Duier the Tree-Feller → Robert the Tree-Feller
After responding to Robert, Tom, whose identity remained mysterious, arrived at the site of Old Man Willow.
By the time Tom began his singing, the flames on Old Man Willow had long since vanished, leaving only two sections of the trunk, charred black on the outside, appearing lifeless.
Tom Bombadil observed the tree's pitiful state and sighed. "Old Man Willow wasn't always like this. Over thousands of years, he has witnessed countless kin being felled and burned. The prolonged resentment drove him mad, making him hostile to any creature entering the Old Forest."
He approached the stump, gently patting its lower half. "Sleep soundly, Old Man Willow. Remember today's lesson. Don't cause trouble again, or I won't care whether you live or die!"
Robert looked at the half-stump in surprise. "Mr. Bombadil, are you saying Old Man Willow isn't dead yet?"
"Old Man Willow is the most powerful Huorn in the Old Forest," Tom replied. "He's not easily killed unless all his roots are dug up and burned. As long as he has water and soil, he can grow back."
Robert had hoped to settle the problem once and for all, but with Tom protecting Old Man Willow, he had no choice but to retreat—for now. Still, he knew the tree had been severely wounded, and it could take a long time to recover. By then, he would be stronger and fearless of Old Man Willow.
"All right," said Tom, "I'll return Old Man Willow to his home." With that, he lifted the lower half of the stump effortlessly with one hand, like an ant lifting a burden dozens of times its size. The sight was both eerie and awe-inspiring.
Then he smiled warmly and invited Robert, "If you have the time, visit my home. Just follow the Withywindle River upstream, and you'll reach my house."
Robert was flattered. "Thank you for the invitation. I will, if I have the chance."
Bidding farewell to everyone, Tom carried Old Man Willow's roots, humming a cheerful tune as he vanished into the night.
Rory Brandybuck, watching him disappear, exclaimed, "No matter how many times I see him, he's always the same—joyful, without a care in the world!"
Curious, Robert asked, "Mr. Brandybuck, do you know Tom Bombadil well?"
Rory nodded with a smile. "Many people in Buckland do. Unlike the trees of the Old Forest, he's a friendly neighbor. He's helped countless wanderers escape the forest's dangers. My ancestor, Gorhendad Oldbuck, was saved by Tom when he first arrived, which is why he decided to settle in Buckland."
"And do you know his true identity?" Robert asked eagerly.
Rory shook his head. "No one knows. Tom always says simply, 'Tom is Tom.' If you ask where he came from, he claims he was here before the rivers and forests existed. He remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn. He is master of the trees, mountains, and rivers."
Robert gasped. The implications were staggering. Someone who existed at the birth of the world and held dominion over nature… Could Tom be an incarnation of Ilúvatar himself? His previous assumptions about the forest guardian now seemed trivial. Robert's mind swirled with possibilities, but he refocused on the upper half of Old Man Willow's trunk.
Tom had only taken the lower half. The remaining upper section, though blackened, revealed the tree's heart at the break. Approaching it, Robert saw it glimmer milky white, like jade. When tapped, it produced a crisp metallic sound.
Delighted, Robert realized this tree heart was extraordinary. It could make an exceptional wand, far surpassing willow. But his mind was fatigued, and he couldn't immediately work magic on it. So he turned to Rory Brandybuck for assistance.
"Mr. Brandybuck, could you help extract the tree heart from this trunk?" Robert asked.
Rory readily agreed and called upon the finest carpenters in Buckland to carefully cut out the inner core. Meanwhile, he invited Robert and the townsfolk to a victory celebration at Brandy Hall.
At the banquet, Robert naturally drew all attention. Drogo Baggins basked in the moment too, seated beside Robert. Nearby, Rory's daughter, Dora Brandybuck, caught Drogo's gaze instantly. Her beauty was mesmerizing; he couldn't look away.
"Let us raise a toast to today's hero, Robert the Tree-Feller!" Rory stood, glass in hand, addressing the hall.
The other Hobbits cheered, raising their glasses. "To Robert the Tree-Feller!" The joyful clamor echoed through Brandy Hall.
Robert smiled and returned the toast, though inwardly he grumbled at the odd title. Tree-Feller? It sounded like someone who merely cuts trees. Didn't they consult him first?
The banquet lasted late into the night. Exhausted, Robert and a reluctant Drogo returned home. Robert collapsed onto his bed and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, it was already teatime.
After such prolonged rest, Robert's spirit had recovered, but his body still felt sluggish. His magical reserves were unstable from the recent outburst, and he refrained from using magic to allow them to stabilize.
Unable to rely on magic, Robert idly picked up wood and began carving wands.
A knock at the door soon interrupted him. Several Hobbit militiamen had arrived, sent by Lord Rory to deliver Old Man Willow's tree heart.
The militia captain explained, "Lord Robert, we didn't know how long a piece of tree heart you required, so we brought you the entire core. Dozens of carpenters spent a long time splitting the trunk to extract it."
Robert's eyes widened. They had brought the full heart—nearly four to five meters long, yet as slender as a wrist, glimmering milky white with intricate woody veins. Beautiful and mysterious, it seemed almost alive.
Robert marveled at it. The heart of Old Man Willow, preserved and pristine, was a treasure beyond measure. With this, he could craft wands of unparalleled power. Yet even as he admired it, a quiet thought lingered: one day, Old Man Willow would recover. He would return, stronger and more cautious than ever.
For now, though, Robert allowed himself a small smile. With the aid of friends like Rory and the marvel of the Old Forest, he felt ready for whatever lay ahead.
He held the jade-like tree heart close, pondering its possibilities. Here lay the promise of greater magic, greater discovery, and perhaps the answer to the mysteries that even Tom Bombadil's wisdom couldn't fully illuminate.
As the afternoon sun fell on Buckland, Robert finally allowed himself a moment of peace. The Old Forest, with all its secrets and dangers, was behind him for now. And with the heart of one of its mightiest denizens in his hands, he was ready to forge his own legend.
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