#Kalla Olothëra | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluezenzennie · 1 year

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To heal, is to take your time.

Pairing: Irmo/Estë/Kalla ( oc )

Characters: Irmo, Estë, Kalla, Námo, mentioned: Ruinë ( @edensrose 's muse ), Melkor, Mairon, Nienna, Aurëlius ( My other muse ).

Synopsis: After the war of wrath, Estë and Irmo keep a close eye on Kalla's continuous self isolation and silence, which seems to have no end.

They decide to take matters into their own hands, when nobody else does, and make a deal with Námo to send them to Lorien, so they can take care of them until they're fully healed.

Themes: Angst, Hurt comfort.

Wordcount: 20k

"They've been so quiet, my dreamer." Estë murmurs, her soft breath fanning against Irmo's exposed neck, as the two of them cling to one another in a tight embrace.

"We should seek them out, speak with them."

Another hopeless attempt is made to push Irmo to talk, and help her decide, but he seems so lost, it's impossible to pull him out of his thoughts nevermind how hard she tries.

The silence is heavy when even Estë grows quiet, and all she does is sway around the fëantur in her arms gently for another minute or so, before he finally, finally, decides to speak his mind.

"I fear that we'll lose them..." That single sentence, that passes through Irmo's plush lips is quiet, soft, and full of an unmistakable grief, that swallows him whole and threatens to claw at his insides, to tear through flesh and break bone, to create a nest, a void of sadness, within his usually beautiful and vibrant fëa.

It still bore his beautiful song, yet there were changes to it - a faint hymn, so full of sorrow and pain, and, it only seemed to grow the longer he held back his emotions.

"We won't lose them if we confront them. Our little lily needs our help." Soft and dainty fingers dry tear stained cheeks and eyes. One thumb brushes over a tired eyelid whilst the other strokes the white haired vala's cheek carefully, before Estë continues her best to pull him out of this state.

She doesn't remember the last time she saw him this shattered and broken - had she ever?

"You have to understand this my love, we can't keep fearing for the worst and not take action, the worst will be the outcome if we do not... I am not as knowledgeable on topics like these as your sister, perhaps... but what I do know is, that we have to be brave and take them with us here - letting them rot in the halls of Mandos until they've fully healed, will do no good."

"I cannot look at them when I was among the valar who chose them to go shelter the wounded and scared in middle-earth." Irmo whimpers shakily.

He claws at his wife's dress and doubles over, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

"They begged, cried, did everything in their power to prove that this was not a mission fit for them- and yet we sent them away, only for them to come back mute, emotionless and shattered. I'm ashamed of myself for ever agreeing to sending them away, I doubt Nienna is proud of making the final choice too, despite all of us agreeing it was a good idea... I think Kalla's name just popped out of her mouth during that meeting, without actually meaning to suggest them." The cracks in his usually warm and smooth voice become increasingly louder, sadness so prominent you could almost see the blue aura around his fána.

It was painful to witness him in such a despairing state, truly, but Estë grew irritated and stubborn.

She loved the man with her whole fëa and fána, she adored him to her very core, and would always love and support him unconditionally.

Which is why it hurt her so much to seem him like this.

Though perhaps blunt when she speaks again, it is by no means meant with intentions to hurt him whatsoever.

Her words come out as stern and full of emotion: "My love, if you do not stop wallowing in self pity and guilt, I will go myself and drag Kalla back here, no questions asked and I will make you talk to them, there is no way out of this. They need you, they need me, us." She moves both of her hands to cup his chin, gently removing him from her shoulder, and looking into his tear filled eyes, before placing a small kiss on his forehead.

"But Est-"

"I will not tolerate anymore excuses, Irmo. Now listen to me."

There's a long silence between the two, as Irmo lowers his head further, a small whine threatens to rumble in his throat.

Alas, he nods, listening to his wife as she resumes speaking.

"You cannot continue to do this to yourself. You are hurting yourself by letting the guilt swallow you whole- as well as they are hurting themself by isolation and complete silence. You are leaving a wound untreated, dirty and prone to infection if not tended to soon enough."

Amethyst irises move to look directly into pools of deep emerald green, that stare into his, half lidded and full of stubborn confidence.

A fond hum fills the small grove the two lovers find themself within, slithering it's way through his post-cry swollen lips- an amused, fond, and sad hum.

He leans forward to place a soft kiss upon Estë's lips, brushing them against each other before pressing them together for a short moment.

Pulling away and wiping the rest of his tears away with the long purple sleeves of his robe, a sigh escapes his nostrils as he takes a few deep breaths.

"What would I do without you, darling?" He ponders.

"Oh Irmo, a whole lot." The lady of the hurt and weary chuckles, and takes her husband's hand.

"Come now, my dreamer, hand in hand."

"Hand in hand..." Irmo mutters, inhaling a last big gulp of air before exhaling, as they begin the journey to his brother's halls.

Mandos is in chaos when the two arrive, chairs have been thrown across viridian carpets, ruined and in splinters, while vases are shattered and scattered across the floors.

Loud screaming echoes throughout the doomsman's abode, bouncing off of pillars and obsidian walls, directing themself through the rest of Mandos.

No fëar are around to be seen, and it's quiet, aside from the loud crashing ruckus echoing from the corridor to the right of the two.

They exchange worried looks and with haste, they make their way towards the chaos.

Already now do they have an idea of who it is, that is screaming their head off.

"Olothëra, I need you to calm down." Námo professionally, yet quite panickedly attempts, trying to snap Kalla out of their meltdown and reason with them.

Usually he would be calm, collected and would keep up his "stoic" facade, however, it was hard not to panic, when the small maia of his sister, had been running around and screaming on and on without giving their vocal cords a break, ruining everything piece of furniture that blocked their path, for hours on end.

It had come to a point where even he had become deeply concerned and started to feel slightly on edge.

"I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU NEED." They screech, eyes flashing with searing blue light, as they throw a vase his way, only for him to dodge it and give them a stern stare, although, the sadness behind his viridian eyes betrays him and his expression.

Kalla has never behaved like this, they've always been quiet, reserved, caring- always accepting people who need to talk, with open arms, a warm smile on their red stained lips.

Yet, now, with the intense emotions rushing through them; Anger, grief, revenge, guilt, pain- they had snapped.

After everything, bottling up and repressing their feelings, emotions and trauma- it all came tumbling down. Nobody truly knows what triggered this event.

Kalla hadn't spoken ever since their fëa had arrived in the halls of Mandos. They had but only cried or slept, and food wasn't something they interacted with much either.

The rumors of their death had been passed from hall to hall, even outside the walls of Mandos it would seem.

They whispered of Sauron kidnapping them, holding caged within the cells of angband, only to be thrown into a pit of fire by Melkor, after they had refused to crackle under his persuasion and corruption.

Those were the rumors, and what was worse? It was all the truth.

Perhaps this was why they had snapped? From discovering that the truth was out? That people now knew; they failed their mission, that they were weak and could not even keep up the duty of protecting and comforting those weaker than them.

Námo watches helplessly as they claw at the permanent scar left on their throat from years ago, when they were assaulted by the dark lord in their slumber, screaming that he had taken something from them, and how they could feel it.

They were smashing vases with dark magenta roses in them into the floor as the flashbacks of Ruinë, looking back at them with her magenta eyes, as they arrived in angband, shackled and being shoved back and forth by Melkor's followers and servants, flash before their eyes when they spot the color.

And they screamed, as loud as they possibly could, until they'd lose their voice, for all those they had failed to save.

Kalla stands in the middle of a small lounge, where fëar usually rest and collect themselves.

Crying and screeching angrily.

"IT'S MY FAULT THEY DIED- AND YOU DARE HAVE THE NERVE TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN?!"

With spasming hands, they reach out towards Námo, as if to take ahold of his robes and shake him, but pull back and pick up another chair instead, smashing it against the floor, the splinters flying to all corners of the room.

"IT'S ALL MY FAULT, I SHOULDN'T HAVE SURVIVED THAT, THEY SHOULD'VE, NOT ME, nOt mE."

They tug and rip at their white tresses, hyperventilating and grinding their teeth together as the tears continue to spill from their eyes, seemingly never ending.

They're still screaming, their voice slowly progressing into crackling and at times fading into a whisper. It's the early signs of their vocal cords giving in, after so much strain and stress.

They could fill whole oceans with their silver tears, if they wanted, and yet, it was keeping all of these memories buried deep within and never speaking out, that was the reason they ended up here today after all, getting lost in their meltdown, so full of anger and grief, and even if their muscles grew sore and began pulsing, they didn't care- if there was something they could tear apart and destroy, just to get the frustration out, they'd find it and do it.

Consequences of their actions would have to be later, they needed to let this rage out, lest they wished to combust with other unwanted episodes like these for the future to come.

They felt their heart clench and scrunch in pain, the way grief stabbed at their gut and how the anger fried their brain, the extreme emotions too much to handle, too overwhelming.

They felt like they were freefalling into the abyss, stomach hurting from the rush of the fall, the slight feeling of nausea slithering its way to their throat, itching and burning, demanding they barf up the lunch from earlier.

They didn't want to hurt anyone, they held themself strong enough to not do so, at least, not physically.

Yelled they had, at anyone who had tried getting in their way, even now at Námo, a man they have deep respect for and will always look up to, now a victim of their wrath and suppressed trauma.

They did not notice the two faces staring at them with shock standing in the doorway to the lounge.

It was a risky move to put a hand on their shoulder, Estë knew that. They easily flinch, she might receive an arm around her waist that'll push her away gently, to protect her from their anger, but to her, it was certainly better for that to happen, than to let them continue to ruin the furniture of the lounge and hurt themself even more on the shattered clay vases, that made their ankles and feet bleed.

So she reaches out, and places the hand on the maia's shoulder, hushing softly into their ear, and speaking before they can react:

"Kalla- Breathe." She demands, sternly, yet with soft undertones laced to her warm voice.

Námo's eyes snap towards the entrance of the lounge, only to meet eyes with his younger brother, who seems to be too lost in thought to speak.

Viridian eyes move back to Estë, the confusion in them evident.

When did they arrive, how did I not notice? He wonders.

Yet as a few moments pass, his eyes grow soft with relief and flutter closed as he takes a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The storm is over.

The room grows quiet and the maia breathes in and out frantically, doing their best to steady their breaths.

Instead of pushing Estë away, or flinching, Kalla turns around and pulls her in, crying into her shoulder, all whilst weeping hoarse apologies to Námo for making his halls look as if a monster had walked in and smashed it to ruins.

They told him to lock them up for all eternity- that they did not deserve anyone's mercy nor pity for what had happened back in middle-earth.

They're clawing at Estë's dress as they cage her in a tight embrace, and despite the violent shake of their body, they manage to keep the hug tight, feeling her warmth move to their cold body.

They grip at the soft fabric of her dress, the cold and faint hands of their half transparent fána clawing into it, scared that she'll fade away if they let go. Another deep breath fills the silence of the room and ruby irises move from the oldest fëantur, to the youngest, who can't seem to find any words to share with the world, too overwhelmed.

Námo reaches out and places a careful hand in Kalla's soft white hair, ruffling it slowly, but remaining quiet even as he pulls away.

He wouldn't want to say something that could potentially trigger a relapse, sending them back into their raging meltdown.

So he decided to let Estë and his brother take over, whenever he was ready as well, and while the lady of the gentle takes care of them, the older brother moves towards the younger, placing a gentle and firm hand on his shoulder to snap him out of the state he finds himself in.

"Kalla my dearest- no, you've done nothing wrong- this is, we can fix the damages here- you did your very best protecting those creatures, elves, dwarves and mortals as well- you need not worry dear, you will not be punished."

Estë murmurs softly and sways them from side to side, unintentionally increasing their nausea.

"I think I'm going to vomit." They manage to just whisper, before the nausea surges through their system and they let go of Estë, pushing her away before turning around and vomiting on the floor, their whole body doubling over and cracking.

The wet sounds of vomit pattering against stone floor fills the silent room, alongside Kalla's uncomfortable cries as they cough up their lunch until they're done vomiting.

"Eru- I'm so sorry Námo. Oh I'm messing everything up, what would my lady think if she saw me in such a state..."

They cry, their voice barely a whisper.

"You needn't be, and I have no doubts that my sister would only understand and comfort you, Olothëra, have some faith in your lady." The doomsman reassures firmly, whilst rubbing Irmo's shoulder comfortingly.

Estë sighs and reaches out to Kalla, pulling back into her arms and wiping their eyes, nose and mouth from spit, snot, vomit and tears with a sage green handkerchief, soft and warm hands moving up to cup cold cheeks covered in a thin layer of cold sweat.

"It is a common reaction from people who have been through such circumstances and events as you, Nityamorco ( Little bear ). I am beyond surprised that this did not happen earlier, Nienna did mention you had a habit of keeping things on the inside, but I was not aware it was this bad."

Deep inhales and exhales fill the room again as everyone grows quiet, the three valar allowing Kalla to slowly pick up and collect themself before allowing the two fëanturi and the vala of the gentle to help.

"Irmo."

The youngest fëantur's shoulders shift up to his ears as his whole being grows stiff.

His breathing halts, as he readies himself to take the verbal punches from the small maia.

"Irmo, I don't want you to be sad. Don't forget I see through you, your eyes have never look so blue." They croak and look at the vala a few feet away from them.

Amethyst eyes now turned a deep ocean blue, that had been focused on the floor widen slowly and glide across the room and up Kalla's small form, until he meets their eyes.

"Hm?" He hums out in utter confusion.

"I don't want you to be sad, you 'nd the other valar- chose me because you were sure that the task would be one I could handle... Despite my pleas and begs, I learnt a lot from this mission...

I believe that we can learn from these mistakes, that have been made. They can never be changed, so, instead, let us accept them to be a part of us..."

"I was never mad at you. I can feel it, you think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I could never be mad at you, not you Irmo... I'd betray my own heart."

Their tired eyes close, as a small yawn interrupts their words.

"The final decision was not your choice, that was my lady's, you and the other valar's votes only counted based on who agreed whether I was strong enough to go- I was, in reality, but... I refuse to use my power, you are well aware of this and so is she.

Why she thought I was fit for this, I still do not understand. I've a feeling it was the slip of her tongue though, a rare thing...

I only proved myself to be worthless. I could never have been prepared for what I witnessed- experienced in middle earth, I proved myself to be completely, and utterly, useless."

Flushed ears twitch slightly at the muttered words from the exhausted maia in front of Irmo, and in mere seconds the fëantur has made his way over to his wife and their friend, grabbing their hand and giving them an almost childish, angry and stubborn stare.

"Stop calling yourself such hurtful things, good Eru- You're going to drive yourself mad, little moon."

"But-"

"Mm, no." The white haired vala wraps his arm around his spouse and Kalla, shoving their face into Estë's shoulder gently.

Soft sighs escape Kalla, as the tears tumble down their face once again, the silvery droplets landing on the shoulder fabric of Estë's dress, but she cares not.

In fact, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, while her hand moves to brush through their messy hair.

"You must be so exhausted... Our little lily bear." She mutters.

"I am." They reply, quietly and hoarsely, nails digging into Estë's back as they take in the familiar and comforting scent of warm nights, visiting her and Irmo and drinking the man's homebrewed tea, surrounded by lilies, roses and hyacinths.

"I am... really, really, tired Estë..."

Warmth tugs at the hearts of the three in their embrace, Kalla's fëa slightly passing through Irmo and Estë's fánar and merging with their fëar for but a moment, it's such a beautiful feeling.

Oh and tears are shed, though this time, they are not of sadness, nor of joy, but simple relief and the comforting sense of safety.

It's like a breath of fresh air, passing through the body and soul and cleansing it.

Námo clears his throat awkwardly and huffs in hidden amusement when 6 eyes snap towards his direction in synched unison, waiting in silence for the words directed at Irmo:

"... Well, I suppose I cannot stop you from taking them back to Lórien, can I?"

"Oh, Absolutely not. We're taking them."

A cheshire grin forms on Irmo's lips, his eyes flashing with a flurry of color, before changing back to his amethyst hues, his emotions settling once again.

"Very well..." The older hums, staying silent for a minute, scanning his surroundings. The cluttered mess around him of broken chairs and shattered vases- the vomit on the floor- is enough to call forth a slow headache, that's taking its sweet time to slither its way to his eyes and forehead and pulse uncomfortably. This wasn't the only room that had fallen victim to Kalla's destructive meltdown, however... Perhaps there were some good things this event.

Long had the doomsman and and his spouse discussed changing up the interior of the halls, as the leaves of the trees had begun to shift in color, turning orange and red, resembling Arien's beautiful fire and light, and the smell of pumpkin pies filled the air around Vána and Oromë's cottage, whilst the breeze slowly became crisp and began to bite and nip softly at sensitive skin.

"There's so much that needs to be cleaned and fixed..."

"Námo!" Irmo exasperatedly huffs out, cheeks puffed and lips pouted, as a deeper red mixes with his amethyst irises, gaze shifting between Kalla and him, scared his little moon will start feeling guilty again.

"What? Excuse me, mr. mothmorien, Is it not the truth? Look around, I am not trying to make anyone feel bad- but look at this place, it's a mess, no?" He chuckles, a rare thing to catch the doomsman allowing himself to do around most.

He flips his hands around, gesturing to the clutter surrounding the 4 of them.

"I must say Olothëra, your work is impressive. For someone so small, you sure can turn the whole of my domain upside down with no hardships. Are you sure you're not one of Tulkas' reckless maiar?" Námo huffs, drawing a smile from of them.

The room goes quiet for a minute, before the sound of restrained snorts fill the silence, which shifts into small snickers and suddenly bursts out into loud and tired laughter.

"Never let them know your next move, or- or whatever it is Aurëlius usually says."

They laugh and wipe the tears from their eyes, pressing their hand against Irmo's face to get him to look at them and not his brother.

"Tell your maiar I said hi and I'm sorry for giving them more work and"

A pale hand full of silver rings on each finger and chains wrapped around the wrist delicately is raised, silencing the maia.

"Worry not, I'm sure they'd count redecorating the halls as a break from all the- well- death, and if it would be a relief to you, then your punishment shall be that you join them." He hums, letting a small smile flash on his features before switching up to his poker face once again.

"Now go, rest."

With those three simple words from the doomsman, Estë grins throws Kalla over her shoulder, chuckling at the squeak that escapes their lips.

The vala of dreams follows behind the two, halting for a moment to look at his brother, only to blink and give him a bright smile.

"I should send you and Vairë a bouquet as thanks!"

"I'd rather you not." Námo sighs and shoos his brother out of the lounges doorway, shaking his head with a smile threatening to claw its way back onto his face as he watches the three go.

"... What will I tell Vairë when she gets back with her new silks and sees this mess."

A/N: Ah ( Slams head onto table )

I'm so sorry if some characters seemed ooc you guys, I'm trying my best to put myself into the shoes of characters, it also really depends on the bonds of the Canon characters and the muses.

Taglist: @edensrose

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