Makings of a Monster

Winski was approaching Reiltar's study. His customary gait of a lazy, hedonistic feline was replaced with a more quick and determined one. He rapped the door and went in without waiting for an answer. Reiltar looked up from his papers, obviously annoyed.
- "We need to talk about your son," said Winski in a voice resembling glinting steel.
- "Well? What about him could be so important that you barge in like that and interrupt me?"
- "His arms training was scheduled today, but instead you sent him to study with me. Judging by his black eye and the fact that he was very upset, too upset for any studying I might add, you don't wish all the Iron Throne to know that you are beating him. What I was wondering is what, exactly, do you hope to accomplish by giving him the beatings ever so often, and particularly with this new idea of yours?" said Winski icily.

Reiltar blushed a little in anger, and his pale eyes shone malevolently.
- "When I want your opinion on how I discipline my son, I'll be sure to ask you, Winski."
Winski smiled, but the smile was as icy as his voice.
- "No, Reiltar. May I call you Reiltar now that we share the responsibility of a budding life? You don't 'discipline' your son. Discipline implies responsibility, guidance, sensible rules to follow and predictability when it comes to punishment. What you do is wantonly abuse him for your sick amusement."
- "Ha! Pretty thick coming from you! I don't remember any of this philanthropic streak from the last incident we tortured that fool who tried to rob my caravan. Getting soft, Winski?"
Winski shrugged.
- "Had to find out if someone had sent him. I don't find torture particularly entertaining, though you obviously do. As an answer to your question, I'm not getting soft at all. I fear that Sarevok is still so young that you possibly could destroy him. Were he an adult and in a position with power to match yours, you would be nothing before him."

- "Treading on a thin ice, aren't you, Winski? Remember that you are still an employed servant. And a little humbling and pain will only serve to improve his character. He has done excellently in his studies, that's true, but he's so damn cocky! Walks his head high and looking everyone in the eye as if he owns the damn place. He just... radiates insolence, so I..."
- "So you tell him to strip and thrash him with your belt, or tell him to stand still, trying not to cry, while you hit his face. I see. You would prefer him to cower in the corners, afraid of his own shadow, eyes cast down."
- "He would do well to respect his father."
- "And what have you done to earn his respect? Never mind, I see the incomprehension in your face all too clearly. You think that giving him food and housing entitles you to do whatever you want with him. Well, here's a free hint, Reiltar. He is proud and dignified for a reason. He is as special as a child gets. That's why you adopted him."
- "I suppose he has a good head on his shoulders, and he's strong and agile and will be a big man. Otherwise he wouldn't be worthy to be my heir."
Winski almost snorted.
- "It is not just that. I don't know what exactly, but there is something very unusual about him. I sense that he is destined to greatness. Which brings me to another point. It would be wise of you to stop 'punishing' him without reason. He has put up with that without resisting, which you no doubt see as a sign of breaking his will. Being the proud creature that he is, he is very ashamed of that. It is poisoning his very spirit. But the reason he's doing it is not what you think. He protects Jelena. He acts as a sponge absorbing your wanton hostility so that you would leave her alone. And so there is an enormous hatred gathering inside him. And if that explodes... you shouldn't ask for more than you can take."

- "The only greatness he's destined to is being my heir and bearer of my name! What's with you people! A man applies some discipline on his son and gets lectures from wives and servants on how to coddle the little shit and allow him to do whatever he damn well likes. Go away, Winski, I have no time for this," Reiltar snarled and snatched the papers from the table, pointedly starting to study them.
- "Very well. Obviously you haven't heard a word I said. One thing though. The stunt you pulled today. I think you have cracked his cheekbone. That will never happen again. You will never hit his face or his head again."
Reiltar stared him straight into eye.
- "And what do you intend to do, Winski, if I do it again?" he hissed.
- "All the influence and power you have in the Throne won't save you if you were to be convicted of murder. You know well that I have enough evidence to bring you down with several ones."
- "It's your head as much as mine!"'
- "Maybe so. If it comes to that, we'll have to see which one of us has more to lose. I will not let you destroy the most special thing I'm likely to encounter in my entire lifetime."
- "Go!" spat Reiltar, furious. Winski stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Still shaking with anger he went to Sarevok's room. The boy was nursing his eye with an ice bag Jelena had given him.
- "Sarevok? I want to show you something. Come, take my hand." His hand was still so small. He will be eight soon, but that is still a small child. So many years still before he will be a big man towering above all of us...
- "I intended to show you this a lot later, but somehow I think now's the time," continued Winski as he led Sarevok to his laboratory. They passed tables full of elaborate equipment, toxic potions, dusty scrolls and odd ingredients. In the darkest corner there was a table, no different from the others. Winski put his hand under it and pressed a button. The wall looked the same as before, but there was a faint click. He pushed a panel, and it opened, revealing a doorway.