Sam settles onto the grass beside her right away - he's always loved hearing stories about Elves, and even if this isn't the story and these aren't the elves that he's used to, he's certain it'll be just as good.

Only it's not. It's war, and submission, and exile; he doesn't know what an Exalted March might be, but it's clear enough that it's something terrible. Sam's expression goes from interested and eager to horrified and bewildered, and when he sees how sad Ellana herself looks, he feels just that much worse.

"Of course they are," he agrees passionately, without a thought given to the fact that he's about the last person to be an authority on the subject. Not all elves are alike, he knows that much, but they're still all a part of the same people, no matter where they might live. They're still all Elves.

He shakes his head. Wars and gods, and men and elves - it's all a bit above him, and he chews his lip for a moment, troubled and unsure what to say.

"Don't see how it matters much, who a person chooses to pray to," he says at last, slowly. "Don't see how it helps to try to force them to change, neither."