She has never been in a war before, (that disaster at Parth Galen doesn't count because all she did was brandish her sword, and jump recklessly on giant orcs' backs to save Boromir) so the aftermath of the battle for Helm's Deep is surreal to her. She has never claimed to give the appropriate response to stimuli but she doubts that a soldier's reaction to her first battle is to dance around the battlements singing 'I Will Survive' at the top of their lungs.
This is exactly what she is doing though, but she's moved on from the battlements to the interior of the deeping comb, in search of food. Her wounds have been tended and there is a great possibility that she's on an adrenaline high.
She makes a wrong turn somewhere, which really isn't at all surprising, and runs into Legolas who is holed up in some dingy room, his bow in his hands, an expression on his face that she can only call distress.
She knows she should go, leave him in peace because he most likely wants to deal with this, whatever this is, on his own, but she is Sam and she likes shirking established norms just for the hell of it, so she says, voice as soft as a breeze. "Penny for your thoughts, honeychild?"
He looks up, his blue eyes clouded over in a way that breaks her heart because this is Legolas, the one she always thought had no chinks in the armor. She crosses the room and sits down next to him. She doesn't say anything, merely lays her hands over his and tries to mask the worry in her eyes, because his hands are clutching the bow so tight his knuckles are white.
"I could have prevented this." He says finally, his hands tracing the cut on her left wrist where an orc-blade had nicked her skin. "I should have shot that torch-bearer down."
The anguish is evident in his voice, making her grip on his hands tighten. She turns to look at him, green eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that why you're in here?" she demands. "Because you're wallowing in guilt?"
He can't meet her gaze, instead focuses on the floor, and that pisses her off because dammit, that's her thing. He's not allowed to steal her shtick; not allowed to lose it because his strength is the only thing that's keeping her together, most days. So she hooks a finger under his chin, forces his face back to her. The first time she's ever seen him this sad was when they thought Aragorn had died and fallen off a cliff. It's not something she's pleased to see again.
"I am the greatest archer in Middle Earth," His words should be proud, but instead they're filled with such profound sorrow and doubt that she almost flips her shit. "But I was useless out there today."
"Look, Legolas." She says, taking care to make each word sound like a lead brick. She is so not having any of this self-doubt business; maybe she can take it from other soldiers like her, but not from him. Her hand is on his cheek, making it a little difficult to concentrate on her point because his eyes are closed and he's leaning into her touch. Damn him; she's not allowed to make him feel better with hugs and kisses, and it's not fair of him to make her want to do so without her permission. "We're at war, and there are always going to be casualties. You were not useless out there, and if I ever hear you say that again, I'm going to break your pretty face. You said it yourself, you're the greatest archer in Arda, and you can bet your ass that if you weren't here, very few of us would be too. Hell, I'd probably be lying face-down on that field out there, otherwise. So if you want to go heaping blame, I suggest we all point one collective finger at Saruman."
He doesn't say anything for a long time, but after a while he pulls her towards him, arms wrapping around her waist, head burying into her shoulder, which Sam thinks says more than his words ever could. She murmurs assurances into his ear and holds him close, knowing that sometimes that's all you need to make you feel whole again, and that's all she can do without making an ass of herself. She kind of falls asleep like that, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped tight around him and when she wakes up, he's standing by the door, eyes clear and a smile on his lips.
"Thank you." And she beams brightly at him, her stomach suddenly turning into an Olympic gymnast performing a routine on the floor.
"Anytime, Twinkletoes." She leans up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his cheek before breezing out of the room. The elf stands there, looking after her long after she's disappeared into the depths of the hornburg. Finally, he turns around and smiles, raising a hand to where she kissed his cheek.