[ log: lotr; boromir + sam ]

[droppingeaves]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[doesnotsimply]

"Not a... gentlehobbit? You walk a path that would see the lowest squire involved in it raised high amongst the mighty of Gondor." Boromir grinned again to think of the glories, not akin to the smile when he thought of his brother, but still a smile of love for his homeland and its people. He thinks of leading the men of his army to Mordor and routing the orcs upon the steps of Mount Doom as Isildur and Elendil once did, and returning to his city in peace and glory. A worthy task to turn his hand to, not escorting a party of halflings on a hopeless journey into the fire.

"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."

[droppingeaves]

[ colour rises to Sam's cheeks, and he shakes his head, once, twice, three times, in seeming denial of Boromir's words. his own next words are mumbled, addressed to the bundle of wood in his arms, at first, with all the embarrassment Sam feels at the situation. ]

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. ]

[doesnotsimply]

Boromir smiles good naturedly, privately amused at the hobbit's response. How oddly they must do things in the Shire if one who would voluntarily risk his life on the most perilous quest middle earth has ever seen, gives himself no more prospects upon returning home than to continue being a manservant.

"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."

[droppingeaves]

Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin?

[ 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.

[doesnotsimply]

"Really?" Boromir stares off into the distance thoughtfully. "Then we must look to you to ground us in the coming days then, master Gamgee!" His hands are full of collected firewood, and it is time to turn back towards the camp. "Our company is so full of lords, and the sons of lords, it will be a breath of fresh air to have someone who has seen their world and wants none of it for himself."