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Sam found his worst mistake in laying with Boromir was not the finding forgiveness with Frodo. It was in the rift he created inside the Gondorian Man.
It became apparent immediately, by the next morning. After Sam's (and Frodo's) bath, they returned to the pavilion and some very curious looks from Merry and Pippin. Boromir was working on his chainmail, brooding, but when Sam tried to go speak to him, Frodo held him back, quietly shaking his head. Sam could only throw him looks the rest of the day, but Boromir seemed intent on ignoring him. In fact Boromir only spoke to the Fellowship in short clipped sentences and only when necessary.
Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas began to eye him with faint suspicion, though Merry and Pip were still easy with him, trying to get him to smile, to join the others at mealtime. Merry seemed to note something different between Sam and Frodo right away; he flashed them a look which showed how happy he was for them. He himself, however, seemed somewhat sad and distant. Pip was still very upset about losing Gandalf, still blaming himself somewhat, and Sam found himself trying to help Merry to get Pippin to accept the loss, the pain.
One evening while he and Frodo were walking the paths, delighting in the elven gardens and comparing them (and makin' plans to add) to Bag End, they stumbled upon Merry and Pip in one of the little sitting areas. The two looked rather guilty and flushed. Sam thought that just maybe they had been in the middle of kissing; Pip's little red lips in particular looked swollen. Frodo had to hide a smile behind his hand, but his bright eyes gave away his glee. Sam had to admit he took a gander to see if any buttons were hastily done (or altogether missed) on their weskits, but they looked all in order. Apparently they hadn't reached that stage yet; by their postures he was thinking they didn't look like lovers yet.
"Mm, did we interrupt anything?" Frodo said, and Sam grinned as Merry turned a new shade of rose.
Pip pressed his lips together as if considering just how to answer that question, when Merry gave him a little kick in the shin, eyeing him sternly. Pip grinned and shrugged. Merry tried to look proper. "No, of course not."
Frodo nodded, rocking on his heels. "Oh well, then, carry on." They walked on, but soon Merry and Pip joined them; Sam was sad to say that they must have ruined whatever had been going on between the two. Merry being nervous again, no doubt.
It was only a few days after that they had to say their farewells to the Lady of the Wood and the fair trees of Lorien. During their time in the elven woods, Sam and Frodo had made love almost every night, almost in a fever, but once they began traveling again it was back to tiny gropings in the dark, and Frodo seemed to avoid even that. That blasted Ring. It was making trouble again, no mistake, and Sam could sense it putting its feelers out, like a snake flicks it tongue, trying to find its Master.
Boromir would not speak to him. He knew that was trouble; it couldn't bode well, and it meant he had torn up the Fellowship, curse it all. He tried to apologize, but apparently now it was too late. The companions paddled, they floated along down the ominous swirling river, they slept when they could, but it was broken. Sam and Boromir's friendship had been lost in Lothlorien.
It was days out of Lorien that Sam got a moment to talk to Boromir alone.
"I've been meaning to tell you--" Sam began.
"Don't. I don't want to hear your apologies. You made your decision. It wasn't much of a surprise, believe me." Sam winced at Boromir's manner, at the way he refused to look him in the eye now. Hand wringing seemed a bit overdramatic for Sam, but he couldn't help but try one last time.
"I'll never forget it. If me and Frodo weren't--well then perhaps we--"
Boromir flashed him a look of pure malice. "Don't! I don't want to speak of this again!"
So he didn't, and watched instead the looks Boromir threw Frodo; the jealousy, and envy too, stars yes.
After that, what with the looks and all, he got suspicious of the Man again. Especially as they neared the final turn, where they'd either make for Minas Tirith or Mordor and there weren't no two ways about it. And suddenly Frodo's coldness made complete sense. He was afraid; afraid for himself, afraid for what they saw was happening to the Fellowship, afraid for Sam now that their love was so strong. He was closing up tight again, and Sam knew. He was going to try something foolish soon, like setting out alone. After all they had been through, after all his efforts to prove his devotion, this hurt the most, but he understood it plain enough. Frodo had got into his head the notion that the whole reason behind Sam's straying was the Ring; that somehow the Ring was controlling everything--he said things to that effect, though in a roundabout fashion. Cursed stupid notion. But he wasn't letting Sam in close enough to alter his opinion. It was enough to make one cry.
So he watched, and he waited, and sure enough, it all blew apart, all at the same time. Boromir went mad, Frodo went running, and Sam only barely made it to join Frodo by his side or die trying.
He didn't realize how bad it all had blown apart, though, until they met Boromir's brother in Ithilien. Faramir. It was like he was a perfect blend of both Strider's quiet wisdom and goodness together with Boromir's fierce sense of pride and honor, with a good heapin' of justice to boot.
Sam felt something for him immediately--something like Boromir, but despite his fierce questioning and his stony manner, Sam felt more trust. Less desire; he had not Boromir's imposing build, the animal strength that had tormented Sam so much. Frodo, he noted, felt something too--for if he had something akin to Strider's wisdom, wouldn't it stand to reason Frodo would be drawn to it? But Frodo was worse now, his dear love. Sam doubted he had the strength or stamina to pursue anything, even if he'd been so inclined. Which he wasn't, Sam knew. Ringlust had slowly replaced any needs of the body. At night he slept in Sam's arms, and that was the greatest contact they generally had now. Slinker/Stinker tended to kill Sam's appetite as well. Little wretch was going to try to kill one or the both o' them some time, or he weren't no Gamgee.
Faramir was a mite hard on Frodo at first; he interrogated him with sharp questions, veiled threats, making it sound like Frodo was up to no good. Then he mentioned Boromir's death. Sam thought his legs would go out from under him; it had been so long since he'd had a decent sleep, and the shock of the news near tore his heart out. Boromir . . . dead? Oh stars, was he in any way to blame?
Before he had a chance to let it sink in, to feel the full force of the news, Faramir said something that sent his blood boiling. He suggested maybe Mr. Frodo was responsible. "Treachery not the least."
"He had no right to talk of you so!" Sam blurt out, with more words to put this Captain Faramir in his place, making accusations of something he knew absolutely nothin' about--not the first thing!
Even though he could be right. Sam's intimacy, Frodo's jealousy, both of their brusque manner to him after Lothlorien, and of course Boromir's desire that Sam had suspected all along, and afterwards found confirmed by Frodo--Boromir's lust for the Ring. What had happened after Frodo escaped him? By the sound of things, they'd been attacked by orcs. Frodo echoed his fears--what of the others? Especially Merry and Pippin; Sam had a hard time thinking of Strider being in danger, of dying, the way he swung his sword, the way he always thought before acting.
'Course, he hadn't thought Gandalf would die either.
When he'd spoken up, Faramir had called him stupid, if not in so many words; that he ought to sit down, be quiet, let his wise master speak. And Sam remembered his station; he had begun to forget with Strider's generous treatment of him, Boromir's friendship. He sat down hard, depressed, frightened, and most of all lost. Boromir was dead. The truth was a dreadful storm in his brain, in his heart.
"Boromir was my brother."
A new shock, more feelings to churn about inside, more now than he could name. Sam looked at Faramir as Frodo described Boromir, thankful now he didn't have to talk, for his voice would be shakin' worse than his old Gaffer's hands. He saw the resemblance. Sensed the kinship. Now he was afraid for Frodo, for himself; another Boromir, stars no, what if this one tried to take the Ring as well? With the men surrounding them, he'd have an easy time of it too. Sam watched Frodo and saw the same fear in him. He'd have to be vigilant, Sam would. No letting Frodo out of his sight until they were off and away.
Faramir described how he had found Boromir in the boat, and the broken horn, that horn . . . Sam remembered its sound as he and Frodo left the Company . . . he no longer could hold back the tears. He bowed his head and wept, but nobody saw him, for they were still questioning his master. Through his tears, Sam could see Frodo; he looked shaken and worried, but still in control of himself. He glanced over to check on Sam, and threw him a quick look of sympathy. Sam knew he wouldn't cry, not in front of a potential enemy, not in front of strangers anyhow. He'd keep it close inside, true Baggins-style. But that didn't mean he didn't feel it. Even if only for Sam's sake.
At the end of the questioning Faramir decided they must come with him. Sam listened to what he said to Frodo once out of the hearing of his men; this was when he began to see something of Strider's manner in him. But he still wasn't sure of him, and it seemed Gollum was still about as well. So, exhausted as he was, and in grief, and afraid, when they reached the sanctuary, he refused to sleep.
He wanted to talk to Faramir. Alone.
Frodo dropped off to sleep quickly, and Sam watched Faramir's men move around the caves, but he didn't see the captain. Boromir's brother. Boromir dead. Had he played a role--if he hadn't gone to see him, if they hadn't . . . it was intolerable. He knew he had caused harm when Frodo told him of the change that came over Boromir when he tried to take the Ring, but to know he died soon after, that same day . . . pierced by many arrows. Defending--had to be. Defending who? Merry and Pip; could be no other; Strider and the others didn't need much defending. But if Boromir was dead, what had happened to the rest of them . . .
He was crying again, curse it. What must he look like to the Men here? He just wanted to be away. Get back to the task, deal with the pain later. But first, he wanted to see what this Faramir was made of. See what he knew of his brother.
So when Faramir passed by on some errand, Sam cleared his throat and tried to dry his tears. "Sir, if you have a moment . . ."
Faramir paused; his eyes widened. "Do you . . ." he shook his head in disbelief. "Do you mourn?"
Sam nodded, keeping his voice low so that he didn't wake Frodo. "That I do, sir. My master spoke truth when he said there was sorrow between Boromir and himself. But my dealings with your brother were a fair sight deeper. I would count him a close friend. There were some misunderstandings between us in Lothlorien, but I'd still say I was close to him."
Faramir said nothing, but looked closely at him, trying to see deep down inside, Sam reckoned. Did he know of his brother's more private matters? Could he somehow guess just how close Boromir got to Sam? Sam blushed--curse but he never seemed able to control that. And flushed deeper when Faramir nodded, noting it.
When Faramir spoke, it was a bare whisper. "Samwise, did you say your name was? If you are saying he found . . . comfort with you, then I say I am glad. You seem a loyal and caring kind. I am sorry if I was harsh with either you or your master."
Sam nodded. Should he say anything more? Without Frodo there to watch his words, as careful as they were being, he didn't' dare to say what he really wanted to.
That Faramir, though, he was a sharp one. "Do you blame yourself for his death?"
Careful there, Sam told himself, for he heard an edge of something dark in Faramir's voice. Could be grief, could be suspicion, but could also be that darkness that had ultimately taken Boromir; no way to tell at this point.
"I--well, no, sir. Wish I knew more about how he died, I do. But there were words left unspoken between us, and I'm afraid I didn't set things right as I should have. I do very much regret it now."
Faramir continued to study him, until Sam felt quite like the mouse under the cat's scrutiny. Then he smiled, and patted Sam's shoulder. Sam sighed and drooped a little, as tension he hadn't realized he was holding spilled out. His eyes threatened to close; he stuck his knuckles in them to ward off sleep.
"Get some rest. Food will prepared shortly, and you and your master can eat." Faramir rose, smiling down at him, and Sam was suddenly struck with a memory of Boromir doing the same, somewhere near Hollin, just before the fencing training. He sighed.
"Meaning no disrespect to you, sir, but I can't sleep just yet. You haven't said what you'll be doing with my master and me, so I'll just sit tight here, and look for that food. Thank you for stopping to chat with me. It means a great deal." Faramir nodded again, and left, and Sam continued to sit, once again wishing he and Frodo were far away.
It was strange but he never would have found out just what Faramir was made of, if Sam hadn't made the terrible error of blurting out about the Ring. It was the lack of sleep, the food, Frodo's growing ease with the man, Sam's earlier conversation, and the fact it was ever present in his mind. He'd been telling Faramir about some of the lighter moments in the journey, how Boromir had saved them on Caradhras, the fencing practice (including how he nearly nipped Pippin's hand and was tackled by the small hobbit in a fit of laughter and flying limbs) and his bravery against the wolves and in Moria.
Frodo fell silent, and Faramir began speaking of elves, and of Galadriel, and the next thing Sam knew his tongue was running off with him, that in Lorien he realized what Boromir really wanted. The Enemy's Ring. Upon saying that, the blood first fled his face then came rushing back, and there was a moment where he and Frodo leapt up and feared Faramir would try to take it right then and there. But then Faramir laughed. And showed just how different from Boromir he was. It set to ease, suddenly, the fears and the guilt Sam had been holding up inside. If Faramir had gone with them, things might have gone differently, even had Sam had the same attraction, made the same actions. Boromir's death could not be blamed solely on him. He might not have helped the situation, but it no longer appeared he was the straw that broke the pony's back.
Sam was dismayed when Frodo collapsed with fatigue once the danger was past; he followed Faramir as the Man carried his master to a bed and called for a second bed to be brought for Sam. After checking on Frodo to be sure he was well and merely in deep sleep, Sam kissed him once, briefly on the lips. Then he bowed to Faramir. He congratulated the Man for taking the chance, and showing his worth. Faramir didn't know who Strider was, so he compared him to the next closest one he did know of--Gandalf. Faramir said goodnight and moved to leave, but paused at the look of worry on Sam's face.
"Is there anything else?" He asked.
Sam shook his head, trying to get comfortable in the man-sized cot. "I'm just still worrying about our kinsmen, Merry and Pippin. I fear they may be dead, for if your brother died, how could the others have survived?"
Faramir frowned, rubbing his short beard, his grey eyes turned inward. "I said that I thought he died well, that there was a beauty and a peace in him I never saw in life. He must have succeeded in defending something; something precious to him. If he held you, or your kind in his heart, it would stand to reason that they lived, and escaped."
Sam didn't know what to say; again he saw the expression in Boromir's face just after they had lain together, the moment of serenity before the darkness came again. "I hope so, sir. I hope you get to meet Strider and the rest of my company. You'd like them, I'd wager. And they'd like you--especially Merry and Pip; Boromir was like a big brother to them. Good night, sir. And thanks for everything."
"Good night, Samwise. I'm glad to have spoken with you." Faramir turned and left, and Sam felt sleep creeping in on the edges of his eyes. He gave a huge yawn.
"Merry and Pip, Merry and Pip . . . I just hope they found a better road than Frodo and me." He lay down, and felt the grief settling, fading into a dull ache that at least could be tolerated, could be borne. He'd tell Frodo in the morning what Faramir had said. Hopefully it would lighten his master's heart, his burden. There was still such a long way to go.
With that thought, he fell asleep.
End of Loyalty
Next Tale: "Wisdom" (Merry's tale)