Summary: There is no victory without sacrifice. There is no survival without regret. Morpheus reflects. Revs spoilers.
Disclaimer: Don't own The Matrix Trilogy by the Bros, don't own "For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon. Don't own The book of Daniel from the Bible. Like you couldn't tell.
Repercussions
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears
In the caverns and caves of Zion, time passed. The people danced in the temple for days following the retreat of the sentinels. Liquor flowed freely and drums beat endlessly as they danced. They danced in the sweat and the mud and the sex, for once truly liberated, free from any construct of fear or inhibition. Anxious to forget the past, anxious to ignore the future.
But in the morning, the death remained. The collective demonstration of festivity had not cleaned the blood off the walls, or made invisible the bodies in the streets, or removed the stench of decay. In the end, the repercussions of war had to be faced.
This is a war. We are soldiers.
What is a soldier to do once his battle has been fought, his victory achieved? Morpheus found himself at a loss. Occupied with celebration the first few days, and the rebuilding the next, he now found himself faced with mediocrity. There were no longer any late-night watch shifts, no sentinel attacks interrupting sleep. He even missed having to fix the generator that refused to stay in working order. Missed every wire, every bolt, every squeaking metal door and malfunctioning heating system of the Neb. She was his baby, she was there before even Trinity, and though he had cursed her on a daily basis, his memories of the ship were now filled with nothing but tenderness. Longing.
Niobe had once criticised him on his choice of name, identifying her with a king who had plundered Jerusalem and ruthlessly slaughtered thousands. He had smiled and said nothing. Morpheus didn't feel the need to justify himself, even to her.
I have dreamed a dream, and my spirit is troubled to know
After coming so far, he felt as if he was right back at the beginning. Back in sleep, in dreams. At the very least in slumber, forcing himself through the days with half-heartedness. At night he found himself unable to sleep, lest he be plagued by dreams. Nightmares.
He dreamed of the Neb, his trusted and faithful companion, to whose metal walls he had whispered so many secrets in what was almost a lover's caress. Her explosive cry of agony when the sentinels bomb had collided with her once so sturdy frame. Fire spreading through her the wiry of arteries and veins, shattering her core, her skeleton turning to charcoal and dust. He knew. He had felt her final cry deep in his heart, her silent scream of finality.
However painful, dreams of the Neb were always the easiest. As much as he had loved her echoing metal hallways, rusting ladders and flickering wires, she was not flesh and blood. He dreamt of his crew, his faithful companions in the quest to find the one. He had led them all astray.
Mouse, only a year out of the academy, his loneliness compensated only by digital images of red and blond. Far too young to die, his body to be violated by a foray of bullets that didn't even exist. Switch and Apoc, so cynical and hardened by the war, yet still following his every order. Unable to receive a dignified death, falling in a blaze of glory, instead the degrading severing of mind from body. Dozer, the gentle giant, he was so protective of them. All of them. Protecting till the end, Tank had revealed later through tears. There were no tears at his own death. Complications arising from his injury, infection of the blood. No, Tank slipped quietly into the abyss, I wish I could be there till the end. At that moment Morpheus was unsure whether he was speaking to him or to Neo during those last moments. Friendly, gentle Tank had always believed. And Cypher. He had failed Cypher most of all. So immerged in his own quest, not noticing the signs that pointed to betrayal. Hadn't noticed his deep-seated unhappiness, the inability to latch onto a purpose in the real world. He had sacrificed the majority of his crew at the temple of his unrelenting belief and drive. At the time, he consoled himself by believing that they died so Neo could come to understand his destiny. That the greater good was more important. Now he wasn't sure.
But dreams of his lost crew were still far from the worst.
He dreamed of Trinity often. His dedicated second in command, her ability outweighed only by her unwavering strength and determination. When difficulties arose, as they usually did in the Matrix, she faced them without fear, without hesitation. His toughest warrior and his dearest friend. There was no worry he did not confide in her, no challenge she faced without confidence. Her ferocity was matched only by her intense privacy, which he never attempted to breach. It was not his place. Oh, he had suspected the feelings for Neo Trinity had long tried to deny. Her insistence on taking more than her fair share of monitoring shifts had tipped him off. He watched her watch Neo, and it was the only time he ever saw confusion in her eyes. When Neo was unplugged, she spent days and nights in the Med bay, observing his rehabilitation. Watched her retreat completely once he had awoken, never meeting his eyes, never allowing herself to speak to him. It was even more curious when Neo began to watch her. Study her, the way she ate, the way she held her fork, the way she fixed a wire or turned the handle of a door. Neo was not so talented at hiding his emotions.
It came as no surprise, then, when Neo and Trinity became…well…Neo and Trinity. He had never heard what Trinity had said to him, her voice drowned out by sentinel squeals and melting machinery, but he had seen her kiss him, and knew. She was just as important as he was in the path of the One, if not more important. Fate was a funny thing. Just as it had determined he would find the One, it had deliberately thrown Trinity in Neo's path. Looking back, it was easy to see how much he had relied on her, clung her as his only sense of reality. Although Morpheus had shown Neo the truth, he could be no more than a guide. Trinity was his purpose.
It was this understanding that caused him not to question their relationship. Under usual circumstances, he would not allow such liaisons to take place aboard his ship, as they were distracting and overall detrimental to the functioning of the crew. But these were far from usual circumstances. The functioning of the crew, however depleted, now depended on their love, their connection. He said nothing when Neo moved into Trinity's cabin, said nothing when Trinity's room in Zion became their room. He found it almost comforting at times, simply glad that some happiness could be found in each other. He had never seen Neo so comfortable in his own skin as when he was with Trinity, every muscle in his body visibly relaxing in her presence. And Trinity, a smile from her was rare, but they became far more frequent around Neo.
He never reprimanded them for affection. They usually kept to their own room, but occasionally he found them quietly kissing when they were supposed to be fixing machinery, or spending their nightly watch shifts in each others arms. He always intended to reproach them for deviant behaviour, but every time found himself unable to. His feet refused to move forward, the words refused to form on his tongue. So he left them in peace, knowing that if things were to become serious, in a second they would once again become good, disciplined soldiers. His ever-alert warriors rarely found moments of peace.
Morpheus didn't begrudge them the luxury of each other. Sometimes at night, when the Neb was quiet and still, and every movement echoed throughout the hallways, sounds of their lovemaking drifted through the ship. A muffled moan, the gasp of a name, soon followed by the insistent whisper from the other to stay quiet. It didn't bother him, and although he knew it made Link miss Zee, he was unable to feel annoyed at the consequential loss of sleep. It was difficult for them, he knew. Their workload in the Matrix had tripled since Neo being revealed as the One, often they were forced in every day. In addition they had a ship which constantly needed repairing and a mass of red tape from Zionatic bureaucracy. Relaxation was a foreign word on the Neb, and he knew Neo and Trinity needed some form of release, however dampened by the constant fear of disturbing others. No, he never denied them anything. He just couldn't.
The most terrifying dreams were about Neo. This man, not so much younger than himself, but who looked up to him as a father, a teacher. No matter how much pressure Morpheus placed on him, he never faltered. Neo was a consummate perfectionist. He was often in the Construct, testing his limitations, pushing his abilities beyond the boundaries of belief. Yet he was never satisfied, never felt worthy. Nothing he did was ever good enough, and for that Morpheus felt guilty. He wanted to tell him not to push himself so hard, that he was more than proud of what he could achieve. But every time Neo just kept on amazing him, and Morpheus' selfish side kept wanting more. Neo's abilities were unfathomable, and it amazed Morpheus that Neo still regarded him as a superior, his captain and leader. Always walked a step behind him.
He had taught Neo all he could until he surpassed every expectation, taught him to value the freedom above all else, including his own life. Neo had never questioned it, accepted his word as gospel. It made the guilt so much harder to bear. He remembered the last words Neo ever spoke to him. It's been an honour, sir. Although his eyes held a raw fear, his head was held high, his shoulders erect so that he looked almost noble. The brave knight riding into certain death, but not without honour. And he'd called him sir. That pained Morpheus' more than anything else. That Neo had all but thanked him, a final gesture of respect in his extended hand. Morpheus wished he had said more, wished he'd had the decency to tell Neo how much his presence on his ship meant to him, how much he enjoyed his company, not as the One, but as a friend. Admitted his paternal love for the man, and his overwhelming sense of pride at how far he had come. From the lonely, insecure hacker Thomas Anderson to the powerful, slightly more confident man in love. But he couldn't. Time, as they all knew, was always against them. All he could do was shake his hand in a mirror of their first meeting. No, the honour is still mine.
Sacrifice was a necessary part of any war, but no one had ever told him it would hurt this much. Soldiers were meant to be detached, accepting of death, fighting for a cause greater then themselves. Now the cause was gone, and all Morpheus felt was a hollow feeling in his heart. Isn't that worth dying for? His words repeated themselves over and over in his head.
Many had hoped Neo would make a triumphant return to Zion, but Morpheus knew that he was dead. He was not surprised, as many were, when the machines brought their bodies back to Zion. An olive branch. He supposed the machines didn't have to understand human reverence for the bodies of the dead to respect and honour it.
He had never cried over the death of a friend or companion, feeling the need to stay strong for his crew. But now there was no crew left and he didn't attempt stop the tears from flowing. He felt sickened at the sight of Trinity's blood-soaked clothes, Neo's bandaged eyes. That night there was no dancing, no drums or alcohol. Zionites made a pilgrimage from their rooms to the temple, carrying candles in reverent silence. Neo's body had been placed in the centre, his skin and hair cleaned and his clothing changed to Zionatic robes. Surrounded by flickering candles, he indeed looked like a king from Arthurian legend found in the archives. Somehow this upset Morpheus even more. It didn't seem right for Neo, to be revered so. He had petitioned the council to allow his body to be buried next to Trinity's in the Gardens, but was denied. They couldn't let Neo rest, even in death.
They expected him to make a speech at the ceremony. To stand in front of Zion as the man who had found the One, and regale them of his glorious sacrifice. But he couldn't bring himself to. There were no more speeches left in him. His time was over. He would gladly retreat into the background until they were all dead, and stories of Neo had faded into legend. He spent the first part of that night crying into Niobe's strong shoulder. I failed them was all he could say. She had remained silent, knowing that no words could convince him otherwise. He had always been a stubborn man. Niobe and Lock had gone their separate ways, but Morpheus found himself unable to react. He was simply too tired, too weighed down by memory and guilt. He didn't want to drag her down with him. He never imagined the end of the war to be like this, but then, he always naively expected Neo and Trinity to survive. To finally be allowed the time to be with one another without the unsettling presence of war. Have a child, perhaps, with Neo's soulful eyes and Trinity's fierce determination. A child he could teach history and mathematics and read philosophy too. But they were gone, and he was alone.
Morpheus' looked at the candle in his hand, he had not placed it around Neo like everyone else. Instead he stared at the fire, the intense light hurting his eyes, but he found himself unable to look away.
In the silence, he gently blew out the flame and found himself in darkness.
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them
Lest We Forget