DISCLAIMER: I claim only the idea of the story and the child Uviel as my own. Everything else belongs to Sir Tolkien and the realm of Middle Earth.
The sun's rays just touched the tip of the trees of the forest, barely touching the grounds beneath. Birds opened their darkened eyes, awaking from the spell of slumber under which they had been cast. A gentle breeze passed through the lower parts of the forest, weaving in and out and around the many tree trunks littering the wood. The creatures upon the earthen ground began to stretch their limbs, energy starting to course through their bodies, adventure boiling in their blood. So it was that the forest of Mirkwood came again to life after having received its rest the night prior.
A distance into the great forest, at the heart therein, lie the kingdom of Thranduil, son of Oropher. It was here that the inhabitants thereof were just beginning to stir, save those patrolling the borders and keeping watch over the entrances of the safe haven. The breath of wind passed them all, mixing with their fair-coloured and auburn hair, teasing their skin, making it rise and prickle with the coolness of the morn. Soon, however, the moment was spent and the breeze moved on into the kingdom's heart by way of the openings and cracks found in the stone palace.
As the wind rushed through the caverns and entered each room with a haste to awaken every soul, it slowed its motion and paused as it came to the oaken door of the kingdom's prince. With caution, the wind moved closer, squeezing itself through the slightly ajar door and entered the room. Its cool complexion turned warm as it beheld a serene sight: the king of Mirkwood, turned towards one of the many windows in the palace, held in his arms a bundle of soft linen. The wind moved closer, growing warmer with every inch it overcame, until it stopped at the left-hand side of the king, gazing in awe at the thing in his arms.
A child, no more than three months old, lay in his arms, a patch of darker blonde hair sprouting from its scalp, curly and wild as was expected of any Elven babe. Seeing a child this calm was strange enough, indeed, but to see the king holding it like it was his own-why, that was impossible to comprehend. And yet, the wind stayed by the king and watched the child, not noticing the parted lips of the king.
"Tiny and precious bundle
Wrapped in silken shawl;
Carried in loving arms
Careful not to fall.
Wide curious eyes,
As grey as stone or steel,
Wandered ceilings high
Seeing large rock not keel.
Ring around her finger,
A gift from her unknown,
Protects her fate with power
The love it holds not condoned.
Hands outstretched for one
She will learn to call Ada,
Fingers grab his hair
As bright as stars of Arda.
Uviel, little one,
Perfect babe I hold,
Never forget your
Heart's as pure as gold.
I'll be here forever
Always in your mind
Whispering all my love
For the test of time."
The wind listened with awe as the king sang to the precious bundle, seeing now that she, for apparently it was an elleth, had her arms outstretched towards another figure in the room; that which proved to be the prince of the land, Legolas. Understanding it was time to leave the father, son, and child alone, the wind breathed over the child a warm breath, covering her eyes, nose, cheeks, and ears, smiling at her with long-forgotten joy.
It would be many years until the wind encountered another event such as this; being allowed the opportunity to hear the first lullaby given to a child, to pass over it with tender lovingness and care, to see love passed from the carrier's eyes and reflected in the eyes of the child. But it would wait, as long as it took, even if another hundred years passed by, the wind was patient...