Legolas’ point of view:

I gaze upon the burning stars, the tiny, distant holes punched through a black veil, being light by a greater source behind it. It is said that every elf who dies, becomes a beacon of light, their secrets, their memories, their knowledge of anything and everything fuelling them to shine brighter. They guide us, so that we do not make the same mistakes they did on middle earth. It is said that they walk with us in the day, but we can not see them because of the power in the sun, that they move swiftly and quickly, so that even in shadow they can whip by without us having a second thought. Their heat so unnameable that it could melt the flesh off your bones. That you can identify your loved ones after they have passed because of the great tender emotion you feel when you gaze upon them, and that they are staring back. That is what they say. I do not believe them, or that’s what I tell myself anyway, that’s what my ada believes and he is king, so should I not believe so to? Whatever is true, I come out every night, and say silent prayers to one star in a clearing. My mother’s star. My heart aches every time I see her, and hoping at least that she sees me too. On a regular basis I slip out of the confined walls of my people, thanking the sky for faith and such valor and love. But this night, I ‘ask’ for faith and valour and love. I ask for that star to stand beside me. I ask for a reason to be. Then I close my eyes, glassy with tears. And let lonely darkness, cradle my body. Until the world passes out of consciousness.