When Boromir sets out from Gondor to seek wisdom for a strange dream, he knew deep in his heart that he wouldn't return. He had also known that the riddles in his vision weren't going to be the strangest things he was to see before the end. He was right. Somehow, in his quest to find answers, he'd found himself waist-deep in elves and dwarves and Halflings, things of legend and stories told to children before bed. The strangest of all of course, were the two women who fell from the sky.
He'd laughed at it at first, sure that he had taken one watch too many and this was his body's way of telling him to rest, sleep is good, but as far as hallucinations went, the dark-haired woman was particularly volatile and temperamental. Loud and more often than not clumsy, but with a temper that could skewer a wild boar faster than a spear; they'd come to blows the moment she'd stepped up and offered to take the first watch. They were both, as a rule, incredibly stubborn but her sense of humor and general strangeness made her endearing and well, he blames Gandalf. He's pretty sure the old wizard did some sort of hocus pocus to make them actually respect each other.
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Lothlorien offers them a temporary respite, time to heal from the wounds that Gandalf's loss has caused, time to rest their weary bones and gather enough strength to see them through to Mordor. He and Sam are walking; her fever has just broken and the color has returned to her face. She is smiling, a calm gentle smile and he feels a stirring in his chest. Something wakes in him that hasn't been seen since last he saw his brother, so many weeks ago.
The Golden Wood offers him no peace of mind though; he is not Aragorn and elves only present him with riddles, not comfort but he walks with Sam nonetheless, listens to her chatter about never being able to find her way through anywhere and laughs when she tells crude jokes and tells him that she's glad to see him clean. Her tone is light but there is a knowing look in her eyes, and Boromir understands her effort for what it is.
"It is not as though you were the epitome of cleanliness yourself, you know." He jibes, gently knocking shoulders with her. She lets out a snort and messes up his hair, which is a sight to see considering she is two full heads shorter. It is a decidedly sisterly move and he wonders briefly if she has any siblings back in her home but when he asks, her voice just goes quiet, the way it always does when anyone attempts to break through her shell.
"Not really." She says. He wonders what that is supposed to mean and if he shall ever get to find out.
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"That is a ghastly sort of business," Gimli mutters at dinner. "To be ripped from yer home and your family with no hope of ever seeing them again, I would not be able to suffer through it."
They are having dinner together; the hobbits are huddled in a corner looking somber. Personally, Boromir thinks that if anyone can understand Sam's current predicament it would be Frodo, whose gaze is currently bent towards his food, lips puckered together in a hard line. Aragorn is examining the engravings on his goblet and says nothing, merely glances briefly at Legolas. The subject of their conversation is nowhere to be found. The two friends had gone off hours ago, hand-in-hand for a final audience together with the Lady of the Wood and only Sam had returned. She had looked tired and heavy and she barely passed them a glance before disappearing into the trees again.
Little Pippin Took breaks off from the others; makes his way to Boromir's side and sits down. "How do you think she's doing?" he asks the taller man, forehead puckering.
"I do not know." He admits with a shrug, but it is not for lack of trying.
Pippin sighs dejectedly before his eyes go wide and he tilts his head towards the edge of the clearing. Boromir follows the hobbit's gaze and sees Sam making her way towards them. She looks tired and there are leaves stuck to her hair; he supposes that she's stumbled upon a root recently and tangled herself in a bush. She sits down at the table and offers them the brightest smile she can muster, which in this circumstance, is not very bright at all.
"Hi guys." Her voice is quiet. She looks around the table at all of them and even from where he is standing; Boromir knows she's kicking herself for making them worry. "I got a little lost."
Frodo, who sits nearest, piles a plate high with food and orders her to eat. No one asks her if she's alright, because it is a foolish question; instead they do what they can to make it so. They tell her tales of their respective homelands and by the end of the meal she is laughing so hard she can barely keep herself upright.
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In his dreams he can hear her voice; beautiful and melodious and it shakes him to the core. Her eyes come next, and he feels naked and ashamed because he knows that she can see everything; every weakness, every flaw, every secret hurt, every hidden desire. There is no judgment in her gaze but he cannot hold it nonetheless, cannot look into those eyes so full of knowledge without feeling shamed, dishonored.
"Do not be so troubled, Son of Gondor." She is standing before him now, garbed in white, a gold circlet on her brow. She smiles at him. "I bring you a gift, and counsel in these dark times."
He doesn't answer, merely waits for her to continue because even in his dreams, he does not trust himself to speak, but she doesn't, only smiles her secret smile and captures his gaze.
It happens suddenly, one minute he is looking into the Lady's eyes and the next he is falling, falling into deep water. Darkness envelops him, reaching into his very depths and crushing his heart until he is almost sure he is dead, until he hopes that he is dead just so the hurt will stop, and then he sees Sam, mud-stained and panting, rushing forwards with a sword raised high, sees her behead her enemy and jump on the back of another, eyes filled with a fierce anger that he has yet to see on her. And then she is smiling, mouthing words he cannot comprehend and then jumping into his arms and hugging him tight.
The visions shifts again and he sees her with Faramir, his arm around her waist and hers around his shoulders. He sees himself walking into view, taking his place alongside his…brother and sister, and even in his dream he knows the words feel right. His arm snakes around her waist and her free arm winds its way around his neck, smiles upon all their faces. There are scars on her arms that she does not yet have and he cannot help but notice that together they look like a puzzle, finally finished.
"War has taken hope from your heart, Son of Gondor." Says the Lady's voice, standing in front of him again. "And family also, is being taken from you, slowly. I give you both now, for hope cannot be restored to your city until it is first restored in your heart."
She places a kiss on his brow and when he opens his eyes he is back in the clearing just in tine to see Sam picking her way across the glade. He scrambles to his feet and makes his way after her, taking care to keep silent. She threads easily through the trees, following paths with surprising certainty until she reaches the banks of the Silverlode. "Hi, Boromir." She says, sitting down on a large boulder.
This surprises him even more. "You are a great deal more observant than you give yourself credit for."
She shrugs and he sits down next to her, looking up at the star-spangled sky. "You were pretty noisy, sunshine."
He sits down next to her, drawing up his knees and putting his face in one hand. "How are you faring?" he asks softly.
She gives another shrug; haphazard and lacking in energy, like the movements of an ill-used limb. "I was eight when I met Tasha," her voice is so soft he is unsure if he's even meant to hear. "Some boys were pulling on her hair where she was playing, so I jumped in and pushed them away. We've been inseparable ever since. My whole life, I've always had Tasha by my side. She's more than just a best friend, she's my sister."
He doesn't say anything because he knows now is not the time. Sam sighs heavily and shakes her head. "I don't have the best family; my mom…she's always been distant and disapproving. I look a lot like her, you know, and for some reason she's always thought that nothing I ever did was good enough. Tasha made me see that her approval didn't matter; that the only opinion I had to consider was my own."
"She was right." He acknowledges with a gentle nod, it is something he has told Faramir time and time again. He is the firstborn, and he does not know from firsthand experience what it must feel like to have to work so hard to gain the affections of a parent, and yet fail miserably every time, but he has seen the pained look in his brother's eyes to know that Tasha's words are right. Tears sprout in her eyes and she swipes angrily at her cheeks.
"My dad's a great guy." She continues when it becomes clear that her tears have no intention of abating any time soon. "He's loving and generous and understanding and fun and I love him so much, but when he and my mom were in the throes of divorce, that is getting their marriage legally destroyed, they were always so busy hurling abuse at one another that I sort of just got shunted to the side. Tasha became my only source of comfort then, she became the only family I had and now I have to face a life, a whole freaking world without her—hell, without anything, no name, no home, no family, nothing! So, in answer to your question Boromir, I'm faring pretty horribly."
His heart goes out to her; she is a stranger in an even stranger land with no future to look forward to whichever way the scales tipped. At the back of his mind, he could still remember the feeling of seeing the three of them together and the ache in his chest throbbed.
"You shall have a home." He finally finds himself saying as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.
She looks up at him, startled all trace of tears gone. "What?"
"If your fear is that you will have nowhere to call home, and no people to be your family, then you shall have mine." Her expression is still absolutely terrified and he suddenly realizes that she probably thinks he's proposing. He quickly withdraws his arm and shakes his hands in front of him. "No, it is not what you are thinking! This is no marriage proposal; I do not see you in that way, in the slightest. My heart looks upon you as a sister Sam, and I would not have you despairing when there is something I can yet do about it. Whether I live or die, you shall have a home in the House of Ecthelion."
"You can't do that." She says, drawing a shaky breath. "I can't impose on you like that."
Boromir shakes his head, grasping her by the shoulders and looking her square in the eye. "You are many things, Sam." He tells her in the most sincere tones. "But an imposition is not one of them. I would be honored to call you little sister, if you will have me."
She is silent for a long time, disbelief and doubt etched across her features. Green eyes look up at him questioningly, as if to ask if he's sure because there is still time to take back the offer. He makes no indications of moving away, instead he beams. Her lower lip trembles and she wraps her arms around him, succumbing to her tears. "Thank you."
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It is like a nightmare; one that takes hold, sinks its feral claws deep into your bones and never lets go. He feels like he should wake up, rise from the horror of what's happening, what he's done but he can't because this is reality. This is happening. An arrow lodges itself into his shoulder, white-hot pain shooting up his body and making Merry and Pippin's cries fade into the background. He swings his sword high, beheads another orc and another, because what else can he do? He will never be able to take back what he has done to Frodo, but he can make up for it by keeping his friends safe.
Another arrow notches into him, and he staggers slightly before getting back into the rhythm. He is a Son of Gondor and their worth is measure by their valiance; he has had worse pains than this. He raises his horn to his lips and blows long and hard; he does not hope for very much because he knows that his companions are just as overrun as he is. His fingers are beginning to go numb, and his arms feel leaden. Somewhere behind him, he hears the screams of his hobbit friends as they are carted off to Valar only knew where, leaving him standing there, powerless to stop them.
His opponent stands in front of him now, crossbow raised and ready to strike. Boromir laughs bitterly. When he set off from Gondor all those months ago, to seek answers to a strange dream, he had known he wouldn't come back. Now his premonition had come true. Perhaps Faramir should have been the one to go on this journey, not him. Proud, gentle, noble Faramir. At least then he would have met Sam.
Almost as if his thoughts had summoned her, he sees her charging through the wreckage, sword raised, anger practically rolling off of her in waves. The orcs pay her no mind as she slashes past them and jumps onto the back of the one wielding the crossbow, meeting his snarls of protest with her own. To his dying day, Boromir swears he shall never again see a sight quite like it.
"You do not get to hurt my brother." Sam snarls viciously, her dagger ripping across the Uruk's neck as she twists its head around the entire way. The force of her motion sends them propelling into a tree with a resounding crash. It takes him a minute to recover from the shock, but eventually he manages to wobble his way over to her and extend a hand to pick her up.
Unsurprisingly, she slaps his hand away and climbs to her feet unaided, glaring darkly at him as she picks up her sword and stabs an Uruk behind him, in the face. "Keep up, will you?" she snaps in annoyance and a laugh issues from his throat. She gives him a flippant grin in return and together they fend off the apocalypse.
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So, maybe they didn't fend off the apocalypse, but Boromir finds that you really can't hang around Sam for any extended period of time and not pick up a thing or two from her wide range of insanity.