And the "movie" is not a real one- I have made it up for the purpose of this chapter. Also remember that the time between updates might be somewhat longer this time, for reasons previously explained.
-Disclaimer- See chapter 1.
If in some smothering dreams
They had something called spaghetti for dinner. Orophin liked it well enough (he suspected it was one of those dishes that was very difficult to get wrong), but he wondered why Elladan looked so self-satisfied throughout the meal; he appeared almost to be preening. Glorfindel must have seen the question coming, because he said, "A certain someone taught me to make this. Otherwise, we'd be eating dinner from a box."
"A boxed dinner?"
"Just you wait," said Elladan, smirking. "Boxed dinner, lunch, breakfast…"
"I'm very good with a microwave, thank you!" laughed Glorfindel. "It's a talent, really. Who needs an oven or a stove?"
"He has plenty of experience with microwaves."
"I could teach you something, young one."
"I somehow doubt it."
Glorfindel shook his head, stood, and cleared their plates. The dog followed him out, looking hopeful. From the kitchen there came a high-pitched buzz, then voices. The sounds ricocheted about Orophin's mind before they associated themselves with the television.
"What's new?" Elladan asked loudly, pushing off from the table and leaning back in his chair to see through the doorway.
"You can come in, you know. Spare me the yelling and all that."
"Fine. Orophin, care to see what's going on in Arda?"
Orophin shrugged and wondered if maybe he's rather not know. He went anyway, and sat between the two other Elves on a stool at the counter. Alyaran immediately placed his head in his lap.
As it turned out, not much of anything was going on in Arda. At least, not anything he could really understand. So while Elladan went off to a spare bedroom to unpack his things (there were enough bedrooms for them each to have one) and Glorfindel was humming loudly in the bath, Orophin changed channels and felt increasingly bored. He finally settled on something with pounding, suspenseful music.
Whatever the main character was doing, it seemed to require a lot of running. Perhaps too much of it. In the dark, with rain, in what seemed to be the city. Apparently, this character was being chased; Orophin was beginning to wonder when he would begin to tire when suddenly there was a dead end and the running ceased.
Orophin waited, listening to the footsteps draw near. Now there was a confrontation, and the words were quick and foul-sounding. He couldn't follow it well. The main character reached into his jacket for something, pulled out a black thing, and-
Orophin jumped; Alyaran backed away very quickly. The chaser had fallen to his knees, his face white and slicked with rain. It took an awfully long time for him to tumble to the asphalt, and when he did his eyes were blank and his hair mixed with watery blood.
He sat there, watching the television but not really seeing anything, for a while. Then he blinked and shut it off.
"Sorry."
He turned around more jerkily than he intended to and saw that Glorfindel stood there, wearing soft pants and a tunic, with his hair wrapped up in a towel.
"You shouldn't have seen that."
"What was it?" asked Orophin.
"Just a movie. Entertainment."
"He died."
"I know. Men…things are different now. Battles aren't the same."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do we," said Glorfindel, shrugging. "Believe me."
"It is not real?"
"This wasn't real."
"Why…."
"You're asking the wrong Elf, you know. It is quite unexplainable."
Orophin sighed and stood, mindful not to step on Alyaran's tail. "I do not think I will be watching any more television."
"You don't have to."
"I have no need to watch killing for entertainment."
"Nor do I. Think, perhaps, of those who do."
(l)
His dreams were terrible. It had been a long time since he had had a nightmare. The wall at his back felt entirely real, the pavement was slippery under his bare feet. The black-robed figure hissed and-
He doubled over, warm blood on his hands, and cried out. The rain, the ground, how cold he felt… (it isn't so bad, really, not so bad…spare him the trip by boat…)
"Orophin."
(it was too easy, this way, and not bad at all…he wouldn't even be seasick…)
"Orophin, awake."
(not bad--)
With a gasp, he heaved himself up. Glorfindel's hand was on his shoulder, and he was indoors, in bed, awake.
"Oh!" he said quickly. "I'm sorry I woke you-"
"No, no, it's nothing. Are you alright?"
"Yes, I think…thank you."
"I'm sorry, Orophin, very sorry."
"No…I'm alright now."
Rain pounded at the tall windows beside the bed. His guest room was next to Glorfindel's. Now Glorfindel sat beside him, his hand still firm on Orophin's shoulder.
"I can stay, if you like."
"I'm fine, really."
There was a moment of quiet. Then, "Well, at least let me make you some tea."
"Tea would be lovely, I think. Thank you."
Glorfindel returned, bearing two steaming mugs. He set one in Orophin's hands and sipped quietly out of his own cup (it was a colorful thing, with painted paw prints and delightfully frivolous-looking dog toys- Orophin wondered if Glorfindel had bought it himself). They drank tea and watched the sun rise.
(Tbc)
Thanks for reading!
On the title of this chapter: from the poem Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen, 1918.