Can I get there by Candlelight?
by Tathren

How many miles to Babylon?
Three score miles and ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Aye, and back again.
—nursery rhyme (unknown)

"I can't believe you actually left your house dressed like that!"

"Calling that dressed at all is a little bit generous don't you think?"

Emmett gave an indignant little sigh, "Scoff all you want." He glanced at the spandex-clad Galaxy Lad to one side of him and the badly-accessorized 'little-devil' imitation to the other, fluttering exaggerated false eyelashes in their direction. "Mother always said, you've got to know how to show off your best assets."

"Yeah well, that's not all you're showing off." This from Ted, who illustrated his point by casting a pointed glance towards Emmett's almost entirely-exposed caboose.

"Well," Emmett countered again, "We'll just see who you wind up taking home tonight, Mr. Prince-of-Darkness. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time for another drink. Anyone else?" Two half-full glasses were raised to him in response and Emmett scooted off towards the bar to replenish his own supply, still proud of overcoming the most challenging part of his costume, namely where one was meant to store one's money when all one wore was a few strategically crisscrossed bands of leather.

The night was young at Babylon. It was scarcely an hour since they'd arrived. Things were just warming up. Ted and Mikey watched the tight barely-covered tush, fake rose tattoo, and long black curls as Emmett sauntered away from them skirting the dance floor. The two looked at each other and shook their heads slightly. Well Emmett did have a point—he was likely going to be taking someone home tonight. Their friend was nothing if not bold.

"Cosmo," the slightly lilted voice called to the bartender, its owner turning then to lean back with elbows resting on the bar ledge as he looked out at the dance floor and waited for his drink.

Lights and the sound of bodies—churning, flashing, pulsing in tempo with the music. The strobe flashed from green to orange to blue and then back again as a glittering rain of confetti cascaded down to bathe the dancers below.

Emmett's eyes settled, momentarily, on a strange gap in the dancing bodies, his eyes drawn there by the contrast with the surrounding dance floor. It was more than a little strange really...unless perhaps someone had gotten sick on the floor, but no one seemed to be cautious in their avoidance of the spot. They merely did not step into it, as though it were negative space, not really there at all.

Another flash of the strobe, but now brighter...too bright, like someone had just popped up with a flashbulb in his face. It set Emmett to blinking, and it took a moment before he could bring the room back into clear focus.

But something must have happened in that last flash of light because one moment he was there when the moment before—Emmett was willing to swear on Marilyn Monroe's ear bobs—he had not been. A single man, filling the little vacant ring. He wore armor and held a sword, and by the shifting disco lights across the dance floor, God but they looked real. The sword blade even looked bloodied.

The man's head whipped around, scanning his surroundings in what passed for honest shock. Well, that of course was ridiculous. What would be so shocking about the dance floor at Babylon? ...Unless it was maybe that fireman walking around in nothing but his red suspenders and a g-string....But no, this man was certainly not looking at him. In fact at the moment he was looking up at the catwalk and, Emmett quickly noted following the line of his eyes, someone was looking down at him.

A young-looking willowy thing with rapunzel-like blond hair. 'Hmm, must know each other,' Emmett found himself thinking absently. Though he had little to base his assumption on aside from the fact that the two were the most thoroughly clothed bodies to be found in the entire club.

Rapunzel carried a bow, not one of those silly plastic camouflaged hunting bows that they used to sell in the sporting goods stores back home, Emmett could see even from this distance. It was made of wood and ornamented in gold that shimmered in the swirling lights.

'Classy....Some face. Though the hair's just a little too femmy.' Emmett found himself wondering if the body concealed by those nondescript green clothes was anywhere near as fine as the face. His eyes flickered back to the armored man standing down at the dance floor, still gazing up. At least he was gazing up. That was until his blond-haired friend sprung up onto the railing of the catwalk and ran down the banister as though it were no more difficult than running barefoot through a field of daisies.

Emmett's lips parted silently and he stared in undisguised shock. 'Wonder what drug makes you want to do that?' But he had little time to stop and ponder as he realized that he was still staring and that the man in armor had turned to look at him.

It was hard to make out his eyes what with the way his helmet covered his face, coming down over the bridge of his nose and curving in at the sides to shield most of his cheeks. Emmett didn't know much of such things, but the armor didn't look to him like a thing of costume. It looked more like a thing of function, even with the notable long blond tail of hair that came from the helmet's crest. The man sheathed his sword and Emmett watched transfixed as he came towards him.

'He's gonna turn away,' Emmett told himself, trying and force his mind to be noncommittal. 'He's not coming over here.' But Emmett's mind, it seemed, was being duped by his eyes, for the man indeed came closer and closer...and...god but he was big, at least as tall as Emmett was, but more than twice as wide, and Babylon's most authentic Cher found herself wondering just how much of that was the armor and how much was the man beneath.

Emmett's eyes shifted a little back and forth looking for some escape and wondering what he would do if he found it. The man was certainly fascinating, but he wasn't sure that this was the person he wanted to have cruising him tonight.

The armored man stopped squarely in front of him and looked him up and down. Strange tactics for a pick up...and he was definitely not smiling. There was something of a severe set to his jaw, and he was unshaven, though he didn't look old. With eyes still cautious and warning, the man removed his helm, and Emmett swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry and tight, his eyes showing his obvious surprise. He had not expected to see such finely sculpted features, such refinement in the strong jaw line, the high cheekbones, the flaring nostrils of an almost delicate nose.

Emmett straightened, drawing up his shoulders a little breathlessly, all the world suddenly seeming still around him as he waited in a moment frozen outside of time for the man to speak and break the enchantment suddenly laid on his heart. He felt like he was in the presence of royalty. It was unsettling.

The strange man's eyes shifted cautiously back and forth, flitting from one side to the other before settling on the person in front of him. By his body he could tell that this was a man, but what sort of man it was he could not say. He had to admit, though, that there was not a person in the room who looked any more 'normal' than this one whom he'd turned to find staring at him. There was no better option, so he swallowed back his pride and he spoke, "Pardon, sir. My name is Éomer, Third Marshall of the Riddermark. I...find myself lost. Can you tell me. What manner of place is this?"

Well...Emmett might have been expecting a lot of things, but he had not been expecting that. In fact, as far as pick up lines went, that was probably the most off color one that he had ever heard. But if this man wanted to have a round of 'cruising in character' far be it from him to spoil the charade. "Cher," he said with a little flourish, extending his hand, palm down for the man to take.

Éomer frowned in confusion at the obviously recognizable gesture, wondering if he had somehow made a mistake. This...was a man...he was fair certain of it. Enough of his body was displayed as to be unmistakable, even given the long neat hair and the womanly mannerisms. But as nephew to the King, Éomer had certainly been schooled in manners of court and he did not want to offend the person, so he took the offered hand in his own gloved one and lifted it to his lips to brush a light and gentle kiss there.

Emmett's eyes widened, lips parting slightly, his shock renewed. It was not so much that the man had completed the gesture, but it was the earnestness with which he had done so. The delicate knowing brush of those lips made Emmett's pulse flutter with a rapidity that was almost equally shocking.

The armored man straightened and Emmett's hand slipped from his, his mind racing to think of something to say. He was spared the trouble though, by the arrival of the blond who had apparently made his way across the crowded dance floor and was now regarding them both with a gracefully arched eyebrow. The two strangers looked at each other giving Emmett the chance to take a good solid look at the second man. There was no word for him but exquisite...unless of course that word was 'femme.' No matter how blond and youthful he looked, though, it would not seem right to call him 'twink." The word simply could not do him justice.

"I have never met Men besides you, Éomer," the blond stated with a pout so defined it actually creased his brow. "I had no idea that your race is so...vulgar. You would not believe the things that have just been suggested to me." It was hard to tell by his tone if the man was more offended or hurt by this.

Emmett was nonplused. "A vision like you, honey, I'd be surprised if there's a pick-up line in the place you haven't heard by the end of the night." The statement seemed to multiply the newcomer's worry rather than assuage it.

"Rumil, this is Cher," Éomer introduced in apparent complete earnestness. "Cher, this is Rumil of the Galadhrim."

Emmett pointedly chose not to repeat the hand gesture a second time, instead giving the blond man a slightly forced smile, his own confusion multiplying by the moment. He was starting to feel that this little charade had gone on quite long enough, Halloween or no Halloween; there really didn't seem to be much action forthcoming from these two.

Behind him, the bartender finally returned with his drink, tapping him lightly on his shoulder to get his attention. Emmett pulled a few bills from where he'd secreted them away in a crisscross of straps, deciding as he did so that this was the opportune moment to make his escape. Taking a sip off the top of his drink, he cast a crooked smile at the two men who stood staring at him. "If you boys will excuse me, I've gotta be getting back."

"Wait," Éomer followed in his steps as he turned away, one heavy gloved hand coming up to his shoulder, firmly though not roughly. "You haven't answered my question."

Emmett looked at him a little blankly.

"What is this place, and how do we get out of here?" the man prompted.

Emmett was beginning to feel that he was being played for a fool, and he did not like the sensation, not in the least. A curt sarcastic edge entered his tone as he answered with aplomb, "This is Babylon. The exit to Liberty Avenue is right over there, and you get out however you came in."

Éomer too looked worried now. "We don't know how we came in!" he said beginning to grow a little exasperated. "Cher," he reached out again and touched Emmett's shoulder once more when the man began to turn away.

"Look, " he whirled back on them, harshly now. "My name is not 'Cher,' its Emmett, all right?. I'm dressed up as Cher. This is a costume, like those," he gestured towards the two men's clothing.

"...What?" Rumil's voice cut in, his shocked tone gentle, even musical; his confusion apparently as honest as it was clear. The beautiful green eyes looked almost betrayed, and something in them made Emmett stop.

He reminded himself sternly that he was not afflicted with the 'baby bird syndrome' that plagued Ted. He did not need to save or protect every lost little boy that came his way.

"Well..." Emmett considered the matter with some hesitation. "If those aren't costumes...and those are your real names that you told me...and you... don't know what Babylon is...where are you from?"

Éomer answered for them both. He seemed generally the more talkative of the two. "My home is the hall of Meduseld in Edoras, capital of Rohan, home of the horse lords. Rumil is from the Goldenwood of Lothlorien, our neighbor to the northeast. We were on the boarders of his people's lands in the midst of a battle." The confidence and assuredness drained from his tone, "...a-and then we were here."

Emmett raised his eyebrows just the slightest bit incredulous. He likely would have grown rapidly more so had he paused to give the matter or the implications of the man's words any more serious consideration. But then as luck would have it, the music chose just that moment to change, and Emmett's eyes lightened almost of their own accord. "Ooh!" he laughed lightly as the first bars were sounded. "They're playing my song."

He flashed a winning smile to cover up the pang of uncomfortable nervousness and then a hand closed on his bicep pulling him gently back onto the dance floor to join his friends.

"Who was that?" Michael had to yell to be heard over the music, his eyes glancing back over Emmett's shoulder towards the two men his friend had been speaking with. Emmett had seemed awfully willing to end the conversation when Ted had pulled him away, and the man dressed as a knight was cute. The other was too, if perhaps a little too femme.

"Oh, no one," Emmett replied dismissively.

"No one?" Ted was incredulous at that. "If you don't want him, I do! Either of them!"

"Well, you can have them. They're just...weirdoes. I don't think they're even gay."

"Oh, I don't know," Ted peered towards the bar from across the dance floor, catching sight of the two beyond the writhing ebb and flow of bodies. "I can't remember the last time I saw two straight men touch each other that way."

Emmett turned back to look once more. The man in the armor, Éomer, he'd taken off his gloves...or gauntlets, or whatever they were...and set them inside his helmet which he still held casually beneath one arm, his other hand cupped Rumil's (that was his name, wasn't it? Rumil...?) cupped his face with surprising tenderness. The willowy blond looked so lost and so sad, and by the way Éomer kissed his cheeks, Emmett had to wonder if he might not be crying.

"Oh...." Emmett's expression faltered with a little uncertainty, as he watched Éomer crane his neck in the direction of the exit he had pointed out earlier, take Rumil's hand, and make their way towards it.

Without really stopping to think any further, Emmett excused himself, gave Ted the remainder of his drink, and made his way across the room towards the coat check.

Éomer had a headache, a great angry, throbbing, pounding, pulsing affair which had been brought on by the cacophony of the great room they'd first found themselves in. They had managed to make it outside now, but the headache showed no signs of abating in intensity.

The man stood on the top of a short stone staircase that seemed to be made all of mortar, blinking down at his elven companion who had darted with a muffled cry to the sole recognizable object they had yet to see in this whole strange world. The elf stood with his palms and his forehead pressed against the slender trunk of a tree so stunted it looked barely more than a sapling.

Éomer had never felt more miserable or helpless in his entire life and he looked every bit of it. The man's eyes traveled down to the ground where Rumil stood. It was covered by some sort of metal grate with a little portal at the center to allow room for the tree trunk. His friend's feet could not even touch the soil. For some reason, this made the man angry.

Descending the stairs, he crossed the short distance to the elf, shouldering his way passed the press of bodies in his way. 'Gods,' he wondered in absent disdain, "is it always so crowded here?'

"Rumil," he placed a gentle hand almost hesitantly on the elf's shoulder unsure of what comfort he could offer him, gathering him in his arms when his friend turned to him. He wished for all the world that the elf did not have to be here—the elf who had never even left his homeland, who knew nothing but the otherworldly beauty of the golden wood and the fine tall majesty of the mallorn trees. For Rumil, even Rohan would have seemed an alien land.

"It hurts, Éomer," the soft musical voice whispered to him, and the man cocked his head, not understanding. "The tree. It is lonesome."

The man sighed sadly. "Come on."

But neither of them knew where to go. The landscape extended unchanging for as far as the eye could see, the looming geometry of impossibly tall towers on every side extending ceaselessly into the distance, and the throng of people on the street passing by seemed an endless and disinterested river.

Éomer chose a direction at random, but they had gone less than a dozen steps down when they heard a familiar voice call out behind them, "Hey! Hey, wait..."

The two turned in unison to see Cher...or Emmett rushing down the stairs from the building they'd left. He was dressed now in a long coat that came nearly to his knees and was edged along the collar and cuffs in bright pink fur with black spots. (Neither Éomer nor Rumil had ever before heard of an animal with a bright pink pelt, even in the most fanciful of tales, but if any land were to have such a creature, surely this would be it. Certainly it would not be the strangest of things they had seen since their arrival.)

"Where are you going?"

The two glanced at each other and then back at him once more. Clearly they had no idea.

"Ahh...well, I know...a good place to eat," offered Emmett, whose planning extended only so far as catching up with the two mysterious strangers, and who'd not thought of just what he'd say when he found them again.

Éomer looked back to Rumil who shrugged. They both knew they had no better option.

The walk to the Liberty Diner, though short, was as prodigious as it was revealing. It included such monumental discoveries as street lamps, neon lighting, sewer grating, public telephone booths, fire hydrants, and cars, and it didn't take the entirety of one city block before Emmett began to really believe that the two strangers were indeed who (and what) they claimed to be. No tricks for these treats, it seemed.

Nothing met their eyes without causing renewed wonder or wariness. Things that Emmett had never even dreamed of giving a second look filled them both with awe. Manhole covers for one: it took him the better part of ten minutes just to convince the two that the strangely marked circular disks held no mystical properties and were not, despite their best hopes, portals back to their homeland.

Another was the stars.

"What hour is it?" Rumil had asked him quite unexpectedly. The blond archer's voice, Emmett noted, apparently never ceased to sound musical, elegant, and pure as the driven snow. "I cannot tell if it is nighttime or day," he complained softly in confusion. "It seems too light to be night, but...is there no sun here to brighten the gray?"

Emmett followed Rumil's eyes up to the sky a little surprised by the question. "It must be a little passed midnight," he guessed, as he was not wearing a watch.

Rumil paused in his steps to study the night sky more earnestly, his eyes shimmering with sadness. "Oh...." He drew closer to Éomer and whispered words in a language Emmett could not understand. Their host looked confused.

"There are no stars here," explained Éomer who spoke barely a smattering of Elvish but knew enough of elves to understand his friend's distress. His fingers carded soothingly through Rumil's hair.

Emmett rushed to explained that this was not the case, that there were stars, though the words "light pollution" seemed to have little meaning to the two strangers. Rumil looked downright perplexed. Emmett tried again.

"Do you not feel lonely?" the elf wanted to know, and it was Emmett's turn at confusion: How could anyone feel lonely on Liberty Avenue?

Part 3

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