He’s never really prepared for the high-pitched, enthusiastic squeal of girls. Belgarath is far more comfortable amongst his sons than he has ever been amongst his (fewer) daughters. It’s probably his underlying misogynistic thought process and the fact that her mother isn’t here anymore and goddamnit, she looks very much like Alasia. Nevertheless, he tries to put on a smile and is at least thankful that he doesn’t have to break her legs in order to get her to stop. That would really throw a wrench into their relationship.
“Esileif,” he booms (unconsciously, of course - such a broad a deep chest allows for massive lungs and when he uses his chest voice, he might as well be a foghorn), standing still as she comes up to him. “Yep, responsibility is boring, and I hear there’s another war in the works.” He grimaces. “The last one had dragons, and they’re disgusting creatures that can eat a horse in one bite.” The whole Valley burned last time, and while it was fairly well contained, he doesn’t feel any particular affinity for anyone. Certainly not enough to risk his life for a cause. Haha, that’s funny. Belgarath only ever cares about himself. It’s probably time to take another vacation and get the fuck out of Beqanna for awhile.
Luckily for him, this ice thing seems to have frozen all bodily processes and he isn’t aging very quickly.
“What have you been up to…? Making friends in the kingdoms?” As if she could hide it from him.
belgarath
