Can I get there by Candlelight?
by Tathren

Part 3

For Emmett, walking into the Liberty Diner was like coming home. Even with the kisch-looking fake cobwebs in the window and Deb dressed as Rainbow Bright (talk about being stuck in the 80's!) from her rainbow stockings all the way up to the bobbling glitter-star antennae on her head.

For Éomer and Rumil, though, the scene shattered the last vestiges of their stubbornly irrational hope that they would suddenly turn a corner and see the way home before them.

The frown on Éomer's features redoubled in intensity and the man's eyes scanned the room more like they would a potential battle site than a meal about to be had. But appearances notwithstanding, he was no uncouth barbarian—he had been schooled in matters of diplomacy and decorum, even if his temper often nullified his skills in that area. This, he decided completing his quick scan, he could navigate.

Rumil's reaction, on the other hand, was of an altogether different sort. The culture of the Galadhrim had wholly different commensal customs than the races of Men. The elves of Lorien had no inns or taverns. Food was not something bought or sold among them. One ate with one's family or friends, not with strangers. The elf's eyes grew saucer-wide, and he once again drew near Éomer, hooking his arms through the man's, almost timidly as though he might otherwise get lost or left behind.

The booth seats of the table to which Emmett showed them required the doffing of sword belts, bow, and quiver of arrows, all of which were stowed safely, propped up against the wall at Rumil's side. Éomer, of course, sat next to him, and Emmett facing them on the opposite bench, trying to think of what he should say to answer the pair's expectant looks. It was Justin that saved him, with the arrival of water and menus.

"Someone's calling it an early night," the young man quipped.

"Well at least I had a night...Feather Boy."

"Hey, don't knock it—tips are good," Justin sashayed his hips showing off the dollar bills tucked into the band of his apron. Beneath it, skimpy gold bikini bottoms were clearly visible, and the way they hugged his tush left little to the imagination (especially since between there and the top of his gilt knee-high boots there was nothing but a smooth expanse of pale ivory thigh). "Besides, I'm off in half an hour." The young man's eyes made a quick appraisal of the two strangers sitting across the table from Emmett. Not the usual dynamic trio to be sure. "Where are Michael and Ted...and Brian?" the boy asked trying to sound nonchalant as he spoke the third name.

"You mean Galaxy Lad and the Prince of Darkness? They're back at Babylon. As for Brian, I wouldn't know; haven't seen him all night."

"Oh..." Justin tried hard not to look as crestfallen as he felt, and Emmett had to admit, he did feel a little bad for the boy.

Not that Justin wasn't bringing it on himself; falling for Brian Kinney was about the worst thing a man could do, in Emmett's opinion. To be avoided at all cost. Justin had no one but himself to blame. But for some reason Emmett found himself trying to mollify the young man nonetheless, by introducing him to his two strange new friends...or maybe it was just the most polite thing to do, since Justin was staring at them and they now at him. At any rate, he had to do something to break the tension. "So, ahh, Justin, this is Éomer and Rumil...and this is Justin."

"Justin," Éomer tried the boy's name out himself, "...You have wings."

Well, yes, at the moment Justin did have wings— white and feathered in fact, held in place with crisscross straps over his bare chest.

Emmett opened his mouth to answer; Justin beat him to it, "Yeah," he smiled batting his eyelashes, "I'm Eros, the god of love." He seemed likely to say more, but Debbie's voice beckoned from across the room.

Rumil, trying to tune out the world, was looking at the menu set before him, hesitantly fingering its laminated cover before picking up a fork and using its tines to flip said cover open.

Éomer was too busy being perplexed to pay his own menu much mind, "Emmett..." the armored man leaned across the table, lowering his voice secretively, "why would a god be working as a serving wench in a tavern...?"

Which left Emmett to try and explain that Justin was not really a god, just like he was not really Cher (a cultural reference which was, unsurprisingly, lost upon the Rohirrim) and since the word Halloween went no further in clarification, he set off to explain the holiday.

Truly it was not going well.

Rumil fork-turned another page. Emmett took the opportunity to change the subject, hoping to divert Éomer's attention as well. "See anything you like?" he asked the elf.

Concerned emerald eyes looked up at the question. Rumil did not even see anything he recognized. Neither, it quickly became apparent, did Éomer. Emmett sighed and set to offering explanations for nearly every item on the menu, starting with breakfast. He actually thought he was doing fairly well: he'd made it all the way to club sandwiches. Éomer was staring at him very hard, a perplexed frown on his countenance, as though he was trying to understand someone who spoke a foreign language (which was nearly how he felt), and Rumil was drawn back as far as he could manage into the corner, trying not to touch anything.

It was just about this time that Justin reappeared, bearing a pencil, though it was not to take their orders. Instead he pulled up a chair, swung it around, sat down in it backwards (so as not to damage his wings) took one of the paper place mats, flipped it upside down and began, without a word of explanation, sketching the elf.

Emmett stared at him, "What are you doing? Don't you have some tables to bus, Cupid?"

"Eros, and I'm on a ten minute break." Well that of course explained everything (or nothing at all) and if Emmett was confused it was safe to say that Éomer was struck speechless.

Rumil, for his part, had laid his head against Éomer's shoulder (which, given the man's armor, must not have been terribly comfortable) and was poking at his menu with his fork, apparently trying to push it as far away from him as possible. Justin cocked his head to look into the soft green eyes.

"Rumil...That's a really...pretty name," the artists offered, trying to draw his subject out of his shell, "although, I've never heard it before." Justin's teeth tugged at his lip; the elf's did the same, though for different purpose, as he watched Justin's eyes darting between him and the paper.

For a moment, Rumil wasn't sure if he wanted to answer the strange winged boy, but curiosity was bound to draw his attention. He glanced over at the pencil sketch, feigning disinterest. He had never seen anything like it, and not just because graphite was unknown as a drawing implement amongst his people. The elves of Lorien crafted much of beauty, but unlike some of their brethren in Imladris, these were seldom images of people. They were, instead, other-worldly depictions of the natural world, mimicking the leaves and the boughs of the great graceful mallyrn. Certainly, no one had ever drawn a portrait of Rumil. The elf found himself sitting up more fully and cocking his head to get a better view. "The language of my people is known little amongst the races of Men," he answered shyly. "This is how I look to you? You do me great kindness."

Rumil smiled watching the pencil glide across the paper, his own features appearing in its wake. "I have never seen a picture of myself before," he said almost absently.

Both Justin and Emmett looked up sharply, a little taken aback. "Y-you haven't?"

"No," Rumil, still looking at the drawing, had yet to notice the shock his statement had elicited, "I have seen my reflection, of course, in still pools of water and Éomer tells me that in his homeland men craft mirrors of glass and polished steel, that show an object even clearer still, but I have never seen one."

Justin gazed at him in no small amount of confusion, then at Emmett who shrugged. "Where are you from?" the young man asked the obvious question with the obvious degree of bafflement.

"The Woods of Lothlorien, realm of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Do you know of it?" the elf inquired hopefully.

Justin answered with a little laugh as he looked to Emmett for explanation, not sure if the words were meant to be serious, "What?"

Emmett answered behind his hand though not really low enough to disguise his words, "I think they're for real."

Justin looked from Emmett, to Rumil, to Éomer, and back again, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Finally his gaze settled on the elf as he devised a way to test for himself. "Come here," he said, "I want to show you something."

Rumil eyed Justin's outstretched hand and then glanced at Éomer, confirming with a look that the man saw no danger in accompanying the boy—the Galadhrim would have no trouble handling one young human, and they both knew it. Éomer scooted out of the booth and Rumil followed Justin, though notably not taking his hand. Which left Emmett and Éomer staring wordlessly across the table at each other.

The wings, apparently, were a definite item of interest. Justin had caught the taller blond eyeing them appraisingly as they turned the corner to the 'tea room.'

Rumil seemed different now than he had upon first impression. It might be something in the way he moved, but Justin couldn't put his finger on it for sure. At first he'd seemed timid, but now his fluidity and grace lent him an air of confidence, and the expression in his eyes, though cautious, held a measure of that assuredness which came from knowing the exact dimensions of own capabilities. Justin got the distinct impression (slightly incongruous from the blond's effeminate looks) that Rumil would be completely safe walking down a dark alley alone at night.

"They're not real," the young man assured of his feathered appendages, trying to put the other at ease.

Guarded green eyes met blue, and Rumil answered by way of a question, "Where are you taking me?"

Justin quirked a smile as he pushed open the door before them, "Just in here." The elf sniffed at the air crinkling his nose at the strange chemical smell of disinfectants, and he hesitated, turning cautious eyes back to the boy once more. For a moment, they stood staring at each other, the tension building with every passing heartbeat, each expecting something which the other did not understand, until suddenly Justin realized that Rumil did not trust him to be at his back, whereupon the boy scooted inside and held the door open for his guest.

Two urinals, two stalls, sink, mirror, all tiled in white and red. The Liberty Diner men's room was pretty standard as far as such things went. The stalls still had their doors (though some other local eateries had been known to remove theirs to keep men from stopping by just for a quick shag in the back.) This was to be Justin's litmus test, his chance to find out whether this strange girlish blond was really what he claimed to be or just an actor out for a laugh, and he watched with an expectancy that was not lost on his guest who frowned a little blankly, not really understanding what he was looking at.

"What manner of room is this?" the elf asked confused as he surveyed his new surroundings. Presently, though, Rumil's gaze fell to the mirror on his left and all the other questions fled from his mind as he turned towards it. His lips parted a little. "Ohh..." a quiet sound, realization tinged with awe.

Long slender fingers reached out towards the glass as though to reach right through and meld into the looking glass world like a hand dipping into water. Rumil's reflection looked back at him in surprise when the surface did not yield.

His eyes looked past himself to the young man standing beside him, and a faint smile played on his lips. "They say that the Lady of the Wood has a mirror which shows the future, visions of far off places and times, but I do not think that even it could render a picture so clear," he offered earnestly. "This must be a special place indeed to house an object so fine." His eyes shifted back to the tiled walls around him, "What is it for?"

Debbie, Emmett, and Éomer looked at each other in awkward silence. Shouldn't be such a difficult question to answer, Debbie reasoned, a little miffed at the unnecessary delay—it was busy and she had other orders to take. Besides, she was burning up with curiosity about the two folks she'd seen Emmett enter the diner with, and she was grinding her gum between her teeth trying to keep herself from making some inopportune comment to Emmett in front of them.

Éomer sighed, looking up from the menu before him once again, having made no apparent decision. He hated admitting that he could not manage this himself but... "Lord Emmett, perhaps you would be so kind as to order for us."

Gum cracked none too softly; Debbie did a double take. Self control snapped. That was it. "What?!"

Emmett blinked at the title, Éomer tried desperately to figure what error he'd made in using it. Debbie absolutely gawked, "...Lord?!"

"Umm Debbie," Emmett knew it was time for damage control, "this is Éomer. He and his friend are umm...visitors, you know, like in the French Comedy sort of way..."

Debbie cracked her gum louder still, "Emmett honey, I may be an old broad, but I wasn't born yesterday!"

"No really, Deb, I didn't believe it at first either, but they are...umm...well..." Emmett gestured towards the armored man seated across from him as though Debbie could very well see for herself.

The Rohirrim warrior sat looking at them lost, confused, and far from happy. He seemed about to speak, meaning to apologize for...something...but he hadn't had the chance to figure out what when his companion came skidding to a graceful, if slightly breathless, halt alongside the table, his eyes wide with an expression that made Éomer's body tense on reflex and his hand reach for his sword.

"Éomer, you have to see this!"

The man's eyebrows raised. Rumil was practically tugging him out of his seat, but far be it for him to deny the elf anything. A little ways beyond, Justin stood by with a little smirk on his face watching in bemusement.

"They have little rivers that come out of the walls! And you can turn them on and off...and they come out already warm!" Rumil could be heard whispering as he led the man off, his tone almost conspiratorial, as though he were divulging a great secret.

Justin crossed the short distance to stand beside Emmett, sharing in his great discovery. "I think you're right; I think they're real."

Debbie looked back and forth between the two as though they had just lost their ever-lovin' minds and threw her hands up in the air in frustrated and baffled resignation, "Are you gonna order food or not?"

After a moment's consideration, Emmett decided that variety would be most prudent. He ordered five different types of appetizers, salads with a selection of dressings on the side, and almost as an afterthought, milkshakes. Debbie looked at him as though he were insane. Justin read the order pad over her shoulder and pointed out that she should be sure not to leave out the blue cheese. Rumil, he'd decided quite on a whim, would like blue cheese, and they should have lemon squares for desert.

"You think we should make sure they're not getting into any trouble in there?" Emmett pointed delicately towards the men's room door.

Justin gave a little shrug, "I made sure to explain what everything is for..." he said, and then seemed to consider, "...except for the hand drier." As if on cue a short muffled cry came from behind the washroom door and Justin darted off for damage control.

Debbie looked down at Emmett in total skepticism, "I hope you know what you're doin'," she warned.

Emmett was beginning to hope that he did too.

Part 4

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