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Two Conversations	By : vladfannyc Category: A through F > The Belgariad Views: 9443 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Belgariad. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Two Conversations
- 1
“Do you want to talk about it?” came Aunt Pol’s voice from his side.
“What is there to talk about?” Garion answered resentfully.
“Many things.”
“You knew I could do things like that, didn’t you?” Garion asked.
“I knew the potential was there,” Aunt Pol replied. “But there have been many people who have had the potential and, for one reason or another, have never used it.”
“I wish I hadn’t!” Garion cried.
“Have you thought about what would have happened otherwise?” Aunt Pol asked quietly.
The question took Garion by surprise. He stared at his aunt blankly. “What do you mean?”
“You were standing there with the rest of us, Garion,” Aunt Pol told him. “You heard Asharak, and you heard Duke Kador. At the very least, you and I would be Asharak’s prisoners, and Ce’Nedra would be dead—Kador would have killed her. He might have killed the others, too: Barak, Hettar, Mandorallen—and Durnik.”
Hearing Durnik’s name brought Garion up very short. If Aunt Pol had been his surrogate mother all these years, Durnik had been his father. His mind flashed back to many long afternoons spent in the smith’s workshop, asking questions on top of questions, and all the things the smith had taught him—some of it having nothing whatsoever to do with metalworking.
“But why did I have to burn him to death?” Garion wailed. “I even made the fire hotter after you told me about my parents!!! What kind of monster am I going to be?”
Aunt Pol grasped his shoulders and pulled him to face her. She leaned into him, her eyes boring into his, the white lock in her hair positively blazing. “Now you listen to me very carefully, Garion,” she told him in a tone filled with more urgency than he’d ever heard her take with anyone, “and you believe me. You are not a monster. The fact that you’re tearing yourself apart over what you did proves that. Monsters don’t have regrets or feelings; you do. You are not a monster. You’re no more a monster than Durnik is for killing that bandit in the Arendish Forest.” She took his face in her hands. “Something terrible had to be done, Garion—and you were the one who had to do it. But you saved all of our lives. If you want to blame anyone, blame Asharak, for forcing you to make a choice you never should have had to make, and for taking away your parents and your childhood instead of simply letting you grow into the decent, honorable, feeling young man you are.”
That was too much for Garion. He began to weep. Aunt Pol stood and pulled him close to her while he cried himself out.

“Return to your master, dog,” Aunt Pol mocked the Grolim. “Tell him to beat you for not learning your lessons properly.”
She turned to Garion, and he could see that she was holding in rage by the thinnest of margins. He took an involuntary half-step backwards, but Aunt Pol merely said, “Garion, dear, I’d like to speak privately with you. Right now.”
She turned and went below, presumably to her cabin. Garion looked at his friends, all of whom were staring at him with mixed shock, awe……and fear.
No matter what Aunt Pol was going to do to him, it would be better than facing that. Garion sighed and followed her off the deck.
When he reached her cabin, however, Aunt Pol was sitting placidly in a corner, a cup of tea in her lap. “Sit down, dear,” she motioned to a chair, “and tell me what happened.”
Garion sat down, hesitantly. “They had slaves on that ship,” he began in an uncertain voice. “They were whipping them, making them dance. Some of them were laughing about it. Then one of the slaves broke free, and jumped overboard.”
“I see,” Aunt Pol nodded. “And then?”
“Barak and Mandorallen were yelling to him, telling him to swim toward us. But when he surfaced,” Garion shuddered at the memory, “these……things……were all over him. He was screaming, crying for help.”
“And since you can’t see someone in need without trying to help them, you got involved,” Aunt Pol sighed. “Well, I’ve taught you that, at least. Tell me what happened next.”
“I thought about you and Grandfather, what you’ve done, and I could feel something building inside me. And when it was right—I don’t know how I knew, it just felt right—I pointed at the land and yelled, ‘Be there!’ And………something………came out of me, and I felt like I was going to faint. I probably would have if Barak hadn’t caught me.”
“It’s called translocation,” Aunt Pol told him. “It’s one of the first things we do, and, as you’ve found out, it’s exhausting. But getting back to the man you tried to rescue. What happened to him?”
Garion’s eyes filled with tears. “He was lying on the river bank, and he was so stiff……I knew he had to be dead. Aunt Pol, what happened to him? Why did he die?”
“The leeches,” Aunt Pol replied quietly. “The river is filled with them. Their bites are poisonous. They stop their victim’s heart, so they can feed undisturbed. That man was dead as soon as he hit the water. There was absolutely nothing you could have done to save him.”
“So what are you saying?” Garion cried angrily. “That I should have just left him there? Left him to die?”
Aunt Pol reached over and took Garion’s hand in hers. “Yes, Garion. That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And this is a lesson I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to learn for years yet. Sometimes we have to stand back and let something terrible happen—because if we don’t, all we’ll do is make things even worse.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“Do you remember what I was like at the ruins of Vo Wacune? Didn’t you understand how much I loved that city? You know how much power I command—don’t you think that I could have driven off the Asturians by myself? And what about your grandfather? He’s at least as powerful as I am, and he loved the Marags as much as I loved Vo Wacune—don’t you think he could have stopped the Tolnedrans from destroying them?”
Garion couldn’t speak. It was true. Aunt Pol had loved Vo Wacune, and his grandfather had loved Maragor. It came out in every word they spoke.
“But I had to let Vo Wacune fall, and your grandfather had to let Maragor perish, because if we hadn’t, everything we’ve worked for would be useless.” Aunt Pol shook her head sadly. “But that’s long in the past; let’s talk about now. Your first instinct is to help people who need you. You have no idea how proud I am of you for that. But trying to help, in this case, put us all in deadly danger, and you didn’t accomplish anything by it.”
“Danger?” Garion said, surprised.
“Yes, Garion. How do you think I knew you’d used your power? Anything we do with the Will and the Word makes a certain noise that others with the talent can hear—and translocation is particularly noisy. I heard what you did—and so did every Grolim in Sthiss Tor.”
Garion turned pale.
“So, starting now, you and I are going to do some serious studying. Or rather, you’re going to be doing the studying, and I’m going to be doing the teaching. We have to get your power under conscious control, and we have to teach you when not to use it and when to let it loose.” She took a deep breath, released his hand, and said, “Let’s begin.”
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Two Conversations