a small chance the government would assess the situation and decide to listen to the people but… That happened so rarely in history…

People in power were all the same. None wanted to give up that power.

Hells, according to what Maglor heard in the street, even the Banquets that first were clearly royalist in nature had turned into a republican gathering calling for reforms really quickly. The banquets were organised by a few opportunists who wanted to organise the “real” people into following their movement. They were barely hiding that they were trying to force the government to change into what they wanted. To gain their own power over the situation.  

Sadly, Louis was a mule and refused to leave Paris, and Joséphine was a sheep and agreed with Louis on every subject possible.

Neither had his experience and both were too inexperienced and believed that good changes would come if the protests continued.

And Maglor could give them that, change was coming. But not necessarily change that one wanted to see coming.

Maglor wanted to leave Paris before it burnt, been there, done that. Burning cities were never fun, but he didn’t want to abandon Louis or little Louisa, no matter his misgivings about the situation.

“To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well”. Indeed. Sadly, Maglor knew well enough by now that most of the time life itself was just that cruel.

That day, Maglor was walking Joséphine to Ismérie’s tavern when they met a group of people brawling at the entrance of the establishment.

Maglor stopped Joséphine from trying to separate the men. One of them at least had a knife and there was nothing more idiotic than to die on the altar of a drunken idiot waving a sharp tool mindlessly in a fit of alcohol induced rage.

To ensure Joséphine wouldn’t actually try to bypass him, Maglor put little Louisa in her arms. The way she tensed and instantly gravitated within Maglor’s personal space guaranteeing that she’d stay put until the city guards came in or the brawlers would tire themselves out.

They had no need to get involved with the whole disaster.

Or at least that was his opinion until one of the men noticed Joséphine, remembered her as the cute waitress, and tried to get to her, saying something nearly unintelligible about a “pretty girl” and “some fun anyway”.

Maglor had no difficulties keeping the man away from Joséphine who was clutching her daughter to her chest in horror at being targeted this way, but alas, Maglor did so just as the soldiers arrived.

Not the city guards. The soldiers.

Maglor winced seeing the uniforms. He’d have preferred the city guards.

The soldiers invaded the place, and put everyone in the street under arrest, including a shocked Ismérie and Maglor.

The only exceptions were a woman at the far side of the street who was surrounded by 5 children, and Joséphine with her baby.

Children were apparently a soldier repellent. Who knew…?

Or perhaps the paperwork involved with putting in a remand prison, even temporarily, a child’s mother was more than anyone was willing to deal with for a brawl…

Maglor hoped that at least, Joséphine would take care of her child properly for the time being without giving herself excuses to ignore the baby.

Maglor hesitated to try to influence people to get out sooner, but the risks associated if someone was strong-willed enough…

He decided to wait when he learnt that Ismérie had been freed the next morning. He himself could tolerate the cells until or unless something forced his hands.

With Ismérie out of the remand prison, he knew that Louisa wouldn’t be conveniently put aside by both her parents who each had their good reason, so he had no real reason to take the dangerous road this time around.

Maglor already had a few… experiences of being hunted by men in the past, he’d rather not risk it again for a question of comfort.

Nights were cold in the cells, and he could see others being treated like dogs by the wardens. Food was an impossible to identify slop, and Maglor could see the men who had been fighting in the street become more than a bit anxious as they realised the kind of trouble they were in once the alcohol started to leave their system.

It was like the judge was reluctant to judge their respective cases, for other cells around the one Maglor was in with three others emptied quickly, while they stayed in the cell for a solid week waiting for judgement.

Wasn’t there a law somewhere that said someone put in jail had to have their case studied quickly?

Probably, but why bother respecting it. Who was going to check… ?

But finally, Maglor’s turn came and he was handed his condemnation before he could even speak in his defence. Or even in a polite greeting.

The man behind the desk didn’t even bother to look at him and if there had been a few less guards around, Maglor might have had the will to force the issue.

He was given a month of jail time^[1]. Maglor hesitated to ask why, in case it was taken for rebellion or something similar but finally figured he didn’t care enough to ask and risk additional punishment.

A month would already be long enough for him, thank you very much. He’d already be at risk the whole time for if he slipped he may end up revealing his nature. He more than likely would need to set the jail on fire to escape the result that THIS revelation would have.

No thank you.

If he had known beforehand how it’d end, he’d have led Joséphine away from the street in the first place but oh well…

There was no point crying over spilled milk.

Maglor was transferred to jail, actual jail this time, where he’d stay and work for a month. Joy…

He was put in a common room, with about a dozen other people. His instrument had been taken from him, he hoped he could get it back upon leaving… Well he could always steal it back if nothing else.

The walls were a dirty grey, the smell in there was that of sweat and too many people in a single room. Maglor picked a place… On the floor sitting against the wall. He had no wish to fight for a place on what passed for beds in there. He was honestly better off on the floor.

Maglor didn’t relish at all the idea of sharing such close quarters with so many people. He was aware that most of those men were just victims of poor circumstances, doing something a bit shady to live. Like begging in the streets. Or perhaps some of them were even victims of a case of “wrong time wrong place”. That happened too.

He made himself discreet, and kept his head down mostly. He didn’t escape a beating on principle alone from the warden, who seemed to think Maglor was highly suspicious for some reason. Maglor thought that perhaps the man perceived more of him than most people. However, that inconsequential instance apart, he was otherwise left mostly alone, led from his cell to his work station and then back to the cell at precise time.

Work wasn’t bad. As he wasn’t a long term prisoner or there for a grave crime, he was assigned to a weaving work station instead of one of the back breaking work of a labour camp prisoner.

Weaving was annoying, but not really an issue to him. And at least it was something to do outside of staying around far too many people forced into a single room. 

However, Maglor was neither blind nor deaf. Many others, when caught by the city guards, were given a warning and left alone after a brawl in the street. The government had started to send the soldiers to reinforce the application of the law to the detriment of the people.

It was making Maglor wonder if Ismérie’s tavern wasn’t starting to be known as a place where opponents to the current regime were spending their time. That’d explain the soldiers, and the blind application of the law.

Maglor wondered briefly if one of the men who were caught had been actual known political opponents to the regime.

Until the third week of his stay, when one of the men who had been taken prisoner along with Maglor tried to escape.  When he was caught, he promised that the king and his ministers would “get what’s coming to them for doing that to poor people like him”.

Due to the risk of escape and threats against the crown, the man was executed summarily by the prison warden.

Maglor’s curiosity was satisfied… But he had never wanted the answer that badly.

A traitor to the crown indeed.

Probably just a poor fool unable to bear the burden of his life, who had turned to the bottle as a result and had paid a price far too high for his supposed crimes.

Sadly the execution started the prisoners talking, and growling and…

Oh how Maglor hoped that the prisoners wouldn’t revolt while he was there.

He wanted nothing to do with a revolt. Those things were failures more often than not, and bloody ones at that. He had enough blood on his hands from fighting his own battles, he had no need and no will to fight the endless revolts and wars of mortal men.

And of mortal women. Though, Sappho’s own brand of revolt had been the “make love, not war and disappear in the night without a trace” kind of revolt against society.

And she hadn’t needed help besides. Admittedly, this in particular had been half the fun of knowing her.

Nothing came of the prisoner’s discontent this time. And finally, Maglor was free to leave, not without a threat or a promise of meeting him again, from the warden.

Men… Flexing whatever little power they thought they had to make themselves feel important. How asinine.

Maglor had to work to keep a straight face at the “threat” and not terrify the man witless: As it stood, it was empty threats, empty words, but if he gave the man a good reason…

Yes, let’s not go there. He really didn’t want to revisit being endlessly hounded by a mortal who thought him a demon he needed to burn at the pyre.

Once had been enough, and only a happy accident, in Maglor’s favour, had settled the issue the last time; however Maglor preferred to err on the side of caution and avoid provoking another man to this end.

It was less and less easy to disappear potentially dangerous people after all.

 

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^[1] « Lorsque les blessures ou les coups n'auront occasionné aucune maladie ni incapacité de travail personnel de l'espèce mentionnée en l'article 309, le coupable sera puni d'un emprisonnement d'un mois à deux ans, et d'une amende de seize francs à deux cents francs. » French law of 1810

translation: "when the injuries or blows have not caused any illnesses or personnal incapacity for work of the kind mentioned in article 309, the culprit will be punished by imprisonment of one month to two years, and a fine of 16 francs to 200 francs."