Disclaimer: Tolkien gets the credit for the good. I take the blame for the bad.
Notes: A few lines taken directly from the books. Obviously I didn't write those.
Song. Name. These things have power. All creatures once knew this instinctively, as did the Elves when first they sang in pure strains of wordless melody and harmony, and when first they made language (for all words are names).
Only one being who truly understands still walks in Middle-earth. He walks along the streambeds and through the forests, and he can hear the First Song. He follows the paths it makes as it creates the world anew with each perfect chord. He has heard the songs that came after; the intricate beauty of Elven song, the deep solidity of the tunes devised by Dwarves, the sonorous slow rhythms of the Ents, the resounding power of the songs of Men, the rollicking cheerfulness of Hobbit songs. He listens to the simple sounds of the forest; the whisper of wind in leaves, of water on rock, the chatter of small creatures and the chirrup of birds. He thinks that all the people of Middle-earth, however beautiful their songs may be, have forgotten something. They have forgotten that Name is power, Song is creation, and laughter is also Song.
"Old Tom Bombadil, he's a merry fellow! Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow! Hey dol derry dol ring a dong dillo! Tom Bom, jolly Tom! Tom Bombadillo!"
He sings his own name in the morning sunlight, creating himself anew, and again he hears the First Song…
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.