Performance by Isilloth
Mar. 3rd, 2019 12:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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Format: Ficlet
Genre: General;
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor,
Pairings: None
Creator’s Notes (optional):
Summary: Maglor partying through the Ages. Imperial Russia.
Maglor stopped wandering. He wandered for so long, alone on the shores, avoiding any people who could recognize him, any people at all. But later, he learned that histories of his youth disappeared and even if they know his name none would recognize it, none would believe him. The Age of Elves was over, and even if there were some (there must be, it’s impossible that all of them gone to West) they remind hidden. Maglor lived among people for many years now, maybe even longer then he lived among elves. He changed places so none recognize he was ageless. It became harder and harder with every century. Now he had to counterfeit papers to live in society. But after all these years he gathered so much money he hadn’t had many problems even with that.
He resided in a big apartment in Sankt Petersburg near the Nevsky avenue. He was finished with eternal regrets, repenting his life over and over, wandering like a madman through the shores. Now he lived life the fullest. He knew he couldn’t come back to Valinor, and of course, he missed it, he missed his mother, his brothers, his wife, even the father, although he knew he probably would never leave Mandos. But now his life was here.
It was the year 1900. Beginning of the new century, yet another in which he lived. His only sadness now was how fleeting was people’s lives, his friends and how he had to leave from times to times to avoid people’s surprised looks when he didn’t age properly. He was now in Russia for 15 years and soon it will be time to leave.
This evening he was at countess Shuvalova’s palace at the ball. Ladies in elegant dresses, men in tuxedos and uniforms everything was perfect. What was his right to be here? Sometimes such thoughts overtake him.
He drunk a glass of vodka. It was no time for melancholy. There were the party, happiness and joy.
“Maksim, why are you so sad? Drinking alone? It’s no fitting for the gentleman like you.” His friend Aleksey approached him. He knew him for the last 15 years and saw how Aleksey was changed during this time, while he remained unchanged.
“You know, sometimes melancholy takes me over.”
“There is no time for that. Countess ask you to play the piano, we know you are the master, and then we all will pose to the photo. Irina had a new camera we have to try out this!”
“Playing could be, I will gladly take this chore. But you know I don’t like cameras.”
“Maksim, come on, at least once. Don’t let be begged.”
“Fine, fine I will see. Now let’s play.”
Maglor approached countess who stood near the piano and asked what to play. Countess, all radiant, pleased for some piece created by Maglor (or rather Maksim, as he was here called) himself and started to hush her neighbours, waiting for the show.
Maglor started to play. As always, he lost himself in music. He loved those new instruments, which allowed to extract the sounds with such ease. And years of practice made him the master of it.
After the play, he got a storm of applause. This was the life he yearned for...