Vanasulë, Aragorn noted as he smiled in gratitude at the warm welcome, had the air of timelessness around him that Elrond had, only perhaps hidden more artfully by a youthful face. A human who looked like Vanasulë would be in his early twenties; the Elf had no age lines to betray how many years he had walked in Middle Earth. It never ceased to cause Aragorn pause when he considered how old his Elven friends were. Even his closest friends, Elladan and Elrohir were born early in the Third Age.
Taking a seat by the fire, the young Ranger's gaze was drawn to Legolas. He looked younger than the others, which meant nothing.
Catching his eye, Legolas smiled as he handed Aragorn a flask of miruvor. "Is it warm enough for you?"
A smile returned to Aragorn's lips. The last time he'd met Legolas was when he'd journeyed with a merchant from Dale and five Dwarves. Elrond thought it would be good experience for the youth to spend time with races other than Elves. Despite Aragorn's warning about the weather turning bad, the group had insisted upon continuing. "A little cold weather never stopped a Dwarf," Galwin the leader of the Dwarves had insisted. They were knee deep in snow with more falling by the minute and totally lost, when the Elves of Thranduil's house rescued them.
By the time Aragorn entered the Halls of Thranduil, he felt half-frozen and could not stop shivering. It was Legolas who guided the shaking youth to a chair by the fire, and it was the Elven Prince who had put a mug of warmed wine in his hand before flinging a thick blanket over his shoulders.
"I shall always be grateful for your kindness," Aragorn felt the renewal of his gratitude, as he spoke to Legolas.
"You were half-blue," Legolas' eyes twinkled in the firelight. "I think it may snow tonight."
"I agree." Vanasulë took a ladle to the small pot hanging over the fire and filled a plate with something that made Aragorn's mouth water in anticipation. "Stew?" Vanasulë held the plate to him.
"After you," Aragorn replied.
"Oh, we ate an hour ago waiting for you three," Vanasulë told him.
Putting down the flask, Aragorn took the plate of stew. He pulled his eating knife from the sheath attacked to his sword's sheath, and began to eat.
A warm sense of camaraderie emanated from the four Elves, and Aragorn was able to forget for a moment how very different he really was from them. At times his sense of mortality came back as one of them mentioned a memory from a millennium before, but then casual talk let it ebb to the back of his consciousness.
As the storm grew more fierce without, Elrohir went out often to check on the horses. When he returned, white flakes salted his dark green cloak.
"I was right," Vanasulë noted. "There will be four inches of snow on the ground by sunup, if there is a sunup."
"Better than living in a desert," Elladan commented.
"Depends on the desert," Elrohir retorted. "There's cold deserts and there's hot deserts."
"Either way, there's no much in the way of greenery." Elladan passed his brother the flask of miruvor that had been making its way around the campfire since their arrival.
"Cold deserts?" Aragorn asked. "I've heard there are vast deserts in the East, but are they cold?"
"Oh, aye," Vanasulë poked a long stick at the fire. "Away south of the Iron Mountains, east of the River Carnen there is a vast desert and the cold winds from the Northern Wastes blow down upon them from the west.
"It is there that the Lost City of Tirillon once stood." The tall Elf nodded as if in memory and Legolas' head bobbed.
"What is this?" Elrohir sat forward. "I've never heard of a lost city."
"Me, either," Elladan looked quizzically at the two blond Elves. "Aragorn?"
The Ranger shrugged. "Only the lands that have gone under the sea."
"Oh, no," Legolas' face grew more animated. "This city was renown for it's evil and it may have been influenced by the Dark Lord, but the story has it that some of the people there were knowledgeable in the arts of Alatar."
"Alatar!" Elladan and Elrohir echoed.
"Who is Alatar?" Aragorn asked, leaning forward, his curiosity peeked.
"Oh, well, that is a long story," Vanasulë said, which did nothing to hinder the twins from filling Aragorn in.
"The Valar sent five Maiar to Middle Earth, the Istari," Elrohir began.
Elladan continued, "You've met three of them, Curumo who is now called Saruman the Wise, Aiwindil or Radagast, and Mithrandir or Gandalf whom we know as Olórin."
Nodding, Aragorn gestured for them to continue.
"Well," Elrohir leaned toward Aragorn, "Haven't you ever wondered about the other two?"
"I think Elrond told me about them once." Aragorn searched his memory. "Didn't the other two go to the far East beyond the Sea of Rhun?"
"It is said they traveled to the East," Elladan agreed, "but it is also said that the arts of Alatar were teachable to Men."
This concept was totally new to Aragorn. "I don't understand."
Legolas continued the story. "Small groups of Men clustered around Alatar, eagerly asking to be taught his magical arts. They almost worshipped him. It is thought among the Sindar that he was able to pass on some of his wisdom to these followers."
In Aragorn's mind came unbidden Elrond's voice. "Mankind is weak and easily swayed by greed and the lust for power." How many times had Aragorn heard that or something similar? He felt a sort of pity for his own people, yet he knew they possessed the strength to choose good, to seek for the benefit of all in a positive, philanthropic way.
"Did they use the magic for evil?" Aragorn had to ask.
"It is said that the most powerful of Alatar's followers founded Tirillon. It was rich in gold and even had veins of mithril," Legolas explained.
Vanasulë continued, "As you can imagine, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills wanted in on this find, but the Men of Tirillon were able to drive any Dwarf back out of the valley the city lay nestled in."
"They were able to keep the Dwarves from mithril?" Aragorn half-laughed. "I didn't know that was possible."
"These people had very dark minds," Vanasulë spoke more softly, more thoughtfully. "They turned to evil, as did the five wizards who ran Tirillon. Along with greed, they became hateful and disdainful of all other Peoples. They turned wanderers who happened by their city into slaves, and soon they began to send out hunting parties to capture slaves for their minds and other foul purposes."
"Were they influenced by the Dark Lord?" Aragorn wondered outloud.
"Perhaps, but their debauchery and cruelty knew no bounds," Legolas told him. "Refugees from farms and villages over a hundred leagues away flooded west toward Dale. They told of young men and women being stolen from their beds at night by parties of raiders."
Vanasulë shook his head. "It is also said that one night a huge pillar of red light rose up from the valley in which Tirillon lay, and the next morning it was gone."
"Gone?" Aragorn brows furrowed. "Totally gone?"
"So those who fled the place told us." Legolas looked Aragorn directly in the eye and there was no doubting his soft-spoken words.
"But what of the buildings? The people? Surely the Dwarves went in search of the mines," Aragorn sought an explanation.
"Many Dwarves from Under the Mountain went, none returned," Legolas told him. "It is still a mystery."
"Yet, Saruman the Wise returned," Vanasulë said, his bright blue gaze meeting Aragorn's across the fire.
"Saruman investigated the disappearance of the City of Tirillon?" Aragorn was even more amazed.
"He said something none of us really understood at the Council held to discuss this." Legolas looked up thoughtfully. "He said, 'Time has claimed them. They are still there, the entire City is still there, just not in Time.'"
"What does that mean?" Elrohir asked.
"I never understood, but Mithrandir and Radagast seemed to comprehend. They were also at the Council. It was held in my father's chambers, which is the only reason I was invited," Legolas explained.
"I never knew there was a Council to investigate it a lost city," Elladan said softly, "but if it does involve the arts of a missing Istari, I can understand why."
Vanasulë took the flask of miruvor from the ground beside his cousin. "I have a thought," he said slowly.
"It's always good to try something new," Elladan joked.
"This sounds dangerous," Elrohir raised his dark brows. "Go on Healer."
"Healer?" Aragorn hadn't heard Vanasulë called that before.
"Oh, yes," Elrohir turned to face Aragorn. "Vanasulë is a Master Healer."
"I only know him as the Messenger between the Elven kingdoms," Aragorn looked to Vanasulë for confirmation.
"Who do you think wrote half the books in my father's library about the Healing Arts?" Elrohir asked.
Of course, Aragorn had seen the books and even studied many of them under Elrond's tutelage, but he never realized that this was the same Vanasulë.
"Can we get back to the subject of Tirillon?" Vanasulë asked as if bored by the subject of his own history.
"If you first tell me one more thing," Aragorn raised a finger, "Vanasulë, you appear to be a contemporary of mine, which of course you are not. I'm simply curious, when were you born?"
"I was born in the First Age, about two years before Elrond and Elros," Vanasulë told him, a slight smile playing on his fair face.
That explained the sense of timelessness Aragorn felt around Vanasulë. "You were saying about Tirillon?" he encouraged the Elf.
"I was saying," Vanasulë's smile grew, "That we might investigate the Lost City of Tirillon ourselves. What better a lesson for a Ranger than to follow so old a trail?"
(to be Continued)
Taking a seat by the fire, the young Ranger's gaze was drawn to Legolas. He looked younger than the others, which meant nothing.
Catching his eye, Legolas smiled as he handed Aragorn a flask of miruvor. "Is it warm enough for you?"
A smile returned to Aragorn's lips. The last time he'd met Legolas was when he'd journeyed with a merchant from Dale and five Dwarves. Elrond thought it would be good experience for the youth to spend time with races other than Elves. Despite Aragorn's warning about the weather turning bad, the group had insisted upon continuing. "A little cold weather never stopped a Dwarf," Galwin the leader of the Dwarves had insisted. They were knee deep in snow with more falling by the minute and totally lost, when the Elves of Thranduil's house rescued them.
By the time Aragorn entered the Halls of Thranduil, he felt half-frozen and could not stop shivering. It was Legolas who guided the shaking youth to a chair by the fire, and it was the Elven Prince who had put a mug of warmed wine in his hand before flinging a thick blanket over his shoulders.
"I shall always be grateful for your kindness," Aragorn felt the renewal of his gratitude, as he spoke to Legolas.
"You were half-blue," Legolas' eyes twinkled in the firelight. "I think it may snow tonight."
"I agree." Vanasulë took a ladle to the small pot hanging over the fire and filled a plate with something that made Aragorn's mouth water in anticipation. "Stew?" Vanasulë held the plate to him.
"After you," Aragorn replied.
"Oh, we ate an hour ago waiting for you three," Vanasulë told him.
Putting down the flask, Aragorn took the plate of stew. He pulled his eating knife from the sheath attacked to his sword's sheath, and began to eat.
A warm sense of camaraderie emanated from the four Elves, and Aragorn was able to forget for a moment how very different he really was from them. At times his sense of mortality came back as one of them mentioned a memory from a millennium before, but then casual talk let it ebb to the back of his consciousness.
As the storm grew more fierce without, Elrohir went out often to check on the horses. When he returned, white flakes salted his dark green cloak.
"I was right," Vanasulë noted. "There will be four inches of snow on the ground by sunup, if there is a sunup."
"Better than living in a desert," Elladan commented.
"Depends on the desert," Elrohir retorted. "There's cold deserts and there's hot deserts."
"Either way, there's no much in the way of greenery." Elladan passed his brother the flask of miruvor that had been making its way around the campfire since their arrival.
"Cold deserts?" Aragorn asked. "I've heard there are vast deserts in the East, but are they cold?"
"Oh, aye," Vanasulë poked a long stick at the fire. "Away south of the Iron Mountains, east of the River Carnen there is a vast desert and the cold winds from the Northern Wastes blow down upon them from the west.
"It is there that the Lost City of Tirillon once stood." The tall Elf nodded as if in memory and Legolas' head bobbed.
"What is this?" Elrohir sat forward. "I've never heard of a lost city."
"Me, either," Elladan looked quizzically at the two blond Elves. "Aragorn?"
The Ranger shrugged. "Only the lands that have gone under the sea."
"Oh, no," Legolas' face grew more animated. "This city was renown for it's evil and it may have been influenced by the Dark Lord, but the story has it that some of the people there were knowledgeable in the arts of Alatar."
"Alatar!" Elladan and Elrohir echoed.
"Who is Alatar?" Aragorn asked, leaning forward, his curiosity peeked.
"Oh, well, that is a long story," Vanasulë said, which did nothing to hinder the twins from filling Aragorn in.
"The Valar sent five Maiar to Middle Earth, the Istari," Elrohir began.
Elladan continued, "You've met three of them, Curumo who is now called Saruman the Wise, Aiwindil or Radagast, and Mithrandir or Gandalf whom we know as Olórin."
Nodding, Aragorn gestured for them to continue.
"Well," Elrohir leaned toward Aragorn, "Haven't you ever wondered about the other two?"
"I think Elrond told me about them once." Aragorn searched his memory. "Didn't the other two go to the far East beyond the Sea of Rhun?"
"It is said they traveled to the East," Elladan agreed, "but it is also said that the arts of Alatar were teachable to Men."
This concept was totally new to Aragorn. "I don't understand."
Legolas continued the story. "Small groups of Men clustered around Alatar, eagerly asking to be taught his magical arts. They almost worshipped him. It is thought among the Sindar that he was able to pass on some of his wisdom to these followers."
In Aragorn's mind came unbidden Elrond's voice. "Mankind is weak and easily swayed by greed and the lust for power." How many times had Aragorn heard that or something similar? He felt a sort of pity for his own people, yet he knew they possessed the strength to choose good, to seek for the benefit of all in a positive, philanthropic way.
"Did they use the magic for evil?" Aragorn had to ask.
"It is said that the most powerful of Alatar's followers founded Tirillon. It was rich in gold and even had veins of mithril," Legolas explained.
Vanasulë continued, "As you can imagine, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills wanted in on this find, but the Men of Tirillon were able to drive any Dwarf back out of the valley the city lay nestled in."
"They were able to keep the Dwarves from mithril?" Aragorn half-laughed. "I didn't know that was possible."
"These people had very dark minds," Vanasulë spoke more softly, more thoughtfully. "They turned to evil, as did the five wizards who ran Tirillon. Along with greed, they became hateful and disdainful of all other Peoples. They turned wanderers who happened by their city into slaves, and soon they began to send out hunting parties to capture slaves for their minds and other foul purposes."
"Were they influenced by the Dark Lord?" Aragorn wondered outloud.
"Perhaps, but their debauchery and cruelty knew no bounds," Legolas told him. "Refugees from farms and villages over a hundred leagues away flooded west toward Dale. They told of young men and women being stolen from their beds at night by parties of raiders."
Vanasulë shook his head. "It is also said that one night a huge pillar of red light rose up from the valley in which Tirillon lay, and the next morning it was gone."
"Gone?" Aragorn brows furrowed. "Totally gone?"
"So those who fled the place told us." Legolas looked Aragorn directly in the eye and there was no doubting his soft-spoken words.
"But what of the buildings? The people? Surely the Dwarves went in search of the mines," Aragorn sought an explanation.
"Many Dwarves from Under the Mountain went, none returned," Legolas told him. "It is still a mystery."
"Yet, Saruman the Wise returned," Vanasulë said, his bright blue gaze meeting Aragorn's across the fire.
"Saruman investigated the disappearance of the City of Tirillon?" Aragorn was even more amazed.
"He said something none of us really understood at the Council held to discuss this." Legolas looked up thoughtfully. "He said, 'Time has claimed them. They are still there, the entire City is still there, just not in Time.'"
"What does that mean?" Elrohir asked.
"I never understood, but Mithrandir and Radagast seemed to comprehend. They were also at the Council. It was held in my father's chambers, which is the only reason I was invited," Legolas explained.
"I never knew there was a Council to investigate it a lost city," Elladan said softly, "but if it does involve the arts of a missing Istari, I can understand why."
Vanasulë took the flask of miruvor from the ground beside his cousin. "I have a thought," he said slowly.
"It's always good to try something new," Elladan joked.
"This sounds dangerous," Elrohir raised his dark brows. "Go on Healer."
"Healer?" Aragorn hadn't heard Vanasulë called that before.
"Oh, yes," Elrohir turned to face Aragorn. "Vanasulë is a Master Healer."
"I only know him as the Messenger between the Elven kingdoms," Aragorn looked to Vanasulë for confirmation.
"Who do you think wrote half the books in my father's library about the Healing Arts?" Elrohir asked.
Of course, Aragorn had seen the books and even studied many of them under Elrond's tutelage, but he never realized that this was the same Vanasulë.
"Can we get back to the subject of Tirillon?" Vanasulë asked as if bored by the subject of his own history.
"If you first tell me one more thing," Aragorn raised a finger, "Vanasulë, you appear to be a contemporary of mine, which of course you are not. I'm simply curious, when were you born?"
"I was born in the First Age, about two years before Elrond and Elros," Vanasulë told him, a slight smile playing on his fair face.
That explained the sense of timelessness Aragorn felt around Vanasulë. "You were saying about Tirillon?" he encouraged the Elf.
"I was saying," Vanasulë's smile grew, "That we might investigate the Lost City of Tirillon ourselves. What better a lesson for a Ranger than to follow so old a trail?"
(to be Continued)