Chapter Text
Olórin was alive.
This was not to imply that before he had been alive that he had been dead or unformed, for he had been neither. He had not been born, nor grown, nor conceived, lest it be in the mind of Illuvitar, the Lord of All. He was one of the Maiar, who served the Valar, the first children and creation of Illuvitar so that he was not alone in the darkness. Olórin served the Vala named Manwë who kept province over the winds of Arda. The spirit that was Olórin had in him a flame of passion, a flame of creation, a flame that kindled and brought rebirth and light.
The Valar had selected the best of his kind (there were to be five in all) to travel across the sea in order to aid in the destruction of Sauron. Four already had gone ahead to the lands of Middle-Earth, their mission set and assured. Each was assigned a ranking. White, Brown and two Blues. They had yet to assign the Grey Istari, who would answer only to the White. For this task, Lord Manwë called upon his most faithful and wise servant.
“You are to go to the lands of Middle-Earth and beyond to aid your brothers in their quest,” said Manwë, and his voice was but the sweet kiss of a gentle summer breeze, for he loved Olórin dearly. The Maia closed his eyes for a moment and let his mind exist in the void, let himself be calm before he answered in his usual fashion, which was with honesty.
“My Lord,” he began. “Though I am flattered and deeply touched by your decision, I must confess to you my fear.”
“Fear?” said the Vala, and his beautiful eyes were warm, eyes that were green and ever changing as leaves shaking under His mighty breath. “Why are you afraid, Olórin?”
“Sauron is strong, stronger than I. His wroth is terrible and his mind is of metal and blood, ever crafty, ever shifting, ever plotting. What can I, as lowly as I am, though blessed with the power bestowed to me, do against such malice? What hope have I of felling this servant of Morgoth?”
The Lord of Air was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was melodic, but firm. “There is far more to you than you imagine. With your kind heart and your love of all the Children who walk upon Arda, it is you in whom I place my trust. No other would I send. No other would I find more worthy.” He smiled, then and the Maia felt warmth come into his heart from within and a courage too that he did not know he had. Though still he trembled under the weight of the fear of Sauron, no longer was it so heavy as to be a burden. Still, his master spoke on. “It is your fear that gives you wisdom. It is your fear that you must face. It is because of your fear that I send you hence.” His smile grew. “The Lady Galadriel has even argued in your name, wishing you to be named as the head of the Istari whom have gone before you.”
At this, Olórin’s head rose. He knew of the Noldorin elf of whom Manwë spoke. Often was it that he had walked among the elves in the shape of one of their kind and given council when it was needed. Here he had too taken time to play with their children and learn of the comings and goings of the elves and the world around them.
Galadriel alone had seen him for what he was; he had known it from the gleam of her star-lit eyes. Yet she did not tell the others his secret and for this he felt he owed her a debt. Many times he had called upon her people, and every time he did she would seek him out and together they would speak until long after the sun rose, indeed often until he or she were called back to their rightful posts. Olórin, whom loved all elves, found her to be singular among her kind. Her heart was clever, her mind was keen and she was willful. She had much potential to do ill, but ever she chose light and goodness, though she said it had not always been so, and for this, the gift of her honesty, he loved her more and not less. To hear her name, which was so dear to him, mentioned here, among the Valar in his rightful home, stirred something in him.
“She…spoke well of me?”
“She did. Long and fair were her tales of your wisdom and kindness.”
Olórin considered this long. “Then I will go. If My Lord Manwë and the Lady Galadriel both find me to be worthy, it is not within me to argue, nor is it my right.”
Fear was still in him and upon him and the Valar of Air saw this and took his face gently in his warm hands. “Fear is not your master, Olórin. You will face many trials, and you will find your courage.”
So it was that he was given a physical form, clad in the humble grey of his title and he was set upon a ship across the sea.