I do not own The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion, although I have imagined myself (in between booze) being a reincarnation of Tolkien— but I don't think that counts. If profit should be gained, I assure you, it would only be by accident and I doubt that will ever happen.
There are so many theories regarding Tom Bombadil and Goldberry and this fiction deals with one of the possibilities. I confess that I have changed some of Tom Bombadil's fundamental nature, particularly his carefree ways, as described and understood by the authors of The Red Book of Westmarch, just to make the narrative move.
If you are familiar with The Silmarillion, you should know, early on, who I think Tom and Goldberry are.
Discuss if you must. Have a good day.
Behind the Enigma: Tom Bombadil and Goldberry
"It was brave of him to accept the task, Tom," said a woman, her voice soft and warm.
"Or rather foolish," replied the man who appeared at the threshold, annoyed by his wife's observation. He just entered the little cottage by the river that was their home after coming from a long walk in the Old Forest where they lived in isolation; concern was evident on his face. Very recently, he had seen the ring— for the first time— when he had asked the halfling to hand it to him. He remembered how heavy the ring was, and crude to a fault, but good enough for one who had long been removed from his mentoring. To Tom alone, the ring was a trifle, for he was the creator of its essence, and no amount of power bestowed upon the ring can affect Tom who was the master of all things that composed the world; but the truth cannot be denied— tied to its destiny was the death of many. "But so is Olórin— for having chosen the little one to carry the ring. Frodo knows little of the burden he carries, and his troubles have only begun."
Tom marched straight to his workshop at the back of the cottage and took an enormous hammer at once. He went to the table by the open window, unmindful of the breeze that entered, and started to knock the metal before him. Each strike was made in frustration, and the anger he vented chillingly reverberated throughout the house— causing the woman to flinch.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
"The mind of Olórin often defies convention, yet I believe him to understand the peril he has entrusted the little one. You know he understands them, the halflings. He knows what he is doing," assured the woman.
When no reply came apart from the sound of metals clashing in uniform intervals, the woman stood from her seat beside the fire, her long shadow had cast itself against the wall. She was clad in green, and her golden hair flowed softly; on her slender waist hung a golden belt wrought by Tom, the finest craftsman in all of Arda. To different folks she appeared differently: to hobbits, a contented river-maiden; to men, a gentle guardian; to elves, a most wise enchanter; to Gandalf, a queen. Goldberry was the name she was very recently called, although there were others.
The hour was now late and the room was dark; outside, the birds had all gone quiet, and only the sound of Withywindle's water crashing against the rocks on its shallow bed could be heard. It dawned on her that Tom had gone out longer than she had first thought and she wondered how deep in the forest he had been. She considered asking the trees, but ruled the thought out of her mind as quickly as it had entered.
From a drawer by the window, Goldberry took a jewel, not unlike the silmarils of old, except the light it held did not come from the trees. It illuminated the room with beautiful radiance, not at all warm, neither was it too bright. She followed Tom to his workshop and placed the light on a shelf by the door.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
He was still pounding the iron that now laid flat— no longer with his hammer, but with his fist and knuckles; a violent howl followed each thump.
Goldberry moved towards the direction of her husband and stood silently behind him for a while. She gently placed her hand on her husband's shoulder as he persisted to direct his anger towards an object that was not his enemy. And after what seemed a long time, for the moon had risen and the stars had appeared, Tom stopped pounding, his right fist bruised.
"Why do you trouble yourself when all these too shall pass? Good will remain victorious as long as Eru is the giver of strength and courage. You know this and yet you grieve."
"I grieve for every lost Child of Iluvatar for was I not the one who loved them so much I created the dwarves before the coming of Men? I loved them before they came, and it is because of my failings that they continue to suffer.
"Sauron will not yield and I can do nothing. I have given him counsel, yet he thinks himself as mighty as Melkor and as powerful in Middle Earth as any of the Valar. His will is free but his heart is not."
Tom Bombadil took the stool under his table and sat, all energy lost from his mortal shell. He hugged his wife around her waist and closed his eyes as if desiring rest, and in return, she caressed his head and his shoulders. It had given him the comfort only a companion so dear could provide.
"Tell me, my love, do you grieve for Sauron as well?"
Tom disengaged from the embrace and looked up to face his wife. "Yes," he said thoughtfully. "And the path he had taken I cannot find, for Melkor removed it from his memory and Sauron's spirit has long been corrupted. How can I show him back to Eru and the music we have created, to make it all right?"
She pondered on Tom's reply and understood his guilt. Sauron, in the beginning of the world was Tom's apprentice and friend, and Tom had taught Sauron his knowledge in metal work, before Melkor took him under his service.
"And Saruman?" she asked next. He too was a maia under Tom when they entered the world.
"I used to count him amongst us, yet he proves a greater menace than Sauron until the ring is returned."
Goldberry nodded because she despised Saruman more than Sauron; the trees she had a hand in creating and the ents she had asked from Eru were now troubled by the news of Saruman's destruction of Fangorn Forest. She had always cared for the olvar and the kelvar as Tom had cared for the earth under their feet, and the thought of the forest being uprooted for war infuriated her, yet she kept her silence.
He stood up and she followed him out of the door, jewel in her hand, towards the center of the house. Their mortal casing required that they eat, and on their table waited food which Goldberry had adequately prepared.
On their bed as they lay, Goldberry asked Tom one last time, "Did you not wish to have taken the ring from Frodo, to hide it from Sauron who desires it the most?"
"The ring has no power over me— to seize, to use or to destroy. It was not by my hands that the ring was wrought and so not by my hands should it be taken as I do not call it mine," he said. "But the ring has the power of the maiar and the life in it is greater than any of the Children of Iluvatar, and their lives will not be spared for evil envelopes the ring. I fear for them.
"Yet, for all my fear, there is wisdom in this journey, and the destiny will hold itself a prophecy in the eyes of Eru who knows all; and my grief will pass, for good will prosper in the end; but do not ask me to forget my grief for the elves and men and dwarves who will perish because of the ring.
"In Sauron and Saruman, I find no hope where I once found little."
And with that, Tom Bombadil slept leaving Goldberry to her thoughts, and she was not satisfied for she knew there was yet a part for her to play in the story of the ring before the end.
-TBC-
Eru Iluvatar – the supreme being, God
Arda - earth
Olvar and Kelvar – plants and animals
Olórin – also known as Gandalf
Withywindle – the name of a river in the Old Forest; also refers to the area around the river, including the place where Tom Bombadil's cottage is found.