He could wear the one ring and remain unaffected by it, laughed at it even. Then he could make the ring vanish and bring it back at will.

He seemed unconcerned by the war, almost as if he knew of and had seen wars greater and far more terrible. Yet he had chosen a side and was willing to provide what aid he could.

He was Doolittle to all lifeforms, his songs tranquilized ancient evils, and he could be called upon at long range to swiftly respond.

His very existence suggested fundamental mysteries about the world; old and powerful.

Bombadil, moreso than Strider, was the embodiment of strong, old roots not withering, remaining out of reach of the frost. Old roots that could reason with willows and wights.