Up the Withywindle
Part Two

As the boys stepped through the door, they found themselves in a long low room, the ceiling just high enough for Mike to stand straight. Candles burned brightly all about them, and lamps swung from the beams. These Mike did have to be careful of, lest he knock his head into one.

At the far end of the room sat a chair, facing them. In the chair was the most beautiful lady any of them had ever seen. They stopped and stared; it seemed almost like she was sitting upon a throne in the middle of a pool, for jars and bowls had been set around the chair, and someone had placed the water-lilies in them. The lady was clad all in green, shot with silver thread, like dew on early morning grass. Her belt was of gold, and fashioned to look like lilies and forget-me-nots, and on her shoulder she wore a brooch set with stones of various shades of blue.

She smiled at them, and the boys realized that it was her clear voice they had heard singing. Feeling suddenly shy, awkward, and clumsy, they bowed. "Welcome, good guests!" she exclaimed, leaping up and running to them.

Bombadil entered the house just behind them, and shut the door, exclaiming, "Let us shut out the night, and heed no nightly noises!" He did not have his hat on anymore; it had been replaced by a crown of forest leaves. The boys looked at each other, and back at their hosts, still bemused and unsure of what to do. It seemed almost as if they had stepped out of their own time to a place where green and growing things were wilder and more untamed, and where the most pleasure was gotten from the simplest things, such as good food, song, and company.

Tom took them to a room where four mattresses were already set up with soft blankets and pillows, and there were also pitchers and basins where they could wash their hands and faces. While they took care of basic hygiene, Tom skipped out of the room, singing again, to help Goldberry set the table or something.

"So," John said when Tom was gone, "he seems…"

"Weird," Mike suggested.

"Childish?" guessed Tyler.

"Old," Alan said.

"…I was going to say interesting," John said. He, Tyler, and Mike turned to Alan. "Why do you say old?"

"I dunno. He and Goldberry both, they're old and young at the same time. Don't you get that impression?" Alan looked back and forth between the other three.

"You can't be old and young at the same time," Mike pointed out.

"You can be old and seem young, and therefore seem young and old at once," Alan argued. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Tyler shrugged, unsure of what he thought, and John found himself inclined to agree with Alan. Mike continued to insist that if one was old, one was old, and only plastic surgery could make one seem younger.

"It's different than that," was all Alan said in reply. He himself was not entirely sure just how to explain what he perceived.

When they returned to the dining room, the table had indeed been laden with yellow cream and honeycomb, and also with white bread and butter, fresh greens, and berries that looked ready to burst with juice. To drink, there was what appeared to be clear, cool water. Tom and Goldberry bade the boys sit and eat, and they obeyed, awkwardly and cautiously at first, but with growing enthusiasm. Talk was merry, and though none of them ever clearly remembered what the conversation was about, they all would recall later that they themselves had begun singing, as though it were more natural than talking, and that they had never tasted such sweet, fresh food as was served in the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry.

Afterward, Goldberry and Tom cleaned up the table. Tom capered around, hopping and dancing and singing nonsense as he cleared away the dishes, and Goldberry's grace and the ease with which she moved seemed almost comical in contrast, but they wove together like an intricate dance, and the entire dealing was far more efficient than any of the boys had seen in their own homes.

When Tom left the room for a few minutes, John got up his courage and asked Goldberry, "Fair lady, who is Tom Bombadil?" He blushed, feeling slightly foolish for calling her a fair lady, but she smiled and took it in stride.

"He is," she replied simply, "as you have seen him. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one has ever caught him wading in the water or leaping on the hill-tops in light or shadow. He has no fear."

It was not the answer any of the boys had really been looking for, but it reinforced Alan's curious observations that even Mike could not now argue with. There was something very odd about Goldberry and Bombadil, as old and young as old trees with new leaves in springtime.

After all was cleaned and put away, Tom sat with the boys by the fire, and Goldberry put the lights out, save one or two candles, and bid them good night. "Good night, fair guests! Heed no nightly noises, for nothing passes door and window here save starlight and moonlight, and wind off the hill-top."

For a while they sat in silence with Tom, who stared into the fire as though lost in some faraway memory. Finally, John asked, "So, did you know we were there by the willow, or were you just on the path today by chance?"

Tom stirred. "Eh? Did I know you were there? No, 'twas just chance that brought me, if chance you call it. There have not been visitors in these woods since Olórin last came, long ago." He paused thoughtfully, but before anyone could ask who Olórin was, he went on, "But it is no surprise you were led there; Old Grey Willow-man, he's a mighty singer, and it's hard for unwary folk to escape his mazes and paths. But I was not looking for you. Tom had an errand there, that he dared not hinder…" He paused again, nodding as though sleep were overtaking him. And just when the boys thought he would not speak again, he started to sing, quite softly:

"I had an errand there: gathering water-lilies,
green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,
the last ere the year's end to keep them from the winter,
to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted.
Each year at summer's end I go to find them for her,
in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down Withywindle…"

He sang softly of his first meeting with the River-daughter, sitting in the rushes in the pool he now returned to annually. The boys, Alan in particular, listened enraptured, almost able to see the scene before them as Bombadil sang. Then, with a bright glint of blue, Tom looked up at them and changed his tune:

"And that proved well for you – for now I shall no longer
go down deep again along the forest-water,
not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing
Old Man Willow's house this side of spring-time,
not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter
dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water."

He laughed suddenly, as though remembering an old joke, much as he had done earlier beside Old Man Willow. "What is so funny?" Tyler asked. "You've been laughing since we met, like we remind you of something."

"I said before, you're not the only folk to be snared by Old Man Willow! The last were four small folk, smaller than you, and they heard the same songs we've sung here today. One was an Elf-friend, and Goldberry took to him, for fair was his speech and good was his heart. He had a pretty trinket, the reason for their journey. But that tale is long in the telling, and full of dark things best saved for morning-light! Rest now on the pillow, heed no nightly noises! Fear no grey willow!" With that, Tom got to his feet and took a candle, with which he led the boys back to the bedroom. They fell upon their mattresses and sleep soon took them.

In the darkest hours of the night, all four boys dreamt of strange things, of walking trees, of tall Men with shining swords, of horrible monsters with twisted faces, of folk as fair as clear starlight, with voices like silver rain, and three glorious gems that shone like stars come to earth, but then vanished, one by one, to the sea, earth and sky. Then little people, no bigger than children, danced through the dreamscape, singing of good food, hot bathwater, and warm beds at the end of long, arduous journeys.

The strange dreams faded eventually, for all but Alan, who continued to dream of walking along the beach, following a strange, haunting melody someone played upon a harp, weaving the notes into the crashing of the waves, and singing in an ancient language that spoke of immense sadness and loss, but also of great works of valor and glory.

Alan was the first to wake, the haunting song still playing in his mind. Almost he expected to find the Sea outside the window, with the mysterious harper sitting on the sand still singing his lament. But when he looked out, he saw first bean poles, and then beyond them a neat kitchen garden.

Tom came dancing in not long after the sun came up. Alan turned from the window as their host roused Alan, Mike, and John. "Good morning!" cried Tom as he opened the window Alan had been staring out. A cool breeze wafted in, heavy with the smell of rain. "The Sun won't show her face today, it is Goldberry's fall cleaning and washing day! Too wet for you folk, let you rest until the Sun comes again! Hey derry del, my hearties! There's breakfast on the table, come soon and you'll get some, or if you come later, grass and rainwater!" And off he went again.

"Is it strange that I'm almost getting used to that?" Mike wondered out loud as he pulled a clean shirt from his backpack.

"Not really," John replied as he fished through his own bag.

Once they were dressed, they went out to eat breakfast. Neither Tom nor Goldberry joined them, though they could hear both; Tom going in and out, upstairs and down, clattering in the kitchen here, or jumping around outside. Goldberry was above them, singing in her clear voice that sounded so much like the rain that her words were hardly distinguishable.

After they ate, Tom appeared again, and sat with them by the fireside, and spoke to them, sometimes lapsing into song, about many things. At first his talk focused on the forest, and they learned more than they might have wanted about Old Man Willow, whose influenced stretched over almost the entire wood, which was much smaller than it had been many long years ago. This fact seemed to be a great source of sadness for Tom, who repeatedly lamented the lack of green in the world and the amount of noise Men made. His talk climbed trees, and leapt from limb to limb, following squirrels and their doings, and then delved deep into the ground, tracing the roots of ancient trees, and came back up again to dance along a deer path, and then to cascade down a waterfall and flow out to the Sea.

The boys listened in silence, enraptured by the images conjured by the words of Tom Bombadil, which left the forest eventually, and spoke of mighty kings with shining swords and stars in their eyes. Gold and treasure filled the castles that were eventually destroyed in fire and war, and the kings laid their kindred to rest beneath mighty barrows, lying with their gold and jewels. The Barrows were few now, destroyed by advancing civilization, though Barrow Wights still lurked in a few that remained in the northern reaches of the forest. Tom spoke of the descendents of those kings, forgotten men wandering the wilds and protecting innocent, ignorant people from servants of a Dark Lord who he would not name, but who sent shivers down the boys' backs anyway. Worse than Harry Potter's Voldemort, John thought.

Tom spoke then of a great Quest, and four small visitors who he had rescued from Old Man Willow, and who had then gone on to do great deeds of renown and strength of will. He sang the praises of royal valor, greenleaves, and endurance like stone, and of men with shining golden hair, flying across the plains on mighty horses, their spears shimmering in the sunlight, and of a white tree standing dead in a white city, replaced by another living tree that flowered while the Wingéd Crown sat upon the brow of the King. Of fair folk he told them, whose time had faded long ago, though a very few still dwelt in the shadows of the world, fading and often passing unseen by mortal Men, and of the little folk who were not quite so fair, but just as quiet, and good at going about unseen.

Eventually Tom's talk lead to the Sea, over which the Fair Folk had passed. "To the Sea, to the Sea," he chanted, suddenly very solemn. "The white gulls are crying, the wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying…"

"Wait a minute!" cried John suddenly. "I've heard that before, or read it somewhere!" everyone looked at him, Tyler, Mike, and Alan suddenly disconcerted to find themselves sitting inside by the crackling fireplace and listening to the rain outside, rather than standing on the seashore. Tom looked at John curiously. "In a book…I read it a while ago."

Tom laughed suddenly. "Oh yes!" he cried. "One of your folk put the old tales to paper, but everyone thinks them just that! Hey merry-o, you've read it, eh?"

"I think, but I can't remember what it was called."

Still chuckling, Tom went on to describe the Sea and the path that lead to an immortal land where the shores were long and white, and the grass greener than any of them could imagine.

After a while, there came a lull in the conversation. Tom stared into the fire, his eyes faraway as his mind walked in a different land and time. After a few minutes, Mike got up his courage and asked, "Who are you? I mean, who are you really?"

Tom stirred. "Eh? What? Don't you know my name yet? That's the only answer; who are you, alone, yourself, and nameless? I'm Eldest, is what I am. I was here before the first raindrop and the first acorn. I made paths before the Big People, and I'll be here still when all is passed."

Then Goldberry came in, a lit candle in hand, and bid them all come to dinner. The boys were startled, for it did not seem like that long since they had eaten breakfast, though when food was mentioned Tyler's stomach gave a loud growl. Tom jumped up, laughing. "Yes, let us have food and drink! Long tales are thirsty work, and listening is hungry labor!" He disappeared through the door, and soon came back with a laden tray, and together he and Goldberry set the table, again with the same grace and cheerfulness that seemed so like a dance.

While they waited for their hosts to set the table, the boys huddled. "Do you remember the book yet?" Mike asked.

"No, not yet. It probably won't hit me until well after we leave," John replied. "That's how it usually works."

"Yeah, those tales he was telling do sound really familiar," Alan agreed, "though I would have never picked up on the song he started chanting about the Sea."

"Poems like that tend to stick in my memory. And now that I think of it, the name Tom Bombadil sounds super familiar, too. It's just that this house makes it hard to think of remembering stuff like that, you know?"

"Maybe it's magic," Tyler suggested. Mike glanced sidelong at him, but found that he was serious. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm starting to believe in that kind of stuff."

"Like the man-eating tree wasn't enough to convince you," Alan replied, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for that…somewhere…"

"Yeah, sure."

After they ate another wonderful meal, Goldberry sang for them, songs of merry hills and streams, and soft, quite pools that glittered in the starlight. It was with disappointment that they bid her goodnight and joined Bombadil again by the fire, though they did not say long. Tom spoke again of four previous visitors with a knack for trouble, and taught the boys a rhyme he had taught them, and that had saved them from a nasty old Barrow Wight. "Come along, my lads, sing it aloud for me!" It was an easy tune to pick up, and the words were fairly simple:

"Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!"

And with that, they went to bed again. This time their night was largely undisturbed by dreams, save John's. He dreamt of the Sea again, of grey ships in a harbor. He watched from afar as their sails unfurled, billowing immediately in the strong, easterly breeze. To the West, towards the sunset, they headed, leaving the harbor and surrounding city empty and silent. John felt an incredible sadness at the sight, as though something precious and beautiful was leaving the world, never to return. He looked up, and saw a single glittering star in the darkening sky, a star which remained until all else in the dream faded into darkness.

The next morning the boys woke and found themselves reluctant to leave the simple, fair house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, although the sun was shining brightly. They ate breakfast alone again, and both Tom and Goldberry came to see them off. "Follow the withy path, my lads, and heed no Old Willow-man!" Tom told them. "Hurry past him quick as you can, and watch for roots that might trip you up!" They thanked both of them many times for their hospitality, and for all that they had been taught.

"Farewell, good guests!" Goldberry said. "May the stars ever guide your paths!"

"Good bye," the boys said, starting off down the path. They looked over their shoulders many times, always seeing their hosts watching. Goldberry seemed like a golden flower in the sunlight, and the feather in Tom's hat beside her glinted blue.

As they had been told, the boys hurried past Old Man Willow, giving him a very wide berth – especially Mike, who kept looking over his shoulder for several minutes after they passed out of its sight. "You can almost sense how nasty it is inside," he remarked. "Who'd have thought of trees being…you know, awake."

John stopped suddenly, and then shook his head. "Dangit, I nearly had it. The book, I mean. Then I lost it."

"Hate it when that happens," Tyler remarked as they kept going. "Well anyway, we had an adventure, sort of. I'd like to know who Olórin was, though. You know, the guy Bombadil said was the last to visit him way long ago."

"Olórin," John muttered. "I know I've read that somewhere, too!"

They got back to John and Alan's house to hang out and play X-box games, and John still hadn't had his epiphany. While the game loaded he had been scanning his bookshelves, looking for the book he knew he had. He didn't see it, and eventually sighed, deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.

As they played the game, Alan's mind kept wandering back up the Withywindle to the house of Tom Bombadil. He wished to return there, but knew, somehow, that none of them ever would. Some adventures were only meant to be lived once, after all.