I often dream. Dark dangerous dreams. In these dreams I see a face. Nearly as handsome, and some how more desirable, he reaches for me. I long to take his hand to run with him as far as my magic will take us. But I know I will never reach his hand in time. So I turn from him and hide these bitter tears. I wake up many a morning with moist lips, salted by my own tears.
For reasons beyond me, my son dreams too, I awake from my own night mare to listen to his ravings. Men he talks of and swords. Names that stir in me something I can't define. Rebellion, anger and sorrow. Belgareth, Poledra, Beldaren, and the name that nearly brings me to tears with each uttered syllable, Durnik. With this name I feel a sense of sorrow so profound and full that I often make my self forget the name or refuse to rouse my self and lie, crying angry tears.
Why I have these dreams I know not. At the light of first dawn, all hate, anger and sorrow leave me. I feel happy, almost deliriously so. My son feels it too.
I often wonder at my son's name. Garion, an odd name to be sure. I sometimes get the feeling that I did not give it to him. But that's silly, isn't it? My husband stood by my side at his birth. I have the feeling I should know the name of my mother and father. But my love just laughs and tells me not to worry.
And what more could any want? Torak is all I could ever want in a husband and so much more.