**My first David Eddings fic! Be nice!
Laterose. **
His mind is in turmoil. A name? No name.
There are faces, faces he thinks he should remember.
A beautiful woman with dark hair, all except for one white lock at her brow. She smiles at him, and then frowns.
An old man with a white beard.
A blond haired lad with a kindly face, who radiates power.
The lovely, worried face of a tiny red headed woman.
A young man who smiles at him with eyes like his own.
Lots of red headed little girls. Lots.
One black haired child, her eyes like flints and her laugh like ice.
He doesn't know where he is, who he is, and he can't remember his story.
The rest of the world can, and it waits.
~
The ship was nearing the Isle of the Winds. Belgarath the Sorcerer leant out over the deck railing.
The wind blew his mantle every which way, and he scowled. Poledra had insisted he wear it on their arrival in Riva. And when Poledra insisted, you seldom argued - even if you were Belgarath, the figure of legend. Especially if you were him.
He was positive he hadn't really needed to come, but Polgara had rather deviously persuaded Poledra to come along, and that automatically included him.
It wasn't before he'd finished packing that he'd realised that his daughter had done it on purpose.
He'd moaned a little, but he was rather looking forward to it now. He hadn't seen Garion and Ce'Nedra for about ten years, after all, and he hadn't even met their three youngest children. This, however, was perhaps an downside. The presence of so many little red haired girls made him feel old, for some reason.
"Something's wrong," came a voice from behind him.
"So you keep saying," he growled back. Polgara came and stood beside him, her hands only slightly resting on the bar, her hair streaming behind her in the wind.
"You could at least act the least bit worried," she said.
"I am worried," Belgarath told his daughter. "I just don't show it as much as you do."
"He's blocking me out," said Polgara. "What is he up to?"
"Maybe he just wants to be left alone, Pol."
"I don't think he knows he's doing it, father."
As they drew closer, they could see that every window in the palace was covered in black drapes. "What is going on?" said Poledra, Belgarath's wife, coming out on deck with a black haired young lady of seventeen years in tow.
Polgara's daughter looked up at the Citadel. "It look's like someone's -" the black haired girl gasped. "What if it's one of the children?"
"We'd have heard if someone had died, Belgera," said Polgara firmly, but she sounded as though she was trying to convince herself.
Others came out onto the deck. Durnik lurched as a great wave rocked the boat. Belstad supported his father as the ship moved swiftly into the cove.
"Thank you, son," said Durnik, but Belstad was hardly listening. He went to stand beside his sister, Belgera.
"What's with all the black curtains?" he asked her.
"I don't know," she told him. "But it makes me feel ill just to look at them. You do think everyone is all right, don't you?"
"I hope so," said Belstad.
"Look!" exclaimed Belgera.
There were three children playing on the docks, but no adults, which was strange because by this time Garion would usually have come out to greet them. But anyone could see that the black curtains that covered all the windows would prevent all the usual watchmen from seeing anything happening down at the cove.
Of the three children, two girls were red headed and lively. These were the ones that were doing all the screaming and running about.
The other had long straight black locks and was sitting still on a rock, watching the other two. She was older than the red heads and was following their every move.
She looked up at the huge ship as it made a beeline for an empty space at the dock. So did the younger two, their play clothes whipping round them in the wind. The three of them stared; mouths open, as all the passengers disembarked.
The black haired one spoke first, to Durnik. She looked up at him, quite boldly.
"Aren't you awfully tall?" she said.
Durnik smiled at her. The two younger children smiled back, but the black haired one just looked wary.
"What's your name?" Durnik asked her.
"I am Princess Polserra," she said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'm eight. This is Xera and Xaria, my little sisters. They're twins," she added, "but they're only five."
She turned to Polgara. "You're pretty," she told her.
"This one is after my own heart," said Polgara with a worried smile.
"Pol!" said Xera, or it could have been Xaria, "Pol, you're very naughty! You're not to talk to strangers!"
"They don't seem strange to me," said the little girl.
"I'm telling, I'm telling!" said the other twin.
Poledra ruffled her hair. "These are Ce'Nedra's children all right."
"You know mother?" asked Polserra. "That must be all right, then."
"Polserra," said Belgarath, bending down slightly to be on her level, "Why are all the windows in the city blacked up?"
The child cocked her head on one side. "I'm not sure if I ought to tell you," she said finally. "Geran said not to tell anyone, even the baker at the end of the street, and he gets told everything that happens in Riva."
"Geran?" said Belstad in surprise.
"My brother," Polserra said by way of explanation. "He's on his way down here now."
"Oh?" said Belgera incredulously. "How do you know that?"
"I just told him to," said Polserra with a very large grin.
Belgarath and Polgara exchanged startled glances, but before they could say anything, Prince Geran of Riva came running out of the citadel and onto the dock, followed closely by Kail, the Rivan Warder, and a young man of about Belstad's age.
Geran had grown considerably in the last ten or so years. He was now as tall as his father, at least, at twenty years old, and his once sandy blonde curls had darkened to rich black.
He had the air of a King about him, but he looked tired and worried, and as if he had not had much sleep lately.
Kail looked almost the same as ever, except that there were noticeably more lines on his face, and his normally dark hair carried wisps of grey. He was also looking worried, but he was doing his best to conceal it.
The other man was very short and wiry, and although younger than Geran, looked as though he'd seen the world inside out and could fight himself out of any number of tricky situations.
Although it was not that cold, he wore the neck of his silk tunic high at the back of his neck, and he had at least two daggers tucked into his belt. He was quite blatantly Drasnian.
"Aunt Pol!" called Geran, in obvious delight. "Grandmother! What took you so long?"
"I didn't know there was a time limit," said Polgara, dubiously. "I didn't know you knew we were coming, Geran."
"What? But then. oh never mind. Come in, quickly, all of you. That includes you three," he said shortly to the three little girls
"Oh," moaned one of the twins.
"Do we have to?" whined the other one.
"Yes, you do," said Geran, in a voice so reminiscent of his mother that everyone smiled. "And you, Pol."
"I don't have to do anything you tell me to," said Polserra, glaring at him.
"The doors close in ten minutes, Pol."
"I don't care. I'm going to stay here all night, so there."
"Pol - "
The little girl whipped round and glared at him with eyes like fire. Geran made a move that was half a stumble, half a flick of his hand.
Everyone present who had 'talent' which was everyone except Kail, the Dryad twins and possibly the little Drasnian, felt or heard the surge of Geran's will, but no one else's.
Belstad looked with trepidation at Geran's shield. What was he guarding against?
There was a momentary struggle between the Prince and some unseen force, and then the shield went down.
Polserra stamped her foot. "I hate you, Geran!" she announced in a voice as loud as Ce'Nedra's. Then she stomped off up to the citadel. The twins remained behind.
Geran brushed off his hands. "That was easier than expected," he observed.
"What was?" asked Belgarath in confusion. "There was nothing there, Geran."
Geran paused for a moment, then he put his fingers to his lips and beckoned.
They followed him into the Citadel, curiosity clouding their senses.
When they were in, Geran shut the gate.
"That was sloppy, Geran," the Drasnian lad accused the Prince.
"Don't tell me there weren't at least three spies out there who know the secret language," the Prince retorted, leading the way past the bewildered guards and up the stairs.
"Four," the other corrected him.
Belgarath chuckled. "Works every time," he remarked.
Polgara glared at him. "Geran," she demanded. "What is going on?"
Geran sighed. "I'm afraid it's father," he said quietly. "He's dreadfully ill."
** There you go. Hope you liked my little start to a little ficcy. **
Laterose. **
His mind is in turmoil. A name? No name.
There are faces, faces he thinks he should remember.
A beautiful woman with dark hair, all except for one white lock at her brow. She smiles at him, and then frowns.
An old man with a white beard.
A blond haired lad with a kindly face, who radiates power.
The lovely, worried face of a tiny red headed woman.
A young man who smiles at him with eyes like his own.
Lots of red headed little girls. Lots.
One black haired child, her eyes like flints and her laugh like ice.
He doesn't know where he is, who he is, and he can't remember his story.
The rest of the world can, and it waits.
~
The ship was nearing the Isle of the Winds. Belgarath the Sorcerer leant out over the deck railing.
The wind blew his mantle every which way, and he scowled. Poledra had insisted he wear it on their arrival in Riva. And when Poledra insisted, you seldom argued - even if you were Belgarath, the figure of legend. Especially if you were him.
He was positive he hadn't really needed to come, but Polgara had rather deviously persuaded Poledra to come along, and that automatically included him.
It wasn't before he'd finished packing that he'd realised that his daughter had done it on purpose.
He'd moaned a little, but he was rather looking forward to it now. He hadn't seen Garion and Ce'Nedra for about ten years, after all, and he hadn't even met their three youngest children. This, however, was perhaps an downside. The presence of so many little red haired girls made him feel old, for some reason.
"Something's wrong," came a voice from behind him.
"So you keep saying," he growled back. Polgara came and stood beside him, her hands only slightly resting on the bar, her hair streaming behind her in the wind.
"You could at least act the least bit worried," she said.
"I am worried," Belgarath told his daughter. "I just don't show it as much as you do."
"He's blocking me out," said Polgara. "What is he up to?"
"Maybe he just wants to be left alone, Pol."
"I don't think he knows he's doing it, father."
As they drew closer, they could see that every window in the palace was covered in black drapes. "What is going on?" said Poledra, Belgarath's wife, coming out on deck with a black haired young lady of seventeen years in tow.
Polgara's daughter looked up at the Citadel. "It look's like someone's -" the black haired girl gasped. "What if it's one of the children?"
"We'd have heard if someone had died, Belgera," said Polgara firmly, but she sounded as though she was trying to convince herself.
Others came out onto the deck. Durnik lurched as a great wave rocked the boat. Belstad supported his father as the ship moved swiftly into the cove.
"Thank you, son," said Durnik, but Belstad was hardly listening. He went to stand beside his sister, Belgera.
"What's with all the black curtains?" he asked her.
"I don't know," she told him. "But it makes me feel ill just to look at them. You do think everyone is all right, don't you?"
"I hope so," said Belstad.
"Look!" exclaimed Belgera.
There were three children playing on the docks, but no adults, which was strange because by this time Garion would usually have come out to greet them. But anyone could see that the black curtains that covered all the windows would prevent all the usual watchmen from seeing anything happening down at the cove.
Of the three children, two girls were red headed and lively. These were the ones that were doing all the screaming and running about.
The other had long straight black locks and was sitting still on a rock, watching the other two. She was older than the red heads and was following their every move.
She looked up at the huge ship as it made a beeline for an empty space at the dock. So did the younger two, their play clothes whipping round them in the wind. The three of them stared; mouths open, as all the passengers disembarked.
The black haired one spoke first, to Durnik. She looked up at him, quite boldly.
"Aren't you awfully tall?" she said.
Durnik smiled at her. The two younger children smiled back, but the black haired one just looked wary.
"What's your name?" Durnik asked her.
"I am Princess Polserra," she said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'm eight. This is Xera and Xaria, my little sisters. They're twins," she added, "but they're only five."
She turned to Polgara. "You're pretty," she told her.
"This one is after my own heart," said Polgara with a worried smile.
"Pol!" said Xera, or it could have been Xaria, "Pol, you're very naughty! You're not to talk to strangers!"
"They don't seem strange to me," said the little girl.
"I'm telling, I'm telling!" said the other twin.
Poledra ruffled her hair. "These are Ce'Nedra's children all right."
"You know mother?" asked Polserra. "That must be all right, then."
"Polserra," said Belgarath, bending down slightly to be on her level, "Why are all the windows in the city blacked up?"
The child cocked her head on one side. "I'm not sure if I ought to tell you," she said finally. "Geran said not to tell anyone, even the baker at the end of the street, and he gets told everything that happens in Riva."
"Geran?" said Belstad in surprise.
"My brother," Polserra said by way of explanation. "He's on his way down here now."
"Oh?" said Belgera incredulously. "How do you know that?"
"I just told him to," said Polserra with a very large grin.
Belgarath and Polgara exchanged startled glances, but before they could say anything, Prince Geran of Riva came running out of the citadel and onto the dock, followed closely by Kail, the Rivan Warder, and a young man of about Belstad's age.
Geran had grown considerably in the last ten or so years. He was now as tall as his father, at least, at twenty years old, and his once sandy blonde curls had darkened to rich black.
He had the air of a King about him, but he looked tired and worried, and as if he had not had much sleep lately.
Kail looked almost the same as ever, except that there were noticeably more lines on his face, and his normally dark hair carried wisps of grey. He was also looking worried, but he was doing his best to conceal it.
The other man was very short and wiry, and although younger than Geran, looked as though he'd seen the world inside out and could fight himself out of any number of tricky situations.
Although it was not that cold, he wore the neck of his silk tunic high at the back of his neck, and he had at least two daggers tucked into his belt. He was quite blatantly Drasnian.
"Aunt Pol!" called Geran, in obvious delight. "Grandmother! What took you so long?"
"I didn't know there was a time limit," said Polgara, dubiously. "I didn't know you knew we were coming, Geran."
"What? But then. oh never mind. Come in, quickly, all of you. That includes you three," he said shortly to the three little girls
"Oh," moaned one of the twins.
"Do we have to?" whined the other one.
"Yes, you do," said Geran, in a voice so reminiscent of his mother that everyone smiled. "And you, Pol."
"I don't have to do anything you tell me to," said Polserra, glaring at him.
"The doors close in ten minutes, Pol."
"I don't care. I'm going to stay here all night, so there."
"Pol - "
The little girl whipped round and glared at him with eyes like fire. Geran made a move that was half a stumble, half a flick of his hand.
Everyone present who had 'talent' which was everyone except Kail, the Dryad twins and possibly the little Drasnian, felt or heard the surge of Geran's will, but no one else's.
Belstad looked with trepidation at Geran's shield. What was he guarding against?
There was a momentary struggle between the Prince and some unseen force, and then the shield went down.
Polserra stamped her foot. "I hate you, Geran!" she announced in a voice as loud as Ce'Nedra's. Then she stomped off up to the citadel. The twins remained behind.
Geran brushed off his hands. "That was easier than expected," he observed.
"What was?" asked Belgarath in confusion. "There was nothing there, Geran."
Geran paused for a moment, then he put his fingers to his lips and beckoned.
They followed him into the Citadel, curiosity clouding their senses.
When they were in, Geran shut the gate.
"That was sloppy, Geran," the Drasnian lad accused the Prince.
"Don't tell me there weren't at least three spies out there who know the secret language," the Prince retorted, leading the way past the bewildered guards and up the stairs.
"Four," the other corrected him.
Belgarath chuckled. "Works every time," he remarked.
Polgara glared at him. "Geran," she demanded. "What is going on?"
Geran sighed. "I'm afraid it's father," he said quietly. "He's dreadfully ill."
** There you go. Hope you liked my little start to a little ficcy. **