#Olórin

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

This is such a Gandalf thing to do.

[sauronnaise]

Sauron: I am the Dark Lord.

Gandalf: The Hobbits renamed me 'the Disturber of Peace'.

[whosthatsilmcharacter]

(All art used with EXPRESS permission from the artist)

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

If Sauron and Gandalf do meet in Rings of Power I hope they call each other Mairon and Olórin.

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

I've seen this going around so let's do it, too. 🤭

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

(BTW "dragged" doesn't necessarily mean by force. It COULD be a kidnapping, which is no less than Cáno deserves, but it could also be persuading/annoying/leading.)

[naarisz]

I doodled some Maiar again! <3

Eönwë, Mairon and Ilmarë, Curumo and Mairon again, Olórin and Curumo again

[all-things-devours]

Olórin at the dawn of Arda

[tamilhobbit]

Glorfindel Week Day 6 - Reawakening | Relationship with the Ainur | Return to Middle-Earth

Nienna, Olórin and Glorfindel.

Because of Glorfindel's purity of spirit (he took no part in the First Kinslaying for which the rest of the Noldor were banished, and he had sacrificed his life to protect his people - including Tuor and Idril, who were instrumental to the Valar's plans) he was re-embodied after only a brief time in the Halls of Waiting, the Elven afterlife. He then lived in Valinor for many years with the Ainur, ie the Valar and Maiar. In his new life he was imbued with powers that made him their equal.

During that time he became a follower and friend of Olórin, the Maia we now know as Gandalf. Olórin himself was a student of grey-hooded Nienna, one of the most powerful Valar; essentially the goddess of grief and mourning. Her followers learn wisdom, empathy and endurance in grief. I think it's particularly poignant and significant that our beloved Gandalf is said to follow *her*, not Varda or a warrior like Tulkas. And subsequently, despite being depicted as a warrior and basically a paladin, Glorfindel chooses to follow Olórin and potentially Nienna. I think it speaks volumes about what Tolkien valued.

To quote a much more modern piece of work that I also love - 'Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.'

So here is my attempt at Glorfindel and Olórin learning from Nienna. Again, I'm leaving it at the pencil sketch because I just know I'll lose the details if I ink it. 😜 @glorfindelweek

[beenthere-donethat]

Can someone do a gandalfxreader fanfiction?! I mean yes, he is old. But it is only an illusion so that people will see him as "old wise wizards" . Just as any other elf(Legolas, Thranduil, Glorfindel...) is old,like 3000, but with a young look, the same is gandalf.

[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Tears

Characters: Eönwë/Olórin Synopsis: After centuries of carrying his burdens alone, Eönwë finally finds comfort in Olórin's arms. Warnings: Angst, Eönwë needs therapy

Eönwë tried his best to be strong for his brothers and sisters in arms. Never falter, never flee, never fail. And in the end he succeeded, defeating the Dark One on his own to finally end the war.

But at what cost?

Beleriand is no more, and now, centuries later, neither is Númenor–because of his mistakes. Because he couldn't save the Children or the land, because he let Mairon escape, because he didn't manage to provide enough guidance and wisdom. 

When Olórin finally finds him and opens his arms, wordlessly offering comfort, Eönwë embraces him and leans against the smaller Maia, desperate for support and reassurance. Warm hands caress his hair and rub soothing circles between his wings, providing him with the touch and closeness he craves. 

"I am sorry I failed them. And I failed you too," he says through ósanwë. 

"You did not." Olórin replies. "We are all proud of you; but never forget that, regardless of your deeds and your service, you are loved." 

It is only then, after ages of trying to be strong, that Eönwë finally closes his eyes and allows himself to weep. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

read more? athelas drabble challenge masterlist | main masterlist get tagged for my writing? tag list form

[sauronnaise]

Gandalf when Pippin:

[katjaschmitt]

Gandalf - sketch for a fan written story

[helenvader]

Since this week the ROP Summer Celebration 2024 prompt is (also) Minor Characters, let me share of my own, even though it's from a fic I wrote last year.

The character couldn't be MORE minor, since he appears on screen for 8 seconds. I was charmed, though.

This is him:

I'm sharing Chapter 4, where he appears for the first time. There are some "spoilers" for the story, but well. Never mind. :-)

---

Chapter 4: Halbrand

The black and white caraes pieces, crudely carved from wood, were distinct: the black ones recognisable as Orcs; the white as Men. 

King Halbrand was given the white pieces. Orting, son of Orting (“just call me Orte, lad, like everyone else”) had insisted on it. The old man could not have known that it was but once that he fought on the side of the light. Twice, he reminded himself. The battle with the volcano had to count, too.

The game required patience, intelligence, and thinking several steps ahead. It was perfect.

He eliminated one of the Orc soldiers from the battlefield.

His opponent, rubbing knotted hands in delight, wore a wrinkled face radiant with the appreciation of finding such a worthy adversary.

“Very clever,” he said. “And you say you have never played before?"

Halbrand confirmed the fact with a silent nod.

"Incredible," the old man murmured, shaking his head. "Aye, truly incredible."

"I might have played… other games involving strategy, in the past," admitted Halbrand.

“I would say those were not played on a board,” the old man regarded him shrewdly.

Halbrand found himself at a loss for words.

“'twasn’t that difficult to put two and two together. That funny business with the mountain? You are no ordinary man, lad. Also, those witches made it no secret of who it was they came looking for.”

Halbrand blinked.

“What witches?”

“No one told you?”

The expression on his face must have been eloquent enough, because Orte embarked on a narrative journey to fill him in.

“Hmmm, where to start… We all thought you were done for, what with the spear in your back and all…"

Ah, yes. The spear. Adar's special parting gift.

“Never in my life have I seen a woman as furious as that Elf, and my wife was as hot-tempered as they come," cackled the old man. "Can swing a sword, that one. The creature’s head landed right next to Ebrenn's little girl. She was screaming like a slaughtered pig, poor thing.”

An Orc hopped across the board, and Halbrand’s army was short of a warrior.

“When your strength gave away, the Elf cradled you in her arms like a babe,” continued Orte. “I could swear she was… glowing.”

Halbrand’s face lit up with an involuntary smile.

He had suspected it, but now he knew. It was her who pulled him back. Why?

To hide his turmoil, he made an effort to stare at the board as if contemplating a strategy.

“I do not blame you, lad, she’s a comely one,” Orte remarked in an amused tone. “The kind that would set any man’s loins on fire.”

That was not a territory Halbrand wanted to tread.

“What about the witches?” he asked.

“Not that kind,” giggled Orte. “I’d stick with the Elf if I were you.”

Great. Even ancient, toothless Southlanders find you amusing.

Orte took mercy on him and resumed his tale.

“They were a scary lot. Especially the pale one with the staff. The shabbily dressed fellow was already there when those three appeared out of nowhere. Ignored everybody, just talked to him, all speaking at once, and loud enough so that all of us could hear.”

He cleared his throat and pronounced in a dramatic fashion:

“Where is Lord Sauron, sister?"

He scratched his head.

"You could see they were not right in the head, but still, why call a man sister?"

“Istar,” said Halbrand. "An Elvish word. It means wizard," he added, realising the Southlander hardly had any knowledge of Quenya.

"Ah. That explains it."

It also explained the unfamiliar voices in his head that day. Some lesser Maiar, searching for him for… obvious reasons.

“The wizard said there was none here bearing such name. Didn’t fool them, though. They’d noticed you already, and no wonder, you were moaning like a beaten pup. That wound must have hurt something awful. So, one of them was yelling that he was trying to kill you, and the pale one pointed her staff at him. It flashed like lightning, and she raised him up in the air like he weighed nothing. Then boom! flung him on the ground like a sack of flour!

“It looked very bad, very bad… ‘twas clear that once she dealt with him, it would be our turn. Scared stiff, all of us, and all we could do was watch, and wait… But then she stumbled. The Harfoot girl crept from behind and stabbed her in the knee. Nimble little thing. Funny creatures, Harfoots. Never heard of them before.”

Neither had Halbrand. Nori Brandyfoot was as much of a novelty to him as his unexpected willingness for self-sacrifice. To learn of the existence of both on the same day was ultimately more remarkable than a bunch of his worshippers tracking him.

“She bought enough time for the wizard to wrestle the staff from the pale witch. It was impossible to see, or hear what followed - wind started howling and blue light exploded all over the place. Once it was gone, the witches were gone, too. So was the staff.”

Now that the story was told in its entirety, Halbrand had to face its implications. A sense of dread squeezed his heart in an iron grip.

“So everybody knows who I truly am?”

“Indeed they do,” Orte chuckled gleefully.

The realisation of his vulnerable position robbed Halbrand of all strategic thinking, and, as a consequence, the white leader found himself in an equally vulnerable place.

Orte raised a brow over his opponent’s uncharacteristic display of ineptness, grabbing one of the black pieces and moving it across the board, beaming like a child.

Halbrand, the very much not prophesied King of the Southlands, fought a sudden urge to run away and hide in some forgotten corner where no one could ever find him. And it was not because he had just been defeated.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Gandalf has been a fan of Fëanáro's since he was one of Nienna's lesser servants called Olórin.

It's a shame there aren't many things left of Fëanáro's to collect, save for a couple palantíri and a lamp or two. (Narþil belongs to the royal family of Arnor and Gondor. Otherwise, Gandalf would've taken that, too.)