Author's Note: This can be blamed almost exclusively on the massive Orodruin sized espresso I am drinking. It's delicious if anyone wants to know. Normally I would apologize for my insanity and blatant ruination of wonderful characters, but I'm not actually sorry about it.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Ring a Dong Dillo
The Council of Elrond was adjourned, as a decision that would change the world had been reached. Already those gathered were rising to bravely face the road of toil and hardship that surely lay before them. Some thought the plan was dastardly clever, and others like Glorfindel shook their heads seeing the doom that stretched before them.
Maybe it was because he was Noldorian, maybe it was because he was cursed, maybe it was because he had already died, or maybe it was his pessimism that made him think the Hobbit should just go ahead and deliver the ring to the Dark Lord for all the good the Council's insane proposal would do. Wisdom could not fathom the insanity of the decision that had been made. With a frustrated huff, the great elf lord turned on his heal in a swish of flowing robes and knee length golden hair, and made with all haste to Elrond's chambers in a last ditch attempt to return some sanity to the world.
Needless to say, the poor elf never made it, for he had been gobbled by plot balrogs along the way.
Dates were set, letters were delivered to Lothlorien and Mithlond, petitions were signed, and nine messengers willing to brave a run in with the Ringwraiths who had thus far remained unseen and unheard since the flooding of the river, at last were sent on their quest -though scholars would later suggest that they were kicked out for gluttonous overeating, general debauchery, and the site of a mortal man publicly snogging an elf lord's daughter.
One elf, one dwarf, one homeless Magnito, two men, four hobbits, and a pony with legendarily good fortune set out on their perilous journey west.
The ten unlikely companions marched for days, retracing the circuitous route the Hobbits had travelled getting to Rivendell in the first place.
Over fields and through fens, through thick briar patches and over thin rivers, across Midge Swamp and over the Barrow Downs, the nine weary and very smelly companions dropped to their knees on the border of Tom Bombadil's small country.
The world was calling…sort of.
Eru had pulled a page from Morgoth's book deciding to be cruel and merciless for a day. He needed to be entertained, and so the nine companions lamented, and mournfully Frodo sang the words the mysterious being had taught him.
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, hearken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
Far through Tom's little country the wind carried the little song. The entire world was calling. With blue eyes glittering and keen ears harkening Tom answered the summons. The Nine Walkers heard his voice singed long before saw him.
From out of the Old Forest and across the river and over grassy hills Tom ran to them singing.
His eyes sparkled as he happily met the Hobbits once more. To Gandalf he gave a small bow before warmly greeting their new friends from Rivendell.
"Well met. Well met." He smiled to the Hobbits. "Too long it seems to have been, and all too soon it truly is."
The letters and the petition, ratified by thousands of signatures from Lorien, Mithlond, and Rivendell were glumly handed to the strange good natured being.
The twinkle faded from his eyes and his ever laughing smile faltered. Every line of every letter he read and every signature counted. When the last letter had been folded, and stowed in one of the pockets of his bright blue jacket he stood still before them, bright eyes staring at a far off thing that none among the Nine Walkers could see.
For a time only the feather in his hat twitched in a tiny breeze. And then all at once the smile return, though it there was a glumness to it the Hobbits had not ever seen.
"So be it."
With a flurry he turned and raced up a nearby hill, and to pause at top and yell. "I need to pack a few things!"
Into his house Tom Bombadil flew with a bushel of water lilies for his lovely Goldberry. Tenderly laid them at her feet. "There are more out back: plenty to keep you company until I can return."
He didn't sing and neither did she. For a long moment they looked into each other's eyes, both seeing the path that had been laid at his feet, and the doom that lay before.
Their lips met in a kiss, soft and tender. It said all that words could not, and for both them it ended far too quickly. But when he pulled away Tom somehow managed to be smiling.
He left Goldberry gazing sadly after him, and swiftly returned to the nine companions.
"I take my leave to do as has been wished."
Without waiting for a response he stepped over the boundary of his lands as he had not in over an age. In a flurry of blue and yellow he left, jogging over grass and twigs, until he was out of view, and only his nonsensical musical rhyme could be heard.
Skipping and singing Tom Bombadil crossed rivers and streams. He reentered forests and sang to trees he had not seen in a very long time. The journey was bittersweet as memories of happier days and darker times melded into one giant image behind his eyes. Times when men were truly great, the elven lords fiery and fierce, the Dark Lord far greater than the one he had been asked to meet.
His songs grew thin and his heart grew heavy as he travelled closer to Mordor. And long before the Black Gate had come into view his pace had slowly to a mournful walk as grieved for the loss of greenery and life that had once been so abundant.
The grey clouds were sickening and saddening to behold. But undaunted Tom stood before the perilous eyes of the guards on the gate. His blue jacket fluttered. The feather scratched faintly against the soft fabric of his hat. His yellow boots, bright like the sun in such a place, burned the eyes of the orcs and trolls above. And for a long moment everything seemed strangely quiet.
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.
None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master:
His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.
Sing if your voice be not lost like your pretty visage,
A boot to the furry rump, will send the wolf pup baying,
For more there is to lose than just a pretty image
Cast into the Void far beyond the nightly doors,
If a worse fate doesn't find him faster!
He who was most admired!
Come never here again! Leave your tower and face me!
Lost and forgotten you shall be, darker than the darkness,
Behind your bruised backside the gates will stand for ever shut,
till the world is mended.
The Eye swiveled, it's deadly gazed locked upon the nature spirit standing before the gate. On his throne the Dark Lord laughed in genuine amusement, for it had been a very long time since someone had so daringly challenged him with a song of power. And never had any challenger been so goofily dressed.
Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong ding!
How sad would it be if a Maia couldn't sing!
By tenor, bass, soprano,
You may have beaten Finrod but you will not best this merry fellow,
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
No bow sung, and death did not immediately come for Tom's Head.
Quietly the order had been given, slipping gently into the minds of the guards on the gate, that he was to go unharmed. The Master would deal with the little ingrate on his own.
The Eye's terrible gaze turned elsewhere, and laughing now with malice more than amusement. Some insults were far too offensive to let pass, and as the greatest singer on Middle Earth he had no qualms about giving the hideously dressed cur an impromptu performance, since it was what he so clearly desired.
He quickly gave a mental to command to have a horse prepared.
Dark and ominous he slowly rose from the desk he'd been sitting at and looked out one of the many great windows that did poor of job of letting any extra daylight into his study. The darkness he used to protect his lands had its disadvantages to be sure, and he had become a terrible hoarder of candles as a result. His study currently smelled of lavender and green apples, and his nose still hadn't decided if that was pleasant or not.
Power fell and terrible, long unused eagerly spread through Sauron's veins as he looked out with over the plains of Gorgoroth. 'It would be merciless not to tell him how this will end. Even I'm not that heartless.' Actually he was that heartless as a rule, but this unexpected visitor to his home, he found amusing enough to play nice for a while.
The air about shimmered, and all about him the room darkened. Within Orodruin's bowls the fires leapt in response to their Master's ire. A smirk vicious and cruel played across his lips even as his voice sweetly rang out across the plains and echoed in the far off the mountains.
Boy let me tell you what,
I guess you don't know it
But I'm a soloist too,
And my song will be the death you!
Now you sing pretty well and your death would be a waste,
And if you wish to live I suggest that you make haste!
But if you still care to dare,
Then I will meet you,
And I'll show you how it's done!
The Great Eye again looked toward the gate, and Sauron snorted as the little spirit stood steadfast and brave before the gate.
'Well I did warn him.'
Alone, cool, and confident Sauron rode through Barad'dur. No guards surrounded him, no banners waved behind. And every head looked up to see him though no one dared to look directly at him. This was his battle and his alone, and he would be a daunting enough image for Tom Bombadil look upon.
His ride was swift and silent, and he lead the horse in a full gallop to the farthest encampment that dared to push it. Every time he deemed a horse too tired to carry him farther at speed he switched it out for a new one. And as a result he had probably set a new record for fasted ride to the Black Gate from Barad'dur, but the only thing that mattered was that he got there as swiftly as could be.
The Guards upon the gate saw what they had never imagined to see: their Master come alone to openly sing with a man that had no fashion sense. Sauron called for a guard to tend the horse as the gate began to open. Taller than any and horrible to behold, the Dark Lord slid from the saddle and gracefully made his way to the gate.
Tom Bombadil grimaced at the horrible sound of grinding stones, the clanking o0f chains and the grunts of trolls in pain. He didn't want to know what was upon the gate, and was absolutely terrified by what was about to walk out and greet him. A host of orcs would surely take him and drag him into Mordor where the very earth and air would kill him before the Dark Lord could.
But did come out of the gate was both more terrifying and strangely relieving. The Lord of Mordor had indeed come to meet him…alone…. And that was what frightened him.
The being dark and terrible with eyes feel and burning was indeed Sauron. Of that Tom Bombadil had no doubt. From the boulder he was sitting on, just out of bow range he could feel the currently subdued power lurking under the charred ruined flesh of the fallen Maia. And the casual, relaxed gate with which the Maia walked did nothing to assure him that he had a chance of singing his way out of this one. Still this had been asked of him, and if Arda somehow benefitted from this then so be it.
He slid off the rock and dared to meet the Dark Lord's gaze. For a frighteningly long moment the two ancient spirits sized each other up. The greatest of Maiar and Arda's first native inhabitant-an echo of the old themes and the spirit for the earth incarnate- stood in a silent world of their own.
Above orcs may have been shouting at one another, but two figures below were heedless to everything but each other.
A soft breeze made Tom's hair flutter, his feather scratch against his hat, and the edges of his old blue jacket flutter. He turned his gaze inward, reaching into the heart of what he was. He was the music. He was Arda too, but it was music that gave him life, made him what he was, and the first of would have been 'Merry dols' were stifled into silence as Sauron cocked his head to the side.
"Why have you come here?"
Tom shrugged. "There was a petition."
The Lord of Mordor was silent as if unsure how to respond. Then very slowly he gave a faint nod. "I think I'd like to hear about this petition after I've taken you prisoner."
If that's what you wish O Lord of bait'n switch,
But know there's little more to tell,
For I was gathering lilies for my lovely lady,
When I heard all Middle Earth lamenting,
A petition signed and letters sent,
To keep the world from being bent,
By Eru's will it's now my time,
So I've come to bust a rhyme,
And see sent you to Valinor and tried for all your crimes!
Sauron laughed in spite and mockery. Power, no longer kept hidden, shown forth about him, and wicked grin he gave as words of his danced across his lips.
O Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadilo,
I helped form the themes of which you are an echo,
Still not too bad for a man wearing blue and yellow,
You overestimate the Valar underestimate me greatly,
For you are but a child and will not surpass me,
Eru has abandoned you,
And the Valar too,
And are no notes that will avail you,
No great powers that will save you,
You should have hopped on home,
But instead you will die here alone.
XXXXX
Oh come! Save you threats for those that are mortal,
You're better off wasting breath drowning under water,
A Dark Lord you call you call yourself,
But you're the shadow of a thought,
A slave still to one far greater,
You're the Lord of Naught,
Still I pity you for all you are,
Because you were once admired!
High above you held the bar,
Every child's golden standard,
You were the dream,
But here you stand a ruined nameless thing,
When your end comes that's all you will be-
XXXXX
Thou hath gone too far,
Behold a Maia in his power!
You look upon the Lord of the Bling,
The one who forged the ruling ring,
Sauron, Gorthaur, Annatar,
All these I have been but you fail to understand,
That none of those are truly what I am,
I am the God of Middle Earth,
The only power to stay behind,
And sacrifice their time to help mankind.
Maybe that's not good enough for you thankless lot,
But it's better than what you would have got,
Nihilism is Arda's bane,
It is my love of order that will save you from that pain,
Save you letters and petitions,
Go back and give them this proposition,
That a little bit gratitude would be greatly appreciated,
Instead of their useless hatred!
I don't ask that anyone like my methods,
Only that they understand my motives!
I am not the villain here.
I have never been and will never be,
Though I can admit to mistakes aplenty
I will never be the villain unto the end.
XXXX
Hold on O Lord of Mordor,
Don't walk off before I drop the mic,
I have one last thing to say:
The end does not justify the means,
No matter how noble the intent,
And if it is order and unity that you crave,
Then you should have found another way.
As it stands you are Sauron 'The Abhorred,'
Whether you would will or no,
And this has gone on far too long for others to think differently!
Far off beyond conceptual space and time Eru laughed. He'd torn a page from Morgoth's book, having decided to be evil and cruel for a day, and as a result he was greatly entertained.
Yeah... I don't know. This made so much more sense in my head. *shrugs*
So in my head canon there other spiritual entities outside of Maiar and Valar. I guess you could call them nature spirits? And I imagine Tom and Goldberry both being of that kind? Echos from the great music lingered in Arda and as a result parts of Middle Earth became personified. Tom Bombadil is in my head canon the spirit of Arda. And Goldberry is the spirit of the Withywindle?