After the war conference, the Pevensies and other Narnian leaders went to the rest of the Narnians to announce their plan and map out strategies for the invasion on Miraz's castle. When that was finished, they dispersed to prepare for their individual responsibilities. It wasn't until a few hours later could Tempestra finally find Peter unattached to a group of Narnians. Yet it wasn't as easy to find the high king as she had thought. Aslan's How boasted a network of tunnels which formed a veritable underground maze, steadily growing larger to accommodate the growing number of Narnians. It was difficult to find one person.

The sounds of clashing steel and shouted words alerted Tempestra to Peter's presence, and she quickened her pace down one of the many tunnels. As she rounded a bend, she saw the high king and a small centaur boy sparring. Peter's movements were slow and careful, and Tempestra crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the tunnel to watch.

"Good, now look for openings in my form!" Peter was telling the boy. Though his face looked tired, his voice was heartening. "Take advantage of it! Parry – thrust – don't forget to defend yourself!"

With a clatter, the centaur boy's small sword went flying when Peter disarmed him with a quick twist of the wrist. When the small boy picked up his sword, looking disappointed, the high king just smiled and ruffled his hair. "You'll improve as you get older," he told him encouragingly. His student walked off, brandishing his sword against invisible foes, and Peter sheathed his sword and turned to look at Tempestra.

"One of my duties," he commented offhandedly, referring to his swordfighting lesson. "It comes with the crown." Unconsciously, he mirrored Tempestra's folded arms. "Are you all right?"

"Why were you so against waiting for Aslan?"

Tempestra's question was as direct as a straight punch to the chest, and Peter blinked in surprise.

"Well, it's like you said," he replied, keeping his voice even. "We can't wait forever for him to come save us; the Telmarines will overwhelm us far before that."

Tempestra shook her head.

"Don't get me wrong," she remarked, "I understand why you don't want to. But you're not answering my question. Why were you so against waiting for him?"

She met Peter's eyes evenly, refusing to look away. The high king clenched and unclenched his jaw imperceptibly, and when she continued to stare him down, he sighed and looked away.

"You could always see through me," he said ruefully. When Tempestra continued to glare at him, he finally burst out, "I don't trust him, all right?"

"Caspian or Aslan?"

"Both, I suppose." Peter shifted his stance tensely. "Caspian because, well, he's Telmarine and inexperienced. Aslan because of what he hasn't done."

Tempestra's brows furrowed.

"'Hasn't done?'" she repeated.

Peter sighed again and unfolded his arms to run a hand distractedly through his hair.

"Look, Aslan truly did defeat the White Witch in the Battle of the Beruna, right?" He didn't wait for her answer and went on, "He was the one who saved us. He's the one who's always supposed to save us, to come when we call him for help. But where was he when we fell back into England?" The youth's hands clenched, and he raised one forearm to slam against the tunnel wall. "Where was he when we couldn't get back to Narnia? Where was he when the Telmarines invaded and took over? Where was he when the Narnians were slaughtered? Where was he?"

Peter punctuated each demand with a thump against the wall as Tempestra watched somberly. The high king fell silent and exhaled slowly, then leaned his forehead against his arm. He closed his eyes.

"I've heard what happened when we were gone," he said quietly. "I saw the ruins of Cair Paravel. I see the How, a fallen structure once dedicated to a symbol of hope. I see the pain in the Narnians' eyes. I see what they've endured for generations. I see them, and I wonder, 'If Aslan is here to save us all, why didn't he save them?'"

Tempestra gazed at him with a mixture of sadness and pity. To witness the remnants of an entire kingdom that he had once loved and ruled…

"You're blaming him for all of it."

Peter lifted his head to look at her.

"Yes, I do. Why should we wait for the great lion, when he didn't come to our aid when we needed him the most?"

She couldn't argue with that, not when she had been wondering the same thing ever since she'd heard the history of Narnia. She knew that the Narnians, those who had stopped believing in Aslan and the Pevensies, wondered the same thing. The foundations of their beliefs had been broken hundreds of years ago, and their spirits had been crushed. Peter had seen this and vowed to liberate the Narnians. She couldn't blame him for losing hope in Aslan. All he could do now was march ahead and fight with what little time and power they had.

What was she doing here, fighting a war that she had no personal involvement in? If most of the Narnians and Pevensies doubted that Aslan would appear, why stay and help?

Peter, she thought. He was fighting a losing battle, and yet he still fought on. He, the Pevensies, and the Narnians were outnumbered and outclassed, and yet here he was, risking his life to protect his people and regain their freedom. She knew what it was like to be the underdog and have all the weights stacked against her, and she could never resist defending others in the same situation. The Narnians had a good and just cause.

And they needed the help badly.

Tempestra swallowed.

"Peter." The young man, whose gaze had fallen to the ground, looked back at her. "Even if Aslan doesn't come…I'll still be here." She braced herself against the enormous weight of her words, and added, "I promise."

Peter gave her a small smile.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He studied her thoughtfully, the emotional moment forgotten. "You know…you're more yourself now."

Tempestra raised her eyebrows doubtfully.

"You don't know what I'm like."

Peter gave her a crooked smile.

"I know you wear your hair up when you go into battle," he retorted, "you have a birthmark on your lower back, and your left shoulder is weaker because of an old arrow wound-"

"I've never had an arrow wound in my shoulder," Tempestra interjected.

"-I know you're stubborn and you don't like admitting when you're wrong, you're afraid of drowning, you're distrustful-" "Okay, I get it." "-but you're also clever, and honest, and forgiving," Peter finished, "and I would give the world for things to be the way they were."

His voice lowered at the last statement, and his gaze held hers steadily. He was less than an arms-length away from her, with only her folded arms between them. The look in his eyes was painfully compassionate, and Tempestra – realizing that she was holding her breath – felt her face flush. For a moment, the air felt charged, and her heart thudded audibly in her ears.

"Peter?"

The two of them sprang apart and looked around to see Edmund standing at the other end of the tunnel, his expression entirely unsurprised at their positions. "Trumpkin has a question about his part of the plan," the youth said, looking between them. "Could you…?"

Peter straightened.

"Uh, yes. I'll talk to him." He followed his brother out of the tunnel, but not before glancing back at Tempestra first, his face just as flushed as hers. It wasn't until she felt her face cool down once again did Tempestra finally steel herself and join the others.

Most of the Narnians were in the largest area near the entrance to the How, crouched near fires. Some sharpened weapons or blackened them with soot to prevent their shining blades from reflecting light. Still others went over the details of the plan, or put in some last-minute combat practice. Tension could be seen in the lines between their furrowed eyebrows, and in their stiff movements.

Queen Susan sat apart from the rest. Unlike the others, she was seated comfortably next to a fire while in the tedious process of making arrows. The Narnians already had a large supply ready, but Susan had a more unique and refined quiver; her arrows were made from dark red wood, fletched with dyed red feathers, wrapped with gold-colored thread, and set with metal arrow heads that gleamed in the firelight. The materials were scattered in piles on the ground around the young queen, whose head was bent close to the fire, her hands patient and precise.

Without hesitation, Tempestra approached and sat beside Susan, where she watched the young woman at work for a moment.

"Need a hand?"

Eyes still on her handiwork, Susan smiled gratefully.

"Actually, yes," she replied. Pausing, she pointed to a spool of thread next to a few long strands. "I'm running a bit low - can you cut more?"

As Tempestra began to measure and cut more thread, Susan said slowly, "You know…there's a reason why the Narnians call me Queen Susan the Gentle." When Tempestra glanced up, the queen continued, "It's not because I don't fight, but because I always know when to pick my fights. When there's a threat, Peter's first instinct is to get up and attack first; mine is to calm down and think rationally."

Tempestra lowered her tools.

"Are you talking about how you didn't support the siege?" she asked bluntly, and Susan nodded, her eyes still on the thread that she was using to secure an arrowhead.

"I was thinking about our safety."

"And I was thinking about the bigger picture," Tempestra retorted. She began cutting thread again. "Does this mean you're not going to help?"

Susan pursed her lips.

"It's been decided," she replied with a shrug, "so of course I'll go along with it. I'm ready – are you?"

Tempestra glanced at her.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

With one last tight knot, Susan finished tying the arrowhead in place and began fletching the arrow with feathers.

"I don't think you've decided whether you're really with us or not." Ignoring Tempestra's stare, she held the feathers in place and waited for the glue to set. "You use a sword," she remarked, "But you're not using it for what it was made for."

"Which is?" Tempestra asked.

"To kill," Susan said simply. She calmly placed her finished arrow on top of the pile stacked next to her quiver, and reached for a new peeled and smooth-sanded branch as her companion started cutting thread once more.

"I'm not a killer," Tempestra told her firmly. "That's not what I was trained for."

Susan shrugged.

"When you wield a sword, you take on the knowledge that you will kill someone; you shoulder the responsibility for those consequences. There can't be any indecision." She looked over to see Tempestra staring at the fire, looking troubled, and the young queen sighed.

"I know something about indecision," she remarked quietly. Her hands were sure and deft as she used a dagger to carve notches into the ends of the branch. "After Peter, Lucy, Edmund and I accidentally returned to Earth, we…reacted differently." Tempestra glanced at her curiously. "Lucy was always so sure that we would come back to Narnia. She was the one who talked the most about it – that Aslan probably meant for us to leave Narnia because it was during peacetime, that we'd go back when they needed us, that it was only a matter of time. Peter and Edmund thought so too – or they hoped. But after awhile, I didn't."

The firelight flickered over Susan's composed face, but Tempestra thought she also saw something like sorrow. "I tried to settle back into life in England," Susan continued, methodically crafting her arrow. "I studied hard, distanced myself from everything, and tried not to think about Narnia. I was just getting used to being in England, before we were brought back here."

"What are you saying, then?" Tempestra finally asked, and Susan looked at her, surprised.

"I keep forgetting that you don't remember all the years that you were here," she commented. "When you were here last time, you had a small crisis over your methods. At first, you refused to kill, but when you settled into your life in Narnia, you realized it was necessary."

Tempestra's mouth twisted.

"Because using a sword is the best chance I have to survive a fight."

"Surviving a fight isn't about defending yourself," Susan replied. "It's about defeating your opponent. When the time comes, you won't have time to worry about keeping the enemy alive." She finally glanced up. "Are you ready for that?"

The other young woman was saved the chance to reply when Caspian strode over.

"What were you doing?" he demanded without preamble. Surprised, Tempestra glanced up. The stormy expression on the prince's face was enough to make her set down her tools and get to her feet. Though Caspian could barely contain his fury, his voice was low. "I thought you said you would stand by me, but you sided with High King Peter. What happened?"

As Susan listened warily, Tempestra narrowed her eyes at the prince's accusing tone.

"This isn't about siding with anyone," she retorted. "It's about choosing the rational plan of action. I decided that Peter's idea was more rational, so I said so."

"You're backstabbing me," Caspian snapped, his voice rising, and Tempestra folded her arms defiantly.

"When did this become a personal fight between you and Peter?" she asked scornfully. "Because I thought it was between the Narnians and the Telmarines." Susan was now on her feet as well, moving to shield the argument from the Narnians' curious gazes. Caspian's jaw was clenched, his voice no longer at a murmur.

"Just because you used to sleep with him," he retorted, "doesn't mean you have to take his side now."

"Caspian!" Susan looked indignant. Tempestra's expression, on the other hand, was stony as she matched the prince's furious gaze.

"I think you have me confused for someone who gives a shit what you're saying," she told him coldly, and Caspian's lips twisted in disgust.

"You're not her," he said contemptuously. "You're not who they said you would be."

Tempestra raised her eyebrows challengingly.

"I'm glad we can agree on something, then."

Susan shouldered her way between them, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the room. Although their position at the edge of the room gave them a degree of privacy, their rising voices had made some Narnians look over.

"Let it go, both of you," the young queen ordered. "We have a siege to do soon, and we have to work together smoothly."

Physically separated by Susan, Tempestra and Caspian stepped away. After a tense few seconds of glaring at each other, they bit back their words and stalked away in opposite directions, leaving a weary Susan to pick up the pieces.

A/N: In this chapter, we get a bit more into why Peter seemed to be so angry before the attack on Miraz's castle (it's not just teenage angst). Besides the psychological trauma that all of the Pevensies went through, he also took the near-annihilation of the Narnians personally, since he was high king. I rewrote this chapter to make Peter's love for (the former) Julia more touching, and to show that Julia definitely isn't immune to it.

I also changed Julia and Susan's conversation by changing the topic to Julia's struggle over whether to kill or not in Narnia, which is something that plagues her later on as well. I also just wanted more Susan in the story, and to showcase her personality. For all that Peter is brave and sometimes hotheaded and honorable, Susan is more realistic and cautious. Julia is clearly different; she wants to do the right thing, but she's also pragmatic. At the same time, she has a strong instinct for self-preservation and a more ruthless (and less honorable) sense of justice.

The attack is next! It's going to be a long chapter.