Before you read this, I'll just say that the inspiration came from Umbrielle. Her unique work with Caellach made me want to write something about another character who is largely ignored on this site, as far as I can tell. It's a oneshot, so it won't distract me from my other fic. Here you go.

Sadist. That had been the first thing they'd called him when they had released him from his service to the country. He didn't know what that meant, but he knew what he was, so that must mean a sadis.t was someone who smiled when the world did not, who laughed when those around him cried. It left him wondering though, how did he become that way?

He supposed the answer lay somewhere in his childhood. While most people dismissed childhood as irrelevant, that precursor to adul.thood was what often shaped the rest of a person's life. In his case, it must have been his father. Yes, that sounded right…

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

He reveled in the iron draught that filled his mouth, spilling from his lips as he hit the wall and then slumped against it. He looked up at his father, his fist still extended, a smile on his face. Suddenly, his father turned and walked from the room, extinguishing the light as he left, leaving him alone in the darkness. His smile disappeared. Was that it? There was usually more than that. Why had he stopped?

He slowly rose to his feet and wiped the bloo.d from his lips, something was wrong. His father never stopped so soon, it was something he enjoyed. For as long as he could remember he had been thrown into the wall, beaten with the swords his father had yet to finish forging, hung from his feet until he passed out…why had he stopped today with a single punch?

His face paled in the darkness. He must have done something wrong. He had done something wrong, and now he was being punished for it. He didn't know what, but it must have been something terrible. He walked to his bed and sat on its edge, his short legs swinging back and forth as he thought about what had happened today. He had woken up, cut the wood needed for the days forging, and then he had been in the forge all day, stokin.g the fire while his father folded the metal, making the weapons that were to be used by the army. Then he had come into the house, and after dinner his father had punched him, sending him careening into the far wall, and then stopped. He frowned, that was what he did every day, except for that last part. So, if he hadn't done something wrong, then what was it? He slid off his bed and walked to the door, sitting with his back to it as he listened to his father move about in the main part of their small house.

He sighed and swept his silver hair from his face. His face, covered in bruises, not that he knew that. His father told him it was normal, that half of all people had dark circles under their eyes, and that the other half looked like him, their faces free of any distinguishing marks. Not that he'd ever seen another person. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think. Something was changing, and he wanted to figure out what, because things rarely changed. The last time he could remember things changing had been three years ago.

He had been going to bed, and when he'd laid his head down something had been wrong. There was something missing. The familiar pulsing was gone from his temples, and his vision wasn't going black when he pressed his hand against the side of his head. He'd run from his room, crying, and told his father there was something wrong with his head. He had beaten him, told him to quit whining and go to bed. Unknowingly though, his father had fixed whatever had been wrong, because as his he lay back down the familiar throb returned to his head, and his vision swam for a moment before turning back to normal.

Everything had stayed consistent since then. So why was it now changing? He was confused, he didn't like this, he needed something permanent that he could rely on. If his father wasn't going to keep things the way they should be, then maybe it was time for him to do it himself. He stood, the idea taking root. That had to be it, his father was no longer going to do it, so it was left to him. He listened, ear pressed against the door. Nothing. His father must have been asleep by now. He slowly opened the door, and peered across the room through the open door across the house. His father lay in bed, snoring softly. He quietly walked to the forge, the cherry ashes glowing softly as they died. A silver knife lay on the table, newly forged for some lord in the palace. He picked it up and smiled, making his way to his father's room. His breathing was shallow as he bent over him, happy that things would soon be under his control, back to the way they should be. He was surprised at the ease with which the knife slid between his father's ribs, it was so smooth. He remembered his father's eyes, opening wide as he did it, staring at him in the darkness. He smiled at his father, watching as the bloo.d soaked through the white sheets, staining them a dark red.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

That had been over twenty years ago. He had risen in this life, fallen, and here he was again, near the top. He looked down at the man in front of him, his lance piercin.g his chest where his lungs should be. He continued to look at the man for a moment before giving his lance a sharp twist, watching as bloo.d stained the soldier's armor, already slick with gore.

The man grunted and did his best to glare up at him.

"You sadis.tic monster…"he said, trembling with the effort it took to speak louder than a whisper.

He wasn't surprised, he'd been called that his whole life, and he knew how to respond to that.

Valter smiled.

"I know Glen, I know."

I thought it would be interesting to take a short look at how Valter got the way he is in FE:SS. Hope some of you enjoyed it, go ahead and review if you've got something to say.

Twilight Rurouni