Author: Sam

Story: Leather-bound: 7 of ?

Series: n/a

Setting: Bag End, The Old Forest, and The Red Book of Westmarch.

Song Note: I Stand All Alone by Carole Bayer Sager and David Foster. This is a combination of both versions of this song; both versions are from Quest For Camelot. I've taken out the repeating refrain, but it shouldn't detract from the song.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.oocities.org/samwise_baggins/index.html

He was asleep. Young Frodo glanced once more into the room and smiled softly. Sneaking off, utilizing all of his skill at slipping around the older Hobbit, he left the master bedroom. Used to living in Bag End for some time, the younger Hobbit knew exactly what would be where, enabling him to walk safely in the dark without risk of waking anyone up. That was good, as he was planning on slipping into the study.

True, if he'd asked for access to that room, he'd most likely be granted it, but that took a little of the fun out of it. He liked the idea that he could slip in and out of the shadows, unseen and unheard, to his goal. Naturally, he wasn't doing anything too drastic, either, merely going in to read something from the red leather-bound book he'd seen the older Hobbit writing in every day.

Since he was doing nothing truly outrageous, he had no need to sneak around, except for the excitement... and his worry. The sleeping author had been depressed since Midyear's Day. That had been about a week earlier, and no one could blame him, since he was in mourning. But to have started writing this book of stories the day after the funeral... it was truly odd behavior.

Frodo was worried. Of course, he'd heard a good many stories, but the one hundred two-year-old Hobbit sleeping in the master bedroom seemed to be desperate to write his stories down now, as if he sensed he wasn't much longer for this world. He didn't seem to be ill, but Frodo kept an eye on him, making certain he ate regularly and took breaks from his project. He didn't understand why his companion wished so desperately to write this book, nor why he seemed to be pouring over old maps, but something was very odd... especially as Frodo hadn't even known the older Hobbit could read a map.

Quietly, he opened the well-oiled door, smiling in relief that he'd recalled how much the older Hobbit appreciated everything just so. The book was lying open on the desk, not hidden away as if it contained any terrible secrets. A soft frown crossed Frodo's face and he walked over to read the page. It contained a bit of a story he'd not heard before. Frodo climbed into the chair to get comfortable.

Ah, how do I explain? He was that confusing and that endearing and... well... he was everything and nothing and just there. He would prance about like a fool then suddenly come across old and wise and knowing. Ever meet a body like that? Someone who's just knowing? Well, old Tom Bombadil was that sort of a person. His songs were riddles and his riddles, poetry. He had a way of always moving round but never going nowhere. And it made you dizzy just to listen to him. I'd like to put down every word he sang for us, but you'd understand them less than I did, and I was there. I'd even like to tell you what he meant by them, but I'd get it all mixed up and inside-out.

No, it'd be better if I told you what we heard. Around all the hipping and hopping and skipping and laughing, he told us just what we needed to know, and then threw something more in. He told us all about himself, and the Old Forest, without even saying anything really about the such. Tom Bombadil was maybe older than time, and he sounded like it.

He says to us something like this:

But thing is, he really wasn't alone, as things stand. He had a wife named Goldberry and she was beautiful beyond almost the Elves. But maybe by alone, his meaning was about other people, not his wife. And mind you, he never actually said these words; it's just what we were hearing long after he was gone.

And he would prance around and make you think of a fool... a wise fool. And would you ever have thought a fool could be wise? But when he spoke, the nonsense really called to something, meaning something.

Old Tom Bombadil could tell just what a body was thinking before he even thought it, I'd warrant. He would get that Old Man Willow to just do what he wanted. He could stop the paths from changing around, too, so a body didn't get lost. He knew every thing about that forest. You try to get him out of it, though, and he just wouldn't care a sniff for it. No, Tom was content to lose himself in those trees and stay lost.

As confusing as he was, you miss him when he's not there. He was kind and merry and sunshine. He served the nicest sorts of food and sang the merriest sorts of songs and danced a jig instead of walking. And when we finally left, he sent us a bit of a song to keep us on our way. A body felt he was friends with Tom Bombadil, but that he was the kind of friend that wouldn't show up unless you came to him. It was a sad sort of friendship all told.

How to describe Tom Bombadil so someone as never met him could understand? Well, I can't. But I can say that I will miss him in my heart of hearts until I'm done for this earth. He's that sort of a person.

Slowly, the Hobbit lifted his face, frowning. He certainly had never heard that tale before in all of the stories of danger and adventure, Dwarves and Elves. Touching the page lightly, Frodo continued to sit long into the night, wondering just what his companion had meant by that description of the unknown Tom Bombadil... and if someday he might meet this person and find out for himself.