Maglor paused in the doorway of the bookstore and shook the snow off of his boots. He knocked them against the steel jamb and watched small chunks of snow fall onto the floor. Then he walked immediately into the connecting coffee shop to order a cup of his favourite Mocha Java before finding a place by the window. He sat with the cup of steaming coffee in his cold hands and stared wistfully out at the passersby.
For the past twelve thousand, six hundred and eighteen years, give or take a year or two, Maglor had wandered Middle-earth. He tried mostly to stay out of trouble and avoid any wars or strife. At one point, during the time of Julius Caesar, he had wandered into Gaul and befriended Vercingetorix, their king. Then he had a difficult time trying to extricate himself from the king's company so that he would not have to join him in battle. He had just managed to escape with his life when Vercingetorix was captured. During World War Two he lived in Switzerland, and then emigrated to Canada aboard the Empress of Britain in 1957.
Maglor amused himself every few years by having new fake I.D. made. He had become an expert in finding the forgers in the towns he visited, and was not surprised any longer by his discovery that most of the best ones were high school students. Maglor was never interested in learning how to drive a car, but whenever he could he would ride a horse. Although he really didn't need any money since he knew how to live off of the land or by begging, once in a while he would get a job as a riding instructor. In that way he would make enough money to buy new clothes. Maglor liked the late 20th Century - early 21st for the "Goth" style of clothing, which he now always wore.
Maglor thought about Daeron daily. He also thought about his brother Maedhros and all his old friends and his family. He had never come across Daeron again in all the years since Daeron had left him. He always felt like crying when he thought about Daeron but he could never do it. The tears were there but they were not wet tears, the kind that would fall. His were tears behind the eyes: great solid painful masses that reached down into his gut and lay like huge lumps of sludge. They stayed inside his body and tortured him. If he could have cried it would have been easier. He slammed his coffee cup down and shoved it across the table.
The other patrons in the shop started and jumped when Maglor banged the cup down. A few of them stared at the intense dark man dressed with the piercing eyes that stared without really looking at anything. A few of them got up and left.
Eventually when he felt thoroughly warmed, Maglor rose and made his way to the rows of books within the "Fan Fiction" section. When he came to "L" he stopped to see if this store had lumped in "Silmarillion" stories with "LOTR" stories and saw that they had. He searched through the racks of books until he found a story that sounded interesting.
When he was on the last page, Maglor became aware that someone was standing in front of him, staring at him with intense interest. He could feel this person rather than see him. He lowered the book and, through the haze in his eyes caused by the surprising well of tears, he fought to see the small, slight, brown-haired person who stood as still as stone before him. He let the book drop to the floor and used both hands to wipe away the mist that obscured his vision. Could this be him? After all these centuries?
No, it was probably not Daeron, he thought. How many times over the past thousands of years had he thought he had seen Daeron in his meanderings? And every time a slight brown-haired boy had turned around so that Maglor could see his face, it was not Daeron. How many young lovers had the ancient Noldo taken to his bed over the millennia who had resembled Daeron? None had ever come close to the original in their ability to stir his passion.
But now a strange man was putting his hand upon Maglor's wrist and grasping it tightly. Maglor struggled mightily to see through his tears, and yet he knew the touch. He would recognize that touch anywhere, even after twelve thousand, six hundred and eighteen years. "Daeron?" he whimpered, the so-familiar name sounding oddly awkward as it spilled forth from his trembling lips.
His answer was a warm crush of long-lost but familiar, sweet lips upon his own, followed by beloved, tender arms wrapping themselves about his stooped and lonely shoulders. The electric surge of feeling that coursed through his body at the press of the exquisitely-loved groin against his own brought him finally to his knees, his new-found lover toppling him onto the floor. And there on the warm, brown-carpeted aisle of the bookstore, the two entwined Elves became lost in the dreams and memories of their love for each other. A few shoppers passed by, noticed them grappling in the aisle and left them alone out of either respect or fear. Finally, a rare employee doing his job bent down to tap Daeron lightly on the shoulder.
"Ahem," he said, "could you guys please take it outside?"
When they were on the street with snowflakes falling around them, Maglor said, "Where are you staying? Do you live here now?"
Daeron replied, "I have been traveling the world as an entertainer since we parted, but I never stay in one place long enough to become famous and sign a recording contract. I have just left the United States to come up to Canada because I heard that it is tough to establish a career in music here, and that suits me. I thought that this looked like a nice area and thought I might stay awhile. Do you live here?"
"In the Beaches? Yes, I do," said Maglor. "It's a charming area – quaint and quite unique – and it is right on the edge of a great body of water, which I like."
"The ocean?" asked Daeron.
"No," said Maglor. "It's a Great Lake. But it could be an ocean. It is big enough. There is a boardwalk that runs along the water's edge both to east and west as far as you can see. It is a great place to go for a walk."
"It sounds nice," said Daeron.
"Come. We can go there now. Would you like to walk with me?" asked Maglor.
"Yes I would, but later," said Daeron. "Do you live nearby?"
"Yes," said Maglor. "I live in one of the funny little houses along the main street, above a shop that sells products such as tarot cards, books on the occult, candles and replicas of costumes from "Lord of the Rings." It isn't much, just two rooms and a bathroom. I have hardly any furniture. In the bedroom I have only a bed, a chair that I can throw my clothes on, and a computer that sits on an old desk that I found in someone's trash."
"That sounds nice," said Daeron. "Could we go there first? To your home I mean, and then go for a walk?" He batted his eyelashes at the tall Goth and squeezed his hand.
"Of course," said Maglor, feeling warm inside. "Come on. It's not far."
They had barely stepped inside the flat, Maglor having to kick the door shut with his foot as they fell into a passionate embrace. They tore at each other's clothing in a desperate bid to reach the state of nakedness, to feel the other's flesh once more pressed against bare skin, and when they were both nude, they fell into Maglor's bed and made love. It was as sweet as the first time, and as poignant as the last. They lay together afterward, Maglor trying to kiss away the tears that streamed down Daeron's face. "I was a fool, Maglor," he cried. "How can you forgive me so easily?"
"Hush, my darling," crooned Maglor. "I cannot help it. I would have loved you always, and if I could not have you, I would love the memory of you."
"For me, I realized my terrible folly too late," whispered Daeron. "I have been searching the world for you."
"It is lucky that you found me in this land," said Maglor. "It may be cold, but we can get married here and live together as one. Will you marry me, Daeron?" he asked and kissed Daeron's troubled brow.
"Yes," whispered Daeron. "And then we shall be truly wedded, shall we not?"
"Mmm, yes," said Maglor, pressing tight against Daeron's side and feeling himself becoming aroused again.
"But Maglor, what about our walk?" asked Daeron.
"Later," replied Maglor, nibbling on the tip of Daeron's ear. "We have all the time in the world."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.