Her eyes were unfocused as she stared blankly at the wall. Her mind was both reeling and moving in slow motion. Aregan knew. Aregan knew of their valley. They had not been there but five months and he knew. Inside, Padme cringed, surely it was her fault. She had boldly ridden in the nearest town, asking for people to join her. Instead of quietly building a rebellion after her loss, she had effectively declared open warfare by recruiting people. It would be on her head when these people died. Why, oh why, hadn’t she asked for more soldiers? Now they would need to raise an army; the men would have to be taught to fight. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep her from crying it. Another army. What she should do, Padme did not know. She would have to foolishly ask the Baron, but her pride would have to be swallowed. Her people mattered more.

She was surrounded by her people, dancing and laughing in the warm summer air, yet, she was apart. She was apart, sitting on her throne, eyes unseeing, pondering the many many years ahead of her and the fate of her country. It was the eve of her coronation, and she should have been pleased and dancing with her people, but she was not. She should have been lighthearted and gay, but she was not. She should have been aware of the dark eyes of Severus de’Lorraine on her, but she was not. He was lurking in the shadows, nearly hidden from view, but she did not notice him.

A long time passed before Padme noticed anything at all.

“Nay, I!” shouted Sir Sirius. Padme jumped, her revere broken.

“Nay, it will be me!” Wilhelm Tubbs declared passionately.

“Nay, I shall have the pleasure,” General Tubbs said eagerly.

Padme swung her attention to the three bickering men.

“We shall let our fair lady decide!” Sir Sirius cried.

He gracefully strode up to her seated form and bent to one knee. He bowed his head in respect.

“Oh fairest lady, will thou dance with me?” He asked, daring to take her hand in one of his own. His blue eyes twinkled up at her.

“Dance? Is that what all the fuss is about?” she demanded, placing a mock frown upon her face.

“A fuss?” Nay, only ladies fuss. We men…brawl!” Sir Sirius said, making Wilhelm and General Tubbs laugh.

She snorted.

“Perhaps a challenge, then. To win your lady’s favor,” she said slyly. “A challenge of tongue and wit, not swords and brawn.”

“Aye, for then I shall surely win!” Wilhelm called.

The ladies around her tittered with excitement and Padme chuckled.

“Aye, and so you may start,” she offered sweetly.

“Thy hair shines like woven silk against a lady’s breast!” he said, boldly. The modest ladies gasped and the immodest ladies laughed out right with the men. Those in between hid their amusement.

“Thou art quite vulgar, Lord Wilhelm!” She said, pretending to chastise him. He grinned to the dismay of his pretty wife, Electra.

“Thy skin is like the reflection of the moon upon my sword,” General Tubbs called out.

“Aye, but thy hands are tiny, like little mouse paws,” Wilhelm stated.

“Nay! Thine eyes are like two sparkling topazes, rich and warm,” General Tubbs exclaimed.

“Nay, thy lady’s will is a strong front, just like our beautiful valley!” Wilhelm said. The ladies cheered and clapped.

“Which we shall all measure our will against,” Sir Sirius interjected, his voice soft. The ladies leaned in closer, the better to hear him.

“Our lady’s heart gleams brighter than the buried crystals in the snow on a sparkling sunny day. It is a forbidden love, I have, for both our Lady fair, and winter, for they are both brazen and wild, cold and unforgiving and both are underestimated and strong. I must humble myself to admit my love, but alas there it is!”

Padme was not fond of poetry, nor did she understand it, but she was aware of the clapping of those around her. She recognized Sir Sirius’ eloquence with word, but did not commend him for it. She preferred the blunt harshness of warriors to the sweet elegance of knights.

She pulled her face into a smile for Sir Sirius and offered him her hand.

“Music,” she called out, her voice a little hoarse.

His fingers curled about her waist, and her hand found his shoulder. They moved into step and turned in time for the music.

Shall I tell thee how beautiful thine hair looks by candlelight?” He teased, his breath tickling her ear.

“Nay,” said Padme, giving another tight smile to Sir Sirius. She was not one for dancing either; she feared she would tread on his boots.

“Not a fan of poetry, Your Highness?” He asked.

“I do not have time to read poetry, much less understand it,” she admitted.

“You have never been properly wooed then, Your Highness,” Sir Sirius said idly, as though he were chatting about the weather.

Padme snorted at him. When did she have time to be wooed?

“Your Highness needs time to play,” Sir Sirius said, reading her mind.

“Your Highness would like to see her country safe, before she plays,” Padme pointed out.

Sir Sirius chuckled and started to speak. However, the dance called for them to breifly move away from one another, and his words were lost upon her. His mouth moved, but Padme was spinning and spinning, his voice lost in the music.

“What say you, Your Highness?” Sir Sirius asked when they met again. His hand replaced itself on her waist and he pressed himself to her again.

“What say I to what?” She asked, her heart pounding. It was quite warm and her cheeks flushed pink, though she suspected it was not from being warm.

“To a little play, Your Highness,” he whispered.

“You forget yourself, Sir Sirius,” Padme said coldy, pulling away. He smiled down at her.

“Aye, I do. Your winter beauty has swept me away, Your Highness,” Sir Sirius said and bowed. He disappeared into the crowd. She could not help but smile a little.

The Baron, however, did not smile.

She had narrowly escaped another tirade from him by agreeing in all matters. She often found his advice to be sound and true, including her need for the castle. It scared her, to think of this man being cleverer than her and him very nearly being the effective ruler of her little country, and her being merely a symbol for all the people to gather around. The thought had first appeared during their meeting and begun snowballing, downward and out of control. She meekly submitted to the Baron, telling him that he should do what he found best. Padme did not heed the sneer that rose upon his face, but fled, glad he would not go off in anger at her. Controlling herself would be difficult, in light of the snowball rolling around in her head. After her escape, Padme found herself in the confinements of her study, sitting on the floor, weary in mind and body and spirit.

It was a tiny room, her study, and yet it was safe and secure. It was her womb; it contained a few chairs, a desk and a bookcase. Too small to even fit a fireplace, yet it was cozy, it was warm.

The only light came from a flickering candle that dripped wax on to her wooden desk.

She did not mind, and often she would watch the shadows and the light dance across the ceilings and walls. In her minds eye, they were men and women, dancing elegantly across a polished wooden floor. They were at a great party, no! a wedding, and everyone was merry, even the bridegroom and the bride. She imagined it was her sisters wedding. Padme had been very ill at that time and had not been able to attend. She knew that Gwennifer’s dress had been red, redder than her hair, and that Alexander looked handsome in his armor. The shadows flitted on and off the walls, just like the steps in her sister’s favorite dance. Padme felt bitter, just thinking about her sister’s happiness. She feared she would never be happy as queen. It was a heavy burden to bear and she had been carrying the load since she was 14. She commanded an army, fought in the war and lost. There was no time for fun, nor would there ever be.

A sharp knock on the door made her suddenly swallow the bile in her throat. She coughed and spluttered a few moments, but managed to choke out, “Who it is?”

“It is I,” the unmistakable voice of the Baron announced.

She rolled her eyes and thought, where is my rope and beam? Or better yet, let me go to the north tower…

“Enter,” she called out wearily, moving to be seated behind her desk.

The door swung wide and the Baron stepped in. His presence always filled the entire room, including the space she took up. She shifted herself uncomfortably in the seat, but nodded at him as he bowed to her. The Baron stepped aside to let his guest enter.

“This is my cousin, Sir Sirius de’Lorraine,” the Baron said, his voice seething with contempt.

Sir Sirius smiled and bowed. His height matched the Baron’s and his hair was also black, but there the similarities ended. His face was full and brown to the thin and sallow face of the Baron’s. His nose was straight and the Baron’s, to put it nicely, was not. The biggest difference, Padme noted as she studied the cousins, were that Sir Sirius’ blue eyes shone brightly at her, while the Baron’s dark eyes glowered at the other man.

“It is a pleasure to meet the legend, at last, Your Highness,” Sir Sirius said, a wolfish grin on his face.

Padme smiled up at him, dimples flaring, despite her earlier sour mood.

“May I say, your hair is like a sweet chestnut filly, rich and fine. Like brown velvet! Your eyes are deep dark pools full of depth and wisdom! Your skin glows like the pale moonlight, and—“

“—Enough,” the Baron snapped.

“May I not pay compliments to our fair Queen?” Sir Sirius asked, turning to his cousin.

“Nay, state your business and leave,” the Baron growled.

“Be quiet for once in your life, Severus,” Padme said with a sigh.

Sir Sirius smiled and bowed flamboyantly. A dark red flush creeped up the Baron’s face and he squared his jaw. Sir Sirius turned back to Padme.

“I’m afraid he has had that problem since we were children. It is not likely to go away soon,” Sir Sirius whispered loudly. He winked at her and grinned at the appearance of her dimples.

“Instead of Baron-baiting, as fun as it always is,” Padme said. “Perhaps you would care to elaborate on your reason for this visit. Surely its not to visit Severus?”

“As a warning, Your Highness,” Sir Sirius lost his teasing demeanor.

“A warning? Go on.”

“Aregan has heard of you in this valley. He will come after you. I do not know if it will be today, tomorrow or later when you least expect it. He would reclaim this land and obliterate you, Your Highness. I have men, and I have come to swear fealty to you, if you will have us.”

Padme rose early that morning, rubbing an obstinate crick in the back of her neck. She could not wait until construction on the castle was finished, perhaps then she would have a better bed than the pallet on the floor. She splashed cold water on her face and went over to the window; more like a slit in the white-washed wall. She gazed out the window, mesmerized at her new home.

The mists that had covered the valley those first few weeks had subsided and now everyone could see the true beauty of the land. There had been doubts, though none dared voice it to Padme, about the richness of the soil and the habitability of the land. Padme’s heart swelled with pride and affection as she took in the luscious green grass, the sweet scent of country air and the deep blue sky. As beautiful as it was wild, Padme knew it would be all the more beautiful covered in farms instead of brambleberries.

The morning was beautiful, like every other before, and Padme wished she could ride out to oversee the building of the castle. The castle she did not want; a rather sore spot for her. She had an early morning meeting with Merlin, and it would be discussed, again. For now she waited in the small, crude, wooden hut. For proprietarys sake she shared the hut with Lady Darcy, but it was too small for either of them.

She shook her head at herself. There was no time to stand looking at her fields, there was work to do, as ever. She dressed herself hurriedly and without assistance. Padme was not good a fixing her own hair, so she left it loose, to hang down her back and over her shoulders, to shimmer in the sun. She rushed out of the house to seize the morning.

Later that day, Padme was sitting in the crude hut with Merlin, General Tubbs and the Baron. One look on Padme’s face showed her unhappiness. Originally the meeting was to be between her and Merlin, however, he was accompanied by the Baron. Merlin had thought it best to get Padme used to the idea of having the Baron around and taking his advice, for one day it was the Baron who would be her lead advisor once Merlin was gone. To diffuse any arguments, Padme asked General Tubbs to join them. The four of them sat around a grubby wooden plank that Lady Darcy liked to call a table. They studied sheaves of parchment containing construction plans and maps of Mor’ildaine. The last of the boundaries had to be divided and remaining plans for the castle had to be put in motion. So they sat, cramped in the smallest room, in the smallest hut in the smallest valley of the country.

It was warm in the room and the torches on the walls made the small room even more stuffy. Padme was hot and irritable and pissed off. She knew that inevitably, she and the Baron would fight. General Tubbs was doing his best to dominate the conversation as he leaned over pointing out flaws in the unwanted castle.

“Your Highness, please remember that—“ he started, only to be cut off by Padme.

“—We do not have many soldiers, so we must be careful of stretching the guard too thin. Aye, I know,” she snapped. “Tis nothing you haven’t pointed out before, General.”

Padme tapped her fingers on her teeth, eyes looking down at the parchment, but not really seeing the plans. Finally she spoke.

“I still believe the castle is a mistake. I think that walls would serve us better.”

“We do not have the materials, Your Highness,” the Baron said, putting special sarcastic emphasis on, Your Highness, as he always did.

“Aye, tis because of the castle. It is not too late to stop construction-“ she began, noly to be interrupted by the Baron.

“Milady, we have already been over this,” the Baron snapped. Padme raised her eyebrows, but let him continue on. “You must have a castle for various reasons. You must continue on with the castle. You must provide a strong front for your people. You do not want to seem like a silly foolish little milkmaid, indecisive in her choosing,” the Baron said with a slight smirk on his lips. He did think her a silly milkmaid. He continued. “The castle provides enough fortification for our people and it commands respect and signifies your strength and right to rule. These walls, will draw in the enemy. We cannot afford to look weak now!” He said, slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis.

“Are you quite finished now?” Padme asked the Baron through white lips. “If I had a castle would you respect me enough to not interrupt me? Nay? I did not think so. As I was saying….” Padme stopped long enough to glare at the Baron. “I would like to protect my people. If we do what the Baron says and the Pretender-King comes, he will murder my people. But at least they will die respecting me!” Padme said, throwing her hands up in the air for emphasis.

Both Merlin and General Tubbs were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. The Baron on the other hand, was not so wise.

“Would you rather answer to Aregan? Go then! Be off with you! Go!” She said waving him off.

“Your Ladyship!” General Tubbs exclaimed.

“Padme….” Merlin said softly.

She ignored them both, staring the Baron’s dark eyes down with her own.

The Baron stood up and inhaled sharply.

“Aregan is not a fool. Not like the one who sits before me!” He said quietly and stormed out, leaving Padme’s chest heaving up and down and the two other men in shock.

The battle for the throne has been lost and the rightful heir, Padme Murugan, is cast out with her most loyal supporters. Now in exile, Padme and her party are searching for lands to settle upon; to raise an army and reclaim the lost throne. For many nights and days they travel up the deserted coast. Finally, they come upon a mist swarthed valley, devoid of humans and animals alike. The land is wild, covered in brambleberries. Padme knows this land belongs to her; she can feel it with every beat of her heart. It is hers and hers alone.

There is triumph in her eyes as she rides into the nearest village. She boldly declares that she will buy freedom for any serf willing to work her lands. Four families eagerly take their chances with the valley and are soon joined by two traveling merchant families.

Padme offers stations and land to any noble families willing to take a stand against the Pretender-King. Many fear the harsh consequences and are reluctant. Lord and Lady Darcy are just the opposite, fearing the consequences if they stay. They are eager for a fresh new start, away from the pain of war and away from the cruel injustices of the new regime.

Another young couple decide to throw in their lot with Padme. They are a fourth son of an Earl and the fifth daughter of a Count. No dowry was offered for poor Camilla, but Ondore loved her all the more, and so they are married in secret, and they venture to the valley, in secret. They are happy to be together and alive.

Among Padme’s loyal supporters is Merlin the Wise. Because of him, Padme learned of her heritage. After the battle was lost, it was he who suggested Padme gather her own kingdom. With him came the Baron Severus de’Lorraine, a young man well versed in politics. His father is the advisor to the Pretender-King himself. Merlin knows his knowledge of the inner workings of the court will prove useful. Padme does not like his sarcastic ways, nor did she trust him; yet she trusts Merlin with her life. And so the Baron came to stay.

The commander of her army, a stout, strong-footed sort of man with a booming voice and thunderous laugh is also one of her loyal, exiled supporters. General John Tubbs was offered a position with the Pretender-King. He spat on the man’s feet and narrowly escaped with his life. He summoned a cousin, Wilhelm, to the little valley. Wilhelm willingly came, bringing his pretty young wife, Electra, along.

With the sin of pride on her shoulders, Padme had her subjects stand before her. She raised her sword, high in her hand and shouted.

“These lands shall be called Mor’ildaine. Is there anyone to challenge me?”

No one answered.