As the chill of winter set in, Polgara finally declared that Ce’Nedra was out of all danger. “I think I’ll stay, though,” she added. “Durnik and Errand can manage at home for a few months, and I’d probably no sooner get home than I’d have to turn around and come back.”
Garion looked at her blankly.
“You didn’t actually think that I was going to let anybody else deliver Ce’Nedra’s first baby, did you?”
It snowed heavily just before Erastide, and the steep streets of the city of Riva became virtually impassable. Ce’Nedra’s disposition soured noticeably. Her increasing girth made her awkward, and the depth of the snow in the city streets had rather effectively confined her to the Citadel.
Polgara took the little queen’s outbursts and crying fits calmly, scarcely changing expression, even at the height of the eruptions. “Youdo want to have this baby, don’t you?” she asked pointedly on one such occasion.
“Of course I do,” Ce’Nedra replied indignantly.
“Well then, you have to go through this. It’s the only way I know of to fill the nursery.”
“Don’t try to be reasonable with me, Lady Polgara,” Ce’Nedra flared. “I’m not in the mood for reasonableness right now.”
Polgara gave her a faintly amused look, and Ce’Nedra, in spite of herself, began to laugh. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”
“A bit, yes.”
“It’s just that I feel so huge and ugly.”
“That will pass, Ce’Nedra.”
“Sometimes I wish I could just lay eggs -the way birds do.”
“I’d stick to doing it the old way, dear. I don’t think you have the disposition for sitting on a nest.”
Erastide came and passed quietly. The celebration on the island was warm, but somewhat restrained. It seemed as if the whole population was holding its breath, waiting for a much larger reason for celebration. Winter ground on with each week adding more snow to the already high-piled drifts. A month or so after Erastide there was a brief thaw, lasting for perhaps two days, and then the frigid chill locked in again, turning the sodden snowbanks into blocks of ice. The weeks plodded by tediously, and everybody waited.
“Would you just look at that?” Ce’Nedra said angrily to Garion one morning shortly after they had arisen.
“At what, dear?” he replied mildly.
“At that!” She pointed disgustedly at the window. “It’s snowing again.” There was a note of accusation In her voice.
“It’s not my fault,” he said defensively.
“Did I say that it was?” She turned awkwardly to glare at him. Her tininess made her swollen belly appear all the larger, and she sometimes seemed to thrust it out at him as if it were entirely his doing.
“This is just absolutely insupportable,” she declared. “Why have you brought me to this frozen- ” She stopped in mid-tirade, a strange look crossing her face.
“Are you all right, dear?” Garion asked.
“Don’t ‘dear’ me, Garion. I-” She stopped again. “Oh, my.” she said breathlessly.
“What is it?” He got to his feet.
“Oh, dear,” Ce’Nedra said, putting her hands to the small of her back. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
“Ce’Nedra, that’s not very helpful. What’s the matter?”
“I think perhaps I’d better go lie down,” she said almost absently. She started across the room, moving at a stately waddle. She stopped. “Oh, dear,” she said with much more vehemence. Her face was pale, and she put one hand on a chairback to support herself. “I think that it might be a good idea if you sent for Lady Polgara, Garion.”
“Is it- ?, I mean, are you- ?”
“Don’t babble, Garion,” she said tensely. “Just open the door and scream for your Aunt Pol.”
“Are you trying to say that- ?”
“I’m not trying, Garion. I’m saying it. Get her in here right now.” She waddled to the bedroom door and stopped again with a little gasp. “Oh, my goodness,” she said.
Garion stumbled to the door and jerked it open. “Get Lady Polgara!” he said to the startled sentry. “Immediately! Run!”
“Yes, your Majesty!” the man replied, dropping his spear and sprinting down the hall.
Garion slammed the door and dashed to Ce’Nedra’s side. “Can I do anything?” he asked, wringing his hands.
“Help me to bed,” she told him.
“Bed!” he said. “Right!” He grabbed her arm and began to tug at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Bed,” he blurted, pointing at the royal four-poster.
“I know what it is, Garion. Help me. Don’t yank on me.”
“Oh.” He took her hand, slipped his other arm about her, and lifted her off her feet. He stumbled toward the bed, his eyes wide and his mind completely blank.
“Put me down, you great oaf!”
“Bed,” he urged her, trying with all the eloquence at his command to explain. He carefully set her back down on her feet and rushed on ahead. “Nice bed,” he said, patting the coverlets encouragingly.
Ce’Nedra closed her eyes and sighed. “Just step out of my way, Garion,” she said with resignation.
“But-”
“Why don’t you build up the fire?” she suggested.
“What?” He stared around blankly.
“The fireplace -that opening in the wall with the burning logs in it. Put some more wood in there. We want it nice and warm for the baby, don’t we?” She reached the bed and leaned against it.
Garion dashed to the fireplace and stood staring at it stupidly.
“What’s the matter now?”
“Wood,” he replied. “No wood.”
“Bring some in from the other room.”
What an absolutely brilliant suggestion she had just made! He stared at her gratefully.
“Go into the other room, Garion,” she said, speaking very slowly and distinctly. “Pick up some wood. Carry it back in here. Put it on the fire. Have you got all that so far?”
“Right!” he said excitedly. He dashed into the other room, picked up a stick of firewood, and dashed back in with it.
“Wood,” he said, holding the stick up proudly.
“Very nice, Garion,” she said, climbing laboriously into the bed. “Now put it on the fire and go back out and bring in some more.”
“More,” he agreed, flinging the stick into the fireplace and dashing out the door again.
After he had emptied the woodbin in the sitting room -one stick at a time- he stared around wildly, trying to decide what to do next. He picked up a chair. If he were to swing it against the wall, he reasoned, it ought to break up into manageable pieces.
The door to the apartment opened, and Polgara came in. She stopped to stare at the wild-eyed Garion. “What on earth are you doing with that chair?” she demanded.
“Wood,” he explained, brandishing the heavy piece of furniture. “Need wood -for the fire.”
She gave him a long look, smoothing down the front of her white apron. “I see,” she said. “It’s going to be one of those. Put the chair down, Garion. Where’s Ce’Nedra?”
“Bed,” he replied, regretfully setting down the polished chair. Then he looked at her brightly. “Baby,” he informed her.
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Garion,” she said, speaking carefully as if to a child, “it’s much too early for Ce’Nedra to be taking to her bed. She needs to walk around -keep moving.”
He shook his head stubbornly. “Bed,” he repeated. “Baby.” He looked around and picked up the chair again.
Polgara sighed, opened the door, and beckoned to the sentry. “Young man,” she said, “why don’t you take his Majesty here down to that courtyard just outside the kitchen? There’s a large pile of logs there. Get him an axe so that he can cut up some firewood.”
Everybody was being absolutely brilliant today. Garion marveled at the suggestion Aunt Pol had just made. He set down the chair again and dashed out with the baffled sentry in tow.
He chopped up what seemed like a cord of wood in the first hour, sending out a positive blizzard of chips as he swung the axe so fast that it seemed almost to blur in the air. Then he paused, pulled off his doublet, and really got down to work. About noon, a respectful cook brought him a slab of freshly roasted beef, a large chunk of bread, and some ale. Garion wolfed down three or four bites, took a couple of gulps of the ale, and then picked up his axe to attack another log. It was altogether possible that he might have finished up with the woodpile outside the kitchen and then gone in search of more trees had not Brand interrupted him shortly before the sun went down.
The big, gray-haired Warder had a broad grin on his face.
“Congratulations, Belgarion,” he said. “You have a son.”
Garion paused, looking almost regretfully at the remaining logs. Then what Brand had just said finally seeped into his awareness. The axe slid from his fingers. “A son?” he said. “What an amazing thing. And so quickly, too.” He looked at the woodpile. “I only just now got here. I always thought that it took much longer.”