Chapter 3: First sign come to pass, await the other for ye fate...

Geran sat, moodily looked over the battlements. He had been shooed out of the suite, told not to mention what was going on to anyone, and given a glance from 3 separate people in there that paraphrased down to 'we-are-going-to-be-having-one-very-long-talk-when-I-am-done'. He had wandered around for awhile, his feet leading him up here. They tended to do that, he found, whenever there was a problem.

He looked over the battlements, across the city, and towards the ocean. His eyes drifted back to the city, towards the merchant section. He abruptly stood up, heading for the door.

He needed to get out.

Belgareth grumbled, standing off to the side of the throne. Garion was, of course, sitting on said throne, Ce' Nedra on another throne to the left of Garion. Poledra was standing next to him, calm as ever. It was the morning assemblage, and it was BORING. Who CARED if the posturing peacock droning on and ON in front of him was the count of something? He still had to pay the same taxes as everyone else. Ye Gods he hated this.

Some time later, it was all done. Everyone was waiting patiently, for Garion to leave, so that they could leave too, and it wouldn't be out of conduct. However, Garion didn't look to be doing this anytime soon.

Garion cleared his throat, then stood up. There were whispers from the crowd in front of him, but he ignored them. Instead, he looked hopefully, if not a bit awkwardly, over them. "We have one piece of business left, I'm afraid." He waited for the whispers to die down, and grinned boyishly. "Actually, they're more in the way of introductions. First, we have Emperor Zaketh of Mallorea," whispers rose to a roar, but he just raised his voice to be heard, "and his beautiful wife, Empress Cyradis."

The main doors opened, and Zaketh and Cyradis walked through, regal and acting as if they visited everyday. They walked calmly up to the thrones, and took their places next to Garion and Ce' Nedra, going over greetings for the sake of appearances. After this was done, Garion went on. "And, a dear friend of mine, the God of Angarak, Eriond."

This time, there wasn't any whispers. There was shouting (the men) and fainting (the women). Eriond just walked, serene as ever, towards them, a bright smile on his face. It had been decided earlier that the trio's presence couldn't be kept a secret, so why not just make a big show out of it? And besides, over the years, the Rivans in general had gotten used to their admittedly strange, though effective, monarchs and family. After all, who could forget the time the twin princesses, Ce' Aya and Ce' Liv, ran around the throne room squealing, while an irate princess Ce' Hana screeched at them to give her back her hair bow or suffer dire consequences, during an important foreign relations meeting? Or the time Garion was given a locked box without a key as a gift during the morning assemblage, and had struggled to open it, finally giving up and setting it down; a curious princess Ce' Lynn had ambled up to it, fiddled with it, and had handed it back to her Father, open, and missing the 'sparkly' rings inside? Oh yes, the Rivans had gotten used to many a thing over the years.

After about a minute of the havoc down below, Belgareth was decidedly irritated. He roared out, amplifying his voice, "SHUT UP ALREADY!" While it wasn't exactly the most tactful thing to say, it did make the room deathly quiet.

Why do people get so hyped up about such little things?? he thought irritably.

Scrape. Scrape. He frowned. Not quite...scrape. There! Perfect, now, for the tips...

Ding-ting-ting.

He didn't look up, after all, Ces would get it. He would look in a second.

"Well, hello there Geran! What brings you here?"

"Hello Miss Cessily, I just wanted to get away for a little, and, well..."

"Oh! Well, you know you can come by anytime you want, let me get my errant husband."

The sounds of footsteps, stopping just a few feet away, looking at what he was doing. Scrape. Perfect. Joran looked up from his work, to his wife, smiling. "I know, I'm coming." He said.

He looked down at his creation. It had come to him in a dream last night, and he had been itching to make it all day. He picked it up and brought it over to his visitor.

"Hello Geran, how've you been?" he said to the heir to Riva. He's looking stressed, I wonder what's wrong? But, its not likely any of my business, unless he tells me.

Geran gave a smile, "Oh, pretty good, and you?"

Joran smiled proudly, setting his newest creation on the table in front of them. "I just finished this." He said, proudly.

Geran looked at it, in awe of the glass master's talent. It was a living flame, frozen in time. The colors matched perfectly with it, just the right shades of red, orange, yellow, and the hint of blue. It was so real looking, his hand went of volition on its own near it, just to see if it was warm. "Wow..." was all he could say, breath taken by the exquisite work of art that seemed to flow from Joran's heart, to his fingers, and into the glass he worked. Geran looked closer, trying to see some detail worked into it, that was so subtle you nearly missed it.

Joran looked pleased as Geran leaned closer to it, trying to make it out. "Ah, so you noticed!" He went over to one of the many cabinets lining the walls, riffling through them. He apparently found what he was looking for, for he then went to the fires that ever burned. He came back to the table, a lit candle in hand. He looked at the glass carefully, trying to figure out its exact position. He moved it slightly, then set the candle behind it.

Geran gasped, a jolt going through him as the pattern became clear. Joran looked at him worriedly. "Geran? Is something wrong?"

Geran was silent a minute, staring at the glass. The pattern, was actually a picture. It was a young woman, hands above head, head leaned to the side, twirling in a dance of fire. She was wearing a strange dress, but that wasn't what startled him. With all of Joran's work, the detail was amazing. He had seen the wren he had made for Aunt Pol, and you could see the separate feathers on that.

But in this...the face of the girl...was the face...of the one from his dream.

The face was smiling, almost mockingly, the eyes closed.

Geran seemed to realize that Joran had asked him if he was alright. He mentally shook himself, and forced a smile on his face. "Yes Joran, everything's fine. Do you suppose I could show this to Mom and Dad up at the Citadel?"

Soon, soon...

Stormy eyes looked at the orb in her hands, face bathed in its dark blue light.

Blue-gray lifted to golden, and held. After a minute, they went back to the glowing orb, watching the scene happening worlds away...

A few minutes passed, and the light flared, giving off red, light blue, and green, to go with its azure light.

Let it start...now.

Garion looked up at the sound of the door opening. It was Geran, who was looking decidedly pale. Worry crossed his face, and he set down the book he had been reading. "Geran? What's wrong?"

"I have something to show you, I think you'll find it interesting." Geran said, his voice nervous. He looked down to something held in his hands, curiosity and slight shock playing over his features. He looked around, and walked over to the candle light on the table, setting something in front of it. "Here, look at this."

Garion looked eagerly. It was the form of a flame, and etched into it, was the form of a girl, dancing. Garion whistled, "Wow, this Joran's?" At Geran's nod, he continued. "He really out did himself this time!"

"Yes, he did..." Geran agreed vaguely, looking at the glass. "But what really captures my attention, is her face." He said in an odd tone of voice. "You see, she looks just like Jenna."

Garion looked up quickly, adding up the facts. Dreams, visions, and now this. "Lets go, Grandfather is in the throne room, I believe. Kept saying it was the only place that wasn't crowded."

Belgarath sighed contentedly. Peace. Quiet. And no grandchildren. Thank god for small favors.

The doors opened, admitting Garion and Geran.

Or maybe not. He though dejectedly. What is it now? He was about to ask that very question, when the orb erupted into flame. Of course, this wasn't unusual; it was supposed to do that whenever Garion was in the same room as it. What was unusual was that the light was multi-colored. He turned around, eyes wide. He added up the time in his head.

It was noon.

Something in Geran's hands also began to glow. His grandson then promptly dropped it, startled. But it didn't fall, it just hovered about two feet off the ground.

From around it, from it?, a wind started, bringing with it an eerie tune, of...life, that was the only way to describe it. It was at a regular pace, sometimes going gracefully, sometimes changing drastically, grating on the ears. But it...fit, felt right. The now glowing ball of light began, well, crying. With it, another tune joined with it, intertwining around it, seemingly different, but harmonic. This one gave off patience, peace, and sorrow. Vines began to grow from the ground, growing up to form a pedestal for the light/ball. Like the other two phenomena, it was accompanied by music. This one was stately, never rushing, giving off power and the sense of eternity that made the seven thousand year old man shudder at the thought of all those years...The music went on for a minute, nothing else seeming to want to happen, then the light/ball began to take a new shape, a lick of fire that didn't seem to burn the flora stand that it rested on. The fire whipped to a new, wild beat, joyous and free of all burden or want. There was something in it...

But, with the arrival of the fire, everything started, slowly, to get back to normal, the music still playing. The wind died some, the water dried, though the floor would still be damp, and the vines retracted into the floor, still carrying the flame. One by one, the tunes faded, in the order they had reappeared, until finally, only the last was left. The wind, water, and all signs of vines having grown out of the stone floor were gone. But the fire remained. A figure became visible in the not-fire. Twirling, jumping, running, bending, the girl was dancing. Until finally, the flame stilled, the music became fainter, and the girl danced slowly, went into a twirl, and stopped, frozen in time.

The hall of the Rivan King was silent, staring at the middle of the floor, where a glass flame stood, the figure of a girl clearly standing out in the golden red.

First sign come to pass, await the other for ye fate...

AN:

Hey whomever it is reading this! Did ya like it? I hope so, I wrote it and found it okay, but a little wanting, you know?

Anyhow, reveiw me, praise me, flame me, suggest, give encouragement, just don't ignore me!! ::puppy dog eyes::

Ja ne!

Cathy

"Be aware of wonder. Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work everyday some."

- Rebert Fulghum