Disclaimer: I do not own the Belgariad/Malloreon. I do, however, own the OC and the variations placed with the plotline of the books.
Garion stretches out on the quickly made reclining seat made from the musty-smelling turnips that are being carried in the wagons that they are using to ride in. They had been riding in the bumpy old things that creaked like a non-oiled hinge for so long that Garion soon fell asleep.
Waking to the sound of the horses' hooves on cobblestones instead of the dirt road they had been on earlier, Garion sits up to find that the day had gone away and it was now nighttime. The street they were on was narrow, and there was not a sound in the little village. Garion looks around and notices a dog staring at them with unblinking eyes, causing him to shudder and force himself to look away.
Just as soon as the village had appeared, it was behind them and the horses were carrying on with dirt now under their hooves. Garion soon finds himself being dragged back into sleep, and he listens to his Aunt Pol and Mister Wolf arguing about where they are going to be going. To the east, the skyline breaks slowly into the first hints of dawn, and Garion tries to close his eyes and fall into a peaceful slumber; he cannot do this, however, because all he can think about is how his entire life had been changed within the span of one day.
There was not much to do in the four days that took the oddly mismatched group to reach Darine on the north coast. The road had become muddy and gross, and the horses began having troubles moving up hillsides, and had to be rested more often than not. The first day they had covered about eight leagues, but after that they were lucky to make five. This was about the time that Aunt Pol became waspish. She glares at Mister Wolf, and pulls her cape tighter around her shoulders.
"Why wagoneers?" she complains to him, "There are faster ways to travel!" Mister Wolf explains to her that if they did it any other way, everybody would know exactly who they were. His interest peaked, Garion looks at Mister Wolf.
"Why is it that we're hiding from the Murgos? Aren't they merchants-like the Tolnedrans or the Drasnians?" Mister Wolf shakes his head slowly.
"No, Garion, Murgos have no interest in trade at all. They are warriors; the only reason they pose as merchants is the same as why we pose as wagoneers-to be able to move around freely with a somewhat legitimate excuse." Aunt Pol looks at me archly, and then raises an eyebrow.
"Do you have anything better to do right now, Garion?" Garion shakes his head and tells her that he doesn't, and then he winces. Aunt Pol tells him to go and clean the dishes that are in the back of Barak's wagon, which he complies-not without a lot of grumbling, however. As he climbs into the back of the wagon that Barak and Durnik are driving, he looks back to see Silk and Adana talking to each other, and Adana is laughing merrily. Garion starts to clean the dishes, casting quick sideways glances in her direction. He notices that for her age, which he guesses is not much older than himself, she is developed quite nicely; not too well, but nicer than most girls their age he had seen. He also notices how her eyes shine when she laughs, how there is a dimple in her left cheek, and how she flips her hair over her shoulder subconsciously as she talks. Garion lets out a squeak as he drops a pot on the fingers of his left hand because he was not paying attention to what he was doing. Both Silk and Adana look at him and laugh, Adana's eyes sparkling, and Garion can feel his ears start to get hot as he blushes furiously. He looks back to his work, trying to mop up the spill of water, when he sees a slender, graceful hand reach out to help him. He looks up in surprise and Adana smiles sweetly at him, helping him clean up the mess.
"Are you alright, Garion? You seem really hot…do you have a fever?" Garion shakes his head to tell her no, but she places the back of her hand to his forehead, making his blush worsen. He shakes his head and continues to clean, and then he picks up another pot and starts scrubbing.
"Adana…where do you come from?" Adana smiles softly at him, then sits back with her back against the wall of the wagon.
"I come from a place called Etheriwan, south-west of the edges of Arendia. It's quite a bit west in the Great Western Sea…" Garion listens while nodding his head, his interest peaked.
"I haven't heard of that place before…" Adana smiles at him, amusement glistening in her black, black eyes.
"We're relatively hidden from everyone. It's an oddity my people have…" She laughs suddenly, a merry sound, "I made that sound horrible!" Garion favors her with a smile of his own.
"No, it's okay. Do you mind drying these?" Garion and Adana talk with each other for a long time, even after they are finished with the dishes. The wagon suddenly seems less bumpy, and the night doesn't seem so cold. The entire night seems without any worries, and for once since they left Faldor's farm, Garion is happy; with Adana by his side, he is sure that he will be able to get through anything thrown his way.
Review, please! This is going to be a veeeeery long story, so I want to know what my problems are now so I can fix them before they happen later! Cookies to all who review!
~R