A Love Forsaken
Disclaimer: All characters, locations, mythical items etc. belong to David and Leigh Eddings, except those that did not appear in any of the Garion stories.
A/N: Well? Do tell, what do you think so far? This is my first fic, so be nice. I thought the first chapter was a little serious, so it's time to lighten the atmosphere a bit. There'll be plenty of dark and mysterious stuff later on
Chapter 2: An Outstanding Drink
Belgarion, King of Riva, Overlord of the West, former Child of Light, multiple great-grandson of the legendary Sorcerer Belgarath and nephew to the fabled Lady Polgara the Sorceress swept into the royal chambers, unfastened his heavy cloak at the collar and tossed it, along with the heavily-gilded crown into an abandoned armchair. With a lingering groan of considerable relief he sank into another and allowed himself to relax for the first time in weeks.
"Good evening, dear." His flame-headed spouse barely glanced up from her needlework as she addressed her slouching husband, "had a good day?"
He didn't answer for a few seconds as he closed his eyes briefly in a state of lethargy. A huge yawn pranced across his face and he spoke in a weary undertone,
"Thank the gods that's over."
"And what might that be, dear?" It was clear from the Rivan Queen's tone that she knew exactly what he was referring to. It was equally as apparent that she thought he was being utterly pathetic about it.
"The girls. They've just left, and I'm sure Aunt Pol won't stand for such nonsense."
"I'm quite sure I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about, Garion dear. Try getting to the point, would you? I'm very busy." She continued to sew.
He glared at her, "you're not busy at all. You could ask any of the servants to do that for you. You're as bad as Aunt Pol, you know that?"
"Of course, darling. But I do wish you would just tell me what the problem is, and then I can..."
"Tell me just how pitiful I'm being?"
"Naturally. Could you pass me that reel of green thread, please, Garion?"
For a fleeting instant he seriously considered telling her to get it herself. He put a great deal of thought in the matter in the few seconds that were available to him, but he knew that doing so would merely spark off a rendition of "you don't love me any more!" This hated phrase, even though he knew full well that she did it merely to prove that she had him bound tighter than ever around her little finger, always owned him. The moment that lower lip began to tremble and her eyes brimmed with tears, his resolve would all but disintegrate and he would go along with whatever she wanted all the same. With great reluctance he reached for the guilty spool, and tossed it to his devious wife. For several minutes they sat in silence. Ce'Nedra patiently strung her needle and tied a knot at the end of the strand. Garion watched with irritation as she inserted the sharp point into the material and pulled it through. The needle darted in and out of the cloth with a swiftness that absorbed him, but only served to bother him more. Finally, despite knowing that his words would break little ice with his treasured 'other half'; he could not hold his concern inside any longer.
"Beldaran is driving me to distraction," he began.
"I wasn't aware that she had misbehaved," Ce'Nedra replied coolly, not looking up from her sewing, "you'll have to fill me in on the finer details and I shall punish her accordingly when she returns."
"It's not…her…exactly," Garion's frown grew futher etched into his forehead as he struggled to find a way to word his problem that would not be immediately stamped upon by his wife. He soon gave up and pawned for the ranting approach, "It's those Torak-blessed suitors! They follow her around everywhere. They're practically drooling over her!"
"She's a pretty girl."
"That's the problem," Garion growled through gritted teeth, "she's beautiful."
"A father's worst nightmare," Ce'Nedra looked up briefly in order to nod knowingly. Her face was straight as a Tolnedran road, but Garion was sure that he could detect a distinct trace of mockery underlying her words. The needle started up again, rocketing through the fabric.
"You're making fun of me." Garion was resentful. His every word so far had been mercilessly torn apart and dragged through the gutter. So much for making them stamp-proof. To his annoyance the flying needle did not falter in its progress at all, but persisted right to the end of the seam, where it immediately resumed its course elsewhere. "Will you put down your sewing when you are talking to me!"
Ce'Nedra stolidly ignored Garion's request and deigned only to raise her head and deliver him a thoroughly disdainful look. "As far as I could see, Garion, I was not doing much of the talking. That, unfortunately for me, has been your territory. It does appear that perhaps you need some help as you don't seem to have communicated much since you began the first of your woeful sentences." She paused briefly to examine her stitching with her critical eye, and then proceeded to unpick her most recent efforts and begin again. "Oh, and Garion? If you want to order people around, don't pick me. I have equal rank to you, if you will remember; you announced it yourself. And even if you hadn't, I don't do as anybody tells me anyway so I'm not going to start with you. Be a sweetheart and please refrain from trying."
Garion scowled and muttered through clenched teeth, "I'm getting a drink."
"You'll only regret it in the morning, dear. You've got the Council tomorrow. It's not good to shape the world on an empty stomach, and you won't be able to hold anything down." As an afterthought, she added, "and don't slam the door on the way out." Grudgingly, the door met its frame in a state of mute civility.
Garion's face as he strode down the corridor could have rivalled the Cherek Bore in sheer ferocity, and if given the choice, several of the servants that came across him on his sullen journey would have sooner faced the latter rather than enrage their king further. He strode towards the front of the Citadel with maids and soldiers alike practically diving out of his path left and right. He looked over the city and out to sea, but the horizon remained empty and night was falling fast over the Isle of the Winds. He turned towards one of his nervous sentries who was desperately trying to keep the clanking of his armour to a bare minimum so as not to aggravate his fuming monarch. Garion opened his mouth to speak and the sentinel cowered.
"Is Prince Kheldar here yet?" He growled.
Greatly relieved that the query was not something worse but terrified that his answer would displease the king, the guard gabbled, tripping over most of his words, "I'm very sorry, sire, but I'm afraid not."
Garion grunted his comprehension but paused in his reply. The quaking guard waited on tenterhooks, biting his lip beneath his helmet in anticipation.
"Just tell me when he gets here." The king breathed at last. He turned to go back inside, flanked by his equally petrified security guards, and the sentry almost fell over himself in trying to voice his affirmation, "Of course. Yes sire, Your Majestic Highness, sir!" He bowed repeatedly and retained a constant salute until Garion had left his line of sight, and then he slumped against the pillar with a mixture of exhaustion and surprise at his survival. His fellow sentry looked over, white-faced.
"That'll be a story to tell your grandchildren, that will."
Inside the Citadel, Garion headed for the place where the ale-barrels were kept. He looked in and found Barak and King Anheg singing raucously together about how a young lady named Aristelle cheated the government and built herself a palace of corks. That was what Garion could discern from the cacophony, anyway. He decided that he would leave the two men to their drunken ramblings as he would never hear the last of it if Ce'Nedra found out that he had joined them, which she undoubtedly would. He made to close the door behind him, but Barak caught sight of him before he was able to close it entirely, and he called blurrily out to him.
"Garion, my friend!" He slopped a great deal of ale down his front, "Come and join ush! Dish, hic, dish ale of yoursh is really shummink, you should have shum too, hic! We're shinging ash well, hic! Go on, Anheg, show – show him!"
Garion felt sure that he did not need any reminder of their abysmal lyrics and he deeply regretted ever venturing down here. Anheg, however, was determined, and he broke into song again, "Aristelle, Aristelle, my little, hic, darling! Why did you have to leeeeave me? Lonesome and sad in her HIC palace of cooork! Come on Garion! Now shee, hic, shee lives alooooone! Aloooone, I tell ye!" At that moment Anheg slipped beneath the table. There was a nasty bubbling noise, then he resurfaced and stared blearily up at Garion. "What you fink? Come and shing with ush! Deresh, hic, lotsh more vershes."
Garion fled.
Several hours later, Garion had still not managed to find an alternate way to sink his sorrows and he flatly refused to return to his chambers and his depressingly incisive wife. He sat slumped in his office, drowning instead in the tedium of several official and incredibly boring documents. No matter how many times he read any particular sentence, none of it seemed to want to bother trying to burrow its way to his brain, so it came as a relief when the sentry he had terrorized earlier came to inform him that Silk's ship had been sighted.
He followed the guard to the Citadel steps and then dismissed him. His face still retained its dark glower as he greeted the Drasnian prince on the step. Silk was entirely unperturbed by this less than warm welcome.
"What's wrong with you?" he quipped, "don't tell me, you've discovered another prophecy; the world's about to end, again; and the upshot of the whole thing is that your wife refuses to take you seriously. Am I right?"
Garion scowled, "even you're making fun of me!"
"I would have thought that you would have realised by now that I have always been the very first to make fun of you. Shame, I was late. I must have missed my cue. I couldn't get Greldik, he was otherwise engaged. I had to use Brelog; slow as a Thull given a quill and no ink and doesn't know one end of his ship for the other."
"Oh, yes. Sorry. Greldik's taking the girls to visit Aunt Pol and Durnik."
"And the reason you're upset has something to do with the girls. Beldaran, to be precise." Silk surveyed him critically.
Garion's head snapped round, "how did you know?"
"Ce'Nedra sent me the Council summons, remember? She's told me, or rather Liselle, everything that's been going on in your personal lives. And also there's a vein in your temple that stands out whenever one of your daughters are mentioned. There it goes again, right there." He grinned mischievously.
Garion sighed, and let loose to Silk. "Beldaran's attracting far too much attention; they're literally trailing after her –"
"She's sixteen, Garion."
"Exactly, she's not old enough." Garion set his teeth.
"She's old enough to be married. Both you and Ce'Nedra were sixteen, even younger when you first met."
"That's not –"
"That is entirely the point, Garion. You can't stop children of their age doing what's natural to them. Now why don't you stop dwelling on it and drown your sorrows in some of that excellent new ale of yours that I sampled last time." The little man rubbed his hands together, gleefully. "I haven't seen Barak or Anheg in a long time, and I have it on pretty good confidence that the ale-house is exactly where I'll find them."
Garion frowned, "what confidence? You've only just arrived."
Silk grinned broadly and tapped his nose, leaning forward, "my own gifted skills of deduction, my friend. Now, do you want that drink or not? You owe me, I saved your neck in Yar Nadrak three years ago, and what with you being so busy being kingly, we haven't had a proper drink for twice as long. What do you say?"
"No thanks, not right now. I experienced enough of the Cherek singing skills," he wrinkled his nose, "and smells, when I passed by earlier. I don't need another lesson." He lapsed into silence for a few seconds, and then broke out again, "what am I going to do about Beldaran, Silk. She loves the attention, she laps it up. I won't stand for it!" He sighed, "at least she won't get up to anything with Aunt Pol, that's certain, so I'll have a bit of a break from it all."
Silk's amused smile widened as Garion spoke, and he could barely contain his brimming mirth. "Just what kind of illusions have you constructed about your aunt, Garion? What do you think she was trying to do from the minute that you and Ce'Nedra met? She was trying to push you together at every opportunity, choosing some shockingly underhand ways to go about it that even I would not dare sink to. No, I think that Lady Polgara is probably the one you need to worry most about!"
The Rivan king's eyes bulged considerably, until it looked as though they might pop out of their sockets, but then he relaxed about a hair. "But there are no boys of the right age in the Vale," he breathed.
"Oh, I wouldn't count on it. Polgara the Sorceress has ways to get what she wants." Silk intoned solemnly with just a hint of hilarity in his voice. "Don't forget, there's always Beltirin to experiment with!"
Garion's face was that of stone. "Maybe I will take that drink."
A/N: Perhaps this chapter wasn't entirely relevant, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it. It just addresses some of the issues that every parent has with their kids and makes Garion more human and not just a king. By the way, Beltirin is one of Polgara and Durnik's twins; they had a boy and a girl (Polena). You'll find out in the next chapter anyway, but I thought I'd say here as well just in case you were confused.
Please R&R!!
