Samwise Gamgee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
droppingeaves) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fruithats2014-01-05 09:12 pm
droppingeaves) wrote in fruithats2014-01-05 09:12 pm
Entry tags:
[ log: lotr; boromir + sam ]
[ it had been more than a fortnight since they'd set out from Rivendell, and according to Gandalf and Strider the fellowship had begun to travel through a land by the name of Hollin. not that that meant much to Sam. truth be told, Sam was surprised that they hadn't yet reached their journey's end; the mountains up in front of them, that Gimli had spoken at length about, had seemed to him large enough to be the way into Mordor. yet here they were, and it seemed they still had a long way to go yet. Sam felt quite out of his reckoning.
in any case, end of the road or no, he was mighty glad to be in a place where the weather was more mild, and not so likely to freeze them all to death. it was a relief, too, to be somewhere where it was deemed safer to light a fire; Sam had half a mind, indeed more than half of a one, to use the opportunity to put his cooking gear, brought all the way from the Shire, to good use, and make something hot while they still had a chance to enjoy it.
of course, lighting a fire meant that the supply of firewood had to be kept replenished; it was lucky that Hollin seemed to have a great deal more trees about than the sort of places they'd been walking through so far. Sam had gamely volunteered to collect some himself (being a sort that was used to fetching and carrying, so to speak), and Boromir had joined him. Sam was still not entirely sure what to think of the Man; although his distrust of the Big People in general had been mellowed somewhat by the likes of Strider, Sam was still inclined to be distrustful of anything that was un-Shire-like. still, even he couldn't deny that Boromir had proved himself already to be a welcome companion on the road. ]
I don't suppose they have any tales of this Hollin land back where you come from, Mr. Boromir?
[ the words come out almost unbidden, as Sam stoops to collect another piece of wood. he's thinking of what Gandalf said about the Elves living here many years ago, and wondering what the land could have been like back when the fair folk still dwelled here. ]
in any case, end of the road or no, he was mighty glad to be in a place where the weather was more mild, and not so likely to freeze them all to death. it was a relief, too, to be somewhere where it was deemed safer to light a fire; Sam had half a mind, indeed more than half of a one, to use the opportunity to put his cooking gear, brought all the way from the Shire, to good use, and make something hot while they still had a chance to enjoy it.
of course, lighting a fire meant that the supply of firewood had to be kept replenished; it was lucky that Hollin seemed to have a great deal more trees about than the sort of places they'd been walking through so far. Sam had gamely volunteered to collect some himself (being a sort that was used to fetching and carrying, so to speak), and Boromir had joined him. Sam was still not entirely sure what to think of the Man; although his distrust of the Big People in general had been mellowed somewhat by the likes of Strider, Sam was still inclined to be distrustful of anything that was un-Shire-like. still, even he couldn't deny that Boromir had proved himself already to be a welcome companion on the road. ]
I don't suppose they have any tales of this Hollin land back where you come from, Mr. Boromir?
[ the words come out almost unbidden, as Sam stoops to collect another piece of wood. he's thinking of what Gandalf said about the Elves living here many years ago, and wondering what the land could have been like back when the fair folk still dwelled here. ]
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"They certainly do, master Gamgee." He casts his eyes around the horizon, made much closer by the mountains and the local flora. Appearing satisfied that a horde of orcs, or worse the Nine, are not about to charge from the cover of the undergrowth he quickly descends with less than hobbit grace. "But truly if you seek for stories of lore and legend then you are talking to the wrong son of Denethor." His eyes mist a little, his gaze intersecting the nearby scenery but quite obviously focused on something, or someone, much further away.
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You have a brother then, sir? Begging your pardon.
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He sets to the task at hand of picking up the dryer pieces of fallen wood. He wonders what Faramir is doing now; something scholarly most likely. Faramir come play tag, he would shout up to his brother's window as a boy; Faramir come and play soldiers! And always Faramir would come running, having carefully noted the page in whichever book of history, or lore, or mysteries of the ways of elves he was reading.
"Yes my dear brother got the dragon's horde of brains in our family. He could probably tell you a story for every hectare of land you could walk across in this country of the elves."
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Why, he sounds like Mr. Bilbo - him being Mr. Frodo's cousin, if you understand me, what lives back in Rivendell now, if you ever saw him there before we set off. A finer storyteller or loremaster there never was in all the Shire, or my name's not Sam Gamgee. [ there's a note of respectful pride and earnestness in Sam's voice, as there always is when talking about either of the Bagginses. ] Though he never did have no tales of this land, or at least none as he told to me. [ wistfully: ] I shouldn't mind hearing some though; I should imagine your brother could tell a fine tale.
[ though perhaps not quite as fine as Mr. Bilbo or Gandalf, Sam adds in his head out of loyalty. ]
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"Faramir is ever the more quiet of us though, and would thrill more in the telling of the histories of Numenor and the elves, than a gripping tale of swords and the fell beasts put to them." He shakes his head, going back to picking up firewood. "He could tell you the name of every star in the night sky above Gonder, name the plants and animals, and recite lineages of Gondor and Rohan and Dol Amroth until the sun goes in and comes out again."
He sighs. Thinking of his brother is making him maudlin, thoughts of the white city where he should be checking the defenses and passing encouragements around the men on the walls. Would that he could look to the south, through the trees and mountains that barred the way and look out on the plains of Pelennor and see his kinfolk striving. Every bead of sweat upon their brows an insult hurled at the foot of Mordor's master.
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suddenly, Sam realises that he is quite forgetting the task they came to do, and hastily applies himself to picking up more wood while he turns these things over in his mind. ]
He sounds like a fine Man, sir; at least, as far as this hobbit can reckon it. [ the observation is put forward gently, yet as plain as hobbit-talk can be. Sam is shrewd enough to notice the shadow on Boromir, even if he's not certain of the cause, but he can make a stab at a guess. Boromir must miss his brother and his home, much the same as Sam dearly misses the Shire and his old Gaffer, in the quiet moments. ] Now me, I can't lay no such grand claims to my own family, we Gamgees not being gentlehobbits and all, but my old Gaffer may well be the finest gardener in Hobbiton, or the Shire for that matter. Taught me everything I know about plants and growing things, he did.
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"Yes, whoever had a hand in the downfall of the Enemy would be raised up most high; like the kings of old in the white city. Your gaffer could retire and own a whole string of gardens to his name on the triumphs awarded to you."
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Well, I don't know anything about that, sir. [ he almost lifts a hand to scratch at his ear awkwardly, before remembering that his hands are currently occupied. he lifts his head again instead to look up at Boromir in the eye. ] Begging your pardon, Boromir, as I know you mean well, but I wasn't meant for no high places or airs. It'd be enough for me if Mr. Frodo was able to do the job and come home safe and sound, as it were. It's him as would deserve the praise for it all, anyhow, for all I wouldn't say no to my old man being able to live all comfortable and quiet-like.
[ they must do things so strangely away in Gondor, Sam thinks, if Boromir reckons that someone like Sam Gamgee would deserve to be raised near enough as high as Boromir himself must be. but Sam - Sam is content with his station in life, and in any case it's not him that's carrying the Enemy's Ring. as plain as plain can be, it's Mr. Frodo, along with Strider, Gandalf, and the rest of the fine folk in their fellowship, that are the heroes here. ]
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"Then do it for him Sam, do it for him." He returns to his wood collecting, and drops the subject to save Sam the embarassment. "Tell me about your companions, master Gamgee. I understand that Frodo is a gentlehobbit, as you say, but what of masters Meriadoc and Peregrin? They act with the assurance of such, but your ways seem strange to one from so far off and I would scarce like to guess at them for fear of offering insult."
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[ Sam shakes his head slowly. he can hardly imagine how Boromir could offer insult, as he calls it, just by asking questions; but nevertheless he approves of the courtesy, as any hobbit would. ] Well, they're both well above my station, sir. Mr. Merry, now, he's to be the next Master of Buckland; and Mr. Pippin is the Thain's son, and likewise the next Thain himself.
[ a beat, and then he adds: ] Lestways he will be if we all come back in one piece and he grows himself some hobbit-sense, that is.
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