Tom Bombadil is the best/most amusing character in anything I’ve ever read because here you have this dude who skips around the forest all day and sings nonsense songs about himself, and the One Ring, the single most powerful object in all of Middle Earth that a fucking ancient evil is furiously searching for, has absolutely no effect on him. He pops it on and doesn’t turn invisible like most do when they accessorize themselves with the pure manifestation of power and greed but instead pulls some sleight of hand shenanigans and makes it disappear into thin air like a party trick before casually flipping it back to Frodo. Frodo asks Tom’s wife who the hell he is and she just responds “He is” because Tommyboy over here is fucking beyond mortal description. The elves, who are essentially immortal themselves, refer to to this guy as “the Elderest” because he was there before any of even the oldest beings on the planet could remember. The only reason the Fellowship didn’t pick the guy to journey to and destroy the Ring in Mordor was because he might accidentally displace the whispering hellcircle that even Gandalf, a primordial spirit that helped in shaping the world, was afraid to touch because Tom Bombadil just doesn’t give a shit. So the character that many scholars speculate is the supreme being and one true god of Tolkien’s entire universe is just this secondary character that refers to himself in third person and fishes in the forest while writing iffy poetry.
John was a soldier huddled in the trenches facing No Man’s Land, feeling the most wretched he had ever been. He was cold and hungry, overwhelmed with the stench of unwashed bodies and infected wounds, the nearly endless rounds of gunfire and grenade explosions, the screams of the dying.
Sometimes he felt as if he would never again know the taste of bread and a proper cuppa tea, to breathe in air that was not foully tainted by the Enemy’s noxious poisons. Sometimes he felt that they were all under the pitiless gaze of some great Eye, naked in the Dark.
And then he heard an American voice say, “Don’t you understand? This is No Man’s Land. That means no man may cross it.”
And thus, John’s attention was captured by the hooded figure the American was speaking to. She dropped the cloak to reveal armor, that her hands carried a sword and a shield, and she ascended the ladder with steps swift and sure. John would always remember these words, though she herself had never said them aloud, but her actions spoke clear as day:
“I am no man.”
There she stood, a shining figure in the middle of No Man’s Land, facing the Enemy and drawing their fire, beautiful as the dawn, terrible as the sea, stronger than all the foundations of the Earth.
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien does not remember how he scrambled up the ladder to follow after her, only that he and his fellow soldiers followed in Her wake, to fight by her side and onwards to victory.
’I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo. ‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’ - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Shadow of the Past, The Fellowship of the Ring
The runes that form the border of Tolkien’s original artwork for the dust jacket of The Hobbit simply say “The Hobbit or There and Back Again, being the record of a year’s journey made by Bilbo Baggins; compiled from his memoirs by J.R.R.
Tolkien and published by George Allen & Unwin…”