He rolled over and punched at his pillow, hoping somehow by that familiar act to bring on more normal sleep, but once again he slipped into restless dreaming. Relg and Taiba were walking toward him, and they were holding hands!
And then he was at the Stronghold, sitting at Adara’s bedside. His beautiful cousin was even paler than he remembered, and she had a persistent, racking cough. Even as the two of them talked, Aunt Pol was taking steps to remedy the last complications of the wound which had so nearly claimed the girl’s life.
“I was mortified, of course,” Adara was saying. “I’d taken so much care to conceal it from him, and now I’d gone and blurted it out to him, and I wasn’t even dying.”
“Hettar?” Garion said again. He’d already said it three times.
“If you don’t stop that, Garion, I’m going to be cross with you,” Adara said quite firmly.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly. “It’s just that I’ve never considered him in that light. He’s a good friend, but I never thought of him as particularly loveable. He’s so – I don’t know – implacable, I suppose.”
“I have certain reasons to believe that may change,” Adara said with a faint blush. Then she began to cough again.
“Drink this, dear,” Aunt Pol ordered, coming to the bedside with a fuming cup.
“It’s going to taste awful,” Garion warned his cousin.
“That will do, Garion,” Aunt Pol told him. “I can manage this without the helpful comments.”
And then he was in the caves beneath Prolgu, standing beside Relg as the Gorim performed the simple ceremony uniting the zealot and the Marag woman who had so totally changed Relg’s life. Garion sensed another presence in the underground chamber, and he wondered if anyone had yet told Relg about the bargain that had been struck in Cthol Mishrak. He’d thought about saying something himself, but had decided against it. All things considered, it might be best to let Relg adjust to one thing at a time. Marriage to Taiba was probably going to be enough of a shock to the fanatic’s system for now. Garion could feel Mara’s gloating exultation as the ceremony concluded. The weeping God no longer wept.
It was useless, Garion decided. He was not going to be able to sleep – at least not the kind of sleep that would do him any good. He threw off the covers and pulled on his robe. The fire in his fireplace had been banked for the night, and he stirred it up again. Then he sat in the chair in front of it, staring pensively into the dancing flames.
Even if his wedding to Ce’Nedra had taken place immediately upon their arrival back at Riva, things might still have turned out all right, but the arrangements for a royal wedding of this magnitude were far too complex to be made overnight, and many of those who were to be honored guests were still recuperating from wounds received during the battle of Thull Mardu.
The interim had given Ce’Nedra time to embark upon a full-blown plan of modification. She had, it appeared, a certain concept of him – some ideal which only she could perceive – and she was absolutely determined to cram him into that mold despite all his objections and protests. Nothing could make her relent in her singleminded drive to make him over. It was so unfair. He was quite content to accept her exactly as she was. She had her flaws – many of them – but he was willing to take the good with the bad. Why couldn’t she extend him the same courtesy? But each time he tried to put his foot down and absolutely refuse one of her whims, her eyes would fill with tears, her lip would tremble, and the fatal, “You don’t love me any more,” would drop quaveringly upon him.
Belgarion of Riva had considered flight several times during that long winter.
Now it was spring again, and the storms which isolated the Isle of the Winds during the winter months were past. The day which Garion felt would never come had suddenly rushed upon him. Today was the day in which he would take the Imperial Princess Ce’Nedra to wife, and it was too late to run.
He knew that if he brooded about it much longer, he’d push himself over the edge into total panic, and so he stood up and quickly dressed himself in plain tunic and hose, ignoring the more ostentatious garments which his valet – at Ce’Nedra’s explicit instructions – had laid out for him.
It was about an hour before daylight as the young king of Riva opened the door to the royal apartment and slipped into the silent corridor outside.
He wandered for a time through the dim, empty halls of the Citadel, and then, inevitably, his undirected steps led him to Aunt Pol’s door. She was already awake and seated by her fire with a cup of fragrant tea in her hands. She wore a deep blue dressing gown, and her dark hair flowed down across her shoulders in a lustrous wave.
“You’re up early,” she noted.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You should have. You have a very full day ahead of you.”
“I know. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”
“Tea?”
“No, thanks.” He sat in the carved chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Everything’s changing, Aunt Pol,” he said after a moment of thoughtful silence. “After today, nothing will ever be the same again, will it?”
“Probably not,” she said, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it will be a change for the worse.”
“How do you feel about the idea of getting married?”
“A bit nervous,” she admitted calmly.
“You?”
“I’ve never been married before either, Garion.”
Something had been bothering him about that. “Was it really such a good idea, Aunt Pol?” he asked her. “I mean, arranging to have you and Durnik get married on the same day as Ce’Nedra and I? What I’m trying to say is that you’re the most important woman in the world. Shouldn’t your wedding be a special occasion?”
“That was what we were trying to avoid, Garion,” she replied. “Durnik and I decided that we wanted our wedding to be private, and we hope that it will be lost in all the confusion and ceremony that’s going to surround yours.”
“How is he? I haven’t seen him for several days now.”
“He’s still a bit strange. I don’t think he’ll ever be the same man we all knew.”
“He’s all right, isn’t he?” Garion’s guestion was concerned.
“He’s fine, Garion. He’s just a bit different, that’s all. Something happened to him that’s never happened to any other man, and it changed him. He’s as practical as ever, but now he looks at the other side of things as well. I think I rather like that.”
“Do you really have to leave Riva?” he asked suddenly. “You and Durnik could stay here in the Citadel.”
“We want our own place, Garion,” she told him. “We need to be alone with each other. Besides, if I were here, every time you and Ce’Nedra had a squabble, I’d have one or both of you hammering on my door. I’ve done my best to raise you two. Now you’re going to have to work things out on your own.”
“Where will you go?”
“To the Vale. My mother’s cottage is still standing there. It’s a very solid house. All it needs is new thatching on the roof and new doors and windows. Durnik will know how to take care of that, and it will be a good place for Errand to grow up.”
“Errand? You’re taking him with you?”
“Someone has to care for him, and I’ve grown used to having a small boy around. Besides, father and I’ve decided that we’d like for him to be some distance from the Orb. He’s still the only one besides you who can touch it. Someone at some time might seize upon that and try to use him in the same way Zedar did.”
“What’d be the point? I mean, Torak’s gone now. What good would the Orb do anybody else?” .
She looked at him very gravely, and the white lock of her brow seemed to glow in the soft light. “I don’t believe that was the only reason for the Orb’s existence, Garion,” she told him seriously. “Something hasn’t been completed yet.”
“What? What else is there left to do?”
“We don’t know. The Mrin Codex does not end with the meeting between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark. You’re the Guardian of the Orb now, and it’s still as important as ever, so don’t just put it on the back shelf of a closet somewhere and forget about it. Be watchful, and don’t let ordinary affairs dull your mind. Keeping the Orb is still your first duty – and I’m not going to be here to remind you about it every day.”