Young Taran
In the Med bay of Haven, young Taran sat politely as the man introduced to him as Tobor had begun to tend to his wounds. Spectre didn't seem to like Tobor. Spectre had rescued Young Taran, and had brought him here; he liked Spectre. In turn, Young Taran had decided that he, too, did not like Tobor. Gauze was wrapped around young Taran's knee, as Tobor inspected him. “Who has done this, boy?” Tobor asked, inspecting a rather large bruise on Young Taran's leg. Young Taran didn't want to answer. Spectre, who had been uneasily watching from the corner spoke up in a small, vindictive voice. “His father.” He spoke slow, in a way which seemed deliberate in a way which Young Taran couldn't quite parse.
Tobor chuckled, which Young Taran didn't understand; there was nothing to chuckle at. It sounded mischievous. He did not like it. He glanced desperately for Spectre; he didn't have the words to explain, but he knew that this wasn't right. Tobor simply kept bandaging his wounds, tutting. “Well, that's just how fathers are.” Tobor said in a dry tone, which Young Taran did not like one bit. Spectre did not seem to like it one bit, either, for he seemed to darken in his demeanour. Spectre's brows furrowed, “Don't you tell that to the boy.” He said in a quiet voice, as if he wished that he hadn't been speaking at all. It had seemed to be the wrong thing to say, Young Taran thought, as the room felt as if it had gotten a few degrees colder. For a moment, it was as if time itself had stopped, waiting on Tobor to start it again. “Sons ought to listen to their fathers. You know that better than anybody, boy.” Tobor finally spoke, after an incredibly long silence. Young Taran hated the toneless way that it was spoken, as if it were delivered as a just truth, a reminder of the norm.
Young Taran glanced up nervously, almost afraid to speak up. He had watched how Tobor talked to Spectre, and he knew that it was not correct. He fiddled with his hands as he finally glanced up. “Are sons always supposed to do what fathers say?” Young Taran asked in a voice which was rather a touch too small. After all, he was still working out how this world worked, and it seemed all a bit much. Tobor seemed to suck on his teeth for a moment as he rolled it around in his head, whilst Spectre looked as if he were experiencing vertigo. Young Taran couldn't quite parse if he, too, had said something that he wasn't supposed to - but, then, he never could comprehend why some things seemed to be wrong.
Tobor simply went back to securing the bandage, nodding. “Fathers only want what is best for their Sons, after all.“ He spoke nonchalantly, lifting the boy up off of the table. Young Taran hated being held by him, even for a second. He stared at his feet; he knew that this was wrong, but he couldn't fathom why an adult would lie. He was sure it would make sense to him, eventually. Young Taran muttered a small thank you, quickly shuffling back to Spectre's side. Spectre took him under his cape as if to shield him, silently walking him out of the room. They silently walked down the dark corridors, all the way into one of the many recreational garden spaces of Haven. Young Taran liked the garden spaces. They were full of interesting smelling flowers, and streams which made such nice sounds. He felt that this was why they had named it Haven at all. ”It's not true.“ Spectre finally spoke, glancing out at the garden. ”Sons do not have to listen to their fathers. Fathers make sons listen to them, but child, if you can - do not listen.“ He spoke comforting words with such a gentle rage in his voice. Young Taran felt that this was true, but he had become more interested in a butterfly that had started fluttering by, following it along intently with his eyes, his muzzle upturned as it arced over his head. ”Suppose I don't have a father anymore?“ Young Taran said distractedly, his nose delicately sniffing the clear air. ”Suppose I never go back home“ he continued, letting his legs follow the path of the butterfly. He barely had remembered that Spectre was there at all; how silly, for just back there in the Med bay, every inch of his being had yearned to be hiding behind him.
Spectre watched him follow the butterfly in circles around him. ”Sadly, the nature of this tethered existence, is that you will always have a father. You may choose not to visit him; you may not even know where, how, or who, he is. But he will exist; that is important to acknowledge. Not out of any love or care of the man - no, it is for the scars he will continue to leave behind that you must acknowledge it.“ His eyes followed the boy with a sense of remorse. Young Taran glanced back up at him, curious once more. “Even if he is not present? Even if he can't touch me anymore?” He pondered it over; how could something hurt by not being present? It seemed paradoxical. Spectre nodded; ”You will yearn. You will ache. You may even feel such horrid feelings, to see somebody with their father, whom loves them very much. It will make you angry. It will make your stomach turn. These are the scars which a terrible father may leave on us.“ he found himself speaking gently, kneeling down to the boy. ”You must know this. You must acknowledge it in your heart. You must understand that this hatred, as pure as you are, will not taint your soft being, young Taran. It is alright to feel such burning hatred, so long as we do not let it influence our actions. Do not give him the satisfaction.“ He held the boys impossibly tiny hand in his; how very small he was, for a boy of reasoning age. ”You may even find somebody who will fill this void. It will not quench the anger, the fear - but it will keep it at bay. You may find somebody to call your father; not of biology, but of kinship. A chosen bond.“
Young Taran felt that yearning in his every being. It was here in which he realised what an awfully long journey he had set ahead for himself. His eyes shone brightly with an understanding; usually, such speeches from adults had meant nothing to him. This, however, had wrapped itself around his heart; he knew what every word meant, and where it was supposed to go. He leant on Spectre, finding that he had nothing more to say. Spectre wrapped an arm around the boy comfortingly. He felt at peace, for once.
