Chapter Text
The pile of bones laid forlornly under the semi-shelter of a leaning oak tree in the old forest west of the Barrow-Downs and Bree. It, or rather, she, let out a long, low sigh of utter defeat and emotional exhaustion. Since she had no lungs it sounded more like a rattling of dry sticks in a barrel.
She had been chased off the road for the umpteenth time, and really she should’ve known better by now, but she so hated walking in the wild. Her toe bones kept catching on the tree roots and whenever she trips and falls it takes forever to collect her scattered bones.
She had been laying there for perhaps a few days now. Time was no longer so consistent to her as it had been, so she’d barely noticed.
She had spent the last few years wandering around Eriador, all the way to the base of Ered Luin, keeping off the roads as best she could. Her wandering became more aimless the more time went on, as she had begun to lose any hope she had of finding the answers she seeked.
She had spent a few years lying in an abandoned cave wallowing, but her resting place was disturbed by a group of prospecting dwarves, so she was forced to flee lest they chase her out with fire and axes.
It had started to drizzle about an hour ago and the soft drumming on the back of her skull was very soothing; if she could still sleep she likely would’ve had a lovely nap.
As it was, she just stared up at the canopy with her eyeless sockets feeling sorry for herself. How she could see without eyes was one of the many questions she had surrounding her continued existence, not that there was anyone she could ask. Most people took one look at the walking-talking skeleton and ran the other way.
Her miserable musing was interrupted by the crashing sound of someone bounding aimlessly through the undergrowth, singing and laughing. The skeleton quickly pulled a few leaves over herself, playing dead and praying that whoever it was wouldn’t see her. The last time some well-meaning passer-by saw her playing dead they took the time to give her a proper burial. She appreciated the thought, but digging herself out had taken almost an entire day, and she wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.
A holly-ho A hiddily hay!
What a delightful and drizzly day!
That's what the hippity hoppity frogs would say!
A figure burst through the trees, spinning and hopping in the light shower of rain, hands outstretched. He was short, around four feet tall, so not a hobbit, but perhaps a very short man. His face was bright red and wrinkled as an old apple left in the sun, but his sparkling blue eyes gave him an air of youthfulness.
He kept singing and hopping over the tree roots scattered in his path with an agility surprising for his apparent age. The feather stuck into his blue hat seemed to dance along with him.
Odd Old Bom Bom Bommity Tom, tippity tappity Tom
Mad Ol’ Tom Bom dancing in the rain
Tim Tam Tom will dance until it is sunny again!
Consumed in his dancing, however, the strange old man failed to notice her leg-bone, which in her moping she had foolishly left out in the open. She cursed her thoughtlessness as he caught the edge of it with his yellow boot and stumbled mid-song, glancing down and humming in curiosity as he gazed at the bone that had interrupted him.
“Hmm, what's this odd lonely bone doing out here? You weren’t here a week ago!”
He bent down and brushed the leaves she had hastily covered herself with, revealing her entire stark-white skeleton to the dim light. He leaned over her and grinned as she tried her best to stay still. Any man that grins at finding a skeleton was clearly not someone of sound mind.
“Curiouser and curiouser! You are something special aren’t you my dear? What trouble has old Tom Bombadil found on his walk today?”
Drizzle dropped from the rim of his blue hat into her nose hole-socket-thing and she tried her best to restrain herself from twitching as it tickled something awful.
The strange man winked at her, still smiling.
“Don’t worry little skelly, I know you can hear me. I promise no harm will come to you by my hand or on my land!”
She managed to maintain her stillness for approximately five more seconds before she jumped up, scrubbing fiercely at her nose socket in an attempt to remove the offending raindrop. The odd man bounced up with her with a booming laugh, far more gracefully than she had.
“My, you are simply marvelous! I’ve not met your like before, no indeed.” He peered at her closely, walking around her as she lowered her hands, the itchy raindrop dealt with. She was wary as he examined her, but he wasn’t chasing her with a pitchfork or screaming in terror, which was an improvement on her previous encounters.
“You don’t smell like a barrow-wight. No, Old Tom has met enough of those to smell ‘em a mile off.” He frowned in concentration until she decided to interrupt him.
“Do you always speak of yourself in third person?” She asked. Her voice had surprisingly remained unchanged despite her lack of tongue and mouth. Something else to add to her question list.
His blue eyes sparkled with delight as she spoke. “How wonderful, you can speak!” He held out his hand, ignoring her question. “Tom Bombadil.” In lieu of an introduction he broke out into song again.
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow!
In the past she may have found this strange man bothersome or irksome, but it had been so long since she’d had any kind of friendly contact with another living being she grasped his hand without hesitation. If she could still smile properly she would have, but he’d have to settle for the slight lowering of her jaw as she introduced herself; she had a feeling he wouldn’t mind.
“Lorena of Bree, a pleasure to meet you Master Bombadil.” He hummed as he shook her bony hand rigorously.
“Lo-Lo-Lorena, Lo-ray-ray-rayna, greetings and tidings to you!” He released her hand and she immediately missed the warmth and contact. The cold couldn’t hurt her anymore, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant feeling. Before she could think more on it the man continued.
“Now I’ve been to Bree many a-time, but I’ve yet to meet a walking-talking skeleton! Where have you been hiding?” He tapped his foot as he talked, seemingly unable to keep still. Though the drizzle was getting heavier he didn’t seem to care as his blue jacket became wetter and wetter. She shrugged.
“I wasn’t always a skeleton, I was born a living, breathing person in the town of Bree. I worked as a trainee seamstress under Mistress Merritt.” Her finger-bones twitched at the memory of stitching fine fabrics and the elegant embroidery she was best at. Clients used to come all the way from Fornost for her work, she thought wistfully.
“I… decided to visit the Barrow-Downs. There were always stories of cursed treasure and money was tight, so...” Lorena cleared her non-existent throat as she fought back the old fear and shame the thoughts of that place always seemed to stir in her. “I found a tarnished silver ring and brought it back, but it turned me into this.”
Fire and screams danced in her memory but she pushed them aside as best she could. No use looking back now. His smile fell as he seemed saddened by her story, though there was a touch of something else, something darker, in his expression that she couldn’t recognise.
“Oh dearie dearie me, that is quite the misfortune, Lorena of Bree.” Whatever darkness lingered in his expression was banished as his eyes regained their sparkling youthfulness.
“I say, would you like to come for tea with me? My wife loves visitors, and she’d find you absolutely enthralling!”
“I would love to, but I’m afraid I can’t eat or drink anything anymore Master Bombadil. It just falls right through me.” She replied. It was arguably one of the worst things about her current state. True she was never hungry, nor thirsty, but she never felt satiated either. She missed food almost painfully; she had cried for days at the thought that she might never again taste Baker Lonan’s delicious strawberry tarts.
The odd man was unperturbed, simply chuckling as he gestured for her to follow along as he resumed his bouncy gait through the forest. “Well we can still offer you a warm fire and good company!”
She tried keeping up with him, despite not being nearly as agile, though whenever she lost sight of him she’d simply listen for his voice as he continued on with his nonsensical songs.
Ring a ding dillo del! derry del, as the rivers wind and wend!
Old Tom’s bringing home a skelly-delly friend!