2017
London, England
Sören couldn't believe it - he was actually meeting the Rolling Stones. Even though he was a millennial, born in 1984, he enjoyed some older music thanks to his mamma Brynhildur, who had been a big fan of classic rock like the Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, ELO, Pink Floyd, and the like.
It was one of the things Sören had bonded with Maglor over, and this was Maglor's gift to him for their five-year anniversary, backstage passes to see the Stones in concert in London.
But what was even more of a surprise was that Maglor knew them personally. Sören knew he shouldn't have been that surprised - Maglor was very well-connected; following the Song had crossed his path with many musicians and bands over the last few decades. Even so, Sören never ceased to be impressed by who Maglor knew.
In some cases, biblically. Mick Jagger gave Maglor a hug, and then a deep, wet kiss. "Hey, Mags, luv," Mick said. "I'd offer you a good shag, but me arthritis is killin' me from all that dancin' about onstage."
"It's all right," Maglor said, patting him. Maglor was older than Mick Jagger by millennia, but of course, Elves didn't age like humans did.
"It's too bad, really." Mick looked Sören up and down. "Your boyfriend's a nice piece, a threesome would have been fun."
Maglor looked ready to spit at the unsaid piece of ass, but Sören preened, tossing his shoulder-length black curls, biting his lower lip, cheeks burning. Maglor relaxed when he saw Sören wasn't taking it as disrespectful.
The way Mick Jagger was talking to Maglor implied that they'd had sex before - and probably even had a threesome before. "You guys fucked?" Sören asked.
Maglor nodded. "A few times." He grinned. "One of them was a threesome with David Bowie."
Sören gave Maglor a playful shove. Maglor knew Sören had a crush on David Bowie since he was old enough to have a libido, and Maglor had never disclosed fucking him until now. That was probably just as well, because if Sören knew Maglor had fucked David Bowie, he would have asked to be introduced and he would have been the cause of David Bowie's death, fucking him senseless. "God," Sören yelled, then more softly, "I'm gonna come in my pants."
Maglor laughed, gave Sören a little kiss, and tousled his hair. Mick winked at Sören and said, "If Dave was here he would have fancied you, I think."
Sören's face was on fire again, his stomach fluttering. Before he could get too caught up in the fact that Mick Fucking Jagger was flirting with him and said David Bowie would have wanted to fuck him, little alarm bells went off in Sören's head. Maglor hadn't aged a day since he'd met Mick Jagger in the eighties? seventies? sixties? whenever it was. Mick had called him "Mags", not Mark, one of the aliases Maglor used to pass among mortals - that implied Mick knew "Mark" was Maglor.
Sören's jaw dropped. "You're out to these people?" he hissed. "Do they... do they know who you are? What you are? Do they know you're an Elf -"
"Yes," Maglor said.
"And... they're... just OK with it." Sören cocked his head to one side, incredulous.
"Well actually," Maglor said, "one of the Stones is a very old friend of mine. We go way back." Maglor took Sören's hand and pulled him over to where Keith Richards was smoking a joint. Keith stood up, but instead of shaking Sören's hand, he offered Sören the joint. "Sören, this is Radagast the Brown. Aiwendil, this is -"
"Fëanáro, reborn as mortal." Keith gestured to the joint impatiently. "Go on, fire does burn hotter around you, so smoke it up before it burns to ash."
Sören snickered, puffed, and passed to Maglor, who puffed and passed it back to Keith.
They sat down. Sören's head was spinning. He was still uncomfortable with "the Fëanor thing", even though he couldn't escape it. But it was one thing to know his partner was an Elf, and he was the reincarnation of one... it was another thing entirely to be smoking a joint with a Maia living among mortals as a rock star, using his powerful glamour to create the illusion of normal aging.
"This is either really good shit, or you just told me he's a wizard," Sören said.
"I prefer the term Istari," Keith said. "And yes, you heard correctly."
"You know how you make those jokes about how Keith Richards is immortal?" Maglor raised an eyebrow. "You know how you have this tendency to make jokes that turn out to not be jokes?"
"Well..." Sören took a big puff on the joint. "Shit." He didn't know what else to say. Then he narrowed his eyes - Maiar served the Valar, and... "You better not tell me to give the Silmarils to Yavanna -"
Keith waved his hand dismissively. "I wouldn't be on good terms with Macalaurë here if I thought like that."
Sören wondered about that - if there had been some falling out between Radagast and the Valar, or perhaps some sort of cataclysm - and he decided not to ruin what was supposed to be a fun, light-hearted evening, by inquiring further.
"Where ya livin' now, Mags?" Keith asked, passing the joint.
"Reykjavik," Maglor said. "That's where I met this one." He took a puff, held in the smoke, and blew out three smoke rings. "We flew over to London for the concert, and to do some sightseeing."
"And you're happy? Life is treatin' ya well?"
"Very happy." Maglor took Sören's hand and squeezed. Sören leaned in, pressing his cheek against Maglor's, and they shared a little kiss before Sören took a hit on the joint and passed it back.
"Good, it's about fuckin' time." Keith nodded sagely. He turned to Sören and said, "He's seen some things over the ages."
"I know," Sören said quietly; Maglor had frequent nightmares, and sometimes, flashbacks during the day. Sören did what he could to try to make him feel safe again, holding and rocking him, sometimes building blanket forts. He'd even given Maglor a plush unicorn to hug.
"It inspired one of our songs. 'Gimme Shelter'," Keith said, taking another long drag from the joint before passing it over again.
"Oh! Wow," Sören said. He knew that Maglor had inspired certain musicians indirectly, just by being in the same place as them - it was part of Maglor's magic, the way he was in tune with the Song - but he hadn't known that Maglor had inspired something so well-known directly.
"Yeah. A bit of a dark song, that. All the horror he's witnessed. And wanting someplace to settle down and just be safe." Keith frowned. "Something I know too well."
Maglor just puffed on the joint, not replying right away.
Sören sighed. As difficult as his own life had been, he could only imagine it was more difficult to be alone for hundreds if not thousands of years, having to move every ten to twenty years to avoid suspicion with lack of aging. Alone, witnessing civilizations rise and fall... witnessing man's inhumanity to man, bearing it all without companionship, or at least not for very long. He had offered to come with Maglor when it was time for Maglor to leave Reykjavik, not wanting Maglor to be alone anymore.
Sören took a deep hit from the joint, then passed it back.
"I've found shelter," Maglor said at last, taking Sören's chin and looking him in the eye. "I've found home. And family." He touched Sören's face, and kissed the tip of Sören's nose.
Sören smiled, feeling soft - that was exactly what he wanted, and needed, to hear. He put an arm around Maglor and put his head on Maglor's shoulder.
"And you?" Maglor's eyebrows went up at Keith. "You've lived a rather colorful life, under this persona."
Keith finished the joint. "This has been a fun run for me," Keith said. "But when it's all over, and 'Keith Richards' dies..." His fingers made air quotes. "I think I'm gonna be a librarian."
Maglor laughed, seemingly delighted. "Less trouble."
"Oh... I think mischief will always follow me around. But a different kind, mayhap."