Disclaimer: I don't own Legolas or Thranduil or Mat or any of the places mentioned. But Varekai, Solstrom, and Amadhor are mine. At least, I think they are...

PROLOGUE

Legolas burst into his father's chambers, still in traveling clothes, a small bundle cradled carefully in his arms. His jerkin was singed in a few places, and a few small scrapes stood out against his fair skin.

Thranduil stood immediately, his eyes drawn to the rather large cut that ran down Legolas' cheek. "What is it, my son? Why are you injured?"

Legolas shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said breathlessly. "Look." Thranduil watched with some uncertainty as Legolas lifted a flap of cloth away to reveal the sleeping face of a baby. At his father's confused look, Legolas moved away a few more folds of cloth until more of the child was visible. Her hands glowed a soft white.

Thranduil's eyes widened, and he stepped closer. "The Light..." he whispered. "It has come." He reached out to touch the child's hand, feeling a tingly warmth spread through him the moment his skin touched hers. He looked up at his son. "How did you find her?"

Legolas frowned as he spoke, obviously uneasy. "I came by chance upon her home, in flames. Her parents were already dead. I heard her cries from within. I believe it was Raukaraniâr's work."

Thranduil nodded slowly. "It is no mere chance that brought you there, my son. Fate has brought the Light of the Valar to us. We shall raise her here; she shall have the same upbringing as any Elf child."

Legolas gave a small smile. "Then, ada, she should be raised by one who is not a Lord, nor a King. If you were to take in a child of Men, it would certainly be known by many."

Thranduil nodded with regretful acceptance. "Yes, Legolas, you are right. It is of utmost importance that as few others as possible know of this. If Raukaraniâr learns that the child survived, he will waste no time in attacking Mirkwood." He began pacing, looking out his window at the setting Sun, and wondering who should be the one to raise the child whose life could determine the future of Middle-Earth. "Who?" he muttered. "Who could raise the girl?"

Legolas spoke after a moment's silence. "What of Amadhor Tasartir?"

Thranduil frowned. "Tasartir is one of the sentries, is he not?" He ceased his pacing to cast a disapproving look at his son.

Legolas nodded. "Yes, on the northwestern border. I have known him for some time. Amadhor is responsible and intelligent. He would make a good guardian for the girl."

Thranduil considered this for a moment before speaking. "I had not thought a sentry would do well for the task, but perhaps you are right. I will speak with him tomorrow." He moved to the window and stared out at the golden-red hues the Sun cast upon the clouds as it sank below the horizon.

Legolas ran a finger over the girl's forehead gently, smiling at her peaceful expression, then looked up at his father. "What of her name, ada? Surely you wish to give the child a name."

Thranduil turned and looked at the sleeping child silently. After a moment his gaze shifted to his son's face. "Perhaps you should have that honor, my son. You may choose a name for her."

Legolas looked down at the girl again, wondering what name would befit a child of such importance as she was. "Varekai," he said softly, caressing her cheek. "Her name shall be Varekai."