A/N: Here it is, as promised! This chapter was hard to write, so if anyone has any suggestions, it may be edited and reposted.

The Joust

Rain drizzled onto the field softly but persistently all morning. The day was just warm enough to prevent snow. Peter stood at his window and looked out as fauns erected huge canopies over the stands and the dais where the Court would sit. The creatures of Narnia had appealed to Susan this morning and asked her if she thought that the tournament should continue, and she had answered in the affirmative, and asked that the shelters be erected to ensure the same crowd as the day before.

So the knights were eating a light breakfast in one of the smaller halls in the palace while creatures filed into open palace gates and made their way over to the stands. Soon the ground, newly exposed by the rain, sported muddy footprints in all shapes and sizes.

Rhiannon joined Peter at his window, leaning back into his chest and closing her eyes. He folded his arms around her and she sighed, smiling. If it was up to her, she would just keep him there in his chamber all day. She was tired, and she liked using him as a pillow.

"It's going to be hard on the horses today," she said without opening her eyes. "The ground is going to be soft, there won't be any traction. It's dangerous." He kissed the top of her head.

"All tournaments are dangerous. Don't worry, our horses have those special shoes on them, they have corking in them to stop them from slipping. And the knights will be careful."

Rhiannon pressed her lips together tightly but didn't say anything. She personally thought it was selfish of Susan to order the Tournament to go on when she was putting the horses in so much danger. If it had been her decision, she would have postponed it for at least one day. Perhaps one day it will be your decision. Her eyes snapped open with the realization of that thought. What in the name of Aslan did that mean?

"Come on," Peter was saying. "We have to get ready." He kissed her one more time, letting his hands linger over her stomach and hips, and then sent her on her way. "Wear the blue dress," he murmured in her ear. "I like it." She shivered and walked out the door, still reeling.

Why does he always do that to me? she asked herself.

8888888888888888

Rhiannon had been right. The joust was particularly dangerous that day. The knights were only cantering, not their usual full gallop towards one another, and more than once the knights had veered away from one another when a horse had almost slipped. Edmund was doing well, probably best so far. He had faced two other knights, and beaten both of them. One of these was the Lord Dar again, but Peter's face was so grim and tense that he had barely applauded. He just wanted the day to be over with.

Rabadash had been doing well once again. His horse was struggling slightly more than the others, but Rabadash was riding him well and carefully, once again impressing Peter. He was now facing Peridan, who was by all accounts a sub-par horseman. His specialty was the axe, and his talent with that was renowned throughout all Narnia, but he considered the joust to be incomparable with the real business of war.

However, Rabadash didn't know that. He only saw the hulking Narnian knight on a huge, heavy charger, and all of the caution he had exhibited went out the window. He wanted to win this tournament, and he would win. Once he beat Peridan, he would face Edmund for the championship.

Both knights saluted the dais with their lances, but whether by some oversight by Susan or an honest display of her affections, she only recognized Rabadash, beaming back at him and raising a hand.

Down went their helmets, up went the lances, and the horses began cantering slowly towards one another down the small fence with its flags waving in the wind. The vision of the knights was slightly blurred, with their helmets and the rain restricting their sight. Rabadash began picking up speed. His noble charger was stretching out its neck and striding out, and his lance connected soundly with the breastplate of Peridan, who was knocked off balance in the saddle and only just managed to stay on. Rabadash had won the first lance. As he turned his horse around to face Peridan once again, the horse skidded slightly, straining the tendons in his cannon bones.

Rhiannon squeezed Peter's hand when she saw the turn. "He is turning too sharply," she whispered in a harsh voice. "He's going to make that horse go lame if he's not careful!"

"He's been riding well all morning," Peter said, trying to soothe her. "He'll be fine, and so will the horse." But Rhiannon continued to mutter darkly under her breath, glaring. Damn but she's protective, he thought.

The two knights squared off one more time. Rabadash was fairly galloping, and the lances collided with a mighty crash. No one saw exactly what happened, but Peridan fell off his horse, unconscious with his foot still in the stirrup. Rabadash was still on his horse, but something was horribly wrong. People began to rush onto field. Peter was startled to see the flash of a blue dress as Rhiannon jumped off the dais and ran towards Rabadash.

In a second, everyone saw. Lucy watched with her mouth open as Rhiannon snapped at Rabadash, and began to feel the horse's left foreleg as he dismounted. She was furious, fairly fuming, and Lucy found herself to be slightly afraid for the Calormene Prince. She couldn't hear what was being said, or what Rhiannon had noticed, but she saw the anger die and become quickly replaced by wide, glassy eyes. She wrapped her arms around her body, as though just belatedly noticing the cold rain beating steadily down on her, and she said something else to Rabadash, this time in a small, soft voice, her lips quivering. She couldn't understand what had made Rhiannon snap so suddenly at a Prince that way, especially one who was visiting and courting the eldest Queen. Peter had joined Rhiannon now, and he sent her to stand underneath the shelter as he spoke with Rabadash. Edmund and Susan were taking care of Peridan, but Susan's glance strayed to Rabadash constantly, and Edmund had to tell her to pay attention several times.

"…leg is broken," Rabadash was saying to Peter. "What can you do for him?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we have nothing that can heal him. There is nothing to be done but put him out of his misery." Several animals had taken off the horse's tack and armour, and it now stood quite naked and sad-looking, its neck drooping down with rain dripping off its mane. Peter looked at the horse and felt his heart begin to break.

"I am so sorry, my lord." Rabadash actually looked upset. His head was drooping almost as much as the horse.

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness," Rabadash said, heaving a great sigh. "The world is darker in my eyes without him racing across the desert like a blazing flame." Peter felt for him, felt his anguish, and his helplessness. But then he raised his eyes and there was hardly any grief buried in their depths. There was only determination. "If it pleases Your Highness, O great King of the North, I would borrow another horse from you in order to finish the Tournament in my horse's honour and memory."

Grooms were taking the poor, hobbling beast off the field. It struggled with every step, and his heart was moved with pity. He spoke without hesitation. "Of course, my lord," he said graciously, nodding his head. "Pick a horse from our stables and it is your for the rest of the day." Rabadash favoured him with a ghost of a smile, and nod of thanks. Together they walked to the stable.

When they opened the door they found that Rhiannon was already in there, head buried in her hands, sitting in front of Ahearn's stall. How she wanted him then with his words of wisdom and comfort!

Rabadash walked around the stable until he came to Coinneach's stall, taking in his sturdy legs and well-conformed body.

"Here is a fine beast," Rabadash proclaimed. "I will take him, O King of the North."

Rhiannon looked up then, startled and alarmed. Ahearn's words of warning came back to her in an instant. "War will break him. He is not meant for it."

"Your Highness," she said, curtseying, knowing she looked ridiculous with her face streaked with tears and rain, with her dress soaked and dirty. "May I speak with you for a minute?"

Peter nodded tersely and she pulled him into the tack room, shutting the solid door behind them. "He can't take him," she said immediately. "I won't let him. Coinneach is my horse, and if you must risk the life of another innocent animal on this folly, then it shall not be my animal's life! He was just given to me, and I will not let you take him away!" She knew she sounded petulant and silly and stubborn and childish. She didn't care.

Peter looked at her intently. Her eyes were blazing, but every other part of her looked sad and helpless. She was just a small person in a vast kingdom, a pawn of the politics that demanded he give Rabadash whatever he wanted. He couldn't look at her and stay diplomatic, but he couldn't look at Rabadash and tell him that he couldn't have the horse because his lover wouldn't give it up.

"He's not meant for war," she pleaded in a softer voice. "It will destroy him." Once more, she looked at him full in the face and realized that despite the fact that he was only a man when they were in his chambers or riding alone, he was always still a King. She sighed, opening the door and leaving silently. She looked utterly defeated. Peter watched in the doorway as Rhiannon brushed past Rabadash wordlessly and went into Coinneach's stall, cooing and murmuring, scratching his poll. Then she looked at Rabadash and held out her arm, indicating that the path was clear for him to enter.

Coinneach tried to eat his ear. Rhiannon tried not to let the strangled laugh escape her lips. Then she left.

She went into the castle and changed her gown, freshening her face and brushing her hair to look presentable once again. When she got back to the dais, the crowd was assembled again, and was awaiting Peter and Rabadash. And Coinneach. Lucy looked at Rhiannon with concern. She looked dull, for want of a better word.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked her, moving to sit in Peter's chair beside Rhiannon. She nodded but didn't speak. "Are you sure? Is something wrong? You can tell me," Lucy continued in a soothing voice. To Rhiannon, the sound grated on her.

"Please, Your Highness, I only wish to sit in peace at the moment," Rhiannon said in a tired voice.

Lucy stepped back and went to go stand beside Tumnus. She was used to comforting people, to people allowing her to comfort them. She was taken aback, didn't know how to handle the rejection of her offer to help. So she watched as Rhiannon's mouth grew thinner and her shoulders slumped more and more.

Finally they came out. Coinneach looked regal with his armour and his tack polished and gleaming. But Rhiannon didn't notice. She only looked at his eyes and how there was a faint rim of white around them, and at how his head was raised higher than normal and his ears were flicking back and forth in alarm. He wasn't used to the noise coming from the crowd and the heavy armour that clamped around his body like a cage. She looked away, couldn't watch. You bastard, she thought, not knowing whether she meant Peter or Rabadash.

It happened all too quickly. They charged; Rhiannon closed her eyes. The lances came up and Peter watched as Edmund's horse carried him steadily towards Rabadash. Coinneach was having trouble keeping a straight course. He was nervous, and Rabadash was getting frustrated. The two royals weren't grinning now. They looked grim and sure, and Coinneach was tossing his head about as the lance came straight towards him. At the last moment, he reared up to protect himself from Edmund's oncoming lance, and threw Rabadash to the dirt. The mud was giving way as all of his weight balanced precariously on only two hooves, but he came down solidly from the rear and the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief as Rabadash got to his feet.

As custom dictated, the two knights continued the joust on the ground, this time using their swords. They had discarded the helmets, and Edmund's dark hair was a moving, blurry mass. Peter's knuckles were white, he didn't know if he was more concerned for himself, Rhiannon, Coinneach or Edmund. Rabadash was no longer even a factor. He hoped to Aslan that the horse was okay, for the sake of everyone. She would never forgive him if something happened.

He turned to look for Rhiannon, for a moment ignoring the clang of the swords in front of him, but found that she was gone. She was in her chambers now, watching from the window, wet and cold but oblivious to it.

Finally, Rabadash's stiffness from the fall took a toll on his skill and legendary speed with the blade and was defeated as Edmund disarmed him with almost the same trick that had caught him the day before. The crowd erupted in cheers and Susan embraced Edmund and then Rabadash, but Peter could only use his default smile as there were handshaking and congratulations all around. The whole group went to the castle to stay dry and feast, and Peter went with them, but his chest felt tight with guilt. Still, he had responsibilities that he had to attend to.

Rhiannon slipped out of her room when everyone was dining and went to the stables. She saw Coinneach there, in his stall, his tack still on. He was dripping sweat and rain with his nostrils blowing and his head drooping down. Her heart broke. She began wildly taking off his tack, murmuring soothing words of nonsense, whether to herself or to him she didn't know. Somewhere between taking off his bridle and lifting the heavy saddle off his back she began to cry white-hot tears.

But she continued to care for him and when she had rubbed him down and put his blanket on and made him a hot mash she sat on the trunk of supplies outside the stall and buried her head in her knees until she stopped crying. Three hours later she started again when she realized that Peter had not deigned to come looking for her.

She slept in the barn.

A/N: So ya, angsty, I know. But it's there for character illustration and development, and I think that a certain amount of angst is necessary in these chapters, or else, to quote Amy Sherman Palladino (of the fabulous Gilmore Girls) they'll just stand there going "You're prettier. No you're prettier," and that's boring. Agreed?

The Lucy parts in this chapter are dedicated to Francienyc. See what I mean, Francie?

Review, please! Oh, and as much as I'm against censorship, I think I should take down the "not impressed" review. I have a sneaking suspicion it's from a flamed author or one of her fans, and that's really immature. What do you think?