Aryenna stirred in her silky bed. The soft blue light coming from her womb had been getting brighter. She cleared her eyes from sleep, awoken by the feeling that something was coming. She lifted the light covers to see that the light that had been growing now seemed to have veins coursing through it, a sign that she was ready.

Feeling slightly anxious and alone, she called for aid. Three maidservants and her husband Thranduil came hurrying. Aryenna’s back was now strongly arched, her long golden hair plastered to her face and the sheets tangled around her. Thranduil watched her in grief; he knew that she was in some kind of pain although he did not know what.

The light was now a blazing electric blue. Aryenna gave a quick gasp of pain as the light lifted out of her and up, becoming an orb hanging in the air above her. She collapsed back onto her bed, breathing heavily, tired and aching.

All heads turned to the sphere. A blinding flash seared their eyes and they all shielded them for protection. As the light began to fade again to a dim hazy blue, the form of a child, perfected and untouched, could be seen inside.

Enavië, head maidservant present, cautiously got up, still slightly dazed from the flare. Gingerly she put her hands into the gentle light and delicately took out the small, fragile, unmoving body. Her hands tingled from the energy of its fair skin. She looked at its unconscious form, enchanted.

Aryenna stretched her arms out, beckoning for the child. Carefully Enavië placed it in her arms. Looking deeply at her child, she spoke the spell of welcoming:

In the common tongue she said, "Awaken, my son, child of mine. I give you life, that of the world, open thine eyes to gain knowledge, open thine mouth to speak it, open thine heart to accept it. Awaken, my son."

He opened his eyes, revealing sparkling blue irises. They grew wide and he smiled in the way that only the smallest child could, not yet tightened with the cares of the world.

He looked from his father to his mother, lightly tugging her fair hair. His eyes strayed to a large green leaf woven in her crown. He reached up his tiny hand and pulled it out. His smile broadened as he played with it, brushing it against his face, letting it fall from hand to hand. His parents watched him, touched by his innocence.

"Love," murmured Thranduil, stroking Aryenna’s jaw lightly with his index finger, "what shall we name him?" She looked up at her husband, then back down again at her baby.

"Legolas. For the first leaf of green from the earliest tree of our forest." The company nodded and all stood up. With Aryenna in the middle embracing Legolas in her arms, the others joined hands around her. Lifting their arms up, they called in unison, "Legolas! Prince of Mirkwood!" Their clear voices rang through the forest, as the pealing of bells.