[ It's better than anything else he could have said - all those words that remind him of home, so strange and unfamiliar to anyone else in Thedas save Galadriel, said as easy as anything. Sam gazes up at him, stars in his eyes. It speaks to just how overcome he is by the Elf's presence that he doesn't even hesitate when Thranduil invites him to sit, but follows close at his heels, unwilling to stray too far away.

But Thranduil's question hardly registers; he's still caught up in something else. ]

Mirkwood? [ His eyes go wide. He's never seen Mirkwood for himself, nor does he ever wish to, if half of Bilbo's stories are true. But the other half, of course, had been filled with elves and dragons and wonderful things, and Sam looks up in awe even as he perches on the edge of a bale of hay, legs dangling off the edge. ] Are you from Mirkwood, then? Were you there when the dwarves all got locked up by the elves - when Mr. Bilbo broke them out? Oh - [ He claps a hand over his mouth suddenly, eyes wide with alarm now rather than wonder. Once again he'd said too much. ]