Father Figure

        "Might I speak with you, sirrah?" Father Hough, startled, whirled
around.  A large cat stood behind him.  Stealth came as second nature to some
Keepers, and while the age regressed priest had come to expect such surprises,
he still couldn't help being startled.  He quickly regained his composure.

        "Very well.. Timothy, wasn't it?" The cat nodded.  It was not due to
any forgetfullness that Father Hough had to guess at his name.  Tim was a
devout follower of the Lightbringer religion, and had darkened the stones of
the parish with his presence but a few times before.  All of them funerals
for fallen comrades, if Father Hough's memory served rightly.  "To what do I
owe the pleasure of your company?"

        "I... just need to speak with you on a personal matter, if I might."
The unnaturally young priest nodded.

        "I'm afraid you caught me in the middle of my afternoon prayers.  May
I finish, or is the matter pressing?"

        "Oh, no, Father, I'd not take you from your god for all the rum in
Sarvest.  There is no hurry.  Might I await you... outside?" Father Hough
smiled boyishly and nodded.

        "Of course.  I have no wish for you to be uncomfortable." The priest
returned to his interupted duties, and Tim scuttled out of the uncomfortable
presence of a religion rival to his own.


        "Now, what may I do for you?" the young Father asked, once they were
comfortably settled in a neutral location.  "I take it from your discomfort in
the church that you are not here to recieve baptism."

        "No, sirrah," The cat agreed, "It is not your services as a priest I
seek... I..." Tim's ears drooped, and he faltered as though unsure of how to
continue.

        "I assure you, whatever you say to me will be held in the strictest
confidence."

        "I need some advice about... about your kind."

        "About Followers?" Tim shook his head.

        "About... about children that used to be men.  Not that you aren't a
man, anymore, sirrah, I mean..." Father Hough stilled the cat with a gesture
of his hand.

        "There's no need to apologize, Timothy.  We are all, to a degree,
what the Keep and the hand of the Almighty... or whatever power you believe
in... have seen fit to make us."

        "It's about the boy." Father Hough raised an eyebrow, and Tim shook
his head, "That's not very helpful, is it?  It's about the boy we took with
us on our last patrol.  Nero." The priest nodded.

        "I've talked with him, briefly, shortly after he first arrived."

        "I'm sure you've heard the gossip about us by now."  Tim scowled
darkly as he spoke.

        "Timothy, I am not in the habit of indulging in idle gossip." Hough
assured, "I've heard nothing more of him than what he told me himself."

        "Then you don't know what happened to him?"  Hough shook his head,
and the cat elaborated, "Well, I was taking a bunch of Greens out for a quick
patrol, and..." Father Hough held up a hand to interupt.

        "Greens?  I must confess, I'm not familiar with some of your military
terms.  I'm familiar with the Longs, but not the Greens."

        "I mean, new recruits.  I got stuck with a bunch of them this time
out.  The only people with real experience there were me and Jack."

        "deMule?" Tim laughed.

        "De Rabbit, actually.  Most people call him 'Knife'." The boy's eyes
widened slightly.

        "I see."

        "Yeah, Jack's that kinda guy." Tim's face, which had momentarily
become animated and almost cheerful, sank again as he took up his narration,
"It was supposed to be what we call a 'milk run.'  But we ran into a lutin
ambush.  We were outnumbered and surrounded."

        "What happened?" Father Hough asked.  Tim almost smiled as he heard
the childish tones half-suppresed in the man-child's voice.

        "Well, we were holding our own.  Most of the recruits were actually
pretty good.  But Nero just stood there gaping until one of them managed to
throw itself on his sword.  I've never heard a human being make the kind of
sound I heard from Nero.  He just dropped his sword and picked up the lutin's
knife, and he just stared at it.  I've seen people do some strange things in
battle, but this kid just beat all I'd ever seen.  It's like the fight just
parted around him while he was thinking.  Then he laid into them like a
butcher. You know, I remember when we stuck it to those little green monsters
for what they did to Craig.  I saw people like me... people who aren't
entirely human anymore... go nuts.  I saw men become animals.  But it wasn't
like he was angry, or even scared.  He was laughing.  He killed a lutin with
every stroke of his arm.  I've seen those critters struggle after being hit
in the head with a broadsword, but when he cut them, they just collapsed.
And the whole time, he was Changing.  Getting younger.

        "When it was over, when there weren't any more lutins left, he kept
going.  I've still got a small bruise where he tried to gut me.  I've seen
people get like that, so they can't stop killing.  You have to hold them down,
until they see that the fight's over.  He was pretty small by then, littler'n
you are, and it wasn't hard to make him drop the knife and be still.  He
finally stopped laughing."

        "And then he started crying." Hough guessed.  Tim nodded.

        "Aye, that's when he started crying, and he kept shrinking till he
was a wee tot, almost a babe-in-arms."

        "In your arms, you mean." Hough supplied, and again the cat nodded.

        "Well, there wasn't much else I could do, Father.  The boy obviously
was in need."

        "I did not intend it as a criticism, merely an observation."

        "When he was done shrinking, he looked up at me and started talking
the way some of the guys do down at the Deaf Mule sometimes.  Philisophical,
I guess you'd say.  He talked about the Healer's Oath, and how easy it is to
kill.  He said that was the punchline."

        "What's the joke?" The regressed priest asked.

        "That's what I wish I knew." Tim answered with a shrug of his
shoulders, "But he hasn't said a word about it since.  That was about a week
ago."

        "And where is Nero now?" A silence settled then, as the catmorph
seemed to contemplate his answer.

        "He's... been at my house ever since."

        "I see." The cat's fists clenched.

        "Don't give me that tone, boy!  I know what people are saying about
me behind my back.  It isn't true."  The priest held up his hands in a
placating gesture.

        "Please, calm down.  I didn't mean any offense, and as I told you
before, I don't indulge in gossip."  Tim visibly calmed himself.

        "I... apologize, sirrah, I should not have lost my temper.  The whole
affair has me a bit distraught."

        "Why don't you tell me the rest of the story." Hough suggested, and
Tim nodded.

        "Well, we made it back in.  By a lucky miracle.. and Nero's berzerker
frenzy... nobody was killed, though a few of us were in a bad way.  He didn't
get any bigger... Nero didn't, that is, and he slept the entire way home.  I
was worried when I couldn't rouse him, but he seemed ok.  It was late, and
none of us knew where Nero was quartered, so I took him to my place.  I..
there's a spare room at my house, and I put the boy up there for the night."

        "And in the morning?"

        "He acted like he looked, Father.  He'd growed some during the night,
but he's still a young'n, younger'n you are.  He doesn't seem to remember
anything about the fight.  He says he doesn't remember coming to Metamor."

        "Did you speak to anyone about this?  The Lightbringer, perhaps?  I
recall there was a time when Christopher was afflicted in a similar fashion,
and Raven proved quite knowledgable."

        "Aye... so far as anyone knows, there's nothing wrong with him.  At
least, nothing in the way of curse or disease.  Whatever it is, it's up
here." The cat tapped his forehead.

        "So he believes himself to be a child?"  Tim nodded.

        "That's not all, Sirrah.  He keeps calling me... Father."

        "Yes?" Father Hough answered.

        "No, that's what he calls me.  He calls me his father."  The boy-
priest nodded understandingly.

        "I can imagine that's very akward for you."

        "That's only saying half of it.  I left him for a few hours to go and
check in with Jack about our next patrol.  Do you know what he did to my
place while I was gone?" Father Hough raised an eyebrow quizically.

        "Don't tell me he went on a rampage?"

        "Aye!  A cleaning rampage.  He'd swept, dusted, put things away... I
swear there were spots on the floor that hadn't seen light since... in
years."

        "That must have been... horrible for you." Father Hough noted, his
voice betraying the sarcasm of his words with gentle humor.

        "Ah, don't start.  I get enough ribbing about it from Jack and Grady.
It's just... I..." Tim turned away, and his shoulders shook.  It took the
cleric a moment to realize that the catmorph was crying.  The priest leaned
forward and put a comforting hand on Tim's knee.

        "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to upset you."

        "It's not you, Father.  He's just... There are times when he seems so
much like Marc."

        "Marc is your son?"

        "Was, aye." The cat hissed, then almost immediately reconsidered,
"No, you've the right of it.  He's still my son, no matter what I may have
said."

        "He's still alive?"  The cat shook his head.

        "No, he died a year after the Three Gates.  We... argued a lot, and
then he moved out, and away.  He wasn't here when the Curse hit."

        "You never had a chance to make amends with him."

        "I've nothing to apologize for." Tim snarled. "He was an ungrateful
sod."  Again the cat calmed himself. "His mother was the only thing keeping
us civil, and when she died... neither of us knew what to do.  We were both
angry and grieving, and I took to drinking to try and ease my pain.  He took
to provoking me to ease his.  In the heat of the moment, I said... some
things I shouldn't have.  When I woke up, he was gone."

        "And Nero reminds you of Marc?" Tim nodded.

        "Not the way Marc was when he left, but the way he was at that age,
young and excited at being alive.  They don't look anything alike, of course,
but there's something about his eyes... I know I'm just being a fool.  It's
just the fact that he seems young and innocent, and having him around reminds
me of the way things were when Marc was that age.  I've... I accidentally
called him Marc once, and he answered, just like it was his own name.  I know
it doesn't mean anything, Father, but... I don't know what to do.  Nero has
no friends that I know about, no family in the Keep.  He's not prepared to
live by himself, that much is obvious.  And... I don't know if I could make
him leave.  He seems content where he is, and..."

        "And it would be like having your son leave all over again."  The cat
nodded, silently.

        "There's more.  Apparently, some people have the idea that I'm...
Apparently, I've been called a boy-lover behind my back."  The priest
flinched as though struck.  "Are you alright?"

        "I'm... yes, I'm fine.  Just... an unfortunate memory."  The cat laid
his ears flat against his head.

        "Oh, gods forgive me, I didn't mean to bring that up for you, sirrah.
I..."

        "It isn't your fault, Tim.  The past is, and does not change."

        "Aye, that's so, more's the pity." Tim nodded, "I'm not sure what to
do, Father."

        "If you'll permit me to indulge in a certain amount of conjecture,
perhaps we might be able to understand the situation a bit better."

        "Go on." Hough paused a moment to gather his thoughts, and to choose
his words carefully.

        "Nero.. was a very unhappy man.  I won't violate his confidence, so I
can't tell you much more than that.  Suffice it to say, he lived with a lot
of broken dreams.  You've said that he changed while fighting, that he didn't
begin to regress until after he'd joined the battle."

        "Right."

        "Is it possible, do you think, that Nero may not have realized what
was happening to him?  I've never been involved in combat, so I must rely on
your judgement.  Could one be so caught up in the fighting frenzy that even
such a drastic change as that might go unnoticed?" The cat nodded slowly.

        "As I've said, I've seen men do strange things in combat.  And I've
heard them talk about it, afterwards... it may be as you say."

        "Alright then.  Consider this from Nero's point of view.  He slept
the entire trip back, and probably slept the night through without waking.
He went from a battle, threatened with death, to waking, safe, comfortable,
in your house.  Not only that, but he is younger than he remembers himself.
Would you not wish to believe that the memories of the night before were no
more than an unpleasant dream?"

        "Aye... I suppose it might be so."

        "And with that, one can also discard the unwanted memories of an
unhappy life.  I think... I think Nero chose to start over, Tim.  I think
that his strange behavior during the battle, and the shock of waking up as a
child, may have weakened his sense of reality to such a degree that he chose
to construct a more pleasant truth for himself.  Given a choice between being
an unhappy, traumatized adult trapped in a child's body and being a carefree,
happy child... it would be a difficult choice for anyone to make."  Tim could
hear in the regressed Keeper's voice something that made him guess that the
man-boy knew more than a little about such choices.

        "That's as may be, Father, but that does little to help matters.  I
still don't know what to do with him." Hough sighed, and was silent for many
long minutes.  When he spoke again, it was softly, his eyes lowered.

        "Embrace what you've been given.  There are too many lives and homes
that have been torn apart by the Curse.  Let this be a case where it brings
two lives together.  Abba... or the gods, as you prefer, has seen fit to give
both of you a second chance."

        "But what about..." The priest shook his head.

        "Don't worry about them.  As long as there's no truth to their lies,
then the rumors and gossip will eventually die out.  Has Nero been out of
doors often?" Tim shook his head.  "Then take him out.  Let him be the child
he wants to be."

        "And in ten years?  What do I do with a child who'll never grow up?"

        "Don't worry about it." Hough advised, "There'll be plenty of time
between now and then for Nero to come to his senses.  And when he does, he'll
need more than a friend to help him through it."  The big cat nodded, and
stood.

        "Thank you for your time, Sirrah, and your advice." Hough smiled.

        "It's all part of my job.  And Tim?" The cat turned to face the
priest of Eli again. "Don't be afraid to come and talk to me whenever you
need to.  Just because you aren't of my faith, it doesn't mean I can't be
your friend."  The cat favored him with a nod and a smile, and left.

        The priest returned to the altar, and spoke softly aloud.  In recent
months, since his own transformation, he'd found the act of praying aloud
to be very comforting, and he'd taken to doing so when alone.  He felt the
need for that sort of comfort very keenly at the moment.

        "I think that I did the right thing, Lord." He whispered, "But for
some reason I doubt myself.  Did I advise Timothy according to your will, or
mine?  Did I tell him what he needed to hear, or only what he wanted to hear?
I must confess that my own feeling on the issue are... mixed.  Please be with
them both, Lord, for surely they shall need your grace. Amen."  The priest
began to rise, then returned to his kneeling position, "And Lord, let me not
forget that I, too, have my Father to turn to in times of need.  Amen."