Shadow Over Valinor

Chapter Three

Notes: Meh. No one told me how easy it was to write the crew of the Nebuchadnezzer and now, I know why. So very, very easy. Especially writing Neo and Morpheus and their conversations. They weren't meant to be so easy to write! They were meant to make this impossible for me, but nooo. They cooperated and now, I'm getting Matrix plot bunnies. Poodoo.

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Footfalls rattled noisily along the grating of the floor of the Nebuchadnezzer, two men talking in loud, harsh voices as they made their way through the darkness of the ship, the buds of lights on the walls casting flickering gleams across their faces as they passed, one face pale, the other dark.

Heavy boots clattered on the metal surfaces, the combination of the sound of their steps and the low growl of the ship's engine and power generator deafening, forcing them to shout to one another to be heard.

"I'm not going to listen to this anymore, Morpheus!" the younger man wheeled around sharply to glare angrily at his superior. "You've been wrong before. Whose to say you can't be wrong now?"

"That is irrelevent, Neo," Morpheus replied, his even, ever-calm voice betraying none of the anger that was visible in his stance. "If something did happen, there was a reason for it and I do not believe you can make a difference."

"So you expect me to what?" Simmering anger and frustration were visible on every line of Neo's taut face, his back rigid. "Just sit on my ass while innocent people might be dying?"

"I simply ask that you consider this further."

There was a beat of silence.

Brown eyes blazed into brown, challenging.

"Right. Considered it. I'm still going," Neo said coolly, pivoting on his heel and stalking onwards, his hands clenched into thin fists by his sides. Ducking underneath a grid, he stopped short at the sight of Trinity standing near the operations area, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression as serious as Morpheus'. "Don't start on me, Trinity."

"If she cannot talk some sense into you, Neo," Morpheus was almost right behind the younger man. "Then you truly are a fool. You cannot walk freely in the Matrix and simply expect to find this place."

Neo flashed an irritated look at Morpheus over his shoulder. "Don't you think I don't know that?" he snapped, his arms folding defensively across his thin chest. "But I can't just sit here and wait around for the door to open for me!"

"Neo…" his lover said softly.

"Not you too, Trin," the younger man barely whispered the words, his eyes closing momentarily as if to stave off a sudden pain. "You know I have to do this. If I don't, it's gonna drive me crazy."

A thin hand touched the ragged shoulder of his torn sweater. "I know," Trinity replied in a level voice. "But I think you might just have found someone who might be able to help you." Both men looked around at her, confusion on their equally-drawn faces. "You said you can't expect the door to open for you. It reminded me of something that Morpheus said when he took me to see…"

"The Oracle!" Neo exclaimed, sudden revelation crossing his pale, haggard face. "Of course! The Oracle! She'll know something about all this. She'll be able to tell me where I need to go."

Morpheus' calming voice interrupted. "Neo, the Oracle does not know everything."

"Yeah," Neo agreed, pushing past his superior to approach the nearest operations chair and touching the sensitive screen of the monitor, loading his statistics into the mainframe. "But she knows enough and that's more than I need. Load me up."

***

"My Lord?"

Resting upon a soft surface, every inch of Lord Elrond's body seemed to be burning with a cold fire, which was consuming him from the inside out. His heart felt it was being slowly crushed in his breast, his body weak, little more than a shell, pain ebbing through him with the slowing pulse of his life.

His storm-grey eyes, bloodshot, fluttered open weakly to find the familiar face of Glorfindel leaning over him, a glassy smile playing briefly across his swollen and burst lips. "My friend…" he breathed.

The anguish and concern on his friend's features was enough to make what was left of his already shattered heart break. "We are all here, my Lord," the golden-haired Elf said softly. "Mithrandir dismissed the intruder."

"Mith…?"

Glorfindel nodded, lifting Elrond's hand between his. "They battled, my Lord," he continued to speak, his voice low and anguished. "Mithrandir and our people against the intruder, but we were too late to aid you. I am sorry, my Lord. We failed you."

Elrond's tongue brushed upon lips that he could tell had been serviced by a healer, his mouth dry. "You are not… to blame…" he breathed, his eyes closing, the sheer effort of keeping them open more than he could bear.

A gentle pressure told him that another had taken a place beside him, a small, feminine hand closing upon his free one. "Elrond," He heard Celebrían's whisper, his lips shifting in what he hoped was recognisable as a smile.

"Dear one," He turned his head towards the direction of her voice and touch, even that small motion causing a ripple of immeasurable pain. He felt the tremor of her slight hand and forced his eyes open once more. "Do not weep, please."

Celebrían's grey eyes were overflowing with silent tears as she lifted his hand to her breast, closing it between her own. "Do not ask me that, my Lord," she whispered unsteadily. "I cannot obey."

Elrond slowly dipped his chin in a nod, his fingers tightening briefly as he closed his eyes once more, a quiet gust of air slipping from swollen lips. It seemed barely a heartbeat since he had escaped the darkness, yet once more it claimed him.

By Elrond's bedside, Healers moved in briefly to survey the Elf Lord's condition, their expressions grave. Neither of them spoke. Nothing truly needed to be said. Pulling back, they withdrew from the chamber, leaving Glorfindel and Celebrían alone once more.

"Pardon my tears, Glorfindel," Celebrían whispered quietly, not even raising her blue eyes to the fair Elf Lord. "He is my Lord and husband. I do not wish to lose him to darkness."

Rising, Glorfindel rounded the bed, moving to stand behind the fair Elf woman, his hands coming to rest upon her slender shoulders. "Your tears are mine also, my Lady," he replied quietly, his own voice shaking with barely contained anger and grief. "Elrond is more than friend to me. He is brother and ally."

"I would that we had never reached this day," Celebrían's words fell into a sob of despair, as she leaned forth, one hand touching the still features of her husband's noble face. "I would that we knew naught of the dangers that surround us."

Glorfindel's expression was as that graven from stone. "I will avenge him," he said softly. "This crime must not be allowed to go unpunished."

"No!"

"My Lady, this injustice…"

Celebrían turned sharply to look up at him. "Has someone taken the Glorfindel I know from my sight?" she demanded, her voice shaking with emotion. "Has he been replaced with a fool?"

"You need not say such things," Glorfindel's voice sank to a dangerous whisper and he turned, stalking to the window frame, his eyes staring sightlessly out upon the city before him.

Celebrían exhaled a sigh, rising to her feet and approaching the fair-haired Elf, one hand rising to touch his shoulder. "Forgive me, Glorfindel," she said, her voice low and quiet. "I spoke out of anger, but you must trust in my concern. If Mithrandir could not defeat this enemy, even with all our people at his side, then how do you hope to defeat him?"

Lowering his head, his eyes closing, Glorfindel nodded. "I know," he acknowledged softly. "But I cannot stand to see my friend and Lord so damaged and to know that there is naught I can do, even to avenge him…"

"Your hurt is also my own, my friend," Celebrían said, looking towards the bed, her eyes closing in pain. Every emotion and hurt her beloved felt reached her, agonising in its intensity. "Had I the strength, I would seek out the one who harmed him so and – even if it brought doom to me – I would battle him, but I know that we could not defeat this enemy. It is not our place to battle him. I see it is not in our hands."

"Then who?"

Stepping past Glorfindel, the fair Elf woman approached the window, spreading her palms on the lip of the sill. "The one he seeks," she replied quietly. "I believe he is the only one who would be able to defeat him."

"Anderson," the warrior breathed, hate contorting his beautiful features. "He is the source of this distemper in our Haven. Had it not been for him, then this harm would not have come upon our Lord. If I must, I will kill him to assure that our enemy would trouble us no further."

"That is not in your hands, Glorfindel," Celebrían's voice was weary and held a chastising note in it. "For the stranger to seek him, he must be formidable indeed. Do not place yourself in danger."

Bowing his head, the fierce gleam in Glorfindel's blue-grey eyes was hidden by the silken swathes of his fair hair. "I will not place myself in such a position, my Lady," he said calmly. "No harm will come to me."

"And you will not attack the one the stranger sought, should he approach?"

"That, I cannot promise, my Lady."

"Glorfindel, please."

The Warrior raised his eyes to the Elf woman's, her tragic expression causing his heart to break, but his resolve did not waver. "I will do what I must, my Lady. That is all that I can promise."

Nodding once, Celebrían turned from him and once more approached the bed, sitting down and lifting her husband's hand between her own. "I cannot command you to obey my advice, but heed me: Do not lose yourself to us," she said simply, casting her gaze over her shoulder. "That is all I ask of you."

"As I said," Glorfindel's voice was flat and emotionless. "I will do what I must."

Turning from the bed upon which his long-time friend rested and from the fair Elf woman, Glorfindel walked from the chamber, only pausing to glance back at them, his expression tightening.

Then, he was gone and Celebrían was alone with her husband and her grief.

***

Clad in his black garb, Neo strode swiftly out of the urine-scented elevator into the hallway, harsh strip lighting blazing down the stained and dirty walls, his long coat flaring about his legs.

The passageways had been empty, but for a small child, who had approached him and stared at him for several minutes, before running away.

The little girl had paused at the door of the apartment he knew was the Oracle's, looked at the door, nodded, then darted away again. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he approached the doorway, paint peeling from the wood.

Raising a hand to knock, he was strangely unsurprised when the door swung open of its own accord, the sudden contrast between the sharpness of the hallway where he stood made all the clearer at the sight of the warmth of the small apartment.

Stepping across the thresh hold and onto the fading, well-used carpet on the floor, he could feel the security and comfortable tone of the place envelope him, reminded of his grandmother's old house, the scent that of a safe childhood memory.

"Right through here, Neo."

The familiar, warm voice almost drew a relieved smile from the young man, who followed the voice into the living room, where he had once watched other potentials manipulating objects with their gifts, gifts he had not realised were his.

Sitting on the broad sofa, a pile of balls of colourful yarn heaped on her right, knitting needles in her hands, the Oracle didn't look up as he entered, checking a pattern that was lying on the cushion to her left.

"I wondered when you might be dropping by."

His hands folding behind his back, Neo nodded. "You know what happened."

Laying her knitting down in her lap, the Oracle looked up at him, her expression more serious than he had seen it before. "I know that something happened," she replied quietly, "and it was big enough to cause a whole lot of problems for a whole lot of people."

"What was…"

"Hold your horses, kiddo," Getting to her feet slowly and rubbing her back with one hand, she motioned him towards the kitchen, leading him through. "Like I said, all I know was that it was something, but we both know that's not why you're here. You don't want the 'what' right now. All you're looking for is the 'where'."

"Do you know…"

Raising a hand to silence him again, the Oracle made her way to the stove, where the contents of a pan were bubbling, the thick, steaming brown substance releasing a succulent aroma. Stirring it, she sniffed the contents with a satisfied sigh.

"Just a minute more," she said with a small smile up at Neo. "You want to stay for some soup?"

"Soup?" Neo echoed, at a bit of a loss.

"Yes," She smiled again, the same smile she had directed at him when she had informed him that he wasn't too bright. "I know you're going to say no, but I had to ask anyway. It's the hospitality in me. You'll want directions, I guess."

Feeling slightly embarrassed to decline her hospitality, Neo nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. "Uh… yeah. That would be great. Thanks."

Turning to face him fully, one age-spotted hand resting on the polished counter beside her, she gazed at him intently. "What would you say if I told you take second star on the right and straight on til morning?"

Neo's brow furrowed. "Isn't that… uh… how you get to Neverland in Peter Pan?"

Pointing up at him with one finger, the Oracle's eyes gleamed. "Bingo! Is that clue enough for you."

"Unless it's somewhere in yellow pages, that's all I get?"

"You're a smart kid when it comes down to it, Neo," the Oracle replied cheerfully, taking him by the arm and drawing him along with her as she walked. "You'll work it out as long as you remember you're not dealing with Peter Pan and the fairies. The directions are waiting. You just have to know where to look. Follow them, do exactly what they say and you're set."

Staring at her in confusion, he started to ask, "But where…?"

Patting him on the arm, the Oracle simply replied, "You'll do fine." before ushering him out of the small apartment, leaving Neo standing in the painfully bright hallway, feeling more confused than he had before entering.

***

It was a matter of great concern and consternation for Olórin.

Barely had he come to accept that their haven was no longer safe, but the effect that the invasion had triggered in the other inhabitants of the world was terrifying. The peace of Valinor had given way to deathly silence, a silence aroused by confusion, fear and anger.

Even hate.

Such a dark emotion seldom affected Elfkind, left most often to the minds and hearts of men but now, it was embodied in the form of Elrond's most trusted and beloved friend, the Elf Warrior, Glorfindel.

Pacing the hallways of Elrond's home, Glorfindel seemed little more than feral, his golden hair unkempt about his face, tainted silver by the evening moonlight which was cutting through the elaborate windows which lined the hall.

Standing in the doorway of the beautiful building, Olórin's blue eyes followed the progress of the fair Elf, as he stalked back and forth, little more than a great, caged cat, his upper lip curled back from his teeth.

One hand contracted in a deadly rhythm about the handle of his Elven blade, which hung at his right hip, the knuckles of the Warrior's hands whitening with every slow tightening of his hand.

Olórin did not need to be told why such a reaction had emerged in the proud Elf, his own shock and outrage at the assault on Valinor causing him such pain as to break his very heart, but never before had he seen Glorfindel so lost of reason.

White-hot rage poured forth from the fair Elf in waves, so deadly was his stance that Olórin felt great comfort in the presence of his staff, his heart telling him that – were he to anger the Elf – he might well receive of that fury in abundance.

"My Lord Glorfindel."

Whirling around at the call of his name, his blue-grey eyes aflame, Glorfindel's gaze sought out Olórin's, his hardened features smoothing somewhat at the sight of the even more ancient one. "Mithrandir," he said, inclining his head politely.

"You are troubled, my Lord." Such was the gift with words, he though dryly. Unable to even say such a thing without sounding as tongue-tied as a feeble-minded fool was truly a great gift.

Glorfindel's expression tightened once more, his arms folding upon his breast as he turned from the Maia. "You fought the intruder when no other could, Mithrandir," he said, his voice no longer beautiful, but tight and controlled.

"Yes," Olórin agreed quietly. "But I would not will such a fight on any other. The stranger is not of this world. He is beyond the abilities of men and Elves." He paused as he came to accept the reality of the situation. "Even beyond my gifts."

He could sense the open surprise in the Elf, surprise that was quick to be reflected on Glorfindel's noble features. "But you battled him, Mithrandir," he protested. "You battled him and yet, you live."

"I battled him, yes, my Lord," Olórin admitted, his tone grave, "but had I been without the aid of your people, had I faced him alone, then I know that I would have fallen, as I fell once before."

"But you were only ever defeated by a Balrog of the Morgoth…"

"And yet," Olórin said, "in fighting this stranger, I believe I have found one that is equal to a Balrog, in spite of his appearance. Never before have I encountered a mere man or even an Elf to fight thus." Taking a step to Glorfindel, Olórin raised his aged hand, touching the Elf upon his shoulder. "Do not seek vengeance on him, even if it seems to rest in your very hands. Do not be the cause of your own doom."

"Of course," Glorfindel said, but Olórin could see a gleam in his eye, a feral flicker.

"My Lord Glorfindel," the Maia said softly, gravely, "Should any other from outside enter our world, they may be as dangerous as this first stranger. Do not place yourself in danger."

"I understand."

"And yet, you do not heed my words," The Wizard's words were patient, but his expression stern. "They are more than we know, my Lord. To draw them into battle is folly. It will lead you into shadow, a fate I would not wish on any of your kind."

The stubborn edge upon Glorfindel's face did little to ease the concern of the Maia, who sighed, leaning wearily upon his staff. His mind searched for some warning that may yet permeate the fair Elf's resolve, though he knew his own desire for justice burned as fiercely.

"I have listened to your words, Mithrandir," Glorfindel's voice was still taut, but even and his eyes sought Olórin's, darkened with defiance. "Have no doubts of that. I will not place myself in danger."

"You are no young Elfling to be told how to behave, Glorfindel," Olórin said after a moment of consideration, "but I am trusting that you will understand the severity of this situation and do not allow your emotions to drive you to action. Should you allow these dark humours to seduce you, then none will be able to save you from shadow."

The fair Elf lowered his head, then nodded. "I understand, Mithrandir," he said.

Sighing, Olórin could still see the torn expression on the Elf's features and knew that he could say no more to advise and counsel Glorfindel's actions. "Then, I shall leave you, my Lord," he said, "I must see Lord Elrond."

"He rests," Glorfindel replied with a curt nod down the hall. "There."

"Thank you," Olórin said, bowing his head. "And I trust you will consider what I have said."

"Of course, Mithrandir." Glorfindel answered sincerely, though his expression was inscrutable and his eyes cool. Olórin drew a tremulous breath and said nothing more, moving past the fair Elf to go to the bedside of his long-time friend.

***

A night and a day had passed, if not more, since Neo had entered the Matrix to seek out the counsel of the Oracle. Emerging, he hadn't spoken to the other crew members, taking the control seat and beginning to work.

On the dark metal of the wall amid the circuit boards and cables, the timer gleamed dim red, informing Morpheus that it was approximate six o'clock in the morning, in spite of the lack of daylight.

Pulling a heavy sweater over his head, the Captain of the Nebuchadnezzer ran a hand over his face, the stubble dusted over his chin rasping roughly against his fingertips as he made his way deeper into the main deck of the hovercraft.

The sight of a single figure hunched before the monitors and screens of the control station made him pause, his lips tightening in a thin line. "What are you looking for, Neo?" he asked softly.

Not looking around from the screen, Neo's fingers skimmed on the keyboards and sensors, almost blinding in their rapidity. "I'm looking for the directions," he said tersely. Deep shadows smudged beneath his eyes, looking even darker than most against his sickly, pale skin. "She said they were here. I have to find them."

Approaching to stand behind the chair where Neo sat, Morpheus' eyes darted sideways to Tank, who was pretending to repair a control drive on the wall. The cable connection lead in his hands was barely even touching the plug he was holding, his attention quite clearly on Neo, full of concern.

Moving away from the control station, Morpheus approached Tank. "How long has he been there?" he asked in an undertone, watching Neo move from screen to screen, his lips moving silently as he took in the information displayed on the screens.

"All night," Tank answered, equally softly, winding the cable around his arm, giving up all pretence of working. "I've never seen anythin' like it, Morpheus. He hasn't stopped for hours. Just keeps goin' on about findin' the way there."

"To Valinor," Morpheus murmured, his brow furrowing once more.

"I don't think he's gonna give up any time soon," Tank admitted and though his eyes were on Neo, Morpheus knew that the controller was watching him out of the corner of his eyes. "But if he keeps goin' on like this, he's gonna kill himself tryin' and we both know it."

Morpheus nodded, sighing. "Then," he said, more to himself than to Tank. "There is only one thing we can do."

"Do you know where to find what he's lookin' for?"

The older man's expression revealed nothing. "I think I know where to look," he said quietly. "I do not want to disappoint him, if I am mistaken, though."

"But if you're right?" Trinity's voice interrupted from behind them. Both Morpheus and Tank turned to her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms tightly folded about her chest. "You know he'll go in there, no matter how dangerous it is."

"Neo is determined, Trinity."

"And when he's determined, there's no way to change his mind." She smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, her face drawn and pale with fatigue. "If you're right, will you let him go?"

"If I am right in my line of thinking, then he will know about it and will be there before I can stop him," Morpheus replied seriously. "You know we cannot stop him if this is his chosen path."

"So," Trinity laughed mirthlessly. "You better find it for him, before he kills himself with exhaustion looking for it."

Though her intonation was almost glib, both men knew she wasn't joking.

***

Rush hour had come to Milan. Cars, scooters, trucks and pedestrians sped in every direction, each individual uncaring or oblivious to those around them as they went about their day.

Morning traffic roared along the streets, the hustle and bustle of the crowded city accompanied by the steady hum of noise and distraction, only ignored by those familiar with the life in the city.

And one other.

In a café facing onto the street, a tall, stern, dark-haired man was seated at a round table, upon a veranda beneath a broad spread red and white umbrella, a newspaper raised before him.

With striking features, far from handsome, but not repulsive, the attitude he exuded almost seemed to be that of complete self-confidence and control, nothing around him even important enough to afford the least moment of his attention, barely even acknowledging the dark-haired waitress who was bustling about him.

Clad in a crisp, dark suit, white shirt and dark tie in spite of the heat, his eyes were concealed behind sunglasses which made any who passed look at him with the curious suspicion that they might be seeing a part-concealed celebrity.

Gathering the used cups and glasses from the table, the young waitress glanced sidelong at the man around the rim of her spectacles, clattering the spoons as his face turned in her direction, the newspaper lowered slightly, almost as if he could feel her watching him.

Though she couldn't see his eyes, she could feel his cool gaze on her, her hands shaking slightly, unnerved by the chill that shot down her spine at the feeling she got when he looked at her. One of the glasses dropped from her grip, bounced once and then shattered on the ground, the girl uttering a startled curse.

One side of the man's lips lifted slightly in a derisive smirk, then he looked away, raising the newspaper once more.

Heat rising in her already rosy face, the little waitress gathered up the remainder of the cups, glasses and spoons, uttering a humiliated apology, before fleeing back into the café.

Shooting a malevolent look through the window in the direction of the man where he sat, his own cup of coffee untouched upon the table, the waitress returned to her work in the hopes he would soon be gone, but it was not to be the case.

Once more, it appeared that he was reading the newspaper, ignoring the bright sunlight pouring down on the streets, between the buildings, apparently lingering without purpose or reason.

How long he had sat there, even the small waitress could not say, but she had emerged from the shop to clear another table when she saw him freeze, slowly lower the newspaper once more and look towards the clear sky. A slow and terrifying smile spread upon his lips.

Folding the paper perfectly in half, he placed it on the tabletop, straightening it until it was parallel with the edge of the small table, and rose to his feet. Straightening his lapels, he tilted his head right, then left, the bones clicking.

Then, without further deliberation, he walked into the streets and vanished amid the morning pedestrians without trace.

***

The world came sharply into focus around Neo, his breath catching as he fell heavily, raising am arm to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight, sunlight that seemed so much stronger, clearer and purer than anything he had encountered before.

This was it!

This had to be Valinor!

Morpheus had found the way in for him, seeking out the old books and pointing the way: using his abilities, he entered the Matrix and followd the light into the West 'until the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it, and the winds of the round sky troubled it no more, and borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world it passed into the Ancient West'. *

How he had passed from the reality of his old world and into Valinor, he couldn't say.

Soaring, he had sped, faster than he had ever flown in his life, the air rushing around him until a burst of light had blinded him and he had felt himself crashing to the ground, twigs crackling beneath him, the scent of nature and life suffusing the air.

Panting, he stumbled to his feet and raised his eyes.

Only then did he become aware of the weapons of a hundred figures trained upon him.

* Quote taken from page 366 of The Silmarillion (1999 edition)