Before Helen knew it, her first week in Narnia had passed.

Looking back, it seemed to go by unbelievably quickly; there was so much going on around her, so much to take in, and the constant flurry of activity kept her occupied during most of her waking hours. She was only just beginning to get her bearings, and she still could not get through a day without dwelling on how surreal it all felt, but she had (as of yet, at least) had little time to sit and truly reflect on the situation.

Her children, it seemed, had taken it upon themselves to monitor her carefully, and she rarely seemed to spend time alone.

Most days, Lucy or Susan would come to her room to wake her for breakfast, and she would join the court in the great hall for the morning meal. Much to her pleasure, Peter and Edmund seldom seemed to skip breakfast (though their lunch and dinner habits still left something to be desired), and she had come to look forward to the first hour of her day, which was often spent in the company of all of her children.

Although she had assured the four that they should not let her distract them from their daily duties, they were all determined to ensure that she was not left idle. Frequently, Susan or Lucy would spend a good portion of their afternoon with her and the boys (when their duties were not too overwhelming) would accompany her on an evening walk or join her in her chambers for an evening snack. When the Kings and Queens were occupied, various members of the court (at the behest of her children, she was certain) would eagerly arrive to keep her company and, although she appreciated all of the attention and concern, she was beginning to feel a tad bit smothered by it all.

She was well aware that they were worried about her adjustment to this new world, and she knew that they wanted to make things as easy and pleasant as possible, but she was a grown woman who was perfectly capable of looking after herself. She was used to being self sufficient (especially after her last few years in England, in which she had, reluctantly, become accustomed to getting by without her husbands support) and like everyone, she sometimes needed time to simply be alone. She enjoyed the companionship of others (and, of course, cherished her time with her children), but she also had moments when she longed to sit quietly next to the fire with nothing but a warm cup of tea for company. There needed to be a balance and, at the current moment, she was getting too much of the former without any of the latter. Helen hoped to speak to her children about the matter soon, but she knew the conversation would have to wait a little bit longer- until tomorrow's breakfast, at least.

Snapping out of her daze, Helen turned back towards her current companion hoping that the distant look on her face had not seemed impolite.

The girls had both run off to discuss the menu of the evening's banquet with the kitchen staff, leaving their mother with Mrs. Beaver, one of their oldest and dearest friends. When she had met the female beaver for the first time earlier that week, Helen had instantly seen why her children were drawn to this sweet creature and found herself forming a quick friendship with the other woman. Of all of the people she had met since her arrival, she enjoyed Mrs. Beaver's company the most, and the two had already had several pleasant and delightful conversations. She had (admittedly) felt a slight pang of jealousy when she had first listened to Mrs. Beaver, sounding so much like an affectionate and watchful mother, describe her children's early years in Narnia. As she had listened to the other woman's stories, however, her envy had soon been pushed aside and replaced with a deep gratitude (which she had happily expressed), and the two were able to bond over the similar affection they both shared for the royal four.

Helen was truly glad to see that her children had had someone to watch over them when she had been unable to, and she did genuinely enjoy Mrs. Beaver's company (all desire for alone time aside).

Smiling, she averted her gaze down and continued to listen to her companion's current rant.

"So then, Mr. Beaver comes marching it at half eight, telling me that he and Badger had lost track of time (but not offering an apology, mind you), and has the nerve to ask me what I made him for dinner!" The beaver exclaimed, shaking her head in frustration. "So I told him he had missed his chance and would have to wait till morning when he could cook us both breakfast." She paused. "I did regret that remark the next day though, when I woke up to find the kitchen a mess and the smell of burning fish filling the house. Sometimes I wonder how he ever survived without me. Couldn't find his own tail if it wasn't attached to his body, I don't think."

Helen chuckled as Mrs. Beaver described her unpleasant evening. She knew that the two beavers shared a deep affection for each other, but (as the other woman's stories often made clear), they did not see eye to eye on many issues and rarely made it though a day without some sort of small quarrel.

"But that is marriage for you, I suppose." Mrs. Beaver continued with another exasperated shake of her head. "You know what it's like."

Mrs. Beaver shrugged and continued walking down the long hallway, clearly not thinking much of her remark or knowing what effect it might have on her new found friend. Helen however, felt an unpleasant churning inside her stomach, and stopped abruptly, leaning against a nearby wall for support. She stared straight ahead, feeling suddenly detached from her body, and seeing nothing but a familiar handsome face in her mind.

Frank…

Helen had been making a conscious effort in recent days not to think about her husband, or how distant they now were. Thoughts of him had, of course, flickered through her mind on several occasions since her arrival, but she had tried hard not to dwell on them; she had known that she would not be able to evade the issue forever, but it was simply too difficult to think about…too painful…she did think that she had the strength to deal with it yet.

The last few years in England, since he had been called away to fight for his country, had not been easy for her. She had suddenly found herself feeling hopelessly alone, left with four children who needed her to be strong. It had been hard, but she had always managed to keep a stoic face in front of them, to assure them that everything would be okay and that their father would soon return. But, in truth, she found it hard to convince herself of her own words, and she often let her tears overcome her when the children were tucked safely in bed.

During those dark and agonizing nights, she had tried to assure herself that she would see him again, and she cherished each of his affectionate letters…but everyday the radio and newspaper would list off more casualties of the war, and it was difficult to stay strong when she saw others crumbling around her.

Mrs. Foster, the sweet old woman who lived down the street, had lost both of her sons in the fields of France within four months, and Helen could hardly stand to see the broken woman her neighbour had become; she had lost everything, and now sat alone in her house with empty eyes, doing nothing but waiting for her own release from this painful life. A few months ago, she had also heard the terrible news that an old school friend of hers had lost her husband and was now left to raise three young children who would never know their father. Helen was not sure if she could survive such a terrible loss, and she prayed every day that she would not have to.

She had last received word from Frank about two weeks ago, and had written back telling him that the children were now home and safe (she did not mention how different they were, for she did not think he needed anything to add to his worries). As far as she knew, he was still okay, but since her arrival in Narnia her fear of never seeing him again had, of course, increased significantly.

Grateful as she was to be here with her children (it was certainly preferable to them leaving her behind), she was painfully aware of the fact that their family was not quite complete. They were here, in this marvellous castle in a beautiful land, while Frank was (literally) a world away, wrapped up in a terrible and dangerous war against the despots of Europe. If they stayed forever, as her children clearly hoped they would, it was very possible that they never would be reunited; that she would never see his smiling face, feel his warm embrace, or hear his comforting words...

The thought of that was almost unbearable.

Helen felt a small hand on her leg, and she looked down to see Mrs. Beaver starring up at her, concerned.

"What is it dear? Are you alright?" The tender creature asked, giving her a reassuring pat.

Drawing a deep breath, the woman tried (and failed) to give her friend a reassuring smile.

"I'm fi…" She began, trailing off.

She wanted to deny it, to say that she was okay and push her dark thoughts from her mind (as she had been all week), but she knew that it would not get any easier until she began to confront it.

She decided to be honest.

"No, I'm not alright." Helen admitted, fighting back the lump forming in her throat. "It's just…" She began again, her voice quiet. "When I hear you speaking about your husband, I can't help but think about my own…and about how much I miss him."

The beaver's eyes widened and filled with even more concern. "Oh dear." She said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I am sure that being separated from him must not be easy for you. I may complain about Mr. Beaver, but I cannot imagine life without him, and I feel terrible for complaining when your own situation is much worse. I do hope you'll forgive me for being so insensitive."

"It's not your fault." Helen reassured her, letting out a deep sigh. She did not harbour any ill feelings towards her dear new friend. "I know you didn't mean to upset me, and you shouldn't feel bad. This is just something I haven't quite dealt with yet." She paused, her eyes fixed on one of the Cair's elaborate golden chandeliers for a moment. "It is hard not knowing if I will ever see him again, and I wish he was here too."

Mrs. Beaver nodded. "Of course." Her tone was filled with compassion and understanding. "It must be awful not knowing. It is a shame that he was not able to accompany you here, I have heard many wonderful things about your husband."

Surprised by the other woman's remark, Helen directed her gaze back towards her companion. "You have?" She asked, now intrigued. "From whom?

"Your children, of course." Mrs. Beaver answered with a smile. "They always spoke highly of him…of both of you, for that matter. Whenever he was mentioned I could see the admiration and love in their eyes, and I knew that he must have been a great man to have helped raise such noble children." The beaver paused, looking thoughtful. "They said that, in your world, he had gone off to fight in a war, and Peter once told me that he admired him for it…and that thinking of his father's bravery in battle often gave him strength when he fought his own."

Helen felt oddly comforted by this. It warmed her to know that his influence on her children's lives was respected, even here.

His presence suddenly felt a little less distant.

"He and Peter were always close." Helen mused, remembering the many tender moments which had been shared between father and son. "I see so much of him in Peter now that he has grown, and Edmund too. They both look so much like their father, though only Peter inherited his colouring."

She paused after this, her mind drifting back to a simpler time. Frank had always been a caring father and there had been a time, before the war, when they had all been so happy. After Lucy had been born, they had known that their family was complete, and for seven years things had finally felt right. Life was not perfect, of course; they had fought at times, disagreed over small things that now seemed so silly…but things were generally good, and she had always known that he loved them all deeply.

Helen longed to have that feeling of completeness once again, and wondered if she ever would.

"How did you meet?" Mrs. Beaver asked, breaking her away from her thoughts. "I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but-"

"No, no." Helen assured her. "I don't mind. It is good to talk. I need to." Pushing herself away from the wall, still feeling shaky but (finally) collected enough to stand on her own.

"I was visiting my aunt in Oxford when we first met." She began, not noticing the confused look she received from her companion (who had never heard of Oxford before).

"Frank was attending the university, he was in his final year at the time, and I had just turned nineteen. My aunt, who was set on finding me a respectable husband, had been forcing me to meet various young men during my stay there, and I was getting quite tired of all of the awkward conversations. One afternoon, rather then stay in her stuffy old house and meet the dull gentleman she had invited to tea that day, I snuck out the back door and made my way into the centre of the town, happy to be out on my own. I was determined to enjoy the day alone, exploring the area without thinking about marriage or courtship."

Helen smiled for the first time in the past few minutes. "But, as luck would have it, after barely a half hour, I was starring up in awe at the main building of the Bodleian library when I, quite literally, ran into a young man my age. I apologised for knocking into him, terribly embarrassed, but he took it well, saying that he didn't mind at all. I was eager to make a quick escape, barely able to look him in the eye, but before I could dash off he asked me if I wanted to join him for lunch. Forgetting my earlier vow, I said yes and had the first pleasant conversation I'd had since my arrival. We spent a lot of time together during my stay, and kept in touch after I left. By the next summer, things had become rather serious and, two years later, we were wed. My aunt was never pleased, because she had been hoping to pick out a young man (of high social standing) for me herself, but I did not regret it. Frank was far more intelligent and compassionate then any of the men she tried to force on me. We were happy, and that was what mattered."

Mrs. Beaver chuckled. "Yes, it is always best to follow ones own heart." She agreed.

"Indeed." Helen nodded, unable to imagine how different her life would be if she had agreed to marry one of the men her aunt had proposed.

Frank may not have hailed from a particularly wealthy or prestigious family, but he was a good man who had always loved and respected her. There had been times when money was tight (he made a good salary as an economics professor in the city, but supporting a family of six was not an easy task), but they always managed to get by. He had given her four beautiful children, and provided her with a loving and comfortable home; to Helen, that was worth more then any title or family fortune.

Looking back, even now that they were worlds apart, she knew that she would not change a thing.

The separation was painful, and she doubted that it would get much easier as time passed, but she could only trust that this was how things were meant to be and hope that their distance would not be permanent.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she silently asked Aslan for strength, relishing the wave of calm that suddenly seemed to wash over her.

Somehow, she knew that He had a plan.

"Well, enough of that for now, I suppose." Helen said, pushing her thoughts aside for the moment. She appreciated Mrs. Beaver's willingness to listen, but she did not want to stand in the hallway all day wallowing in her memories. There would be time to cope more fully later. "Shall we continue?"

The beaver nodded, still looking concerned, but happy to oblige her friend and move onto an easier topic of conversation.

The two started off down the hallway again, refocused on their destination. They had spent much of the afternoon enjoying a pleasant walk in the gardens and, after a quick lunch, Mrs. Beaver had insisted on showing Helen the boy's training room (which was where they had been headed before their conversation had provided a distraction).

The mother was not sure what to expect, but she had to admit that she was intrigued. She had heard several things about her sons during her week in the castle, and had been told on several occasions that they were both known for their skill on the battlefield (a fact that filled her with both anxiety and pride). She hated the idea of he sons going to war (after all, she had sent them away to avoid such a thing), and was not pleased to discover that they had escaped the war in England only to spend fifteen years defending another kingdom. On the other hand, she was undeniably curious to see them practice their skills for herself.

"I am not sure if they will be there now, but if they are, I am sure that you will be quite impressed." Mrs. Beaver said, as they rounded another corner. "The King's are renowned for their swordsmanship throughout the land and have won more tournaments then I can count on both paws."

Helen gave an uneasy smile, again not quite sure how she felt about that. It was quite the achievement, of course, but her motherly instincts caused her to worry about their safety during such events.

She hoped that their practices were no where near as dangerous as a real duel; she was not sure if she could bear to watch such a thing.

"Ah, here we are then." Mrs. Beaver declared, stopping in front of a dark wooden door.

She paused for a moment, pushing her small ear up against it. "Ah yes," The beaver continued. "It sounds like they are having a practice. We are in luck."

Apprehensive, Helen pushed open the door and walked into the large chamber. Instantly, she could hear the loud clanking of metal on metal (which stopped abruptly after a few seconds), and as she stepped away from the door she caught a glimpse of the other three figures in the room.

One, standing off to the side, was Oreius the centaur who she had met several times that week. He was observing the other two figures carefully, watching as they circled each other, their swords raised and ready to strike.

She felt Mrs. Beaver nudge her further inside, and she walked quietly towards the stone ledge which separated the observation room from the rest of the chamber, her eyes fixed on the scene before her.

The room, she quickly observed, had two sections; a small observation booth, which she and Mrs. Beaver had entered into, and a large open area, with various swords, shields and other weapons haphazardly lining the sides. Unlike most other rooms in the Cair, it had very little decoration and looked rather harsh and austere, though the large windows did let in a comforting amount of pleasant sunlight.

Focusing her gaze on the two central figures, who continued to stand at the ready a short distance apart, Helen noted that she could not tell who was who (for both were covered in armour and their faces were obscured by helmets). They were, however, clearly human men and (in all likelihood) her sons. Both held a sword and shield firmly in their hands, looking (to Helen) like knights who had stepped right out of a medieval fairy tale. Like many things here, it seemed so incredibly surreal, and she had to remind herself that this was not a dream.

There was a moment of absolute silence as the two stopped their careful circling. Helen could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart as she waited, knowing that this was simply the calm before the storm.

Three.

Two.

One.

Crash.

The two figures lunged at each other, almost in unison, their swords glinting in the sunlight as they met with a reverberating clang. After the initial contact between the weapons, a flurry of action began, and Helen could only gape, open mouthed, at the sight before her.

The swords crashed against each other again and again, as the knights began a series of rapid offensive and defensive strikes. One would bring his sword towards the other with such speed that she could barely follow its movement, but the other would (somehow) manage to anticipate the move and block it perfectly before any harm could be done. The second would then try to strike a blow, but again this would be blocked by the skill of his opponent.

They continued their deadly dance for several long minutes, each swing, dodge and block more impressive then the last. The sound of the swords meeting filled the large room, becoming louder and more frequent as the fight progressed.

It was so incredibly fast…

So powerful…

And Helen soon found that she was too mesmerized to express her earlier concerns. Despite her unease, she could not help but think that the sight of these two warriors in battle, at the peak of their skill and strength, was (in an odd sort of way) breathtakingly beautiful.

She watched in awe, scarcely able to believe that these soldiers were her sons.

Clang.

Another swing was blocked.

Clang.

The two swords met.

Clang.

One of the warriors was disarmed, his sword flung across the room by a particularly quick attack from his challenger.

Helen was scarcely able to breathe, wondering what would come now that once clearly had the advantage…

Thankfully, the two stopped abruptly after this, placing their swords and shields down on the stone floor with one final bang.

The tension between them faded instantly, and she gave a sigh of relief.

The fight, it seemed, was over.

Her eyes still wide, Helen watched as the two warriors removed their helmets, finally revealing their identities and confirming that they were, indeed, her sons.

"Good one, Ed." Peter conceded, placing down his helmet and taking a few steps across the room to retrieve the sword his brother had knocked from his hand.

Edmund, it seemed, had been victorious.

The younger king smiled, removing his glove and using his bare hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead but, despite his fatigue, he looked immensely satisfied.

"Thanks Pete." He said, showing no sign of hostility towards the man who he had been attacking seconds earlier. His grin widening, he added. "It seems you are getting slow in your old age."

The older man glared at his brother, but Helen could see a small smirk pulling at the side of his face. "Gee, thanks Ed. You sure know how to bolster a man's confidence." He shook his head, bemused. "If Rhindon wasn't being sharpened in the armoury, then I'd have had a better shot. I'm not used to this sword."

Edmund shrugged, not letting this disadvantage hinder his victory. "A likely excuse." He replied. "Need I remind you about last summer's tournament…"

"Your majesties." A deep voice cut in, bringing the playful bickering to an end. The centaur had stepped forward and was addressing the two Kings.

"You both preformed well. But King Peter-" He turned to the older monarch. "You still need to work on your left blocks, King Edmund knew your weakness and was able to disarm you because of it. And King Edmund-" He redirected his gaze. "You need to focus on stepping back faster after an offensive blow. You cannot afford even the briefest of pauses in battle."

The two nodded, clearly willing to take this advice from their mentor.

"Though, I must add that I am impressed that your skills have remained so sharp during your departure." The centaur finished, a note of pride in his voice as he addressed the young men.

Clearly pleased by the compliment (Oreius did not strike Helen as the sort of person who gave them easily), the brothers exchanged a grin.

"We thank you Oreius, as always, for your guidance." Peter said, nodding towards the centaur. "We have missed these sessions terribly. It is good to be back."

Oreius nodded. "That is enough for today, I think." He stated, glancing towards the door. "Your sisters will be most displeased if I keep you here any longer and do not allow you to get ready for the banquet tonight."

The younger king rolled his eyes. "I'd rather stay and practice." He muttered.

Oreius chuckled, and Peter gave him a jovial pat on the back. "Come on, Ed." He said. "It won't be that bad. And I give you permission to tell any young woman you may meet tonight that you beat the High King in combat."

Edmund muttered something Helen could not hear (which was, probably, for the best), and Peter let out a loud laugh before the two began to gather their things and make their way towards the door, the centaur close behind.

"Mum!" Peter exclaimed, seeing her for the first time since her arrival. She had been standing near a column which had partially hidden her from view, and the boys had been too wrapped up in their activities to notice her appearance.

"How long have you been here?"

Helen tried to smile, but the shock of seeing her boys in action had not quite worn off. "A little while." She answered.

"I thought she'd enjoy seeing what you boys can do." Mrs. Beaver chimed in, hopping from the stool she had been occupying onto the stone ledge of the viewing area, putting herself at eye level with her human companions. "We watched your last fight. Very well done, your majesties. And congratulations Edmund."

Peter thanked her for the compliment and Edmund blushed ever so slightly before chancing a quick glance in his mother's direction. Helen knew he was trying to gauge her reaction.

"It was…" the mother began, searching for the words to describe what she had just seen.

It was impressive, to be certain, and (although she knew little about sword fighting techniques) even she knew that they both possessed an impressive degree of skill. But it was still somewhat unsettling, to see her boys locked in combat like that…and she could not help but wonder what sorts of terrible battles they had participated in to perfect such a deadly art.

Finally, she gave the only answer she could.

"I am speechless." She admitted, looking back and forth between her two sons. Helen felt even more dwarfed by them then she usually did, as they stood before her dressed in full armour. "How did you learn to fight like that?" She asked, her voice quieter then before.

The brothers exchanged an uncomfortable glance. "You learn quickly, when you have no choice." Peter admitted, avoiding her gaze. "And, of course, Oreius has always been there to help us hone our techniques in times of peace. We could not ask for a better guide."

The centaur gave a small smile.

"So you fight like that?" The mother asked, trying not to stumble on her words as she pictured her sons in such a situation. "In battle, I mean?"

Edmund bit is lip nervously. "Well, not exactly like that. We use swords, of course. But we are often on horseback, and don't generally have one on one duels like that. That was just some fun sparring- real battles are different."

Helen tried not to shudder. She knew that in a real situation, the fight would not stop when one opponent dropped his sword. It would continue, mercilessly, to the death.

She wondered how many close calls they'd had over the years…

Wondered how many they'd had to kill…

It was a dreadful thought.

"But at least in battle, we get to fight side by side." Peter added, a small smile flickering across his face. "It is always good to know that the best swordsman in Narnia has got your back."

Edmund grinned widely and, despite all of the terrible things still swirling around in her mind, Helen found herself filled with a sudden warmth.

She knew that she had failed to protect them- to shield them from the horrors of war- but, at the very least, it was reassuring to know that they had always been there for each other, and always would be.

She could fine solace in that.

Nodding, the mother finally gave her appraisal. "You were spectacular, darlings." Helen said, her voice still soft.

The boys beamed, clearly pleased by her praise.

"I just hope you won't have to use your skills any time soon."

She paused, waiting for reassurance…

Waiting for them to tell her that no battles loomed in the near future…

But the comfort never came.

Instead, Peter frowned, and Edmund looked down at the stone floor, avoiding her gaze.

"Some things cannot be avoided." Peter said, his blue eyes full of regret. "Sometimes, battle is the only way to defend the kingdom, freedoms, and people that you cherish."

Helen's heart sank.

She had heard similar words before, from another blue-eyed man she would always love, and she could not help but remember the terrible day that Frank had held her close and told her why he had to leave.

He had been so noble…too noble…

Just like their sons.

"Come now, let's not worry about such things tonight." The tender voice of Mrs. Beaver broke her away from her thoughts. "We have a banquet to attend! Susan and Lucy will be terribly unhappy if we're late."

Edmund smiled, happy for the distraction. "Indeed!" He proclaimed, moving towards the door once more. "We had better get changed and washed up."

Peter chuckled. "Well that is certainly a change in attitude. I thought you hated these things."

"I do." Edmund agreed, his hand on the door knob. "But Susan's wrath is worse then her parties… and it won't be so bad, now that I have permission to tell all the young ladies how my sword compares to the High King's."

And with that, Edmund flashed his brother one last cheeky grin and left the practice room, his armour clanking as he went. Mrs. Beaver let out a disapproving tut, and Peter chuckled again, giving his head a bemused shake.

"Glad you could watch for a bit, Mum." He said, before turning to follow his brother. "We'll see you at the banquet, right?"

Helen nodded. "Of course darling." She replied, watching him trek into the hallway.

She felt Mrs. Beaver give her a reassuring pat on the arm. "Don't look so troubled." She urged with a smile. "The banquet will be lovely. Susan's parties never fail to disappoint."

Helen did not doubt it. She had seen her daughter rushing about and finalizing her meticulous plans all week, and had been looking forward to the event, but she could not help but be distracted after what had just transpired.

She had been discovering new things about her grown children everyday, and was becoming accustomed to the many surprising revelations that seemed to occur on a daily basis, but seeing her son's exhibit their battle prowess had truly taken her aback.

Somehow, it was both magnificent and terrifying at the same time.

She was impressed by their skill, but what scared her most was that (after witnessing such a duel) she could now picture them in the heat of a true conflict…

She could imagine Peter dealing blow after blow to his opponents, his armour stained with blood and his sword raised high. She could see Edmund at his side, cutting down their attackers with a deadly grace. There was could be no doubt in her mind, after what she had seen, that they had faced such things, and been forced to do such deeds.

Helen hoped that they would not be placed in such a scenario again, but Peter's answer to her inquiry made her suspect that they would not be so lucky.

If there was a threat to their country, she had no doubt that they would forge into battle, their heads held high and their swords at the ready. She should expect no less of them, she realized, and she was proud to know the lengths they would go too to defend what they loved.

Like their father, who had helped shape them into the determined and courageous young men they had become, she knew that her son's had the bravery needed to do what was necessary, no matter how difficult that may be.

But she could not help but wonder if she would be brave enough to let them go...

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A/N- As always, I went on too long and did not fit everything into this chapter that I planned. Thus, the banquet gets its own chapter- hurrah! And we shall find out exactly why battle will be necessary…

Please review to keep me inspired!

Thanks for all of the input on the last chapter- please keep me on my toes and tell me what you thought, for better or worse!