A/N: Edited and rewritten. I actually deleted the chapter originally before this one ("The Dream") because I thought that having a dream sequence was too cliche, and slowed down the progress of the story too much. For the first time, we also get to see a little bit of Peter's perspective, before we go back to Tempestra's reaction to the disastrous events of the last chapter (hint: it's not something to be brushed away).

Narnian Forest

"How is she?"

Peter glanced to his left to see Edmund looking up at him. The young king was striding quickly to keep up with Peter's horse, who was silently trotting at the front of the train of defeated Narnians heading back to Aslan's How. Caspian and the old man – his former professor – were near the back of the group, and Susan was somewhere in the middle, walking alongside Glenstorm.

"Not good," the high king replied finally. He had trimmed the arrow shaft protruding from Julia's back and cushioned it with cloth, which allowed him to sit behind her on his horse and keep her upright with an arm around her waist. She had long since passed out from the pain. "I'm trying to keep her comfortable, but she's losing too much blood. She'll go into shock."

"But she's lucky the arrow missed her heart," Edmund reassured him. "And Lucy can still heal her with her magic cordial."

"I know." Peter forced himself to relax his jaw, which he'd been gritting the entire ride. "But she has to be alive for the cordial to work. If we just moved the group faster-"

"She's not the only wounded person we have," Edmund interjected sharply. "Trumpkin's in a worse condition, and the rest of the army's dead tired. We can't speed up the group just for Julia."

Peter closed his eyes, inwardly berating himself.

"I know. And I need to stay with the rest of the group because they need me."

He didn't need to look to know that his brother was nodding. Selfless Edmund. He always knew what monarchs should do, and he stuck to it. Sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – Peter wished that the heavy responsibilities of being high king burdened someone else. Julia had always made those burdens seem a little less oppressive, as if he was merely a carefree young man instead of the ruler of the world's most powerful and prosperous kingdom. Yet it was one of these very burdens that kept him from saving her life.

Narnian Forest

Outside of Aslan's How

Tempestra felt like she was trying to claw herself out of the dense layers of fog that clouded her mind. They pressed down on her, suffocating her, but the moment she regained consciousness, she instantly wished that she hadn't; her left shoulder was a mass of flaming agony and her body felt dangerously weak. Though the pain faded and Lucy's magic cordial healed her body in a brief moment, it felt like eternity until she could get it under control and open her eyes.

The first thing she saw was the early morning sky, which was overcast with dull clouds that cast a gray muted light on the area. A chilly pre-dawn breeze swept across her, making her shiver, and she was suddenly, unexpectedly filled with a cold deadness that settled around her heart as she remembered the night's devastating events. Asterius. Flynn. The massive number of Narnians who had been trapped in the courtyard.

She wondered if she had witnessed her first massacre.

Peter and Lucy were kneeling on either side of her as Edmund and Susan hovered around her feet worriedly. The moment Tempestra opened her eyes and inhaled deeply, the four of them let out a sigh of relief and drew back to give her some space. Lucy was the first to rise, and after giving Tempestra a small smile, she moved away with Edmund to treat the other wounded. Susan got to her feet as well and left as Peter helped Tempestra to sit up. His eyes were rimmed red, and Tempestra distantly speculated who he had been crying for.

"Julia-" Peter started to say, before his voice caught. "I'm so- Thank you. For taking the arrow for me. If anything had happened to you-"

Tempestra looked away.

"I knew the Narnians needed you too much for you to die," she replied matter-of-factly, her voice flat. At this, the young man's face fell. "Anyway," she added, grimacing at the state of her clothes, "We should get inside before the Telmarines regroup and get here." Without any kind of detergent, she doubted that the blood would wash out. And one glance down at her now-healed wound confirmed that she would always have a scar. Lovely.

Peter was still watching her dejectedly, silenced by her reaction to him. Ignoring him, Tempestra looked around at the Narnians who had stayed outside to help the wounded and cry for the dead. Grief was still a cold stone that burned in her chest, and she forced away the rising anguish as her eyes swept over the cold, gray surroundings. So much for the triumphant siege. So much for victory and an end to the war. For all that they had sacrificed and fought for, they were rewarded only with death and disappointment.

What was she doing here?

She stumbled to her feet, Peter awkwardly trying to give her a helping hand. As she straightened, she spotted Caspian storming into the How, Nikabrik close on his heels. The prince's face was a stormy as the sky above them, and his hand was clenched on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

"What's up with him?" Tempestra asked offhandedly.

Peter glanced over, and his face became mulish.

"He blames me, and maybe you, for the siege," he said shortly. His eyes swept over the surviving Narnians, who avoided his gaze. "He was the one who ruined everything, and he blames us for why it went wrong."

Tempestra closed her eyes. But all she could see was Asterius collapsing to the ground, his body crammed with arrows and crushed under the weight of the iron gate. He had sacrificed himself to save other Narnian lives. He hadn't deserved to die. He should've been there, with them, walking back to the Howe. And Flynn-

"He was supposed to open the gate-" Peter was still talking, and the young woman felt a rush of irritation "-but he confronted Miraz himself. Susan and I had everything under control, and Caspian let Miraz get away. We barely opened the gate in time."

"Why didn't you call it off?"

The high king turned his head to stare incredulously at Tempestra, who had opened her eyes and was looking directly at him.

"Sorry?"

"Why didn't you call it off?" she repeated. Her voice sounded strange, even to her, but something hot and mean was rising in her and the words were tumbling out before she could stop them. She felt like a dragon breathing fire. "You could've called for a retreat," Tempestra continued. "We could've all gotten out."

Peter was still staring at her, and it was as if something had closed behind his eyes. But then Tempestra remembered the Narnians climbing the closed gate and being struck from behind by arrows – arrows that had almost killed her – and she looked away, at the treetops at the edge of the forest. The branches swayed peacefully in the wind, unbent and unbroken by the turmoil on either side of the forest.

"You agree with Caspian." Peter's voice was low and hard. "After everything we – after everything that's happened, you're siding with him."

Tempestra gave him a disgusted look.

"That's bullshit, and you know it." Peter reached out a hand – to apologize, to seize and shake her, she didn't know – but she evaded his touch and struck back towards the Howe. The pain in her left shoulder had receded to a dull ache and the blaze in her chest had subsided to a simmering burn, but one thought repeated itself over and over in her mind:

She had almost sacrificed her life for a boy who had made a terrible, terrible mistake.