Robert's heart tightened instantly. Having once experienced the terrifying sound of Old Man Willow's demonic voice, he immediately went into a stress reaction. But as he focused, he quickly realized this sound wasn't aggressive. It was cheerful, almost playful.
The voice belonged to a man, though it wasn't so much a song as a whimsical tune, hummed seemingly at random for his own amusement. Even before the man appeared, the melody carried a magical aura. The raging wind ceased, the anguished cries of the Huorns fell silent, and the sprawling forest fire began to die down on its own.
Robert's pupils contracted. What kind of power is this? He could detect no magical fluctuations, yet the fire was gradually extinguishing itself.
As the singing drew nearer, a figure emerged at the edge of the Old Forest. He wore a tall, old hat with a wide brim, a long blue feather tucked into the band, and moved with an exuberant, leaping dance. Moonlight and the fading firelight illuminated him.
He was only slightly taller than a Hobbit but much shorter than a Man, making his race hard to discern. His large yellow boots padded along the forest floor like a water buffalo in search of water, yet the surrounding trees parted naturally, clearing a path for him.
He wore a blue coat, his cheeks were rosy as apples, a thick brown beard covered the lower half of his face, and his blue eyes shone brightly in the night.
Robert recognized him immediately. It was Tom Bombadil—a mysterious figure of legend. The songs of Hobbits spoke of The Adventures of Tom Bombadil. He lived in the Old Forest, never hid his presence, and was friendly with the Hobbits of Buckland beyond the forest.
Before the Quest of the Ring, Frodo, Sam, and two other Hobbits had entered the Old Forest to evade the Ringwraiths. Trapped by Old Man Willow, they were rescued by Tom Bombadil. Even the One Ring, an object that Gandalf and other Maiar dared not touch, had no effect on him. To Bombadil, the Ring was a mere parlor trick, vanishing and reappearing at his whim. When Frodo wore it, entering the Shadow World to become invisible, Bombadil could see through him without difficulty.
He was an enigma. If he had chosen to intervene in the War of Light and Darkness, the Great Music of the Ring in the Third Age might have concluded long before it did.
With his arrival, the last of the forest fire dwindled into nothing, leaving not a single spark. Even the Huorns that had been burned black and stripped of leaves regained their vitality.
"Hey, trees, what are you thinking? You shouldn't be waking up!" he called, a serious tone layered with authority. "Go back to your places, eat your dirt properly, dig your roots deep, drink plenty of water, and fall into a deep sleep! Bombadil advises you not to cause trouble!"
The trees obeyed as if compelled by invisible chains. One by one, they returned to the forest, planting themselves firmly, drawing nourishment from the earth, and restoring their vitality.
Having done this, he immediately resumed his cheerful demeanor, dancing and leaping over the fence toward the group, greeting them with a hearty laugh. "Hello, everyone!"
"Tom, why did you come?" Rory Brandybuck stepped forward, clearly knowing him. His tone carried both familiarity and confusion.
Tom Bombadil shook his head in mock frustration. "Rory, you've caused me a spot of trouble. I was enjoying my slumber, embracing my dear wife, but the wailing of the trees disturbed us. To ensure they wouldn't wake Goldberry's sweet dreams, I had to leave my warm bed and resolve this little conflict."
Rory explained quickly, "I'm sorry, Tom. We had no choice but to fight back. The trees attacked our home without reason."
"Oh, right! And who is this?" Tom turned to Robert, curiosity bright in his eyes. "Duier the Wizard, you say? Without you, we might have suffered heavy losses today!"
Robert bowed slightly. "I am Robert, a wizard. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Bombadil."
Tom's gaze sparkled. "Ah, I know you! A marvelous Wizard from a foreign land. Your magic is most interesting!"
Robert's heart skipped a beat. Did this mean Tom Bombadil knew he was a transmigrator from another world? He felt a surge of both fear and curiosity. Carefully, he asked, "Mr. Bombadil, do you know where I come from?"
Tom nodded, then shook his head. "Tom knows the name of every person, every tree, every stone on this Earth. From the moment you set foot here, Tom knew you—but he does not know where you came from."
"Others like you, calling themselves Wizards, have appeared here before," he added. "They came from lands different from yours."
Robert realized he had just learned something important. Tom knew he came from outside Middle-earth, but not the details of his transmigration. The other Wizards Tom mentioned were likely Gandalf, Saruman, and the rest. Although they called themselves Wizards, they were Maiar—lesser gods sent by the Valar to aid Middle-earth, limited in their power but far beyond the skill of mortal men.
Robert still didn't dare underestimate Tom Bombadil. His curiosity about the enigmatic figure's true identity surged.
He analyzed: The long-lived beings in this world, aside from the Valar and Maiar, were Elves, Dragons, and Balrogs. Bombadil was clearly none of these. His small stature ruled out an Elf; the One Ring's harmlessness in his hands ruled out a Maia; and he didn't match any of the named Valar living in Aman.
Could he be Ilúvatar, the Creator? Robert doubted it. A being of such omniscience would surely know about him as a transmigrator. If Robert's arrival in Middle-earth was part of some divine orchestration, it was not Bombadil's doing.
In the end, Robert admitted to himself that Tom Bombadil's true nature remained a mystery.
Yet in that moment, watching him dance under the moonlight, commanding trees with a cheerful word, Robert felt a strange reassurance. Even in a world of shadows and war, there existed a force utterly untamed, incomprehensible, and yet profoundly kind.
Bombadil's laughter echoed through the forest, filling the night with joy, while the restored Huorns whispered softly around them, their branches brushing the cool air. Robert couldn't shake the sense that he had just encountered a being who existed outside the usual rules of power, outside the conflicts of good and evil, a force of pure harmony with Middle-earth itself.
And so, under the serene gaze of this mysterious guardian, Robert's resolve strengthened. Whatever awaited him in this world, he would face it armed with knowledge, skill, and a growing understanding that some powers were simply beyond mortal comprehension—even for a Wizard.
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