Irmo Lorien - Tumblr Posts
Irmo Lorien, mostly inspired by the costumes from the Royal Ballet’s Slepping Beauty. I have a lot of headcanons for Irmo, but the main one is that he has trouble holding an Eldar-like form because he deals mostly with the unreal and ephemeral, so he always looks... wrong.
Namo headcanon
He does not exist within time, not truly, not like others of their order. Or rather, he does not experience time like others do.
It is a curious affliction he shares with his brother and his wife, although Irmo suffers it far less. A dreamer will always wake, but the dead are more...permanent. And Doom comes to many, those that have-been and never-were and will-be and should-have-been.
Sometimes, when he sees too much, he wishes another could have his job. Let Manwe have it, he wishes bitterly, so that at least he may understand the pain-anguish-terror his dearest brother has wrought upon Arda. Let the High King come down from his mountain and finally open his eyes to the suffering of what he claims are his people.
Time passes by him like a current that has pulled everyone else under, concealing a threat that lingers on the water’s surface that he can only catch glimpses of as he desperately tries to stay afloat. Irmo, in this metaphor, is a desperate survivor clinging to him as he surfaces for brief periods of time, oblivious to the oncoming danger.
Vaire is floating, everything visible to her, but she is unable to describe it in such a way that conveys the danger in any meaningful way until it has already passed.
He does not try to change the future. He has tried- sending Feanor to Formenos in the hope the smith would find happiness away from his brothers, setting a Doom upon the Noldor so they wouldn't leave can’t you comprehend the pain you bring on yourselves! You will find nothing but death and loss and suffering and you do not deserve it!
And it is for this reason he cannot hate any that enter his halls. Not even Feanor; bright and flaming and desperate to return to his sons. Not his sons who come to him, terrified and shaking shades of the vibrant happy ellons they were in life. Doom comes for all no matter how hard they fight it, and all he can do is sooth their hurts and temper their fears.
The Dagor Dagorath is coming. Pandemonium incarnate will break free of the Void and will ravage the world with its lover Wildfire at its side. Namo has Seen it, has lived it a million times over, will live it a million times over again until it suddenly becomes manifest far too late for him to realise it’s real.
For now though, the Doomsman is pulled into the current once again, and will act as Judge.