Ëran strode down the corridor whistling. Fal had just informed him of how well Këj was doing and Ëran had felt a huge sense of relief: sometimes he had almost despaired of ever getting his son to be a proper assassin what with all the ridiculous ideas about beauty and seemingly useless, abstract things that went through his head. Ëran smiled to himself when he caught sight of his son. 'The boy is growing up' he thought, and quickened his pace.
Këj smiled wanly as his father drew up alongside him. "Afternoon, Father."
"Same to you." They continued walking in silence until Ëran broke the silence again. "Fal tells me you're improving remarkably."
Këj nodded. "I certainly hope I am."
Even in his nearly ecstatic state, Këj's father couldn't help noticing his son's lack of enthusiasm. He stopped walking and gently squeezed Këj's shoulder. "What is it? Nervous?"
Këj shrugged. "Not really."
"You feeling sick?"
The boy shook his head. 'S something else."
"Here." Ëran sat down on the corridor floor against the wall. Këj hesitated briefly before joining him. "You can tell me what's going on, alright?"
Këj stared at his hands. "Well, I'm..." He hesitated and fidgeted uncomfortably.
"Come on, I won't bite." Këj's father smiled reassuringly.
"I-I'm- I'm lonely."
Ëran was shocked. "Këj, there are over eight hundred people here; you're rarely ever alone. How can you be lonely?"
"I-I don't know. I just am."
Ëran sat back, closed his eyes, and counted to twenty. "Okay, look,"He said. "if you can't find a reason why you're lonely, you most likely aren't."
"But I am." Këj protested.
His father took a long, deliberate breath. "Këj, I think you should go find some of your friends. That'll cure this 'loneliness', and then, I want you to go to bed by third night watch. You seem exhausted."
Këj nodded. "Yes, Father."
Ëran stood up. "Good. That's settled then." He turned to go.
"Father?"
He half turned. "What?"
"Father, they're- they're nothing like me." Këj's hand flew to his face where his father had struck him.
"I've heard enough of this complaining!" Ëran glared at his son."Enough! You hear me? Enough!"
"Father, please," Këj pleaded. "I'm not trying to complain, but it's true."
"I said, Enough!"
"Father, why is it that every time you ask me what's wrong, you get mad when I tell you?"
"Because your answers are always ridiculous!"
"Because you don't want to face them! You don't actually want to know!"Këj involuntarily took a step forward. "You just want me to be exactly like you, but I'm not. Just because I'm a clone of you doesn't mean I have to think like you." Këj's voice sank almost to a whisper. "You're ashamed of me because I'm not exactly likeyou. You don't love me." Këj couldn't help the single tear that wound its way down his face.
Ëran stood stock-still, stunned. He knew he was generally less than patient about his son's ridiculous ideas but in his opinion he did love the boy, albeit in an odd way that seemed to express itself in surly-sounding growls and blows more than in praise or gentle correction. Still, although Ëran was sure he was completely in the right- after all, tough love helped keep you from getting killed didn't it?- Këj's nearly inaudible accusation had hit home, deep in his heart. He looked speechlessly at his son, who had started to tremble slightly but kept his face immovable. Ëran couldn't help it. "Këj," he cried, his voice unusually emotional. "you know I love you. How could you say something like that?"
"I-I'm sorry, Father." Këj blinked hard in a vain attempt to hold back his tears. He fell into his father's arms, who sat down and just held him. "I- I didn't mean it."
"I know, I know." Këj's father sighed and gently stroked his son's head. "I know."
"I-I'm so sorry." Këj held his father more tightly. "P-please forgive me."
Ëran noticed just how small his son still was: not that he, himself was of any impressive stature, but Këj, almost seventeen or not, at least when he was practically curled up like a newborn, looked tiny. "You know I forgive you." Ëran pulled his son closer. He absently ruffled his son's dark hair as Këj's breathing became more regular. "You need a haircut."
Këj half laughed, half hiccuped, and his cheeks got a slight reddish glow. "Great, now I've got hi-cups." He held his breath until he stopped hiccuping and then looked up at his father. "I love you, Father."
"I love you too, Këj." Ëran grimaced and tried to shift his weight. Tiny-looking or not, Këj was heavy and every muscle in his body was hard. "Alright, get off. You weigh more than you look like you should."
Këj hurriedly obliged and helped his father up. Ëran groaned and shook his legs to get his circulation going again. "What have you been eating?"
"Um..."Këj frowned. "I think I had mush this morning, and rations yesterday at noon."
"Just kidding." Këj's father chuckled. "But you do weigh a lot."
"Father, I'm barely at one hundred twenty."
"Positive?"
"I was yesterday."
"Well then, I suppose I could still carry you."
Before Këj quite realized what was happening, his father had picked him up and was running, in a most undignified manner, down the hall, half-yelling, half-singing an old song that Këj had not heard for several years. Although the song was useful (it listed, along withdescriptions, a long litany of plants, whether they were poisonous,and how they could be used- the poisonous lines were not shy on howyou would die if you ate or touched them), and Ëran was dreadfully off pitch, Këj found the song comforting because it meant that his father was there. He protested of course, but he really wished deep down that he was still a little kid, light enough to be held and young enough not to know anything about the dark, harsh world that he would soon have to face on his own.
