And his boots are yellow.

An epilogue to Lord of the Rings.
(written after my first re-reading of it since 1993)

In a quiet glade untouched by the Ages, a house stood among ancient trees. Inside, that which called itself Tom Bombadil sat at a long table; about his feet, in wide vessels of green and brown earthenware, white water-lilies were floating. He gazed wearily into a reflecting pool at the center of the table. His usually bright eyes, the color of a summer sky, seemed tired.

Tom grunted. "Well. That could have gone better."

Goldberry, the River-daughter, looked up with a start. "Really? I thought it went quite well! Evil defeated, the night shut-out, and you still leaping on the hill-tops?"

"And you still clothed all in silver-green," Tom smiled. "But no. I put my hand in little, yet still too much. I might as well have thrown the derry-dol ring in myself, for how much I tipped the scales! A Hero's Journey? Eagles sent to the rescue not once or twice but three times?" Tom leaned back and shook his head. "Too much. Even Gandalf worked it out, in the end."

"I always said you gave the Maiar too much intelligence."

"Aye. Intelligence, and the long life to use it. But without guides, they rarely make it past the years of the Trees."

A low growl came from the flagstones by the fireplace. "Maybe you should send me in."

"Oh, go spray a lamp-post, you transparent allegory of a cat," Tom said pleasantly, pushing his chair back from the table. "Anyway, we talked about this many turns ago. Hobbits are friends, not food."

Aslan stretched languidly, preening his whiskers. "That was one time! I'm just sayin. Or if not me, Lu-Tze."

Tom scratched at his beard. "Now that's a thought. The Sweeper would make an excellent Maia."

The river-daughter placed a slender white arm on Tom's shoulder. "Is it time?"

Tom nodded. "You may do the honors."

"Here, at the beginning and end of all things, Arda of Eä iteration 104-30 concludes," announced Goldberry in a clear voice. Then, more softly, she added, "I did enjoy the birthday-parties, Tom. They were a nice touch."

Tom cast a final look into the pool.  As he slipped a simple, unadorned wooden ring from his finger, the sky dimmed, and the world outside the borders of the Old Forest faded into a uniform gray. Rising, he took hold of Goldberry's hand.

"Come; there's time for a song or three before we start anew."