Makings of a Monster

Winski Perorate was mixing a lethal poison. He was trying to make all the traces of it disappear within 24 hours, and it was not an easy task even for an accomplished mage like him. Suddenly a knock on the door interrupted his thought processes.
- "Yes?" he called, slightly annoyed.
The door creaked open, and the hesitant Sarevok peeked in. The child looked so healthy and so alive. He had recovered fine from the merciless beating Reiltar had given him for an innocent accident. He had had a high fever, and it could have killed a child with weaker physique. Winski hated to see such a valuable material in hands of a mundane, sadistic oaf. Still, these were the cards the fates had played for them. It was his duty to guard the child and lead him to his destiny.
- "Sarevok? I thought you were supposed to be in your arms training today."
- "Oh, well, yes but... I... father said I should study with you instead."

They started with some advanced vocabulary, but the boy wasn't concentrating. He fidgeted and swallowed, and as Winski took a closer look at him, he saw that the boy was almost in tears. Then his yellow eyes narrowed and his voice softened.
- "Sarevok. LOOK at me." Winski didn't mean to menace the boy, but he couldn't prevent the emotion choking his voice.
Sarevok's cheek was swollen, his eye collecting blue color.
- "What has he done now, and more importantly, why?" asked Winski, trying to keep his voice casual and collected. Sarevok blushed in shame and tried to look away.
- "It's... nothing really. He doesn't hit me with the horsewhip any more."
Winski counted to three and continued, willing his voice level.
- "Yes, I know he has contented himself to beat you with his belt only. He also doesn't batter you unconscious. I told him it is not wise to damage valuable merchandise. Of course, he has also abandoned the idea that your so-called punishments should have any educational purpose or a reason. He comes to your room, orders you to take your clothes off and gives you the beating with no reason at all."

It was not a question. Sarevok was crimson now, and had buried his head in his hands. His shoulders, which were really quite wide shoulders for a young boy, but still so narrow compared to an adult, shook violently. Oh, my, thought Winski. If I had a heart it would probably break now.

- "What I wonder is this. If I ever saw a creature full of pride, spirit and purpose, it was you. Right from the first moment in the Iron Throne I noticed that you live for a purpose. That you are as special as a mortal child gets. And now you are cowering before an ambitious, brutal fool. I understand that he's an adult and a puppet-master of the situation. But what did he do to your SPIRIT? Surely he couldn't have quelled it with just a few beatings?"

Now Sarevok was holding his ears closed and shaking ever more violently. Winski grabbed his hair in his frustration, and felt a violent flash of regret as Sarevok yelped in surprise. Before he knew what he was doing, he hugged and held the child, rocking him and whispering: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Embarrassed, he retreated and pulled Sarevok's hands off his ears. The boy didn't resist, just looked at him, his eyes huge and the unspoken pain radiating from them.

- "Little one. You're not in any shape for a cross-examination. Just rest now and then we'll talk." The boy fell asleep on Winski's couch, the same on which he had confessed his killings. Winski let him breathe some mind-altering herbs, feeling slightly guilty, but he didn't believe that the boy would talk without any chemical easing up. As he woke up, Winski started with his general idea of the situation.

- "The reason you are so ashamed of letting Reiltar beat you is that you fear I will hold you in contempt. And the reason why you in fact do let him beat you is not that you fear losing your new better opportunities and home. Sarevok, I promise I won't hold you in contempt if you only tell me why you allow him do this to you."
The boy blushed and hesitated, started to look for the right words.
- "Mother. If he's after me... then he's not hitting mother."
- "I see. I guess I can understand that. She is a genuine creature of love and nurture, Jelena. And more so for you who have never experienced such. Let it be a lesson for you then. If you have kindness or goodness in your heart, or sympathy for others, you'll end up like her. What is she but a dog at Reiltar's mercy? The poor cow is so far gone that she generates a bizarre theory how everything is her fault anytime Reiltar brutalizes either of you."
Winski saw the resentment in Sarevok's face and hurried to continue.
- "I do not mean to disparage her, but think about it, Sarevok! Which one of them is happier? What good does Jelena's good heart ever do for her? If you listen to her and her values, you'll end up like her! A spittoon for Reiltar! Compassion is a fool's game. Abandon it, and destroy all who would oppose you. Let the weak and good ones be the regrettable casualties of war."
Sarevok suddenly grabbed his collar.
- "Mother is not.... a... casualty... of... war."
Winski saw that it was best to let the issue go.
- "So. What's with the eye? I thought he only liked to flog you."
- "He called me to him and told me to stand still. Then he slapped me, real hard like, and then punched. And he looked what I did, and his eyes kind of went crazy, and he hit me more. And I didn't cry, and he said he was proud of me because I didn't cry. It felt like he meant it."
Winski sighed.
- "He probably did." His eyes went regretful. "Poor Sarevok. I think that is the closest of fatherly love Reiltar is ever going to give you."