Disclaimer: Since the legal representatives of the writer here referred to as Authoressinhiding have failed to recover her original ideas from the Malagasy pirates, they have been sacked. Unfortunately, there were no actual sacks involved.

Sara froze. She hastily looked Haldir up and down. He was thin and blond with clear gray eyes. Dressed head to toe in silver green, he had a long dagger on his finely tooled leather belt. He looked like her idea of an elf, but his ears were obscured by his ponytail, so she couldn't tell for sure. Even then, they might have been prosthetics. Sara had a pair of wax horns somewhere in her bedroom and was an experienced veteran of Renaissance Faires. Just because Finley had called this new guy Haldir didn't mean he was the real Lothlorien Haldir. Sometimes people had extremely weird nicknames. Sara would know.

The possible Haldir wrung his hands in agitation. "I need it, Fin. Badly."

"Did you ever think about making lembas yourself?" Sara asked, unable to keep her mouth shut. "I mean, it can't be as difficult as baking a fancy wedding cake."

Haldir turned desperate eyes on her. "Finley, who is this?"

"Sara. She's a friend." Finley gave Sara a quick warning glance. "Look, Haldir, she has a point. You could try to make it yourself."

"It would never be as good as Bernie's," Haldir said dejectedly.

"True," shrugged Fin. "But you could try."

"No time for that. We've got to be on the road."

"We?" Sara really needed to keep her mouth shut, but it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"My brothers and I. We've got a show today."

"Oh, Rumil and Orophin are in town?" Finley grinned. "You should bring them in tonight. It's been a while since we all got together."

"Drinks on the house?"

"Ha! If Bernie won't make you lembas at an exorbitant price, what makes you think she'll give you free wine?" Finley was enjoying this.

"One can hope," Haldir replied dryly. "Speaking of hope – would you pleasetry to persuade Bernie into making me lembas?"

"Let's not hope foolishly now," laughed Finley.

Suddenly beseeching, Haldir looked at Sara. "Would you ask Bernie to make me lembas?"

"Um . . . um . . . hrm . . . uh . . ." Sara struggled to find the words to tell this elf pretender that she would rather waltz with a saber tooth tiger than invade Bernie's kitchen.

"Thank you so much! I do appreciate it!" Haldir clasped her hand with both of his, and then slipped from the restaurant.

"Crap! What did I just agree to?" Sara wondered.

"An impossible task. Bernie's already said 'no' once. She's not likely to change her mind. Especially where her ex is involved. It isn't your fault, though. Elves have a way of getting girls to go along with the oddest plans."

Sara needed a moment to process this. Her brain was in danger of overheating. "Elves?" she blurted. "So he really is one? I thought so, but there are lots of ways to fake things nowadays. And my imagination tends to run away with me. Elves? Really?" She thought for a second. "Cool. Hold the phone . . . Bernie's ex?"

Finley was momentarily embarrassed. "Bernie," he said with a sigh, "likes men. She likes to date men."

"Elves aren't men," Sara noted.

"Sara, has anyone ever told you that you nitpick? No? I'm surprised. Bernie likes males – is that better? And for whatever reason, men, Elves, and even the occasional dwarf or lich king tend to like her back. So Bernie has a lot of men friends and has dated the majority of them."

"Oh." The girl reflected on this. "Did she and Haldir have a bad breakup?"

"Not particularly. She's had much worse."

"Then why the" –

"Then why the refusal to make lembas? Go in and ask her yourself." Finley gave Sara a light push towards the swinging kitchen door. "Atta girl."

Sara glared at him, then stepped into the lair of the beast.

It was a spotless, gleaming, smelly kitchen. Bunches of dried herbs hung from shelves alongside the left wall. Two giant silver refrigerators stood at the back of the room, surrounded by a stove, a large range, and an industrial sized dishwasher. The smell of herbs, spices, and a heady dose of almond extract filled the air. Sara stared in wonder, letting in all sink in.

"Who are you, and what exactly do you think you're doing in my kitchen?" shouted a voice in her ear.

Sara jumped guiltily. Facing her in an attitude of extreme belligerence was a short, frizzy-haired brunette. She was neither thin nor fat but somewhere in between. Deep-set hazel eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, smoldered angrily.

"I'm Sara," the girl gulped, extending a trembling hand.

"Hmm." The woman looked Sara over. "The soup girl. What's your full name?"

"Sara Anne Gilley. Why?" Sara felt silly but kept holding her hand out.

"You sure? That's all of your name?"

"Of course I'm sure. It's my name, after all."

"Good." She seized Sara's hand and shook it. "I'm Bernice Chapman, owner of the Lucky Cat. Did you enjoy the soup?"

"It was wonderful."

Bernice nodded, accepting the praise as her due. "Well, how can I help you? Or is my soup so attractive you just came begging back for more?"

Sara blinked a few times while this statement sank in. "Um… no…. I was just wondering about Haldir, you see, and Finley said I should ask you. He kind of pushed me in here."

The cook was suddenly hostile again. "Why do you want to know about Haldir?"

"I've never met an elf before," Sara admitted freely. "I had no idea they were real."

"Do you believe in them now?"

"Well, maybe. I'd like to see his ears first. Just to make sure. But right now I'm willing to take Finley's word on it. Anyway, Finley said you two had dated, and I was rather curious why you wouldn't make him lembas. So I asked Finley, and he sent me in here."

"Call him Fin," Bernie said shortly. "That boy doesn't deserve two syllables. Sorry for acting suspicious. I doubt you're one of Them, here to chase Haldir. Actually, I don't see how you could be."

"Them?" Sara asked.

"Them," the older woman replied decisively. "I should have known when I asked your name. They never have less than three middle names, and They can never keep that fact to Themselves. More's the pity. Besides, your initials spell SAG and GAS. They would never be so indelicate."

Whoosh. That all flew straight over the top of Sara's head. "My initials aside, what about Haldir? If you're willing to tell me, that is."

"I refuse to be an enabler. Want some pie?"

The girl immediately perked up at the subject change. "Pie?"

Bernie eyed her meditatively. "Chocolate, I think."

"I love chocolate pie." Sara's eyes got huge.

"I thought you might. I have one in the oven right now. It'll be ready in a few hours. I'll give you a free piece if you do me a little favor." Her hazel eyes were suddenly shrewd.

Sara was not so easily caught unawares. "That could work. What would you like me to do?"

Bernice's eyes flashed with a green light. "Find Haldir. Teach him how to make lembas."

"But I can't cook. I mean, my lemonade pie is a total beast – in a good way – and I am an expert at catching marshmallows on fire, but other than that . . . Nope."

"Before you totally reject my offer, I want to make sure you understand what you're giving up here," said Bernie quite reasonably. She quickly moved to one of the industrial sized refrigerators and whipped out a single slice of chocolate perfection. "If you like this, I'll save that whole pie for you for later. Whipped cream?"

"Yes, please!" At this point, Sara had anime-sized eyes. She watched Bernie slather homemade whipped cream on the pie. "Oh, that looks good."

The cook grabbed a fork and handed pie and fork to Sara. "Tastes good, too, or so they tell me."

Closing her eyes in complete ecstasy, the girl savored each bite of her pie. "Om nom nom," she announced with a smile when the last few crumbs had vanished.

"Did you like it? Was it good?"

"Fabulous."

"Good." Bernie had that weird green-eyed smile again. "So, how about our bargain?"

"I can do it," Sara declared confidently. "No problem."

"Excellent."

Grinning, Sara exited the kitchen. Finley, who had tried unsuccessfully to listen in on the conversation, watched the teenager and let out a low whistle. "Wow. She sure did a number on you."

Sara ignored this. "Finley, where can I find Haldir? It's important."

"I'll say . . . He's doing a show. On 11th and Brookside. Place called the Marquis. Big building. Garish Corinthian columns. Take the red line to the fourth stop. It's a block west of there. You can't miss it."

"Thanks." She headed for the door.

"Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little …"

"I'm fine. Thanks, Fin!"

Helpless, Finley let her walk out the door. He waited until she was halfway across the street before storming into the kitchen. "Bernice! What did you do?"

Sara found the Marquis with ease, just as Finley had said. The marquee outside boasted of a new production of Robin Hood that was set to premiere that night.

"Robin Hood?" the girl muttered to herself as she pushed open the massive front door. "More like Men in Tights, I shouldn't wonder."

The foyer of the theatre was filled with a mad hodgepodge of contemporary art. Sara rarely understood contemporary art. It left her feeling confused and slightly skeptical. She wandered through the room for a good few minutes, somewhat in a daze. So absorbed was she in the conundrum that is modern art that she collided painfully with someone.

"Ooh, ah, I'm so sorry, sir. Oh, it's you." Fortuitously, her poor victim was none other than Haldir himself.

"No, no, it was my fault. Wait, I remember you. Sara, right? Finley's friend? Come to see the show? It doesn't start until seven, but you could watch Maid Marian practice her pining scene."

"Actually, um, I need to talk to you, Haldir."

"Shh! Not so loud. Here it's just plain Hal. What do you need?"

"We have to make lembas. Now. Well, I need to make it for you."

"What? No. I have rehearsal." Haldir turned to go.

She snatched his hand and made him face her. "What's wrong with you? An hour ago you were all gung ho on the lembas train. You could barely think for wanting it. And now it doesn't matter? No. You're coming with me. We are going to make lembas."

"I don't even know you. Now is not the time for lembas. Why are you so determined to cook for me?"

"Bernie gave me pie." Sara's brown eyes were strangely dilated. She smiled to herself at the thought of that pie.

Haldir stared at her in disbelief. His gray eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "Did Bernie promise you more pie if you cooked for me?"

Sara nodded with a blissful smile. "If I make you lembas, she's going to give me a whole pie, all to myself."

The elf struggled against the urge to grab the girl's shoulders and shake her violently. "Sara," he said in a careful, strained voice, "did you ever read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I did. Why?"

He continued calmly. "Do you remember how the White Witch fed Edmund enchanted Turkish Delight?"

"Uh huh." Sara didn't quite see where this was going.

"Well, you see..." Haldir lost it. "BERNIE GAVE HER THE RECIPE!"

"Huh?"

Haldir sighed. He grabbed Sara's arm and towed her down a hallway. "Come on. I have to go change clothes, and then we are going grocery shopping. Hopefully the two of us can figure out how to bake lembas before you lose your mind."

He shot Sara a glance. She was starting to drool, staring off into space and mouthing the word "pie".

The elf quickly amended his statement. "That is, if we're not too late already."

A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated, and flames will be used to further punish the sacked legal representatives of AiH