Belgarion was tired, so tired. He sighed as he stood on a hillside on the Isle of the Winds, looking out at the stormy sea. Garion was more than ready to give up his throne to his now 18-year-old son Geran, but he was afraid his son wasn't ready for even the weight of the Rivan crown, much less the responsibility of the Overlord of the West.
True, Geran had had the education of a crown prince. He knew, to the annoyance of his mother, the Drasnian secret language. He could speak fluently with his constant companion, Wolf. He had also learned, from tutors, how to write treaties and laws, how to enforce them, how to be a gentle but firm ruler, and all the other kingly things that Garion had never needed. But with all this knowledge, Garion still didn't think that Geran was ready. After the incident with Zandramas, Garion and Ce'Nedra's children had only left Riva to visit the Vale of Aldur, Polgara's cottage, and Garion's old, trusted friends. He had almost no experience with the real world. Maybe the king and queen had been overprotective, but they were intent on keeping their children safe. The problem was, their children were children no longer.
