Maglor in the 1848 French Revolution by Aprilertuile

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April 1847

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Somehow it appeared that eating with Louis every Thursday became a thing. Louis was openly curious about Maglor for some reason. And every time he left again, Ismérie looked at Maglor with clear warning.

Why were humans so complicated at times?

That little mystery apart, he deeply appreciated the companionship. For all Louis was young, he was also fun, and insightful… When he wanted to be.

One day, a few months into the year, Maglor frowned when he saw Louis arrive with his friends. If the others were as loud as usual, Louis seemed more reserved, paler and somewhat tired looking.

Maglor looked at Ismérie who was frowning in the direction of the group. She probably noticed too.

However, the young man acted as if nothing was wrong. He looked tired, and like he wanted nothing more than to find a bed and stay in it for the next few weeks, but he laughed as usual at Maglor’s stories.

The only thing that bothered Maglor was that he barely touched his food at all.

All on its own it could be anything and not really a reason to worry.

However the following week, Louis came back again, this time looking like he was wasting away, like a light breeze would be enough to knock him down.

Louis didn’t even react when his friends left. Maglor went to him immediately, a hand on his wrist checking Louis’ pulse. As soon as Maglor touched him, he noticed his skin was absolutely burning to the touch.

Ismérie found a good excuse to hover nearby despite the last few patrons.

“He can’t afford a doctor, and I can’t afford a doctor for him,” she said as Maglor was trying to pull Louis out of his chair.

“I can. Call for one.”

She nodded sharply, and left the tavern a few minutes to ask a neighbour to get a doctor there as soon as possible.

By the time she came back, Maglor had taken Louis to the kitchen, and helped him to drink a glass of water. It wasn’t much, but the fever was high enough and Louis looked bad enough that Maglor had no doubt that any little thing helped. 

The more worrisome thing though wasn’t the fever, but the way he had started to cough… And to cough blood at that.

Ismérie looked pale as soon as she saw.

“That must be…”

“That could be anything.”

“Don’t be a fool, Max. It doesn’t suit you.”

“He’s a kid.”

“Illness doesn’t spare anyone. Young, old, it doesn’t matter. Your friend is coughing blood and looking like he’s wasting away. His fever is through the roof! His chances to survive this are slim, and you know it!”

Maglor frowned. If it came down to it, he’d take the risk to try and heal the young man. He’d rather not if an actual competent doctor could diagnose him properly and find it was a harsh but temporary illness that would do no harm in the end, but if it came to that he wouldn’t let the young man die without trying his best.

Not that he was good at healing people, but he couldn’t not try.

Thankfully the doctor arrived swiftly.

The doctor, an older man that looked grumpy, stayed with Louis for a while, Ismérie and Maglor taking care of the tavern in the meantime, until the doctor signalled them he was done.

“I’m afraid it’s tuberculosis. The lad is coughing blood, has a high fever, looks like he’s wasting away, admitted to a shortness of breath, and pain in the chest… It’s both deadly and…”

“And highly contagious.” Ismérie completed for him, looking like she was living a nightmare.

Maglor thanked the doctor, paid him and no less than escorted him out leaving him no choice but to leave.

“Louis needs to leave.”

“And go where? In the streets?”

“I will not put myself at risk Max. You can have pity for the lad as much as you want but NOT at the risk of all our lives.”

“Fine, then rent me a room, and I’ll take care of him away from your patrons and you.”

“You already paid a doctor, you think you can pay me as well?”

“I think I can promise you steady work, and that half the tavern is empty, and has been for a while anyway. You’ll lose nothing by letting me take care of Louis in one of the unused rooms, and he’ll be away from people this way.”

And if Maglor infused just a bit of power in his voice it was no one’s business but his own. He’d have time to feel guilty about it later. Much later. Perhaps. One day.

If he also silently promised to burn the place down if she threw Louis out anyway, that was also no one’s problem but his own. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about it at all.

Whether Ismérie agreed to Maglor’s argument, or was influenced by him, or felt the untold threat, she gave him the key to an old servant’s room. Usually the room was only rented to the local drunkards when they were unable to go back home and could pay for it.

Maglor picked up Louis, and brought him to the room in question. The young man was far too light. Maglor installed him on the bed while Ismérie was fretting at a reasonable distance until he closed the door, leaving her behind.

He may like her somewhat, but he certainly didn’t want any witnesses. Once the door was closed, Maglor sat at Louis’ bedside and placed a hand on his wrist, checking his pulse, and started to sing.

It wouldn’t be miraculous instant healing, but he was actively encouraging the body to heal and the illness to disappear.

Tuberculosis was terrible.

Maglor spent the whole night singing, if only to make sure that Louis would survive the night.

In the morning, Maglor was tired but ready to work, while Louis looked a bit more solid, less like he was going to drop dead any moment.

Louis' face showed some colour and he was shivering in his sleep. Sadly his breathing still sounded hard.

When he got to work, Ismérie looked at Maglor with suspicion.

“How is Louis?”

“Alive, and he slept all night.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Maglor didn’t answer her, but thought for himself that the damage was already done: Louis had come to the tavern twice while carrying this disease. If his presence was enough, then other patrons would start to show symptoms soon, whether or not Louis was thrown out now.

It was better for everyone involved if Louis stayed in one of the rooms out of the way, and Maglor kept working. He’d play music later in the hope to encourage people’s body defences just in case, to avoid a worst kind of scenario.