Maglor in the 1848 French Revolution by Aprilertuile

---

Epilogue

---

Maglor was an unnoticeable figure, clad in his usual unremarkable clothing, and as hidden as ever by his trick that encouraged people to not notice him despite him being very noticeable, as all the members of his family had been.

He was here for Louisa’s wedding. As a last goodbye. He hadn’t been invited, because he never told Louisa or anyone how to get a hold of him, and he preferred it that way.

He had met with Joséphine’s father soon after the revolution, and had strongly encouraged the old inflexible man to see his daughter and grand-daughter.

The man possibly thought he was a demon or a terrible spirit of revenge. Maglor may not have been at his sanest or the most diplomatic when he found the man.

He barely remembered that day at all. The 24th of February was hazy in his mind. He had been so caught up in his grief and rage. He would be unable to even retrace his steps that day. He didn’t know who might have noticed a wandering singing elf…

He remembered after the announcement of a soon-to-be Republic he walked toward the richest streets of the city, with their beautiful buildings, that looked imposing and well protected. He remembered forcing his way in the house of Joséphine’s father.

He remembered the terror of the man when he saw Maglor. He remembered killing a servant. Or not killing perhaps? Maglor wasn’t too clear on the details. The man had attacked him with a knife, trying to protect his employer no doubt, and Maglor had just pushed him with enough force that the man hit a wall, and fell unconscious.

Louisa’s grand-father and Maglor had reached an agreement quickly after that. Joséphine and Louisa would be welcomed within the family and protected.

Maglor had stayed with Joséphine, helping her, ostensibly as one of her staff, until Louisa’s 10^th birthday.

Joséphine had reached a tentative peace with her father and her step-mother, a delightful woman with good sense. She still lived away from the family home, refusing to bring too much attention to herself, but they had a story for why she had left, and why she had a child with her now, and it was one that her father found acceptable.

One that he could and had used to his profit.

Maglor had, at times, wanted nothing more than to destroy the man’s card castle, but for the sake of Joséphine and Louisa, he held himself back.

As a result of his machinations, Louisa grew up knowing she was rich and could marry safely for love.

She grew up with tales of her father’s bravery and gentleness, both from her mother, and from Maglor.

Indeed, Maglor stayed as long as he dared until it became apparent that Joséphine was starting to realise he never really changed.

He hadn’t dared go far, Joséphine’s father being too unstable a figure for Maglor to leave too far for now, so he had remained around unnoticed; an anonymous figure in Paris’ streets, and he watched how it’d go.

And it went well for 5 years, until sadly Joséphine died, her heart failing finally.

Joséphine’s father was old and grey and afraid, and he took Louisa in without issue.

It was good. The family could take care of Louisa better than Maglor could at this junction of her life though if it had been needed, he’d have taken the girl back.

At fifteen the young girl had enjoyed life like only a teenager could, but more responsibly than her mother had in her time. It was good to see. She had the good sense of her father, his stubbornness also. His kindness…

She was well on the way to becoming a fantastic musician, though it seemed she wasn’t going to play professionally.

Maglor hated to say it for music was his life, but he was glad of it, as was, no doubt, the girl’s grand-father. The life of a musician in this time was the life of one without money and little in the way of a future or stability.

No, she wouldn’t play as a professional, though her music made her rather popular among a certain population.

According to the rumours, that’s how she met her would-be husband.

Maglor himself had become just… a mostly mysterious figure of the past for Louisa. Perhaps she herself couldn’t even remember his face. Though children’s memories were always a strange, surprising thing at times, so he wouldn’t swear it.

The wedding was beautiful.

The day was warm, there wasn’t a single cloud in sight, the sky was a clear pure blue that could only inspire happiness.

Louisa was a radiant bride, and Ismérie who had been invited as a friend of her late mother…

Ismérie had grown old in the years since he last saw her, but she was smiling as much as ever on this day.

The groom, Maglor barely paid any attention to him. He had unremarkable features. The only thing is that he paid enough attention to his new wife, looked at her with enough love, that Maglor knew it wasn’t faked.

That the couple was marrying for love was all that Maglor had hoped for the little girl born of Louis.

Soon the people would go back inside and the banquet would start. Maglor refused to intrude further. 

Maglor turned to leave, but couldn’t resist looking back, only this time he found Louisa looking straight at him with something like shock, and a mix of sadness and happiness on her face.

He smiled at her and bowed to her as he would have bowed to a queen once upon a time. She smiled sadly at him and nodded with tears in her eyes.

To her he had been a strange uncle, Max, someone odd, who loved her father dearly enough to take care of his family long after his death.

This, she understood, would be the last time their path would cross. It was time.

Maglor left, happy despite the bittersweet feeling of a page that was definitely turning.

He stopped at a florist and bought a bouquet for a few coins. Once done, he went straight to the cemetery, and walked quietly among the graves, until he stopped in front of the one he came for.

Without a care in the world for propriety, Maglor sat on the floor in front of the grave, his harp as ever at his side.

“I miss you dear friend. And you missed a beautiful day. Your daughter found a love match, and she married him today. You’d be proud of her. She’s clever, honest, and generous to a fault. Stubborn too. She’s fully grown now, and physically, she’s a perfect blend of you and your Joséphine.”

Maglor fell silent a short moment, starting to braid the flowers into a crown.

“I regret I was too late for you. You should have been here to see her grow and marry. You were so young… Too young, my dear friend. And you died for a republic that became an empire far too soon, a republic that betrayed the very meaning of the idea.”

Maglor sighed, looking at the graves all around, before turning back to the flowers in his laps.

“You once asked me about the names engraved upon my harp. Well, my so very young friend, now your name too is on this harp, as is the name of every human I ever loved. None of those stories ever ended well, which is why I tried so hard but… Well… I also learnt to appreciate and celebrate the happy times we get when we get them. I never stopped loving you in all these years. Neither did I stop loving any of the people those names you noticed.”

Maglor took a quick look at the harp displayed next to him.

“You know, these past few years a new song became very popular, a lament to a lover that was lost to life for he went to defend his ideals. Your name at least has been immortalised in a song. And as we all know sometimes songs last even longer than buildings. I guess we’ll see.”

Silence fell for a while, while Maglor finished the flower crown.

“Louis Berger, my beloved friend, you’ll be forever in my mind, blessed, or cursed perhaps, with a good memory as I am… But my dear, it’s the last time I’ll come here. Your daughter doesn’t need me anymore, and I need to move on. It’s time, before I cross paths again with someone who’ll manage to remember unremarkable Max and realise I never age.”

Maglor rose to his feet and placed the flower crown gently on the grave.

“I love you my friend. I loved you then, and I love you now still. Your untimely death will forever stay one of my regrets.”

He picked his harp, and finally left with a last regretful look behind.