All Mythical Things

Sweet Dreams and Beautiful People

Languages:

'Valari words/ or Erika's mother tongue'

"Quenya/Sindarin"

"Westron/Common tongue"

Disclaimer: LOTR and Silmarillion are properties of J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Estates. None of the songs used in the story are mine too and only borrowed for entertainment purposes.

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Sweet Dreams and Beautiful People

He is a fëanturi. The master of dreams and the lord of visions. And it is him who usually guide the children of Eru through his subtle ways. Though it happens, it is a rare thing for Irmo to have visions of his own and when it does, it is of important matter.

Irmo was not gazing in Silindrin yet a vision of Ulmo came to him cutting the connection of his hair from the waters and thus losing the usually colorful reflections the droplets of water creates when light pass by it.

The younger brother of Námo witnessed the king of the seas sung the song of life as he weave. Creating something by taking a part of him. Breathing a life inside a fana.

In his palm is a tainted fëa. Glowing with faint light, a shadow strings around it like a pest clings on a tree.

The vision changed and Irmo was taken inside a place full of broken mirrors that reflects fog-full of memories of someone. There were voices speaking in hush, in anger, in joy and other emotions all at once using a language unknown even to a Vala like him. He took a single step and the vision shifted once more, taking him to a cliff. In the west heaven, Arien drove the ship of Laurelin's fruit to set and just behind her was Tilion rising from the east with the ship of Telperion's flower. Sitting at the tip of the cliff and looking at the sky is a dark haired young female from the race of men.

He didn't move this time and waited for something to happen. Moments later, as if sensing his presence, the girl turned to face him. Her features are unknown to him but her brown eyes captured his own.

He felt a spark from the essence of his fëa as if saying that this strange young woman is somehow connected to him. Her eyes never leaving his, Irmo realized, this vision speaks to him deeper than what he expected. Who is this child?

As the vision ends, Irmo transformed to his spirit form and wandered off to his garden unto his lake trying to ease himself, floating in the air while collecting his thoughts. Ages have passed since the Atar gave him such complex vision and this one confused him more than his strange visions of Melkor negotiating with Ungoliant.

Sensing his agitation through their bond, his barefooted wife, Estë appeared in haste with worry written on her beautiful face. Her grey gown was wrinkled in her hands and Irmo almost smiled at her dishevelled sight. He rarely see her like this.

'My love, may you come down here to my tree and tell me what has you restless?' she glided to the small island in the middle of the lake of Lórellin where her favorite tree lies. She extended her dainty hands in the air, pleading for him to come down.