Legolas caught the ball of fire, halting its progress toward him inches from his outstretched palm and tossed it back to Thranduil. His father bounced it back to him with a swift, precise movement.
"I know Zionel," Brenen said. He stood to Legolas's left, dueling with Realn. "Me and him have played many games together and stalked the woods. He knows of excellent trees to sit in."
"Is he nice?" Legolas asked.
"Very," Brenen said, hurling a wide arc of flame at the dirt a few feet ahead of him. The flames bounced up and shot toward Realn. "I had lunch with his parents one day. It was too late to come home anyway. Where is Mykar?"
"Reading Office Work," Realn answered, banishing Brenen's attack with a sweep of his hand and countering it with his own wall of flame.
"How did he do, cleaning out your office?" Brenen asked, with a hint of mischief in his eyes as he glanced at his father, cutting a safe hole in the wall of fire as it rushed past him.
"I never saw it cleaner," Thranduil replied.
"I suppose he might be cut out for such work," Brenen said thoughtfully. "I say, ada, since office cleaning is high on your list of punishments, and since Mykar likes to do it and none of the rest of us do, I suppose you might consider reserving it only for him?"
"Certainly," said Thranduil. "I will put you on the list for mucking out the stables."
Brenen hurled a ball of flame at the ground with a scream of despair. "Arg!"
Legolas grinned, taking a step back as he almost lost control over the ball of flame flying toward him. He looked a little wistfully at the intensity of his brothers' fire as it shot back and forth, eying the moves he could not yet accomplish. He thought with longing of the complicated gestures compared to the simplicity of playing pats the ball back and forth.
"We started out with early moves to, little brother," Brenen said haughtily, seeing his face. "We are now, of course, above such things." He grinned as Legolas scowled at him and yelped, leaping back as Realn took the opportunity to hurl a shower of flaming missiles at his feet.
"You will reach higher levels of flexibility and power over time, Legolas," Thranduil said kindly. "It takes time and practice and a lot of patience to reach your ambitious goals."
Legolas thought. "So if I practice for the whole of the day for three days, will you teach me a new move sooner? Let me see . . . if we practice for two hours every day and you will not teach me anything new for another fourteen days, that is twenty-eight hours. You can teach me a new move in three days if I practice all day for the next two!"
"Shortcuts," said Thranduil, "Are not an option."
"I tried," Brenen informed Legolas. "It was not any use."
"It will be tea time soon," Realn said.
"We will hear the bell," Thranduil said.
As he said it, the peal of the summoning bell rang out and Legolas let the ball of fire die in the air at his palm. He dropped his arms. Brenen and Realn exchanged a last explosion of flame and came to stand beside Thranduil.
"I wonder what is for tea," Brenen said as he followed Thranduil out of the courtyard, toward the palace.
"I heard rumors it was delicious raspberry tassies made with preserves," Realn said.
"But Galion told me it was lemon," Legolas argued.
Brenen made a face. "Yec! I was down in the kitchens and I happen to know it is honey tassies."
"That explains where the entire tray of cookies went to yesterday," Thranduil said with a stern look at his son. "I received an annoyed and furious Glarier in my office yesterday."
Brenen kicked a rock. "Tight-fisted Head Cook . . . I guess I will go muck out the stables after tea . . ."
Realn grinned. "All I can say is you are not sleeping with me."
Cinwe and Mykar were sitting in the dining room, around the table when Thranduil came in. Both turned to greet him.
"How was fire-bending?" Cinwe asked as Legolas sat down.
"Not too bad," Legolas answered, breathing in the smell of lemon well soaked in sugar and baked in flaky pastry cups. "I am still on the beginner's moves."
"What happened to the honey tassies?" Brenen asked in dismay as he pulled up his chair and eyed the table.
"I was informed," said Cinwe, with a critical eye on her son, "By Galion the kitchen's fresh supply disappeared." She held out her hands as though the concept must be magical. "Just like that."
Brenen held up his hands. "I admit to eating the tray of cookies left out on the window to cool . . . to tempting to resist when I was sitting right below. I ate one every now and again and before you knew it, they were gone! And I am already mucking out the stables for it but I never touched the tassies."
"How mysterious," Cinwe agreed. She reached for the coffee pot ad poured Thranduil a mug.
"How is your book coming along?" Brenen asked Mykar.
Mykar brightened. "I have reached chapter seventy two of one hundred and ninety nine. It is fascinating."
"I never found work to be fascinating," Brenen said. "But since you find it so fulfilling, what about mucking out the stable for me?"
Mykar stared at him. "No thanks. It is your punishment for stealing the cookies so you will have to work it off while I sit in peace and read my book."
"I was eating them," Brenen returned. "Not stealing them. It is compliment to the cook I even wanted to eat them! Besides, he ought to have more sense! Leaving them out on the window was an invitation. I am sure somewhere in the kind confines of his heart he put them there especially for me, even if he did not know it at the time."
"It will be fun to watch you explain that to him," Mykar said with a grin as he savored the mouthful of lemony sweetness in his mouth. As he swallowed, he turned to his father. "There are several things I hoped you could explain to me after tea in the Office Book."
Thranduil nodded. But after tea when he went to sit in the arm chair in the living room and relax, and Mykar brought him the tome, he made a startling discovery. Mykar opened the book to a marked page, the top neatly folded over, and pointed to a line. Thranduil glanced at it as he unfolded the page mark and looked with confusion at his fingers. They were sticky . . . with honey.
"It says," Mykar began. He stopped as Thranduil shut the book and escorted him to the door.
"It says," said Thranduil. "That you ate a certain stock of honey tassies. And the stables are waiting."
Mykar grumbled as he slouched out the door. "I knew I should have used a napkin." He knew Brenen would never let him live up to it when he found out, especially when he had to help him shovel out the stables.