[ Celegorm's breath catches in his throat, and in the dark of the Unseelie encampment, his eyes squeeze tightly shut.

Have I honoured you father? Have I honoured you?

His men have shed enough blood to make a river, all for his Oath, and the shadow of it seems deep and dark and stretches far behind him. And this, what's happened to Legolas, seems like an echo of The Oath's Beginning.

His father's father's blood a red swath across the floor, a gemstone.

So he pours what light and his power he can into his voice, clutching so tight to the locket that his knuckles go white. ]

He was not the only constant, Prince of the Wood. What of the earth beneath your feet? The light of the stars through the leaves? The wind in the boughs, and all thought of home?

Whenever you see these things, you will find a touch of your father there. The memory of him as he was, supporting you, sheltering you, lighting your way. For not a thing exists which is ever truly beyond us: we are all a part of the strange fabric of form and life, and as all flesh that dies becomes again a part of the earth, so too your father will always be a part. A part of you. A part of all that is.

[ His belief in this is a powerful thing; and the sound of his voice is rich with the force of his conviction. ]

And you are never alone.