Disclaimer:  Middle-earth is Tolkien's.  Middle-earth is not mine.

Ch. 14

BETRAYAL

It took the two many moments to realize that others watched them and, with Apryl's cheeks flushing a bright crimson, she looked around her friend's lithe frame to spy an elf taking a great interest in their conversation.  Her brow furrowed.

"Is that who I think it is?" she whispered to Morgainne.  She bit her lower lip and smiled.  "You were right, Morgainne, he is cute."

Morgainne couldn't recall for certain (she thought it was the third time Apryl was reading The Lord of the Rings) that her friend had mentioned Legolas.  They had been discussing role-playing characters for their D&D game.

"I don't know," Apryl scrunched her face up in indecision.  "Elves . . . well, there--I don't know, not me, I guess.  You'd make a good elf," she told her friend, "You always do.  Come to think of it, you're always an elf.  Why don't you be . . ." she grinned impishly "a dwarf."  At her friend's horrified expression, Apryl nearly rolled off the bed in fits of laughter.

Morgainne hit her with a pillow.  "I'd rather be a goblin, thank you very much."  She looked at the character sheets.  "I'm an elf," she regarded her friend sternly and Apryl threw up her hands in submission.  She'd learned long ago that Morgainne disliked dwarves, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out why.  Personally, Apryl liked the stubborn people.  There was something about them that just appealed to her (perhaps it was that soft-heartedness they all possessed, though hide extraordinarily well).  In any case, she preferred dwarves to elves and had told Morgainne as much many a time.  She told her again. 

A little to late, Apryl covered her face as another pillow was launched in her direction. 

"I might consider an elf," she grinned, her eyes glazing over in thought, "if, say, he were a charming elven prince." 

Morgainne snorted.  "Stuck-up, is what you mean.  I'll stick with the dark rogues," she said with a mischievous grin, "They're more my type."

Apryl looked hurt.  "Legolas isn't stuck-up."

Morgainne nearly fell off the bed.

            Since then, Morgainne had constantly inquired about Legolas, though she had tried to remain as discreet as possible.  But Apryl had told her nothing, for seeing the twinkle of interest in her friend's eyes she had hoped to hook her by why of the elven prince.  She hadn't though, for Morgainne had refused to touch the book.

            Morgainne looked uncertainly over her shoulder and spied Lord Elrond watching her.  He gave her a meaningful glance and that's all she needed.  "Come on, Apryl, I want to talk to you," she said softly.

            Apryl glanced at her friend in surprise, noting the odd tone in her voice.  She said naught, however, only nodded.  As the two turned from the group, Apryl saw Gandalf get to his feet and leave.  She wondered at this, for she did not like to see the old man upset.

            He's angry with me, I just know it.  That alone hurt more than anything, though she did not understand why.

            Morgainne followed a path she had traipsed more times than she could remember.  It led beyond the boundaries of the Last Homely House if one went to its entire lengths and the she-elf had many of times.  This time, though, she merely wanted to get away from her kindred so that she might speak privately with her friend.

            They walked in silence for awhile and, though Morgainne suspected her friend was bubbling with excitement, the dismal mood that now hung over them caused Apryl a moments pause.  She didn't understand her friend's secretive manner and finally spoke of it.

            "Is everything alright?" Apryl asked tentatively; worriedly.

            Morgainne didn't answer.

            "Morgainne?"

            When she didn't answer again, Apryl stopped dead in her tracks.  Morgainne continued on for several paces then, too, stopped, turned, and looked at her friend.

            "Something's the matter," Apryl said, a hint of exasperation--perhaps anger--in her voice.  She did not understand what was the matter, for together they had always dreamed of going to another world and finally they had made it.  Morgainne should be happy, not . . . not whatever she was being! 

            Perhaps there is some truth in what Gandalf was telling me.  She mused on all Gandalf had spoken to her--things about the Istari Atira being kidnapped by Sauron and destroyed.  Or, not destroyed, for something had gone wrong--or so Gandalf had said--and Atira had not been destroyed but merely banished. 

            "Yes," Morgainne spoke finally, causing Apryl's daydreams to shatter.  She looked over at her friend.  "I need to tell you something."  

            Apryl waited but when Morgainne did not continue, she encouraged her friend.  "What is it?  Morgainne . . ." she looked long at her friend and sensed a growing anxiety.  "Tell me, please.  If your afraid--"

            "I am afraid," Morgainne said, her voice surprisingly strong in her own ears.  "Oh, Apryl, you're going to be upset and I'm not going to make you promise otherwise but--but this is hard."

            "I don't understand," Apryl said in confusion.  Morgainne had always been the strong one; the one Apryl could count on in times of need.  She had always had a way about her that put everything else at ease but now she seemed so . . . so unsure.

            Morgainne shook her head mournfully.  "Apryl, there are things . . . things I've never told you . . ."

            They had told each other everything.

            "What are you talking about?" Apryl asked, sudden fear coming to her voice.

            "Aren't you curious in the least as how I got here?" Morgainne asked, her voice holding a slight tinge of anger.  She wasn't angry with Apryl, though, for she had never been angry with Apryl.  The heated words that came pouring out were aimed at herself, not Apryl.  "Didn't you ever wonder why I'd never touched that book of yours?  Didn't you find it strange that you never met my parents, though we were friends for almost four years?  Or that I never went to school?  Didn't you wonder at the odd way my ears point or the slant in my eyes?  Didn't you ever wonder, Apryl?"

            "You--you said--" she began, startled at the vehemence in her friend's voice and frightened at what Morgainne was proposing.

            "I'll read it as soon as I'm done with this book . . . They're drunks, Apryl, you don't want to meet them . . . they won't let me back in, not after the last stunt I pulled . . . I get them from my mom's side, my grandmother, I think . . ."

            The explanations had all been so simple and Apryl had never doubted them.

            You're too damn trusting. 

            It wasn't true, though, and Morgainne knew it.  Apryl had never been all that trusting towards anyone--not her mother, not her father, nor even her "friends" at school.  She didn't trust anyone, had never trusted anyone--no one, that is, except for her best friend.  And that's your downfall, Apryl--your weakness.  You shouldn't have trusted me.

            If Morgainne had had her sword resting comfortably on her hip, she would have hewn something.  She didn't know what, but she would have cut something--anything.

            "I'm not of Earth, Apryl.  I'm not even human.  I'm an Eldar--an elf," Morgainne said, the anger masking her true emotions.  She was terrified but could not, would not, let Apryl see it.  She didn't want to be hurt but, in denying it, it could not be so.  "I was sent by Gandalf seventeen years ago to look after you--to watch you, and then befriend you in hopes that we might one day be able to bring you home."  Morgainne stopped, looked at her friend, and wished above all else that she might say something.

            Apryl didn't, though--she said nothing.

            But Morgainne saw the hurt--the betrayal--in her gray eyes.

            Finally:

            "Everything--" she faltered, her voice shaking.  "I don't--"  "I was sent . . . to befriend you . . ."  Apryl's world seemed to collapse around her.  All stability diminished in those small words.  It hurt . . . it hurt so very bad. 

            She turned then, away from someone who had meant the world to her.  Morgainne had been everything and more to Apryl and she couldn't even begin to count how many times her best friend had put an ever-so-needed smile upon her face, or had stayed the appealing edge of a sharp blade.  But--but it had all been a lie.  A betrayal, a slap in the face.

            Apryl turned and walked from the path, not too certain were she went, but not caring all that much either.  There were no tears; there was nothing save a vast numbness.

            Morgainne watched as Apryl turned away--watched as something unseen slammed down between them--but never called out or did ought.

*****

            Yes, yes, Frodo's coming, for I haven't forgotten him—not in the least!  But have you all forgotten about our Samwise?

            And, no, Magda, I haven't forgotten our Pip.  It's just, well, magic can be a terrible thing and—well, just hang in there for a little longer, k?  I'm afraid Pippin's trials are far from over, though, neither he nor Apryl are yet aware of the severe consequences that lie ahead.