The shaking starts now, as he knew it would. Always after a battle, when the thrill of the fight fades, he is left weary and shivering. Facing death will do that to a man.

Only today, he looked into Death's face … and welcomed Her. He knows, despite what he might try to tell the others, that he almost took Her hand. Had Edmund not shattered the ice, sending Her back to the black pit from whence She came, he would have released Her. Knowing She was lying, knowing She couldn't be trusted, he still almost succumbed to the temptation.

It was for Narnia! he cries soundlessly. Isn't that justification enough? Isn't it a king's duty to do what he must to protect his people? He is the High King. It is his responsibility to do things he might personally find repugnant for the good of the land. The others don't understand this. The look of scorn on Edmund's face, the dismay and fear on Lucy's, the horror on Caspian's … none of them can possibly know what it is like to be High King. His is a high and lonely calling.

Lies, his conscience whispers. Fine-sounding lies. You are no king.

He sinks to the floor in shame, no king indeed; merely a dishonored knight.

Oh Narnia.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He has dreamed for an entire year of returning. Dreamed of being a king again, rather than a schoolboy. He has longed to breathe the pure Narnian air, longed to race across the meadows and through the forests on his noble steed, longed to talk to dryads and naiads, to discuss matters of honey and nuts with bears and squirrels, to work with the dwarfs and swim with the mermaids.

He has even yearned to lead his people in battle once more. King Peter the Magnificent. A mighty warrior, a noble lord, one to be admired and followed.

Oh Narnia! His heart breaks as he buries his face in his hands. Where has he gone wrong? What has changed him from the gallant High King who would give his life for his people to a foolhardy, reckless knight who led them to death?

More importantly, how can he find his way back? Or is it too late?

Peter, my son.

The golden whisper brushes through his tormented mind. He raises his head.

Aslan?

But the lion is not there. Rage suddenly fills him.

"Where are you?" he shouts. "Why did you abandon us all?"

There is no answer.

Rage turns to despair. Why did you leave me?

But did he? Did Aslan leave him … or has Peter left Aslan?

And so the truth dawns. His love for Narnia has driven out his love for Aslan. He has missed this land so much … and yet forgotten its Creator.

Perhaps he has even been angry with Aslan, for sending them back to the Other Place without so much of a warning. Perhaps his actions there … and here … have been driven by resentment against the Lion.

He half-turns and brushes his hands against the shattered pieces of the Stone Table. Here, where Aslan gave his life for Narnia, and for Peter's own brother. He well remembers the despair that filled them all when they thought they were on their own … the same despair they face now.

Yet they weren't alone then. Aslan had not deserted them. His sacrifice made Narnia free.

Perhaps he was here now, too?

I want to see you. He means it, possibly for the first time since returning. Narnia, he realizes, is not enough. He has thought for so long that if he could just get back to Narnia, everything will be fine.

But it isn't. He needs Aslan. Narnia without Aslan is as empty as the Other Place. It is Aslan, he knows, that is the true High King, the one to whom even Peter must kneel in submission.

Joy and despair mingle in his breast. Joy at finally remembering Aslan, at letting go of his anger and fear and pride … and despair that it might be too late. He stares up at the carving of the Lion on the ancient wall, really seeing it for the first time.

Oh Aslan, I'm so glad. And I'm so sorry. I've been leading them wrong ever since we started.

If only he could see the Lion, hear him say "My dear son" … but even if he can't, he knows now what he must do.

Follow the Lion.

Even if it doesn't make sense.

Because in the end, it isn't about Peter or Caspian. It isn't even about Narnia.

Everything is about Aslan.

Author's Note: I once vowed to never attempt a Narnia fanfiction. I felt Lewis's writing was too beautiful for me to even attempt it. But then I read Andi Horton's two one-shots from the Prince Caspian movie, and thought, "Well shoot, I don't mind messing with Adamson's world." So that's my justification for this fic. It's Andi's fault.

As for what brought it about ... I thought it significant in the movie that before the White Witch scene, Peter's battle cry was "for Narnia," and after it was "for Aslan." I believe that the reason both Peter and Susan took so long to see Aslan (in the book) was because their hearts and thoughts were focused on Narnia, not the Lion. (I have further theories on how that affected Susan's rejection of Narnia later, but that's another matter). So that's why I tried to capture some of that struggle here.

The discerning reader might notice bits and pieces borrowed from the books. It's not your imagination. They are there.

Disclaimer If I was CS Lewis, I'd be dead. As I am sitting in front of a computer typing, obviously I am alive. Therefore, I cannot possibly be Lewis.