Makings of a Monster

There would still be hours before the morning light, and the was no mistaking that the kitchen of Anchev household was illuminated. Winski took a look at Sarevok and groaned inwards. The boy was covered with caked blood and had a hastily made bandage, slowly collecting blood, in his right arm. His shortsword was still covered with blood and other bits of human anatomy, and his expression was stunned, wavering between horror, wonder and exhilaration. Just what every mother wants to see. Let it not be Jelena... right, Winski. Here's a multiple choice question for you. Which one of Sarevok's parents is more likely to care enough to be up, waiting for him? Jelena? Reiltar? Right. He'd just have to deal with it. No way to tidy the boy up so that it'd make any difference.

The pair entered the kitchen as there was no way of avoiding it. Heart of home, thought Winski wearily. And sure enough, there Jelena sat in her blue robe, and once she saw them, she gasped looking shocked and relieved at the same time. She rushed to the doorway and held Sarevok, checking to see if the child was in one piece.
- "As you probably can see, there was no avoiding the fighting," said Winski in a resigned tone. Jelena shot him a sharp look, but probably saw that he found it as regrettable as she did.
- "You are wounded, Sarevok..." she said in a pained voice.
Sarevok just nodded and looked gravely at his mother. Winski couldn't quite read his expression. Jelena, on the other hand, seemed to be relieved to have something to do. She put the kettle on and told them to sit and wait for a while, and went for her sanitary items. They sat, and Winski could see that Sarevok was having some sort of internal struggle. He knew better than to pressure the boy. If he was prompted or coaxed about his personal pains and worries, he only retreated further into the depths of his soul and was doubly as reserved as before.

Jelena arrived again and started to clean and dress the wound. She was pleased to note that it wasn't very deep. Jelena was actually a rather good healer, but she had not the gift of magical healing. Still, it wasn't all a bad thing. A healthy respect of pain would perhaps teach the boy to be a little more careful in battle, if his wounds were not magically healed right after. Or not. Winski found it unlikely that he even felt pain until afterwards. Jelena washed the blood away with gentle hands while Winski served hot tea and sandwiches. Sarevok started to look more and more unhappy and anxious, and barely nipped at his sandwich, even though he hadn't eaten in a long time in his excitement.

After Jelena was done, she joined the quiet pair and looked deeply into the eyes of her son. She was hurt to see Sarevok avoiding her gaze.
- "Do you want to talk about it, Sarevok? All that blood..." she asked, pale and grave.
Sarevok looked down, suppressing a sob.
- "Mother... you are so good and gentle. You wouldn't understand it."
- "What would I not understand?"
- "I'm all wrong. I'm made wrong, from the beginning. " He looked up, a look of despair in his eyes. "I killed men there. I love killing, and I'm good at it. That's all, really. I'm made to do it."
Jelena looked at the boy, very worried.
- "It's not wrong as such," said Winski. "There will always be death and killing. If you are incapable of killing, those with a stronger will will walk all over you."
Sarevok nodded, but was still in misery.
- "But it is not just that I do it because I have to. Others are not like that. When I fight or kill, I feel such a powerful joy and a feeling of being alive forever... why can't I be good in something else? Why can't my destiny be something other?"
- "You are good in plenty of other things! Winski always tells how smart you are," offered Jelena.
Sarevok shook his head.
- "It... horrifies me. But I must admit, mostly because you might get killed yourself," Jelena continued. Her eyes took a darker shade and she smirked. "Ha, I don't believe I'm saying this, but I'd let anyone die before you."
Sarevok's expression lightened up a notch.

- "Sarevok. Don't you know how warriors are respected? And even more so, paladins?" Winski spoke the last word with a snarl. "And what are they? They are killers. Professional killers. It is just a nicer word for that. Killing is a part of life as much as birth and natural death. Go to a forest and look: the animals kill each other, and so it shall always be. Fighting evil in any grander scale is pointless, as evil is often no more than negation of so-called goodness, when it happens to other people. You have a gift, Sarevok. It is nothing to be ashamed of."
Jelena was not sure that she approved of Winski's musings, but they seemed to calm the boy so she said nothing. She walked to hug the boy, who buried his head into her embrace.
- "Sarevok, my beloved son. Whatever you do, or become, I'll love you. Perhaps that is what I'm made for, giving unconditional love. Never fear that I won't give my love to you. Never."
Sarevok, exhausted, cried silently. He felt such a spinning turmoil inside him. There was the joy and pride he had felt in the battle, the sense of purpose he only felt when fighting. Then there was mother, who would never hurt anyone if she absolutely didn't have to, and Winski, who regarded him as a special being destined into something grand. And Reiltar, the hated figure looming large, sneering, laughing, beating, humiliating. And the mangled corpses of the men who would never laugh or eat or sing or dance again...

- "All right, Sarevok. Now you go to the bed." It was Winski, realizing that the boy was completely exhausted. Sarevok let the adults lead him to his room and gently tuck him in the bed. He fell asleep in seconds, but Winski and Jelena stood a long time watching him.
- "He's so young... so small still..." said Jelena, her voice quivering.
- "Yes." Winski felt an urge to hold her, and did so. Probably because of the unconditional love bit. It probably had healed the kid's soul a great bit. Jelena's hair had a lovely scent to it. He buried his face into it.
- "He didn't exaggerate? He really killed and... was good at it?"
- "Oh yes. He didn't exaggerate one bit." His voice was grave, and Jelena shuddered. She took Winski's hand, enjoying the gentle and soft touch, and patted Sarevok's cheek.