He was a dear little creature, to see to the pony first and then to Thranduil and Legolas. Sam’s sweet manner was endearing, as was how he behaved towards Legolas.

“I am not your lord, Samwise—" Thankfully, Legolas had made him aware of all the little details he would need to know to conduct himself. “—nor am I your king. Address me as Thranduil, in friendship, and in thanks.”

He gestured to one of the seats at his table—there was one for Legolas, though his son was just as like to perch upon the table as he was to sit—and the scant offerings thereon. He had squirreled away a few biscuits from breakfast, and the snowmelt made fine drinking water. A poor offering, compared to the tables he had laid in the past, but it was something. “Sit, eat. Tell us of your troubles.”