Black Roses for the Knight of the Queen (2/6)
Title: Black Roses for the Knight of the Queen (2/6)
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Babylon 5
Rating: R
Spoilers: The setting for this story is fourth season, during 'The Long Night' after Ivanova has left the station but before the Shadows destroy the colony world.
Synopsis: "We can't get to Sheridan, but that doesn't mean we can't hurt him. Humans are sentimental about their friends and loved ones. If we corrupt or kill someone he is close to..."
Pairing: John/Delenn; Delenn/Lennier
Genre: Adult; Darkfic
Disclaimer: Babylon 5 belongs to JMS, Warner Brothers, PTEN and TNT and are used without permission.
Notes: If you're not of appropriate age in your district, go away now.
Many thanks to my beta readers Kathleen, Shaz and Alta for doing a wonderful job. Cyber roses for all of you. @--)-)---
If you think you think one of the scenes in this is familiar, it is because I borrowed it from one of my other stories, but wanted to include have it as part of the back story for this more 'canon' piece.
This story was written in 1997
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2
Lennier held the sheaf of flimsies tightly in one hand as he made his way from the War Room to the Captain's office. Babylon 5 was quiet tonight. Too quiet. If he had not known otherwise he would have thought the station deserted. The horror and fear generated by the Vorlons and Shadows seemed to have transmuted into an exhausted lethargy over the past few hours. Everyone's emotions had been pulled taut, stretched well beyond breaking point for the last year and now at the eleventh hour there was simply nothing left to give.
After all the recent non-stop activity and preparations the silence was certainly unnerving. It was as if the audible universe had contracted to three elements: the scuff of his soft-soled boots on the floor, the gentle swish of silk on silk and the beating of his heart. Unconsciously, he matched his steps to that internal rhythm. Thump-thump ; thump-thump .
There was no sound, smell or movement, but Lennier felt the edge of his crest tingle, as if someone were watching him. But that was impossible - he was alone. The feeling grew stronger, accompanied by the sense of danger. He whirled, dropping into a defensive crouch scattering pages everywhere and confronted.....
Nothing. Just shadows where the night lighting did not illuminate the corridor fully. "Is anybody there?" Silence. No answer, of course. One had not been expected. An instant later, the inexplicable feeling ebbed then vanished. Closing his reddened eyes briefly, he bent to retrieve the documents. He was more tired than he had realized. Putting them back in order occupied his mind and hands as he continued on to Sheridan's office.
The latest casualty estimates and the tally of worlds that had fallen to the Vorlon advance were frightening. Not to mention that more outposts that had previously been receiving refugees had ceased communicating. There was no way to verify whether these planets had fallen as well, or if it were simply a communications blackout. And at this point in time there were no ships that could be spared to investigate.
The reports were updated on an hourly basis and distributed to all members of the War Council. But not to Sheridan. Not this time. Lennier knew he would probably be reprimanded for this... oversight... later, but he also knew how worried Delenn was about the man. The Captain hardly seemed to eat or sleep anymore since his return from Z'ha'dum... But tonight Delenn had somehow convinced Sheridan to rest, and Lennier was not going to disturb *either* of them. Not on the eve of this battle when there was nothing that could be done in any case. The casualties had occurred, they could not be brought back. Planets had been destroyed, they too were going. The data was being analyzed for a pattern of attack. Therefore the reports would keep until morning and after depositing them on the Captain's desk Lennier planned to get some sleep himself.
The lights in the office were extinguished, but the dim light from the corridor was sufficient for him to make his way to the desk and...
He halted abruptly, his eyes picking out a detail he had not seen as he entered: he was not alone in the room.
Together on the couch, wrapped around each other in the oblivion of sleep, lay Delenn and Sheridan.
Delenn was balanced precariously on the edge of the couch, but the Captain held her securely against him with an arm about her waist, the other hand beneath the dark hair cascading across his chest. Lennier's eyes were drawn to a sparkle on her fingers. The ring Delenn wore twinkled radiantly despite the lack of light. For a moment he was mesmerized by the light, the patterns, the simple beauty. Sadness. Bitterness. Loneliness. The ring was the visible token of Delenn's pledge to become One with Sheridan. Steeling himself, Lennier allowed himself just this once to really *look* at the couple.
The weariness and tension that the coming battle etched into Sheridan's face had almost vanished, leaving a relaxed and younger looking man. Delenn's face was turned away from him, but Lennier knew without a doubt that her visage would reflect a similar peace. Her inner peace and tranquillity were no surprise. She had found the other half of her soul and Lennier rejoiced for her even as despair welled deep within him.
Forcing his mind away from such thoughts, he regarded the couple a moment, debating whether or not to wake them. While they needed rest, it was also a substantial security risk not to mention a significant breach of propriety for them to sleep here. Anybody could walk in and.....
"Can I help you Mr. Lennier?" A whisper intruded on the aide's thoughts.
Lennier snapped his attention back to Sheridan's face, whose eyes were still closed.
"I....." he faltered as the man's eyes opened, and found himself looking directly into the other's soul. The gaze held for a long heartbeat before Lennier tore his eyes away shaken and disturbed. He did not want to look into the human's soul and he did not want the man or anybody else looking into his. He was not sure what they might find there. Despite the fact his face was turned away, Lennier could still feel Sheridan's eyes upon him and he desperately cast around for a distraction... The reports.
"I came to leave these for you to review in the morning." He tilted the flimsies in Sheridan's direction, wincing slightly as he saw how his clenched fists had crumpled the documents somewhat.
"Would..." He hesitated, searching for words that would not offend. "Would it not be safer for you both in your quarters?"Sheridan looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms and smiled, his eyes warm.
"I guess she was more tired than she realized," he whispered, his hand lightly stroking her back. Lennier's face remained impassive at the possessive gesture. "She didn't plan to..." Sheridan frowned as something Lennier had said registered. "Safer?"
Lennier nodded uncomfortably. "If the Shadows send agents, aboard it is possible - more than possible - they could gain access to this office. With both you and Delenn here....."
"Point taken," Sheridan nodded. "Although I'm not certain we would be any safer in our quarters. After what happened to Kosh - the real Kosh..." There was no need for the man to elaborate further. If the Shadows had managed to kill a *Vorlon* in its own quarters, what chance did any of them stand? The Captain looked back down at Delenn, his tender smile returning.
"Hello. Awake?"
"Somewhat," was the muffled reply. He chuckled, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, and touched his lips to her hair.
Lennier shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he should leave.
"Your aide just made an eminently sensible suggestion, Ambassador," he continued. "In the interests of both security and comfort we might consider adjourning to our own quarters." He paused, the side of his mouth twitching. "Even one of those slanted things you insist on calling a 'bed' would be more comfortable than being half off this sofa."
Delenn lifted her head. "What do you mean 'insist on calling a bed'?"
Sheridan ignored the question and looked at the uncomfortable young Minbari instead.
"Tell me Lennier, is she always this grouchy when she wakes up?" The Captain's eyes were twinkling.
Lennier opened his mouth, but unsure as to what to say, closed it again. What did 'grouchy' mean? He was saved from an inappropriate response by Delenn, who had propped herself up on her arms and was glaring down at her intended.
"Grouchy?"
"Mmm," Sheridan grinned. "Rather crotchety if you ask me."
"I see."
Lennier was at first confused by the Captain's words: from Delenn's response 'crotchety' and 'grouchy' were not complimentary, but then insight struck as he realized they were engaged in that pastime called 'teasing.' A human custom where one was deliberately rude or annoying as a sign of affection. Humans could be very strange.
In a graceful fluid motion Delenn rose and stood, looking down at the man who was struggling to sit in a much less graceful matter.
"You should return to your quarters, John."
"I'll just..." He held his hand out for the documents Lennier carried but Delenn intercepted them as her aide handed them over.
"These can wait," she stated clearly, laying them on the desk then returning to Sheridan's side, her tone indicating she would not accept an argument. "If you do not return to your quarters now and rest I shall call security and ask Mr. Garibaldi to escort you there." The hint of a smile played about her lips. "If you want to see 'grouchy' or 'crotchety' I am sure Mr. Garibaldi will oblige. I have observed he does *not* like being woken in the middle of the night."
"You don't fight fair, Delenn," Sheridan mumbled, running a hand across his closely cropped hair.
His tone was light, but Lennier detected an under-current of... something. Something to do with Mr. Garibaldi. The tension between the two men had been obvious to all ever since Sheridan had returned from Z'ha'dum. But the reason? That was anybody's guess, to use a human phrase.
"True," Delenn replied softly, also sensing the change in John's mood when she mentioned Michael. This was not the time to go into that problem. "Come, John. It is time to rest. Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with tomorrow's problems."
-----------------------
Gaining access to the Ambassadorial wing proved no particular problem for Morden. He had, of course, been there a number of times to visit Mollari and knew precisely which security codes would allow him to halt the transport tube at the appropriate level. Having associates who could sift through people's minds was very useful at times. Mollari... His lip curled derisively. Mollari: his responsibility. The millstone about his neck. And getting to be much more effort than he was worth. Still, Morden grinned toying idly with the edge of his cloak, it *had* been fun to watch the look on his pudgy face when he discovered that his 'allies' would be stationing their ships on his beloved homeworld. Allies of convenience, aren't we Londo? Attack this base; destroy those ships. Yes, thank you for your help Mr. Morden, but I do not believe your assistance is required any longer. Well too bad, Mollari - you can't dance with the devil and walk away a virgin. No, Londo: you are ours.
His long dark cloak swirled about his ankles and the hood kept his face in the shadows... He smiled at his own pun. In the Shadows indeed. He was always in the Shadows. And they in him.
The corridor was virtually dark: every second light in the corridor had been extinguished, no doubt to save power, giving the empty corridors an appropriately eerie mood for his task. Each small pool of light was an isolated bastion in a sea of shadows.
Morden walked at a sedate pace so as not to draw attention to himself, his companions surrounding and preceding him. The security monitors would not detect them - they never did - but Morden was aware their camouflage abilities did not extend to him. *He* was visible to any half-witted security man who happened to glance at a monitor, so he took his time. Most of the aliens who resided in this area were diurnal so it would be unlikely any of them would be wandering around this late. Never leave anything to chance. He stopped in front of a door, exactly like every other one in the corridor. But behind this one... behind this one lay the key to destroying the leadership of the Army of Light.
It was not precisely a word that formed in his mind, but rather a feeling/image. His companions extended their awareness through the wall, finding the mind of the being within. He was asleep. Dreaming. Morden's lip curled derisively: the sleep of the innocent. Well enjoy it while you can, Lennier. I can assure you it won't last much longer. He started to laugh but *their* minds brushed his, reminding him of the purpose. With a delicate touch, the creatures reached out and wrapped tendrils of awareness around the sleeper, damping his consciousness. From beneath his robes, Morden retrieved his electronic lock pick and inserted it in the card slot. A useful little item he had picked up from a Vree thief. After he had killed the alien, of course. The thief had actually expected to be *paid.* He was wrong.
Lennier's quarters were about what Morden had expected: ascetic and somewhat spartan. Boring. A small kitchenette - immaculately clean, of course - in one corner; a table and chairs; communications station, and a strange slanted bed in an alcove. Dull, dull, dull. Considering the fact the Minbari must have lived here for three years there was very little in the way of personalization. The ubiquitous Triluminary was against one wall, a prayer mat rolled precisely beneath it and two crystal prayer spires hung from the ceiling slowly rotating in the breeze from the recirc units. The only unique item as far as Morden could see was a crystal sculpture of a bird taking flight. The craftsmanship was superb and from its placement it was obviously Lennier's prize possession. He ran a hand over it, defiling its pure beauty with his touch and thoughts, imagining Lennier's reaction if he knew.
Finally Morden looked upon the Minbari himself. Lennier's face was in repose, but a faint frown already marred his peaceful expression as the creatures slowly pushed into his consciousness. Morden twitched involuntarily, remembering the sensation of having his mind opened in such a fashion. The almost indescribable pain as they probed and exposed every layer of your being before they soothed away the ache with an almost gentle touch. He could feel the efforts of his associates on the fringes of his own mind, gradually threading their way past the Minbari's natural defenses and the Vorlon induced safeguards that were slowly beginning to decay. That was good - it would have been harder to infiltrate Lennier's mind had the Vorlon traps still been in place.
Lennier's body jerked then lifted almost entirely off the bed as his muscles spasmed. A strangled moan escaped the Minbari's throat as if he were in the grip of some horrific nightmare then he sagged as they took control of his body and the penetration reached the deepest levels.
Looking around the room, Morden located the only comfortable chair and arranged himself in it. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind as he had been instructed, entering a trance state. His consciousness traveled through the conduit provided by his companions and joined them in wrapping itself around and through Lennier's mind.
-----------------------
.....Drifting along the ebb and flow of consciousness. Spiraling, floating free..... A scene from childhood materializes from the mists of time. His two fathers holding him up between them to watch the ceremonial parade on the Day of Valen..... The glade where he had spent many hours as a novice, studying and meditating..... His first glimpse of *her*..... The time they spent in the Markab isolation zone when all around them were dying..... His birth father's death..... The hulks of the ships destroyed during their last encounter with the Shadows, spinning in space. Drifting.
Spiraling.....
Lennier struggled, trying to seek the release of waking. His meditative suggestion before sleeping had been for peaceful and restful dreaming that would clear his mind and renew his soul before entering the fire which raged just ahead on the horizon. He was trapped helpless within the dreamscape as a cold presence surrounded him, plunging itself inside his being. Inside his soul. He shuddered away from the unpleasant contact and renewed his efforts to escape to wakefulness; twisting, struggling and fighting. Screaming. But all to no avail: by doing so he simply entangled himself further in the dark web. The dark web pulling him into the shadows. He was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been. Voices whispered, just beyond the limit of hearing. Figures moved around him in the dark. Finally, exhausted and drained, he felt himself slide into the shadows.......... and into a large room, devoid of furnishings, dark except for the spotlight beneath which he stood. It was a familiar place; one he had seen all too often in his nightmares: the room where Delenn had faced the Vorlon's Inquisitor. For a moment Lennier could see her body sprawled on the floor, the gaunt pallid human standing triumphantly over her, prodding her lifeless body with a glowing rod... He blinked and the image swirled and vanished, leaving only the echo of cruel laughter. What was happening?
The sense of presence grew stronger and Lennier whirled, his hands flying automatically into a defensive gesture. The sense was stronger than what he had detected earlier in the corridor. He was not alone in the room.
"Who is there?" His voice was oddly flat, not echoing as it should have in the cavernous space. He tried to peer beyond the circle of light surrounding him. Minbari had excellent visual acuity and could see in near total darkness, but his eyes seemed unable to penetrate the gloom. Standing beneath a spotlight was a tactical disadvantage, but he was loathe to step from the security of the light. The darkness hid too much.
"Ah, good evening Lennier." A figure walked into Lennier's line of sight. The shadows seemed to cling to the figure like a lover, embracing him within their grasp, but then they flowed away to settle against the walls. He did not move to enter the circle of light, but stopped just beyond. In the grey between darkness and light. The dark-haired human smiled reassuringly at him and Lennier felt a flash of recognition. Something... dangerous... perilous... concerning the man. The feeling instantly evaporated as if snatched from his mind, leaving him with no more than a vague sense of unease.
"Who are you?" His hands remained in their defensive position, prompted by his inner disquiet that still screamed 'danger' for a reason he could no longer remember.
The man's smile grew broader and white teeth flashed in the gloom. "That's not the correct question, Lennier," the man chided gently. "I am just here to..." he paused, drawing out the moment, "help you." He folded his hands together in the symbol of the Triluminary and bowed. Something about the gesture was wrong. Lennier attempted to focus his waning concentration on the man's hands... Hands... The triangle... It was upside down: the symbol for fire... As soon as his mind produced the correct association, the thought was again drained from him. He *knew* he should know the symbol, but the more he concentrated on the stray thought, the further from his grasp it moved.
"Help me?" the Minbari repeated warily. "How?"
That polite, unflustered smile.
"What do you want?"
Lennier was confused. "I do not understand."
"It's quite simple, Lennier." The man sat in a chair that Lennier knew had not been there a moment before. "A simple question that everyone can answer. I have asked it of many people, in many different places, and certainly many times. But now, I am asking you: What do you want?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Babylon 5
Rating: R
Spoilers: The setting for this story is fourth season, during 'The Long Night' after Ivanova has left the station but before the Shadows destroy the colony world.
Synopsis: "We can't get to Sheridan, but that doesn't mean we can't hurt him. Humans are sentimental about their friends and loved ones. If we corrupt or kill someone he is close to..."
Pairing: John/Delenn; Delenn/Lennier
Genre: Adult; Darkfic
Disclaimer: Babylon 5 belongs to JMS, Warner Brothers, PTEN and TNT and are used without permission.
Notes: If you're not of appropriate age in your district, go away now.
Many thanks to my beta readers Kathleen, Shaz and Alta for doing a wonderful job. Cyber roses for all of you. @--)-)---
If you think you think one of the scenes in this is familiar, it is because I borrowed it from one of my other stories, but wanted to include have it as part of the back story for this more 'canon' piece.
This story was written in 1997
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2
Lennier held the sheaf of flimsies tightly in one hand as he made his way from the War Room to the Captain's office. Babylon 5 was quiet tonight. Too quiet. If he had not known otherwise he would have thought the station deserted. The horror and fear generated by the Vorlons and Shadows seemed to have transmuted into an exhausted lethargy over the past few hours. Everyone's emotions had been pulled taut, stretched well beyond breaking point for the last year and now at the eleventh hour there was simply nothing left to give.
After all the recent non-stop activity and preparations the silence was certainly unnerving. It was as if the audible universe had contracted to three elements: the scuff of his soft-soled boots on the floor, the gentle swish of silk on silk and the beating of his heart. Unconsciously, he matched his steps to that internal rhythm. Thump-thump ; thump-thump .
There was no sound, smell or movement, but Lennier felt the edge of his crest tingle, as if someone were watching him. But that was impossible - he was alone. The feeling grew stronger, accompanied by the sense of danger. He whirled, dropping into a defensive crouch scattering pages everywhere and confronted.....
Nothing. Just shadows where the night lighting did not illuminate the corridor fully. "Is anybody there?" Silence. No answer, of course. One had not been expected. An instant later, the inexplicable feeling ebbed then vanished. Closing his reddened eyes briefly, he bent to retrieve the documents. He was more tired than he had realized. Putting them back in order occupied his mind and hands as he continued on to Sheridan's office.
The latest casualty estimates and the tally of worlds that had fallen to the Vorlon advance were frightening. Not to mention that more outposts that had previously been receiving refugees had ceased communicating. There was no way to verify whether these planets had fallen as well, or if it were simply a communications blackout. And at this point in time there were no ships that could be spared to investigate.
The reports were updated on an hourly basis and distributed to all members of the War Council. But not to Sheridan. Not this time. Lennier knew he would probably be reprimanded for this... oversight... later, but he also knew how worried Delenn was about the man. The Captain hardly seemed to eat or sleep anymore since his return from Z'ha'dum... But tonight Delenn had somehow convinced Sheridan to rest, and Lennier was not going to disturb *either* of them. Not on the eve of this battle when there was nothing that could be done in any case. The casualties had occurred, they could not be brought back. Planets had been destroyed, they too were going. The data was being analyzed for a pattern of attack. Therefore the reports would keep until morning and after depositing them on the Captain's desk Lennier planned to get some sleep himself.
The lights in the office were extinguished, but the dim light from the corridor was sufficient for him to make his way to the desk and...
He halted abruptly, his eyes picking out a detail he had not seen as he entered: he was not alone in the room.
Together on the couch, wrapped around each other in the oblivion of sleep, lay Delenn and Sheridan.
Delenn was balanced precariously on the edge of the couch, but the Captain held her securely against him with an arm about her waist, the other hand beneath the dark hair cascading across his chest. Lennier's eyes were drawn to a sparkle on her fingers. The ring Delenn wore twinkled radiantly despite the lack of light. For a moment he was mesmerized by the light, the patterns, the simple beauty. Sadness. Bitterness. Loneliness. The ring was the visible token of Delenn's pledge to become One with Sheridan. Steeling himself, Lennier allowed himself just this once to really *look* at the couple.
The weariness and tension that the coming battle etched into Sheridan's face had almost vanished, leaving a relaxed and younger looking man. Delenn's face was turned away from him, but Lennier knew without a doubt that her visage would reflect a similar peace. Her inner peace and tranquillity were no surprise. She had found the other half of her soul and Lennier rejoiced for her even as despair welled deep within him.
Forcing his mind away from such thoughts, he regarded the couple a moment, debating whether or not to wake them. While they needed rest, it was also a substantial security risk not to mention a significant breach of propriety for them to sleep here. Anybody could walk in and.....
"Can I help you Mr. Lennier?" A whisper intruded on the aide's thoughts.
Lennier snapped his attention back to Sheridan's face, whose eyes were still closed.
"I....." he faltered as the man's eyes opened, and found himself looking directly into the other's soul. The gaze held for a long heartbeat before Lennier tore his eyes away shaken and disturbed. He did not want to look into the human's soul and he did not want the man or anybody else looking into his. He was not sure what they might find there. Despite the fact his face was turned away, Lennier could still feel Sheridan's eyes upon him and he desperately cast around for a distraction... The reports.
"I came to leave these for you to review in the morning." He tilted the flimsies in Sheridan's direction, wincing slightly as he saw how his clenched fists had crumpled the documents somewhat.
"Would..." He hesitated, searching for words that would not offend. "Would it not be safer for you both in your quarters?"Sheridan looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms and smiled, his eyes warm.
"I guess she was more tired than she realized," he whispered, his hand lightly stroking her back. Lennier's face remained impassive at the possessive gesture. "She didn't plan to..." Sheridan frowned as something Lennier had said registered. "Safer?"
Lennier nodded uncomfortably. "If the Shadows send agents, aboard it is possible - more than possible - they could gain access to this office. With both you and Delenn here....."
"Point taken," Sheridan nodded. "Although I'm not certain we would be any safer in our quarters. After what happened to Kosh - the real Kosh..." There was no need for the man to elaborate further. If the Shadows had managed to kill a *Vorlon* in its own quarters, what chance did any of them stand? The Captain looked back down at Delenn, his tender smile returning.
"Hello. Awake?"
"Somewhat," was the muffled reply. He chuckled, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, and touched his lips to her hair.
Lennier shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he should leave.
"Your aide just made an eminently sensible suggestion, Ambassador," he continued. "In the interests of both security and comfort we might consider adjourning to our own quarters." He paused, the side of his mouth twitching. "Even one of those slanted things you insist on calling a 'bed' would be more comfortable than being half off this sofa."
Delenn lifted her head. "What do you mean 'insist on calling a bed'?"
Sheridan ignored the question and looked at the uncomfortable young Minbari instead.
"Tell me Lennier, is she always this grouchy when she wakes up?" The Captain's eyes were twinkling.
Lennier opened his mouth, but unsure as to what to say, closed it again. What did 'grouchy' mean? He was saved from an inappropriate response by Delenn, who had propped herself up on her arms and was glaring down at her intended.
"Grouchy?"
"Mmm," Sheridan grinned. "Rather crotchety if you ask me."
"I see."
Lennier was at first confused by the Captain's words: from Delenn's response 'crotchety' and 'grouchy' were not complimentary, but then insight struck as he realized they were engaged in that pastime called 'teasing.' A human custom where one was deliberately rude or annoying as a sign of affection. Humans could be very strange.
In a graceful fluid motion Delenn rose and stood, looking down at the man who was struggling to sit in a much less graceful matter.
"You should return to your quarters, John."
"I'll just..." He held his hand out for the documents Lennier carried but Delenn intercepted them as her aide handed them over.
"These can wait," she stated clearly, laying them on the desk then returning to Sheridan's side, her tone indicating she would not accept an argument. "If you do not return to your quarters now and rest I shall call security and ask Mr. Garibaldi to escort you there." The hint of a smile played about her lips. "If you want to see 'grouchy' or 'crotchety' I am sure Mr. Garibaldi will oblige. I have observed he does *not* like being woken in the middle of the night."
"You don't fight fair, Delenn," Sheridan mumbled, running a hand across his closely cropped hair.
His tone was light, but Lennier detected an under-current of... something. Something to do with Mr. Garibaldi. The tension between the two men had been obvious to all ever since Sheridan had returned from Z'ha'dum. But the reason? That was anybody's guess, to use a human phrase.
"True," Delenn replied softly, also sensing the change in John's mood when she mentioned Michael. This was not the time to go into that problem. "Come, John. It is time to rest. Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with tomorrow's problems."
-----------------------
Gaining access to the Ambassadorial wing proved no particular problem for Morden. He had, of course, been there a number of times to visit Mollari and knew precisely which security codes would allow him to halt the transport tube at the appropriate level. Having associates who could sift through people's minds was very useful at times. Mollari... His lip curled derisively. Mollari: his responsibility. The millstone about his neck. And getting to be much more effort than he was worth. Still, Morden grinned toying idly with the edge of his cloak, it *had* been fun to watch the look on his pudgy face when he discovered that his 'allies' would be stationing their ships on his beloved homeworld. Allies of convenience, aren't we Londo? Attack this base; destroy those ships. Yes, thank you for your help Mr. Morden, but I do not believe your assistance is required any longer. Well too bad, Mollari - you can't dance with the devil and walk away a virgin. No, Londo: you are ours.
His long dark cloak swirled about his ankles and the hood kept his face in the shadows... He smiled at his own pun. In the Shadows indeed. He was always in the Shadows. And they in him.
The corridor was virtually dark: every second light in the corridor had been extinguished, no doubt to save power, giving the empty corridors an appropriately eerie mood for his task. Each small pool of light was an isolated bastion in a sea of shadows.
Morden walked at a sedate pace so as not to draw attention to himself, his companions surrounding and preceding him. The security monitors would not detect them - they never did - but Morden was aware their camouflage abilities did not extend to him. *He* was visible to any half-witted security man who happened to glance at a monitor, so he took his time. Most of the aliens who resided in this area were diurnal so it would be unlikely any of them would be wandering around this late. Never leave anything to chance. He stopped in front of a door, exactly like every other one in the corridor. But behind this one... behind this one lay the key to destroying the leadership of the Army of Light.
It was not precisely a word that formed in his mind, but rather a feeling/image. His companions extended their awareness through the wall, finding the mind of the being within. He was asleep. Dreaming. Morden's lip curled derisively: the sleep of the innocent. Well enjoy it while you can, Lennier. I can assure you it won't last much longer. He started to laugh but *their* minds brushed his, reminding him of the purpose. With a delicate touch, the creatures reached out and wrapped tendrils of awareness around the sleeper, damping his consciousness. From beneath his robes, Morden retrieved his electronic lock pick and inserted it in the card slot. A useful little item he had picked up from a Vree thief. After he had killed the alien, of course. The thief had actually expected to be *paid.* He was wrong.
Lennier's quarters were about what Morden had expected: ascetic and somewhat spartan. Boring. A small kitchenette - immaculately clean, of course - in one corner; a table and chairs; communications station, and a strange slanted bed in an alcove. Dull, dull, dull. Considering the fact the Minbari must have lived here for three years there was very little in the way of personalization. The ubiquitous Triluminary was against one wall, a prayer mat rolled precisely beneath it and two crystal prayer spires hung from the ceiling slowly rotating in the breeze from the recirc units. The only unique item as far as Morden could see was a crystal sculpture of a bird taking flight. The craftsmanship was superb and from its placement it was obviously Lennier's prize possession. He ran a hand over it, defiling its pure beauty with his touch and thoughts, imagining Lennier's reaction if he knew.
Finally Morden looked upon the Minbari himself. Lennier's face was in repose, but a faint frown already marred his peaceful expression as the creatures slowly pushed into his consciousness. Morden twitched involuntarily, remembering the sensation of having his mind opened in such a fashion. The almost indescribable pain as they probed and exposed every layer of your being before they soothed away the ache with an almost gentle touch. He could feel the efforts of his associates on the fringes of his own mind, gradually threading their way past the Minbari's natural defenses and the Vorlon induced safeguards that were slowly beginning to decay. That was good - it would have been harder to infiltrate Lennier's mind had the Vorlon traps still been in place.
Lennier's body jerked then lifted almost entirely off the bed as his muscles spasmed. A strangled moan escaped the Minbari's throat as if he were in the grip of some horrific nightmare then he sagged as they took control of his body and the penetration reached the deepest levels.
Looking around the room, Morden located the only comfortable chair and arranged himself in it. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind as he had been instructed, entering a trance state. His consciousness traveled through the conduit provided by his companions and joined them in wrapping itself around and through Lennier's mind.
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.....Drifting along the ebb and flow of consciousness. Spiraling, floating free..... A scene from childhood materializes from the mists of time. His two fathers holding him up between them to watch the ceremonial parade on the Day of Valen..... The glade where he had spent many hours as a novice, studying and meditating..... His first glimpse of *her*..... The time they spent in the Markab isolation zone when all around them were dying..... His birth father's death..... The hulks of the ships destroyed during their last encounter with the Shadows, spinning in space. Drifting.
Spiraling.....
Lennier struggled, trying to seek the release of waking. His meditative suggestion before sleeping had been for peaceful and restful dreaming that would clear his mind and renew his soul before entering the fire which raged just ahead on the horizon. He was trapped helpless within the dreamscape as a cold presence surrounded him, plunging itself inside his being. Inside his soul. He shuddered away from the unpleasant contact and renewed his efforts to escape to wakefulness; twisting, struggling and fighting. Screaming. But all to no avail: by doing so he simply entangled himself further in the dark web. The dark web pulling him into the shadows. He was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been. Voices whispered, just beyond the limit of hearing. Figures moved around him in the dark. Finally, exhausted and drained, he felt himself slide into the shadows.......... and into a large room, devoid of furnishings, dark except for the spotlight beneath which he stood. It was a familiar place; one he had seen all too often in his nightmares: the room where Delenn had faced the Vorlon's Inquisitor. For a moment Lennier could see her body sprawled on the floor, the gaunt pallid human standing triumphantly over her, prodding her lifeless body with a glowing rod... He blinked and the image swirled and vanished, leaving only the echo of cruel laughter. What was happening?
The sense of presence grew stronger and Lennier whirled, his hands flying automatically into a defensive gesture. The sense was stronger than what he had detected earlier in the corridor. He was not alone in the room.
"Who is there?" His voice was oddly flat, not echoing as it should have in the cavernous space. He tried to peer beyond the circle of light surrounding him. Minbari had excellent visual acuity and could see in near total darkness, but his eyes seemed unable to penetrate the gloom. Standing beneath a spotlight was a tactical disadvantage, but he was loathe to step from the security of the light. The darkness hid too much.
"Ah, good evening Lennier." A figure walked into Lennier's line of sight. The shadows seemed to cling to the figure like a lover, embracing him within their grasp, but then they flowed away to settle against the walls. He did not move to enter the circle of light, but stopped just beyond. In the grey between darkness and light. The dark-haired human smiled reassuringly at him and Lennier felt a flash of recognition. Something... dangerous... perilous... concerning the man. The feeling instantly evaporated as if snatched from his mind, leaving him with no more than a vague sense of unease.
"Who are you?" His hands remained in their defensive position, prompted by his inner disquiet that still screamed 'danger' for a reason he could no longer remember.
The man's smile grew broader and white teeth flashed in the gloom. "That's not the correct question, Lennier," the man chided gently. "I am just here to..." he paused, drawing out the moment, "help you." He folded his hands together in the symbol of the Triluminary and bowed. Something about the gesture was wrong. Lennier attempted to focus his waning concentration on the man's hands... Hands... The triangle... It was upside down: the symbol for fire... As soon as his mind produced the correct association, the thought was again drained from him. He *knew* he should know the symbol, but the more he concentrated on the stray thought, the further from his grasp it moved.
"Help me?" the Minbari repeated warily. "How?"
That polite, unflustered smile.
"What do you want?"
Lennier was confused. "I do not understand."
"It's quite simple, Lennier." The man sat in a chair that Lennier knew had not been there a moment before. "A simple question that everyone can answer. I have asked it of many people, in many different places, and certainly many times. But now, I am asking you: What do you want?"
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