"Terms of Endearment" by Suzelle

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Title: Terms of Endearment
Author Name: Suzelle
Prompt: Tuilérë
Summary: As spring approaches, a young Ivorwen worries about her foresight, gossips with her friends, and meets a dashing Ranger with a terrible sense of humor.
Rating: Teens
Warnings: N/A
Betas: Cairistiona, Zopyrus, and Odradek.
Author's Notes: This is a chapter from a longer piece I’m working on that chronicles Ivorwen and Dírhael's backstory. If I’ve done my job right, however, it will stand just fine on its own.

****
Flames consumed the trees surrounding her, and she looked on in horror as men, men she knew, did battle with beasts more fell than any she had seen before. A warg flew straight at the back of a Ranger, tearing into his neck…

Ivorwen flew up from her bed with a strangled shriek, gasping for breath. It took her longer than it should have to remember where she was, willing the tides of panic and nausea to fade, before she buried her face in her pillow and growled in frustration. It was the fourth time in a fortnight she had had the same vision, and she was no closer to discerning its meaning or knowing how quickly it might come to pass.

“Can they stop?” she finally wailed as she flipped around to stare up at the ceiling. This had never happened to her before, the same dream so many times—even her previous strokes of foresight had never repeated themselves in such rapid succession. But this vision was relentless, and her preoccupation with them had begun to rob her of sleep even on nights the dream did not come to her.

Pale light seeped through the cracks of the thatched roof above her, and Ivorwen sat up to get a better look out the window. The sun had risen, but only barely. It was early enough still that she did not have to tend to her responsibilities just yet, and could afford an hour to settle her frayed nerves.

She had taken to sewing as her latest method of calming herself after a night of bad dreams, but she knew sitting still would hold no comfort for her today. Instead she grabbed her cloak, bow, and quiver from their hooks near the door and stepped out into the quiet of the early morning, taking care to shut the door softly behind her so as not to wake her father.

Instead of heading straight into the forest as she often did, she took the long way through the settlement in which she had spent most of her life. Tucked behind the ruins of Fornost, Glamren had stood for centuries as the northernmost Dúnedain outpost, the first bastion against the shadow of Angmar beyond. Few dwelt there beyond the families of the Rangers who served their Chieftain to the south, but the small community managed to eke out as much of a life as they could amidst the danger that always skirted their borders.

She was not the only one who had gotten an early start to the day—a young boy called out to her in front of the blacksmith’s shop, and as she walked through the village commons she waved to Silmariën, who had already begun preparing the square for the feast that would be held that evening to celebrate the equinox. She ran a hand against the rough wood of the stables as she passed, and the movement helped to still her trembling fingers. Wandering through the village served to reassure her in its own way, a physical reminder that the doom of her dreams had not yet touched her homeland.

She waited until she was well past the sight of the sentries before she broke into a run for the woods beyond, breathing deeply as the chill spring air filled her lungs. Winter had not fully loosened its hold on the North Downs, but the air was damp rather than frozen, and the sharpness of it forced her to focus on her breathing. Her head still ached from her vision, but the pounding of her feet against the soft ground drilled a sense of calm into her, and for a moment she was able to forget the dreams that had shattered her peace.

She turned into a clearing in the heart of the wood, and stopped short at the sight of a doe grazing on the clover buds that had recently begun to sprout. The doe sprang up at the sight of the young woman crashing through her home, and she leaped across the clearing, barreling away from Ivorwen. She bent over to catch her breath and held up a hand as if to stop the creature from fleeing.

“I am not after you,” she called out softly. “Not today, at least.”

The deer paid her no mind, of course, and Ivorwen shook her head as she leaned against a tree and slid to the ground, laughing at herself for her own absurdity. When she was a girl, her father used to tell her stories of Nessa, the Vala huntress who took such joy in dance and could outrun even the swiftest of deer. She remembered running full tilt in the yard of her childhood home, as fast as she could, pretending that she could fly alongside the Huntress and outpace a deer. It was a fantasy she supposed she had never truly outgrown.

If I were truly Nessa I might have the wisdom to confront my foresight, she thought ruefully. Instead all I can hope to do is outrun it.

She gave a little shiver as she thought back to the dream, so clear to her in her mind’s eye and yet so muddled. She could never see the faces of the men who fought, though she supposed it was probably just as well. It would only bring her further disquiet if she had names for those who were doomed to their death. Yet the ambiguity maddened her, and she could not live with the knowledge that there was little to do but stand silent sentry until it was too late.

Her ears pricked at the sound of the leaves rustling behind her, and she gripped her bow more tightly in hand as she peered around the tree. Instead of deer or wolf, however, she saw the tall form a man in Ranger garb, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he walked through the woods. He pulled his hood back from his face, and she recognized him as Dírhael, the young Ranger whose family had relocated to Glamren just before the winter. Dírhael had left with Hallatan’s men on an extended patrol before the heavy snows hit and had not returned until just a few days ago. Beyond the brief exchange when he had called upon her father, Ivorwen had barely spoken to him, though she had gotten to know his parents well enough through the long winter. His father appeared stern and unforgiving, but his mother held a deep undercurrent of mirth, and it was not yet clear to Ivorwen which parent he favored.

“Well met, son of Naurdir,” she called out, hoping not to startle him too terribly. He gave a slight jump at the sound, but relaxed as he turned to find the source of it.

“Well met,” he gave a respectful bow. “I did not think to find anyone out here at this time of day.”

“I come out here when I need to do a bit of thinking,” she replied. “foolhardy as that might be.”

“Foolhardy?” he echoed with a frown.

Ivorwen shrugged. “It is unwise to travel these woods alone, even for a Ranger. One can never quite trust in their safety.”

"I see that doesn't stop you," he said lightly. She shrugged once more.

“My father taught me to hunt in the forest, when I was a child,” she said. “He was always careful to impart upon me the dangers of such duties, but it…this place has never seemed dangerous to me, for all I know of its perils. And we must hunt, one way or another.”

He nodded and seemed to shake himself as if he had suddenly remembered something long forgotten.

“That reminds me,” he said, “I never did give you a proper thanks for the venison you left for us last week.”

“Please, think nothing of it,” Ivorwen insisted. “It was no trouble at all, and I know things have been difficult enough for your family these past weeks.”

“Still, I hope your father conveyed my gratitude.” He shot her a mischievous glance. “It was dearly appreciated.”

The corners of Ivorwen’s mouth twitched, and she fought to keep a straight face as she met his gaze. “Was it now?”

“Oh yes,” he grinned widely. “My mother took it quite to heart.”

Ivorwen laughed aloud at that, and patted the ground beside her as she sat back down on the forest floor.

“So what brings you out here? Beyond a desire to play with words?”

He sighed as he leaned back against a tree.

“Much the same as you, I suppose. I have not yet gotten used to how small Glamren is, compared to the Angle—it seems if you want a moment to yourself you must abandon the place entirely.”

“Is that why you took the winter patrol the minute you arrived?” she asked, hoping she was not prying too deeply. If he took offense at the question, however, he gave no indication.

“In a way,” he answered, “though on patrol you never really get a moment to yourself either. Still, it does not come without its benefits.”

He pulled an apple from the pocket of his cloak, and Ivorwen’s mouth watered at the sight of it. They had run out of fresh fruit in their own stores three weeks before.

“Where did you get that?” she asked in wonder.

“The villagers of Bree are generous with their wares, if you are polite enough,” Dírhael said. “Or perhaps they were hoping to bribe fresh blood. Either way, I still have a dozen I managed to fit in my pack for the journey home, if you or your father would like any—it seems the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” she stammered out. “Truly, there is no need—“

“Just as there was no need for you to impart such a generous gift upon my family,” he countered. “What say we abandon talk of need and appreciate what we can give to each other?  Or accept that I simply do not care for apples?”

Ivorwen chuckled. “Now that, I do not believe for a moment.”

Dírhael grinned once more as he brought out a small hunting knife. He sliced open the apple and offered half to Ivorwen, which she accepted gratefully.

“The perfect way to usher in spring,” she sighed in contentment. “What other sort of wonders do they have in Bree?”

“Not much, beyond beds and a hot meal,” Dirhael said. “But they tell the most fascinating stories. I heard tell from one barman, for instance, that the best thing after a night of revelry is to fry up a bit of eel. He fed it one morning to a taverner who had had too much ale and he jumped up as good as new.”

“Fried eel?” Ivorwen raised an eyebrow. “That is the most absurd thing I have heard in my life.”

“Find me in the morning and you can see for yourself.” His eyes twinkled. ”I will see you at the festival tonight, yes?”

“Oh, you will see everyone," Ivorwen rolled her eyes with a smile. "We take Tuilérë very seriously in Glamren. Hallatan likes to pretend that winters are harder for us here than they are anywhere else.”

“After three months on patrol, I believe it.” Dirhael gave a small shudder before he rose and bowed to her with a wink. “Until tonight, then, Mistress Ivorwen—I look forward to it.”

Ivorwen watched him as he went, and wondered how it was she had never truly noticed him before.

****

The tasks of the day drove both Dírhael and her vision from her mind, and the afternoon of the equinox found Ivorwen sweating in the kitchens with her friends Rínen and Calena, gossiping over chopped vegetables as they prepared the village’s great feast for Tuilérë.

“I do not understand how we still get saddled with this work year after year,” Ivorwen grumbled, wiping her streaming eyes on her apron before tossing the onions into a pot of soup. “Is it not time for the next generation to take over? Glíriel and Silmariën’s daughters have seen at least sixteen summers. We were far younger than that when we started…”

Calena scoffed beside her. “Do you trust those children to handle our meals? At least this way we know the food will be edible. And besides,” she added as she threw Ivorwen a mischievous grin, “this way we’re guaranteed as much ale as we please.”

“Fair point,” Ivorwen conceded. “Though even that becomes less of an incentive the older we get. Sometimes I think I still feel my headache from Mettarë.”

“If we married they would probably let us off,” Rínen put in gloomily.

“Oh, why take that tone about it?” Ivorwen laughed. “You’ve come as close as any of us to  marriage, and you seem quite eager to get your hands on Cirion.”

Rínen blushed. “He has made no advances since last summer. I think he has forgotten I exist.”

“’Tis because you are too shy to do anything about it!” Calena teased. “You cannot wait for him to come to you, Rínen. Ask him for a dance tonight, after you’ve loosened up. I promise you he’ll agree.”

Rínen ignored her and busied herself with peeling potatoes.

“Ask him,” Calena dug her elbow into her friend’s side, and Rínen let out a shriek of laughter as she batted Calena away. “What do you have to lose? The worst he can say is no.”

Rínen shrugged. “I suppose so…though there’s never any accounting for wounded pride with you.”

She picked up a tray full of dishes and darted past Ivorwen for the door. “Silmariën wanted these on the table an hour ago. Come bring out the others when they’re ready, yes?”

“I’ll bet my last coin Cirion asks her first,” Ivorwen muttered as she watched her friend go. “‘Forgotten her,’ indeed. He’s had eyes for her since we were children.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The ale always emboldens her more than we think. Three silver pennies says she’ll ask him, if we goad her enough.”

“You’re on.” Ivorwen pulled out three loaves of bread from the oven and sidestepped Calena to place them on the table. “And you, Cal? Any men you’re hoping to dance with tonight?”

Calena's playful expression faded, and Ivorwen silently cursed her own thoughtlessness. Her friend had been betrothed to a young Ranger named Finlad before he was killed on a patrol last summer. Calena rarely spoke of her grief, and seemed determined as always to remain cheerful even in the face of sorrow, but Ivorwen suspected she still felt the loss more keenly than she would admit even to herself.

"Not tonight, I think," Calena said, her voice light. "I'll be happy enough to leave the dancing to you and Rínen this year. Eru knows, Ri needs all the practice she can get anyway."

Ivorwen dug out a set of breadbaskets from their shelf under the kitchen table before turning back to face her friend. "It's been nearly a year, mellon-nín. It might do you some good to try and--"

But Calena shook her head once more, her mouth set in a firm line. "Don't push me on this, Ivorwen, please. I know I need to move on, and one day I will be ready. It is simply not this day."

Ivorwen nodded in sympathy and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Besides, since when have the two of us ever needed men to create a spectacle at the equinox?" Calena grinned once more. "One way or another we'll have a divine evening out of this, make no mistake."

***

Serving at Tuilérë always turned out to be far more complicated than anyone anticipated, and the early evening passed in a flurry of movement, with Ivorwen weaving through the crowd to ensure everything reached the tables at the proper times. Hallatan’s speech was drowned out as Ivorwen settled a dispute between Calena and Ingold about the best way to carve up the wild boar, and she saw her father only long enough for him to shoot her a knowing smile before he sat among the other elders of the village. She finally surveyed the crowd, satisfied that all was in order, and served herself a plate of food as she sank onto a bench at the end of one table. Rínen let out a resigned sigh as she took a seat beside her.

“Never again. They shall have to find someone else to conscript next year.”

“Then you better work on getting yourself a husband,” Ivorwen winked. “Where is Cirion? We may as well have him propose here and now, get it out of the way.”

“Oh, stop it…”

Their banter was interrupted by Calena, who approached them with a triumphant smile, balancing three drinks between her hands.

“One hour in and Silmariën has found nothing to criticize.” She passed down a cup of wine to Rínen and Ivorwen each. “I believe we are free to toast to victory, my friends.”

Ivorwen lifted her glass, and her friends followed suit.

“To those who have taught us, and those we will teach,” she began.

“…may we watch over them as we do each other,” Rínen and Calena chorused after her, and the three drank in renewal of the friendship they had founded long ago.

“Wise words from wise women.” A voice boomed out behind them, and Ivorwen raised an eyebrow as Cirion swooped down to embrace Rínen. Dírhael trailed after him. “Why have we not adopted that as the motto for the Rangers, eh?”

Rínen let out a small squeak in delight, and Calena and Ivorwen both rose for hugs of their own.

“It took you long enough to find us,” Calena laughed. “We’ve seen hide nor hair of you since you returned!”

“For which I beg a thousand pardons.” Cirion held out his hands in supplication as he took a seat beside Rínen. “I simply wanted to make sure that Dírhael here felt well enough at home. Have you all met?"

Rinen and Calena shook their heads, and Cirion made the appropriate introductions before turning back to Ivorwen. "And this is..."

“Ivorwen,” she finished for him. “But you are behind the times, Cirion. It behooves me to tell you that Dírhael and I are already well acquainted.”

Dirhael choked on his ale, and Cirion pounded him on the back as he let out a bark of laughter. “I like the way you think. Most people would have let such jests lie stagnant.”  

“What on earth are you two on about?” Calena asked, her eyes darting back and forth between the two.

Ivorwen shook her head. “Never mind. Suffice it to say I think we have finally found a Dúnadan who can tell worse jokes than my father.”

Dírhael raised an eyebrow. “Should I be insulted or flattered by that?”

“Both, I should think,” Rínen smiled.

The minstrels soon struck up a lively tune, and Ivorwen let the music wash over her in contentment. Dancers began to form around the center of the square, and Cirion turned to Rínen, his expression suddenly bashful. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, dear Rínen?”

Calena groaned, and Ivorwen grinned in satisfaction as she held out her palm. Rínen scowled at them both, but she was soon distracted from her indignation as Cirion pulled her from her seat.

“Valar forbid I ever bet against a woman with foresight.” Calena dropped the coins into Ivorwen’s outstretched hand.

“Foresight had nothing to do with it,” Ivorwen smirked. “I simply do not harbor the mistaken assumption that Ri drinks as much as you do at these festivals.”

Calena smacked her playfully on the arm, and Ivorwen laughed.

“Just for that, I’m taking your wine.” Calena snatched it out before Ivorwen had a chance to stop her. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Dírhael, who had watched the entire exchange in an awed silence.

“Are the women of the Angle this uncouth, Dírhael?” Ivorwen asked. “Gambling over their friends’ love lives and pilfering food and drink?”

“Oh, they’re much worse,” he grinned. “Was there any doubt he would dance with her?”

Ivorwen shook her head. “Only as to who would make the first move. They’ve been after each other for years.”

“Ah,” Dírhael nodded in understanding. “Well, if you ladies will excuse me, I think I might follow their lead—it has been far too long since I've had a good dance. Would either of you care to join me?”

“Thank you, but not tonight,” Ivorwen said. “It has been a long day for both of us, and we’ve only just gotten off our feet.”

For a moment Ivorwen thought he looked disappointed, but his good-natured smile returned so quickly she might as well have imagined it. “Of course. Well, it has been a pleasure talking to you both—I hope to see more of you in the days to come.”

Ivorwen and Calena both chorused in farewell, and he rose to join the increasingly large crowd near the bonfire. Ivorwen turned to find Calena staring at her in disbelief.

“What is the matter with you?” Calena asked indignantly. “Passing up an opportunity like that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come now. You have not stopped staring at him since he first sat down, and he has barely taken his eyes off of you.”

“I did not want to leave you here by yourself. If you will not dance you ought to at least have someone to keep you company.”

Calena snorted. “Do not worry about me, mellon-nín. They shall start the dice games soon, and I will enjoy myself plenty. And in the meantime, Ancalimë has stolen all of your fun.”

She gestured impatiently towards the center of the crowd, where Dírhael danced with Hallatan’s daughter. Ivorwen pushed down a sudden flare of jealousy.

“I wonder if they make them all like that in the Angle.” Calena eyed him appreciatively. “That would be a good excuse for you to leave, right there.”

Ivorwen groaned. “What did my father say to you?”

“Only that you had had another vision, and that he was worried about you.” Calena glanced back at Ivorwen. “He said a journey to the Angle might be good in more ways than one.”

Ivorwen sighed. Sometimes she wished her friends did not get along quite so well with Gilbarad.

“It might be…but it might also lead to nothing.”

“Would it? The foresight of Lord Argonui’s sister is renowned…”

“It is.” Ivorwen leaned forward and rested her elbows on her legs. “But would she have any true advice to give me? Perhaps there is nothing to be done, beyond learning to live with the pain, which I have certainly been doing. And it is a long journey to make for such a scant hope.”

Calena hummed thoughtfully, and took another sip from Ivorwen’s cup of wine. “Well, I do not think you should go. And I’m not just saying that because I would miss you terribly. You seem to be working through matters well enough on your own, and unless things worsen I see no need to uproot your life.”

“But they have worsened, Calena. Or grown more frequent. I have never had the same vision more than once, before, and this one has come to me four times now. And it feels…different, somehow. I can’t explain it.”

Calena frowned. “What did you see?”

“Death and despair, what else?” Ivorwen let out a bleak laugh. “Ask me tomorrow, Cal—I was starting to forget about it for the first time in days. And I still wish to enjoy this night.”

Calena patted her knee in sympathy. “Well, the Angle isn’t going anywhere. You do not have to decide anything right away. But if you wish to enjoy yourself tonight, I suggest you go ahead and get that fine young gentleman to dance with you, before your eyes pop straight out of your head.”

Ivorwen laughed and rose from her seat. “All right, I will do it! You will not let me be otherwise, that much is clear…”

“I goad out of love!” Calena called after her, and Ivorwen gave her a playful scowl before she waltzed to the center of the crowd, twirling her skirts around her in a fit of high spirits. The dances had always been her chief love at these celebrations, and she was well aware of her reputation. She avoided the gaze of men who tried to catch her eye, however, and scanned the crowd for Dírhael, who had somehow disappeared. She hummed softly to herself as the lines formed for a reel, and she almost didn’t feel the soft tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Dírhael standing behind her, hesitant and uncertain for the first time that night.

“May I?” he asked.

“Please,” she answered, and his eyes lit up when she held out her hand for him.

****

She lost track of how many times they danced together that night. Ivorwen had never had a partner who matched her so perfectly, and he took the same joy in the movements that she did. Other couples parted for them as they flew through the square, with Dírhael spinning her faster and faster with each successive song.

At last the music ended, and though some continued to indulge in ale and wine the crowd began to slowly disperse. Ivorwen saw Rínen and Cirion seated at a table once more, heads resting together, and she gave a small smile before she turned back to Dírhael. He ran a hand tentatively through her hair, and she looked at him in longing, not wanting the night to be over.

“Have you been into the foothills?” she asked, an idea coming to her. He shook his head.

“Come,” she took his hand once more. “It is a sight you need to see.”

Glamren was built into the base of the North Downs, and one only had to travel a bit beyond the village walls before the gentle knolls sloped sharply upward. She led Dírhael up to just beneath a hilltop and pulled him down to sit beside her so that they might look out at the view below. From here they could see the entire village, and Ivorwen rested her head against his shoulder as she gazed out at the flickering lights.

“None but the sentries are ever allowed up here during the day,” she said, “for fear of being spotted by an enemy. But under the cover of darkness—“

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

She turned her head up to face him, but he continued to stare at the village below, captivated by something she could not quite place.

“I did not know what this land would hold for me, when we first arrived,” Dírhael said. “I was so angry when we left, so certain nothing could compare to my home. I am glad to finally give it a fair chance.”

“I am glad, too,” she said. “It is deserving of at least that.”

He smiled, shamefaced. “You must think me terribly rude, to have had such thoughts.”

“Hardly,” Ivorwen protested. “Of course you would feel conflicted about leaving your home. And it is hardly like you stood and sulked, at least from what I can see. Cirion said you more than proved yourself on the winter patrol.”

“That was good of him to say. The patrol certainly helped me to feel more like I belonged.”

“The men have a way of doing that,” Ivorwen smiled, and they settled into a comfortable silence, with Ivorwen keenly aware of his hand resting against the small of her back.

“Can I ask why your family left the Angle?” she asked. “Forgive me for prying, but it seems…”

Dírhael sighed.

“No, it is a fair question. Truth be told, I am surprised it has not been asked of me more often.”

He fell silent once more, and Ivorwen looked up at him patiently.

“Let us say that my father…fell out of favor with Lord Argonui,” he said at last. “They are both honorable men, but prideful, and they argued with each other one time too often. My father did not wish to stay in a place where he felt he was not respected. And I…I did not feel like I could leave my parents.”

Ivorwen nodded. “My mother died not long after I was born, so my father has had to fill the role of both parents. He has taught me everything I know. I could not imagine leaving him.” And she knew, in that moment, that she could not make the journey to the Chieftain’s fortress, no matter how her foresight worsened.

He shook his head. “Between you and me, I think Lord Argonui was in the right of it, at least in the end. And no matter how I tried, I could not help but feel I was being punished for my father’s sins. I no longer feel that way, but…”

Ivorwen turned back to face Dírhael. “I was not on hand to hear Hallatan’s speech tonight, but I imagine he said the same thing that he does every year: that Tuilérë is a time for new beginnings, and that we should take that time to reflect upon how we might change our lives for the better.”

“Something like that,” Dírhael chuckled.

“It becomes a bit tiresome to hear every year,” she said. “But it is a good sentiment. Perhaps you can look at this as your chance for a fresh start.”

“That is a nice way to look at it,” he agreed. They fell silent once more, and Ivorwen tucked her arms behind her to lean back against the hillside, staring up at the sky. It was a clear night, and the moon hung low to the east.

If only my dreams held such beauty, she thought, and let out a heavy sigh before she could stop herself. The night would end soon, and she would be forced to return to the troubled world of her prophecies. Calena would ask for more detail tomorrow, and Ivorwen knew it was foolish to keep her vision from the Ranger captains for much longer. They would not be happy, but it would put them on their guard. And perhaps, for now, that was all that she could do.

“What is it?” he asked. She turned to see him staring at her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The look on your face,” he said. “This morning, and now tonight…what is it that makes you look out at the stars as though Eärendil himself had all the answers?”

Ivorwen laughed softly. She had never given much thought to the Mariner as a source of wisdom—but then, she reflected as she thought back on his tale, perhaps she ought to.

“I do not think he does. But that gives me comfort. Even the wisest among us did not always know what they were doing.”

"And that gives you comfort? That often led to disasters, in the great legends."

"True," she smiled at him. "But sometimes it led to good things as well."

Dírhael reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Ivorwen’s breath caught in her throat at his touch. She leaned forward, and when he kissed her she found she quite liked the feel of his lips against hers. His hand curled gently around her neck as she pressed into him, and when they finally broke apart she fell back against the hillside once more, gazing up at him in delight.

“Well,” she said, slightly breathless, “that’s certainly one way to make a fresh start.”  He laughed, and she pulled him down to the grass alongside her.

Comments

[shirebound]

What a marvelous story. Your characters really come to life, and you give us such a detailed glimpse into the lives of this generation of Dunedain.

The banter between Dirhael and Ivorwen is great. They're well suited for one another.

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I've been really enjoying writing Ivorwen and Dírhael together, and am looking forward to doing it more in the future :)

[tanis2014.livejournal.com]

This was charming, seeing Ivorwen and Dirhael as youths coming into their own. I thoroughly enjoyed Ivorwen being the one to gift Dirhael's family with food and watching/listening to the camaraderie of the girls as they cooked for the feast.

True friends, those three.

I also like the way this *chapter* wrapped, bringing about new dreams that while unlikely to chase away the portent dreams, will at least give Ivorwen something pleasant to dream about as well. It worked fine as a stand alone for me!

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! I'm especially glad you liked the camraderie between Ivorwen and her friends...her relationship with them is deeply important to me, and a tribute in some ways to my own two best friends, and I'm happy it shone through here.

And so happy to hear it worked as a standalone! I'm excited to continue working on this project, but it's going to be long in the making, so it was nice to have a little something to put out in the meantime :)

[lindahoyland.livejournal.com]

It is lovely to glimpse young Ivorwen and her husband to be. I always imagine them as rather old and grim.Most enjoyable.

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I always picture them both as having deep reserves of humor and mirth, much like Aragorn, and it's fun to play with that when they're younger and haven't experienced all that life will eventually throw at them.

[binkaslibrary.livejournal.com]

I did very much enjoy reading your story. It was beautifully written, touching, and interesting. And I think it's maybe the third story about these characters that I've read. Thank you so much for sharing it. :) Well done!

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I really adore writing about these two, and am hoping to do more in the future :)

[paranoidangel]

I really like this. It does stand on its own and it's interesting to see how Ivorwen and Dirhael met and what their lives were like.

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

[elliska.livejournal.com]

I really loved seeing this character, who'd I'd never thought of in her youth. And she has a great voice in this. Wonderful dialogue. Great job!

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!! I wound up planning a lot of her backstory for the Aragorn-era fic I was working on, and once one thing led to another I was writing instead of planning :D

[hhimring]

After reading your earlier post about Ivorwen and Dirhael, this look at their earlier history is lovely, both for the parallels and the contrasts. Very enjoyable, despite the inevitable darker background. The friendship between the three young women is well drawn!

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I've really been loving the chance to flesh out their early lives, and I'm so glad you loved the friendship between the young women...it's definitely a tribute in many ways to such friendships I've had in my own life :)

[ladyelleth.livejournal.com]

This was such an excellent read. I'm very, very curious about Ivorwen's visions and what they reference, but over the course of the story I was very happy to simply go along with her and experience what she does - her interaction with her friends was wonderful and rang very natural - and I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but the puns made me neigh with laughter. :D

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Aah, thank you so much, I'm so glad you liked it! Ivorwen's visions will be revealed in good time--I'll admit, part of my motivation in posting this was for accountability and not to make this "Yet-Another-Abandoned-WIP" :P. I'm so glad her interaction with her friends rang true--there can never be enough lady-friends among the Dunedain :D.

AND I'M REALLY GLAD YOU ENJOYED THE PUNS :D

[tehta.livejournal.com]

The aspect of this story that stands out the most is the dialogue -- well, the various interpersonal interactions. Dirhael and Ivorwen definitely have a spark (even just talking, not dancing), and the three friends have a gentler chemistry. It's just all so very life-like! How can any dark foreboding compete with such energy?

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!! I really loved writing the scenes between Ivorwen and her friends, and in many ways that was what spurred me to make this fic its own beast rather than keep it shut in a WIP file for ages on end.

[zopyrus.livejournal.com]

As you surely know, one of my life goals is to figure out how this fried eel thing works and settle the question once and for all....even if it means I have to enduce a hangover for the sake of the experiment.

My favorite scene in this is still the one near the very beginning, when Ivorwen walks through the woods wondering about Nessa. She's underused in canon but I love the idea of a tough little Dunedan girl, looking to her as an inspiration and role model--it very much fits with the culture you've created around your characters!

[suzll.livejournal.com]

ONE DAY, we will figure it out. I think the hardest part will be finding a grocery store that carries eel...

I'm really glad you loved that scene--I agree that Nessa seems underused in canon, but I feel she had to have been the patron saint of many Dunedain women, especially those such as Ivorwen.

[imbecamiel.livejournal.com]

This. Is. Wonderful. I am SO looking forward to seeing the full piece, because these two are just so great together. And I'm very intrigued by your development of the Dunedain culture. :D

(Also, I don't even like puns generally, but your puns are what puns should be and it is hilarious. Now you just need to work in Dirhael saying that he's "fawn'd" of her at some point...)

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Aaaah, thank you, I'm so glad you like it!! And AUGH, FAWNED, HOW DID I MISS THAT ONE ahahahahaha :D

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

Whoops! Again, I found a fic I had read earlier and thought I had reviewed and did not. I love the idea of observing Dirhael and Ivorwen as youth. Great chemistry you have given them by the way. You paint a very believable and realistic picture of the life of the community. The small details and touches of humor really hold it together. I think I have told you recently somewhere else that you have really sucked me into a world that I had not thought about in the recent past and I very much like your interpretation.

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you!!! You have indeed told me recently elsewhere, and I appreciate hearing it so very much. I have a lot planned for these folks, so I hope I can keep you engaged for the duration of the ride!

[independence1776]

This is lovely and it brought a smile to my face.

[suzll.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!

[blslarner.livejournal.com]

Ah, what a beginning to their relationship! I hope that all continues well with the two of them as they pursue their courtship.