A/N

Hi guys,

I am sorry for taking so long! I have started a new job, so I had little time to write.

Anyway, I wan't to thank everyone that is following this story already. I can't believe there is already 12 of you! And a special thanks to all of you who have left a review. I'm glad you like this story this far.

Now let us continue!

My Little Butterfly

A young child hides behind a pilar, her hands before her mouth to prevent her giggles to be heard. Her bright blue eyes are scanning the aria, sparkling mischievous. Her long auburn hair flowing behind her as she runs over to another pilar.

'Where are you, gwilwileth,' a silvery voice asks as soft footsteps approach the hiding child.

The child muffles another giggle as a tall figure walks around the pilar. She walks around the pilar too, making sure she stays behind the male in front of her. Her footsteps rather loud compared to his almost soundless movements. But she doesn't notice her feet betraying her position as his pointed elven ears pick up the sound. The child is too busy trying to keep up with the male, while staying hidden behind him.

The elf smirks, his bright blue eyes lighten up as he keeps on 'searching' for the child. No matter how hard she tries, he will always find her. Whether it is during a game where his keen hearing can even hear her softest breathing, or whenever she might be in danger where his keen eyesight can spot her auburn hair everywhere.

He cares for the child. Even at her tender age of five, she has already stolen his heart. She had stolen his heart the moment he had laid eyes on the infant she was back then. From the moment she had first looked up at him he had known she would forever have a place in his heart.

The male sits down on the steps with a sigh of faked exasperation. He wonders out loud where the young girl could be, as the child closes in on him. Her footsteps loud, her breathing heavy. But he stays put, not wanting to ruin her joy.

'Gotcha!'

Small arms wrap themselves around his tall frame, as the child screeches in joy. She doesn't notice the tall male fakes his surprise, she is too proud of her accomplishment to notice. Both laugh as she is placed in his lap.

'I scared you, didn't I, Legolas,' the child says with a smirk.

'My heart has leaped in my chest with fright, little gwilwileth,' Legolas agrees, placing his hand on his chest. 'I fear you will scare me to death one day.'

'Don't worry, I will not allow that to happen. I will make you better when that happens.'

'I know you will, Várar.'

Legolas smiles at her naivety, brushing her hair with his fingers. Having grown up with elves, Várar has never witnessed dead. No one has died, only fallen ill. Even Legolas himself has witnessed few dead. The last one has been five-and-a-half years ago, when Gefn had died. So it is no wonder Várar doesn't know what dead really is.

'Will you teach me how I can heal a heart?' Her bright blue eyes meet his pale blue ones. 'I want to help in everything I can.'

'My dear Várar,' Legolas begins as he chuckles. 'No one can teach you how to heal a heart. It is something that comes naturally. And I know you can heal ones heart, you did so with adar (father).'

'Really? I healed ada's (daddy's) heart?'

'Yes, you did. You healed his heart by being just you.'

Várar smiles as she claps in her hands in joy. She is glad she could help her father, he means everything to her. And Legolas and Tauriel too. They always treat her nicely, playing with her when she wants to, fooling around with her. They don't treat her like she is scum like some elves do, though she doesn't know why they do that. Maybe it is because she is still so young? She knows Tauriel is the youngest after her, but the she-elf has already passed the five-hundred, so that means there are no other children around.

'Legolas?'

'Hm?'

'When will my training begin?'

Legolas stops braiding her hair, looking at Várar in surprise. He never really thought about her training, since elflings usually don't start at the age of one-hundred. Sometimes sooner, sometimes later. But that might be, because they are immortal.

But Várar isn't an elfling, she is a dwarfling. Meaning she will not life forever, though she doesn't know that. But she will have to start her training sooner, or perhaps not at all? Legolas doesn't know, he should talk with his father about it.

'You already have dance practice,' Legolas states, trying to avoid answering her. 'And have you not started your music practice yet?'

'Yes, yes,' Várar says with a sigh. 'But I don't want to sit here, dancing or playing the violin. I want action! I want to come with you when you go out hunting spiders!'

'Why would you want that? Those hunting-trips are dangerous if unprepared.'

'Exactly!'

'I will see what I can do,' Legolas says with as sigh, and Várar embraces him in delight.

'Thank you, Legolas,' she says with a smile. 'You are the best brother I could wish for!'

Legolas smiles at the child, telling her he tries to be. Though, he isn't her brother by blood, the child feels as family. At first Legolas had been sceptical when news reached him that his father had adopted a dwarfling. But when Legolas went to see his father and the infant, he knew Várar had stolen his heart.

'My lord, Legolas,' a female voice says from behind them and both look around.

'Tauriel!'

Without a warning Várar jumps off of Legolas' lap, only to jump at the red-head. Tauriel greets the enthusiastic child, patting her head. Then she puts her back on the ground, as she turns to her prince. She tells him they need to leave, as spiders have entered their kingdom again. Then she turns around, patting Várar on her head again – for she is a little out of her element with younglings – making her way to the armoury.

'Legolas, do you have to go?'

'I am afraid so, little one,' Legolas says with a sigh. He hates those hunting-trips. 'Someone has to keep those spiders away.' He winks at the dwarfling, as she sticks out her tongue. 'Show those nasty spiders who reigns these parts, muindor (*dear* brother).'

Legolas lowers himself so he can meet Várar at eye-level, where he places a kiss on her brow.

'I will, muinthel (*dear* sister).' For Legolas will not let any harm befall on his little sister!

'Ada, ada!'

Várar runs up to the tall and mighty king, smiling brightly. Thranduil turns around just in time to be greeted by a wave of auburn hair. The child has never been far from his side, only when she is playing with Legolas her fiery hair is nowhere to be seen. Though her laughter is always present in his kingdom and it lightens his heart.

'What is it, gwilwileth,' he asks the child with his sweet and silky voice.

'You know it doesn't work like that, ada,' Várar says as she comes to a halt, her hands on her hips. 'You have to guess!'

Thranduil laughs. It is a real joy to have the child around. Whenever she is around, his dark world seems brighter. Her bright spirit lifts his whenever he hears her laugh, when he sees her smile. Though he is fully aware some off his people don't agree with him. They don't feel comfortable with a dwarf around, even if she is just a dwarfling.

But the king pays them no heed. They can whisper all they want, for Várar is his child, his beautiful daughter. Maybe not by blood, but she is by heart.

'I don't know, my dear,' Thranduil says as he sits down on the edge of the fountain. The truth is, he does know. He has talked about it with Legolas, but his little girl doesn't need to know that. So he pretends to think for a moment, before answering. 'Did you find something?

Várar shakes her head.

'Guess again.'

'Have you mastered your new dance-routine?'

Várar wrinkles her nose, shaking her head again.

'I have mastered my routine long ago,' she says, crossing her arms. She likes dancing, but the routines she learns are missing something. They are elegant, yet boring at some times. 'No ada, Legolas told me he will train me!'

'Really?' Thranduil asks as he places his finger on his chin, pondering on the thought. 'But won't that be dangerous?'

Várar shakes her head, telling him she will be able to protect herself. And one day she will join Legolas on his hunting trips. Thranduil laughs, telling her she will need a lot of training, before she can even think of joining such trips. But the child doesn't care. She knows she will succeed one day.

'And what of your music or dancing?' Thranduil asks.

'Don't you worry, I will not forsake those,' Várar says with a smile. 'You know how much I love the sound of the violin. Though not so much when I play.'

Thranduil laughs as Várar wrinkles her nose again. Though Várar is a born dancer, her violin skills are still a little rough. Though that could be, because they have no violin for her short arms. Perhaps she should first settle with the harp?

'Don't worry my sweetling. I know you will master it one day.'

Várar smiles as she sits on the edge of the fountain too. Sitting on her knees, she looks at the water, her face being reflected by it. She sighs as she looks at her reflection. Sometimes she misses to have other children around to play with. It can get a little lonely with those strange stares she sometimes gets.

Sometimes she want to know what is wrong with her. She looks different. She lacks the pointed ears, her eyes are a different colour and there are only a handful with auburn hair. And more than once she wishes her legs would be as long as the others, just so she could keep up with them.

And then there are those whispers. She can hear elves whisper about her. Not all, just a handful, but still enough to make her feel out of place. They talk bad about her, laughing at her clumsiness or things she does not understand.

'Can you show me your routine?' Thranduil asks, noticing her sudden change. 'You said you have mastered it. I would love to see it.'

The wind moves through the trees, playing with its leaves. The water moves through the stream. A string is pulled, followed by a loud 'thud'. Várar sighs in irritation as her arrow misses its mark, hitting the tree instead. Even after five years of training, she still can't seem to hit mark after mark. Only a few lucky strikes.

'Argh, why can't I do this!'

She releases yet another arrow, this time it closer to its mark, though still not close enough. How come she is a natural when it comes to music and dancing, but she has been practicing for years, just to master hitting a target. Not even mentioning whether she hits the mark or not. Only by accident. And those targets don't even move!

Swords she is better at, but that might be because Thranduil had taught her an elegant way of sword-fighting, almost like a dance. Though not yet flawless, she is getting the hang of it and that pleases her.

But those arrows!

'You are holding your bow wrong,' Legolas says from behind her as Várar releases yet another arrow. 'That is why you are missing your mark. It is not all about hitting your target, you want to kill it.'

'I know, muindor (brother),' Várar says in irritation and she sits down with a sigh. 'But if I hold it any other way, I lose my grip on it.'

Legolas takes her bow, examine it. It is one of the finest they have, and smallest. The bow is flexible, the cord strong. Yet somehow Várar can not shoot with it properly. He gives the bow back to the girl, telling her to stand up. She obeys, though clearly displeased. Legolas watches as she pulls the string without an arrow, doing what he asks her to do.

'Hm,' the tall elf hums. 'It seems that the bow still is to large for you, even after you have grown so much. I could ask is they could make a smaller one. Though I doubt it will help. A smaller bow will not be as accurate as this one, since we do not make our bows that small.'

'Forget it,' Várar says as she drops her bow to the ground. 'I just can not shoot with bow and arrow!'

'You just have to grow just a little more,' Legolas says as he places a hand on her head. 'That's all.'

'I can grow all I can and still I will never grow as tall as you.'

Legolas chuckles as Várar crosses her arms, behaving like a little child. Though, at the age of ten Várar is a child still. Sometimes he forgets she is still a child. She no longer hides behind him, thinking he can't hear her. Nor does she cling to his leg anymore like she did when he had to leave.

'You seem to be obsessed with hight these passed few weeks,' Legolas says, looking at her. 'What is it that bothers you so much?'

'It is nothing,' Várar says, looking away. She knows Legolas will not believe her, he always knows it when something is wrong. But she doesn't want to talk about it.

'Várar, you can't hide it from me.'

Várar turns her back to the fair-haired elf, crossing her arms while doing so. She states there is nothing that bothers her, that she is just tiered. Legolas sees right trough her façade, but doesn't push her. Instead he pulls his sword.

Várar stares at his sword for a moment, not knowing what he is getting at. But when he points at her own sword, she smiles. Finally something fun! So she pulls her own sword and not long after that the area is filled with the sound of steel hitting steel.

Várar blocks a blow, and another one, before striking herself. But Legolas blocks it with ease. He strikes again, but Várar moves out of the wait with the elegance of an elf, ducking as Legolas swings his sword and blocking another strike. He praises her with a smile. She has made progress, but he still needs to hold back. Not that it is a bad thing, for she is just a child and Legolas has centuries of experience.

With one swift motion, Legolas knocks her sword out of her hand. Várar looks at him for a moment, not having expected the move, and he smirks at her. With his sword Legolas signals for her to pick up her sword. She does and they begin sparring again.

This time she last longer, before she loses her footing and trips. With the tip of his sword pointed at her neck, Legolas asks her if she has had enough yet. Sword practice had not been in her schedule for today. But Várar shakes her head and pushes away his sword. Várar would much rather stay here and spar with her brother. She loves being outside. Out here she can feel the wind in her face, she can hear the leaves rustle.

'Well then,' Legolas says as he takes a few steps back. 'Then I suggest you pick up your sword again.'

But before Várar can even move, an elf appears, calling for Legolas. He tells him the king has commanded them to prepare for the feast. Legolas nods, thanking the elf. Then he turns back to Várar again.

'I am sorry, my little gwilwileth,' he apologises. 'This is where your lesson ends for today. I will return in a few days and then we will continue.'

'Why can I not come with you, Legolas?'

Legolas smiles softly, telling her she is still too young to enter the forest. Várar sighs. Every time it is the same story. Every now and then the elves go into the forest to feast for a couple of days. Only a handful leave, but as the prince, Legolas has to attend to them every time, leaving her behind.

Várar knows Legolas means well, but still she is frustrated. She wants to enter the forest, climb the trees. She wants to know what they are doing out there. She wants to know why they are feasting. But most of all, she wants to be free from those whispers.

For every time Legolas is away, the whispers start again. Every time Várar is by herself, she can hear the others talk bad about her. And Várar doesn't know why. Why do those elves say she has no place amongst them? Is she not their princess, daughter of their king Thranduil? Then why do they call her a filthy dwarf? She doesn't even know what a dwarf looks like!

'Promise me you will behave?'

Várar forces a smile as she nods. Yes, she will behave, though she would much rather be with her brother.

Thranduil is sitting on his throne, listening to Várar as she is playing her violin. Her eyes shine brightly as she dances around. With his chin resting on his hand, the fair king watches her with a smile. He feels at peach, just by watching his daughter having a good time.

Then again, what father wouldn't?

As the music stops, Thranduil claps his hands. Várar smiles at him, taking a bow. Then she places her violin on her shoulder again to start playing another tune.

Thranduil takes a sip of his wine, enjoying the taste of it. In a few weeks Várar will turn eleven. How fast time goes by. He remembers the first time he saw Várar. Less than a day old, a small fragile infant. It had been ages since he had seen an infant, and he had no wish to take care of one that wasn't even of his race.

But still he had been drawn to her, placing his hand on her small head. Thranduil doesn't know why, but the feeling of his hand had somehow awakened the sleeping Várar. He had wanted to pull his hand away, telling Tauriel to send the infant away. But as soon as Várar opened her eyes and looked at him, he know he could't. With just one look and she had captivated him, the great king Thranduil!

And till this day he is glad he had taken he in. He has raised her as his own, he loves her as his own. And anyone who dares to take her away from him, will have to face the wrath of king Thranduil!

Yes, Várar is his little gwilwileth, his butterfly.

A/N

That's it for today. I hope you liked it.