The Characters of the Belgariad belong to David Eddings. I am merely borrowing them to pay homage to a wonderful series.
Memoir of a Country Girl
Zubrette had always known that she was one of the prettiest girls in the district; certainly she was the prettiest girl at Faldor's Farm. Of course, that was discounting Mistress Pol, who was probably the most beautiful woman in Sendaria, but Zubrette had decided early on in life to confine her comparisons of her own beauty to those of her own generation, thus eliminating Mistress Pol as competition. She had also discovered early on that she was able to get males to do whatever she wanted by flashing them a few smiles. Of course, the three boys that Zubrette had always wanted to control had always followed her lead anyway.
The four of them had been the only children at Faldor's close to the same age, and had inevitably formed their own little group. Zubrette's orders had always been followed without question, even before they had matured enough for her to be more subtle. She was unquestionably the leader for the three boys, even though they possessed vastly different personalities. Rundorig had more muscles than brains, and completely lacked the imagination to be a leader, but he was the perfect follower, as he was completely loyal, and was in no way resentful of being told what to do. Doroon was much more intelligent than Rundorig, but he had the attention span of a housefly. He needed to be firmly led, or he would never get anything done. Then there was Garion.
Zubrette had, at the age of nine, singled Garion out as her future husband. Garion was certainly more intelligent than Rundorig, and most likely more intelligent than Doroon, without having any of Doroon's scatterbrained tendencies. He was, in fact, peculiarly intense, and was usually less talkative than the others – though it wasn't difficult to talk less than Doroon. He also promised to grow up to be reasonably attractive man, having the advantage of looks that were a little unusual in this part of Sendaria, where most were brown-haired and brown-eyed, as he had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. This spoke to Zubrette of a strongly Alorn background. Zubrette herself had a grandfather from Cherek, who had passed along fair hair to Zubrette. She and Garion would have beautiful children.
Garion's looks were the only clue about his family, however. In the district of Erat, everyone knew who everyone else's ancestors for three generations had been. The only family Garion had was Mistress Pol, and she never spoke about Garion's parents, or any other family members. It would take a braver soul than Zubrette to question Mistress Pol about anything she did not already speak about openly. Zubrette's carefully innocent questioning of Garion had yielded nothing. Garion knew little beyond the fact that his parents were dead.
Zubrette had never spoken to anyone about her plans for Garion. Her mother would have been delighted at the prospect of a familial alliance with the most influential woman at Faldor's Farm, and would have gone directly to Mistress Pol to discuss an engagement and arrange the marriage for as soon as the children reached a suitable age. Zubrette was certain, though, that Mistress Pol would not approve. Zubrette wasn't sure why this was, as she knew there were few other marriage prospects for Garion. She only knew that if Mistress Pol found out about Zubrette's plans, she would never allow Zubrette near Garion again.
Mistress Pol was one of the few people that Zubrette had absolutely no influence over, and so Zubrette was terrified of her. She was exotically beautiful with that white lock of hair that had nothing to do with age, as Zubrette had never detected any sign of aging in Mistress Pol; she was the most intelligent and learned person Zubrette had ever met; and there was no one, not even the otherwise crude seasonal workers and wagoneers, who were anything less than absolutely respectful to her.
There was a trait that Mistress Pol and Garion shared that Zubrette had noticed: they were both mysterious. In Mistress Pol, it frightened her, but in Garion, she found it fascinating. It went beyond the lack of information about his family. Garion himself was often a mystery. Most people didn't notice, but Zubrette had reason to pay close attention to Garion. Zubrette knew that if Garion had wished it, he would have been the leader of their little group. If Garion had started giving orders, the other boys, and perhaps even Zubrette herself, would have followed his orders without question. As it was, whenever Garion made a suggestion, it was invariably followed. Garion, however, did not seem to realize that he possessed this power, or for some reason did not exert it. Even when he was in the midst of one of their games, it seemed that Garion would hold himself apart from them, as if he were only pretending to be one of them, though Garion seemed unaware of this. Sometimes, it seemed as if Garion was listening to someone speaking to him that no one else could hear.
Things had been progressing quite well with Garion. She had succeeded in making him jealous with her attentions to Doroon and Rundorig. He brought her sweets from the kitchen, and she rewarded him with kisses, which she gradually increased the length and number of each time. Then, disaster struck, and they were discovered by Mistress Pol. Zubrette's fears had proved justified. Garion was suddenly so busy in the kitchen, she rarely saw him.
Zubrette had still been thinking furiously of a way around Mistress Pol when she had awoken to find the farm complex in an uproar. Mistress Pol and Garion had departed in the middle of the night, citing a family emergency in a distant city. This had stunned everyone, as it had been widely believed that Mistress Pol and Garion had no other family but each other. Adding to the confusion was the fact that Durnik had gone with them and Brill, the new farmhand, had also disappeared, but apparently not with the others. The rest of the farm had been inconsolable at the loss of the chief blacksmith and the best cook in the district. Zubrette had quickly dismissed thoughts of both, and instead cried for days at Garion's absence.
She found that no one knew when they would return, if indeed they ever would. Zubrette doubted it. A city was a far more desirable place to be than a farm, in Zubrette's opinion, and there would likely be many girls there who would capture Garion's attention. They had not been advanced enough in the courtship for it to be otherwise. Still, after contemplating her remaining choices, Zubrette decided she would wait for a while, just in case.
A year passed, and Zubrette was still waiting. Zubrette's choices were further reduced, when Doroon also departed, in a much less dramatic fashion than Garion had. Doroon's widowed mother had remarried, and Doroon now lived at another farm.
Zubrette was now left only with Rundorig. Zubrette at last gave up waiting for Garion, and began walking out with the slow Arendish boy. Zubrette was determined that the prettiest girl in the district would not be an old maid.
As time passed, Zubrette began to warm to Rundorig. The boy was tall and strong and not bad-looking, and possessed an extremely sweet and easygoing nature. There were certainly worse husbands around. Even so, Zubrette kept the courtship at a much slower pace than was customary in Sendaria. There was still a faint spark of hope deep in her heart at the memory of Garion.
Then came the day when Rundorig had come running with the news that Garion had returned. Zubrette's heart had swelled with renewed hope. After all, what other purpose had he for returning besides her? She had changed into her best gown, pinched her cheeks to make them rosy, and prepared to make the perfect entrance down the staircase.
But when she had entered, he had not, as she had anticipated, swept her into his arms and declared his love for her. She had seen how much he had changed in the time he had been away. He had grown, and was now taller than all of the men on the farm except Rundorig. His clothes, though obviously meant for traveling, were finer than anything she had ever seen, and he wore a sword at his side with the comfortable familiarity of one who knew how to use it. There was an air of confidence and command about him that had been only a faint potential before.
Mistress Pol was there also, and she had not changed at all, except that she too was wearing garments far superior to anything she had worn before. On Mistress Pol, they seemed natural, as if she always should have been wearing fine things. Mistress Pol fixed Zubrette with a steady look that Zubrette could not read.
The look Garion gave her had far more impact on Zubrette. He looked her in the eyes, and she could detect no love in his. His look was affectionate, but he looked at her as if she was his sister. She knew then that he would not be staying, that he was merely passing through. Whatever else Garion had become, he was not a farmboy any longer, and he never would be. When he left here this time, it was unlikely that she would ever see him again.
When she looked to the third figure, she found the reason why. The girl was lovely. She looked like a flower, with her blazing red hair and green eyes. Her rich clothing and imperious bearing proclaimed her as being high-born. The look the girl regarded Zubrette with was calm, completely free from any concern that Zubrette would steal Garion away from her – for Garion now belonged indisputably to this girl. The girl even had a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes for Zubrette – only a faint one, though.
It was all Zubrette could do to move past them without bursting into tears. As soon as she had some privacy, she did just that.
After that, Zubrette was anxious for her wedding to Rundorig to take place. Weddings, however, take time to plan, and before it could take place, news so world shattering it had even reached the backwater that was Faldor's Farm had thrown them all into turmoil.
The Rivan King had returned, and Sendaria was at war.
Everyone knew the tales about the last time the Angaraks had invaded. The Battle of Vo Mimbre was Rundorig's favourite tale. Now, with the return of the Rivan King, the Angaraks would return, and the armies of the West were gathering to stop them – Sendaria included.
Every man older than fourteen and younger than seventy was leaving to join the army, with the exception of Faldor himself, who had to remain maintain the farm, which would be difficult with most of his labourers gone. Doroon had appeared at the gate one day, and he and Rundorig would be leaving to join the army together. Zubrette was in despair. She was loosing them all now, perhaps for good.
She saw them off with a cheerful face, with instructions to look after each other and come home safely. When they were out of sight, she joined the other women in weeping and praying for her loved ones. Zubrette, for the first time in her life, prayed sincerely, and for the first time, did not invoke the name of Torak.
Many anxious weeks passed without news. Wagoneers brought back sketchy reports of skirmishes with Angarak forces, of army movements across the land of the Thulls. Zubrette knew that there must be battles taking place, but there was no way for news of Rundorig and Doroon to reach them.
Then came the terrible day when all light went dark and the world seemed to have come to an end. When the light returned, everyone knew without question that something of monumental importance had happened. It wasn't until much later, when the armies of the west had begun to filter back home, that knowledge of what had happened reached Faldor's Farm.
The Rivan King had left Riva quietly, and had journeyed to distant Malloria to confront the God Torak himself. It was the Rivan Queen – his promised bride, a princess of Tolnedra - who had raised the armies of the West to come to his aid. There had been a huge battle at the city of Thull Mardu, equal in scale and impact to the legendary Battle of Vo Mimbre. The forces of the West had been in desperate circumstances, outnumbered and with the Rivan Queen captured, when the Rivan King had reached Torak, and engaged him in single combat. The King had been victorious, and the darkness had come at the moment of Torak's death.
Zubrette looked down the road every day to see if Rundorig was coming, but day after day there was nothing. She had almost given up hope when she saw a familiar figure trudging up the road. She ran to meet him, and threw herself into his arms.
"Zubrette," He said when he recovered his composure slightly. "Doroon's dead. He died at Thull Mardu. I had to go tell his mother. That's why I'm late getting back."
Zubrette wept at the loss of her childhood friend, and felt a guilty relief that she had not lost Rundorig too.
"Zubrette," He said too her later, after he had been greeted rapturously by the entire farm. "I saw Garion when I was away."
"Really?" She asked breathlessly. "Was he in the army too? Did he make it through the battles?"
Rundorig smiled. "He's fine. He wasn't in the army."
Zubrette was confused.
"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it." Rundorig continued. "When I saw him, it was after the battles were won. He was riding with the Kings and the leaders of the army. I didn't understand until someone told me. Zubrette, Garion is the Rivan King."
A chasm seemed to open up beneath her.
"And you know that girl that was with him when he came back here? She's Princess Ce'Nedra of Tolnedra, and she's the Rivan Queen who led the army. She and Garion are going to be married. I didn't realize we'd met before until she reminded me."
Zubrette felt a blow to her heart.
"It's really true, Zubrette. I saw him with that huge sword – the one he used to kill Torak. It was covered in blue fire! They say that Belgarath and Polgara hid his family for centuries until it was time for Garion to take the throne."
Polgara, the legendary sorceress. Mistress Pol.
"It's really true, Zubrette. Garion is the Rivan King. Except his name is Belgarion now."
*
As the season waned, events followed the usual course of the marriage of two healthy young people: Zubrette found herself with child. The men celebrated by getting themselves and Rundorig thoroughly drunk, and the women all offered her advise based on their own experiences, most of which Zubrette was certain was nonsense.
After her initial joy, however, Zubrette was dismayed to find the restlessness that had plagued her for so long now returning. She had hoped that her impending motherhood would drive it away at last, as her marriage had failed to do. Instead, it seemed to be getting worse. At the rate this was going, she would be unhappy and discontented for the rest of her life, which would in turn make Rundorig and her children unhappy. Even worse, Rundorig, never the most insightful of people, would be unable to figure out the reason for his wife's unhappiness, and would be miserable when he could not fix it. It was a cycle that Zubrette could see no exit from, which would continue until they all broke. Zubrette despaired.
When Zubrette went into labour, the midwife had been called away to attend a birth at a small neighbouring farm. Zubrette wasn't too anxious about this at first – her contractions were still far apart, and as was often the case with a first child, the birth would likely take many hours. Plus, this was a farm, and in the event of an emergency, surely someone could deliver a human baby the same as they did an animal's!
As the hours passed and the contractions grew stronger and the midwife still did not appear, however, Zubrette grew increasingly distressed. The women attending her, including her mother, fluttered around, uttering transparent platitudes that Zubrette saw right through, being generally unhelpful. The men had, of course, been banished from the room early on, taking the dazed Rundorig with them. The situation was rapidly disintegrating, and Zubrette began to draw in her breath to scream, partly from the pain of another contraction, and partly in frustration that in all the fuss and commotion and anxiety, there was no one to help her!
A powerful gust of wind blew the window shutters violently open, interrupting her scream before it began. The women all flinched back before starting automatically towards the window to close it again, then froze in shock before they had done more than shift their weight. Zubrette's breath whooshed out of her lungs.
There, seated calmly on the windowsill, was Mistress Pol.
The ladies all began to babble incoherently. Mistress Pol stopped them again with one imperiously lifted hand.
"I want everyone to leave, Except for you." She nodded at a girl shrinking against the wall who had been bringing in hot water and clean cloths. The women cowered, and Zubrette's mother looked as if she wanted to protest, but none of them were able to meet Mistress Pol's eyes, and though they had not seen her in years, obedience to her was still an ingrained habit. They were all gone in less than a minute. Mistress Pol questioned the remaining girl about Zubrette's condition before dismissing her too.
She turned back to Zubrette and regarded her with unreadable eyes. Zubrette tried to swallow. At this moment, she could readily believe all of the stories about Polgara the Sorceress.
"Child," Said Mistress Pol, her rich voice filled with both compassion and exasperation. "What have you been doing to yourself?"
The next contraction hit Zubrette before she could reply. Mistress Pol was suddenly at Zubrette's side, sponging her sweaty forehead and gripping her hand as the pain surged and subsided. As the pain subsided, the utter incongruity of Mistress Pol's presence hit her. "Why are you here? How are you here?"
Mistress Pol smiled slightly. "Why? I seem to have left some unfinished business here, and I hate leaving things unfinished. As for how – I had intended a much less dramatic entrance, but if I had, I would have been too late to prevent you from saying some things you would have regretted."
Zubrette saw that Mistress Pol would refuse to give her any more details about how she had gotten here and how she had known to be here, and, remembering who Mistress Pol really was, Zubrette was very glad not to know the details.
Mistress Pol was watching her closely. "So you've figured that out, have you? Excellent, that means I have less explaining to do." She rose from the bedside and went to the bowl of hot water left behind by the ousted women, and began to wash her hands. Zubrette remembered vaguely that Mistress Pol had always insisted on thoroughly washed hands before she treated wounds or delivered babies. "You have been very unhappy recently, haven't you." It wasn't a question.
Zubrette was not going to ask how Mistress Pol knew what she was thinking. She nodded silently.
"It was never our intention to have that much of an influence on you, or anyone we left behind. I apologise for that. It is, however, you who has been making yourself unhappy."
Zubrette stared at Mistress Pol somewhat mulishly.
"I brought Garion here because we needed a safe place where we could hide, and where Garion could grow up as normally as possible."
"Hide?" Zubrette was surprised.
"Yes. We have been hiding Garion's family line ever since the assassination of the Rivan King. Only one child escaped the massacre, and Garion is the last descendent from that child. The assassination was arranged in the hope that Garion would never be born, and we subsequently hid the family line to ensure that he would be born. You see, both his allies and his enemies knew about Belgarion long before he arrived."
Zubrette's Sendarian sensibilities began to protest. "How is it possible to know that?"
Mistress Pol gave her a mysterious smile. "We have access to more information about some things than other people. The coming of Belgarion was written in prophesy."
Another contraction hit Zubrette, and once again Mistress Pol held her until it passed.
"What do you know about Garion's life over the last few years, dear?"
"I know that he got made the King of Riva, and that he killed the God Torak. Nothing more than that." Zubrette admitted softly.
"Garion has travelled through nearly every country in the west. He has slept in palaces and beside the road – mostly beside the road, during that time. He has fought many battles, and he has killed. The first man he killed was the one who murdered his parents. He has begun to master his power of sorcery."
"Sorcery!" Zubrette blurted out. That Garion could wield the same legendary power as Belgarath and Polgara seemed shocking to her, even more so than hearing that he was a king, or that he had killed a god. After all, kings were still mortal – but sorcerers from tales were all thousands of years old, meaning they were something else, something beyond her, that she could never hope to understand.
"Yes. I suppose you could say it runs in the family."
That brought Zubrette back to the present. "Family? Are you related after all? I would have thought… well…"
Mistress Pol laughed. "Garion thought something similar, when he found out who I really was. Don't you remember your tales? Father certainly spent enough time reciting them when you children were young. My sister was the wife of Riva Iron-Grip, and Garion is their descendent."
"F-Father…?" That disreputable old storyteller who came to Faldor's every few years, the one Mistress Pol seemed to know? That was Belgarath the Sorcerer, the most powerful man in history?
Mistress Pol paused, allowing Zubrette to sort through the startling revelations. When she continued, her tone was very gentle. "Do you remember Ce'Nedra? You saw her once, when we visited you all here."
"Garion had to marry her, didn't he." Zubrette winced at how incredibly jealous her statement sounded.
"I don't believe 'had to' is quite the right term. They have married, yes, and it was officially arranged five hundred years ago after the Battle of Vo Mimbre. But there is much more to it than that. Ce'Nedra is quite a remarkable person in her own right. It was she who raised the largest army the west has seen since the Angarak Invasion, and marched it into enemy territory to confront a foe far superior in numbers. No one instructed her to do this – it was all her own idea, and she is the only person who could have done it. She didn't do this because she had a quarrel with the Angaraks, or even to protect the Kingdoms of the West. She did it for Garion, because if she had not, with all the Angarak leaders' eyes turned on him, he would not have survived to meet Torak. She did it because she loves him."
As Mistress Pol fell silent, Zubrette found that she could not speak over the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. The question Mistress Pol was asking her was plain, and so the sorceress refrained from voicing it. Could she love Garion that much, enough to raise an army for him, enough to follow him into seemingly certain doom? Had she ever loved Garion that much? Had she ever loved anyone that much?
Zubrette knew in her heart that the answer was no.
Garion was, and always had been, a person whose destiny was far beyond her reach, and he needed a greater love than she was able or willing to give him. Even if she had followed him that night he had left Faldor's Farm, she lacked the strength she would have needed to be a part of his life. Instead of accepting this, she had constructed an empty fantasy around what might have been, and in doing so, she had deprived both herself and her sweet, patient husband of the happiness which was within her reach.
With this knowledge came a sense of peace that Zubrette had not felt since she was very young. She resolved to be content with what she had been given: a wonderful husband, and a new child.
When Polgara placed her healthy, wailing son on her stomach, Zubrette was happy.
The End
Author's Note: I love minor characters. I always wonder what might have happened to them, especially the ones that get left behind when the hero goes of to do hero things. This story was inspired by a line from Overlords of the West, where Polgara tells Garion that she has been back to Faldor's Farm to deliver Zubrette's babies. I hope Polgara was reasonably in character, and that you will allow me some artistic licence with Zubrette.