Gwendolen remembered the first days of her return to Valeria nearly a month ago. She had been so tired from dusty roads, bloody battles, and some of the most god forsaken terrain to set camp on that she had spent her first week bath simply sleeping entire days away. She would break only to bath in beautifully [i]hot[/i] water that contained exactly no surprise fishes or snakes or peeping men, and eat food that had been cooked in a proper, well stocked kitchen with spices aplenty. That first week, home had never looked so wondrous. She had thought she would be glad to never, ever, ever leave again.

But that was nearly three weeks ago. Now she was testing the mettle of anyone and everyone who happened to pass by the training yards. She was almost painfully bored already. She had lessons daily—with what had to be the oldest man in the [i]world[/i]—on diplomacy and courtly matters. Her father rightly worried that her time at the edges of the kingdom, painting the borders red on occasion thanks to some rather strange rebellions, had made her forget some of the finer points of dealing with stubborn nobles and sensitive neighbors. Gwendolen found the lectures so dull she could feel them working like a numbing agent on the mind. And apparently she was not alone for the old man put himself to sleep regularly with his own talking.

Of course, today like every other day since she had stopped sleeping like a winter bear, the moment she was free from her lessons, she was away to the training fields and fighting every man and woman who passed by. She especially enjoyed teaching a few tricks to some of the more neglected squires and pages. Too many of the knights that were stationed in the capital, she noted, did not train their young warriors properly. They were relegated to the basic duties of their stations; getting horses and pouring wine for their masters. Gwendolen would have none of that. These were the boys and girls that would become the men and women who fought for her kingdom one day. She would not have them know nothing of a sword and shield!

But as the day began to yield itself to night, she knew it was time to retire; even if she still felt like she had days and days of energy to spare. She would have to find some way to burn it or she would surely go absolutely mad. She knew Nonios felt much the same. Already he was becoming a bit of a bastard to the stable hands and she knew if he was not ridden hard soon, someone was libel to get dragged around or bit. Nonios had once been quite a gentle—though tricky—soul like herself. But it was not just the men and women who came away from battle with scars none could see.

She scrubbed herself of sweat and dirt and soaked a time in clean water to ease her muscles and help sooth her enough to sleep. Finally she was dressed and put to bed. She drifted in a dreamless sleep for at time but soon, lurking up from the darkness of nothingness came vivid nightmares of things all too real. The cries of horses not meant for war falling in battle. Lost limbs. Lost lives. Crows flocking, their calls like a horrible song for the dead.

She woke with a gasping start and found herself covered in a cold sweat again. She filled the basin by her bed and splashed her face clean before trying to lay down in bed again to sleep. But she could not. She could not even pretend to try. Too many ghosts lay that side of her lids for her to close them. So after much tossing and turning, she rose again and donned a light robe. Barefoot and quiet she made her way to her private gardens to find the sky was already blushing faintly with the sun. Not true dawn just yet, but not quite the pitch darkness of night, either.

The fresh air helped—she told herself the fresh air helped, at least. And it at least whisked away the cold sweat that clung to her skin still with a pleasant little chill. But soon she was restless again and wandering. But not for long. She frowned when, as she was returning to her room to perhaps dress for the day or rearrange her sitting room or [i]something[/i] to get rid of some of this chaos in her, she spotted her father looking very much like he had dressed in a great hurry leaving his chambers with a few servants still putting the finishing touches on him.

“Father?” she called down the hall, changing course from her room to his side. He perked a bit at seeing her, though he still looked rather perturbed and sleepy.

“Gwen, what are you doing up this hour?”

“I should ask the same. And fully dressed at that!”

“Your uncle is here causing a bit of trouble. I am not yet sure what he is here for but he has said it is of the utmost urgency and will speak to none but me. So I must go greet my darling brother and hold council with him.”

Gwendolen frowned a little in worry, “That is a bit odd. The lands he cares for are not near enough the border to be effected by the rebellions. But if you or he have need of me, call me with haste. I am well awake and I am always ready for a fight.” She was only halfway teasing as she smiled and kissed her father's cheek.

He gave a weary little smile and a pat, “That's what worries me.”

And then he was away and she was left to return to her room and pace about like a caged tiger waiting to be summoned.