Wars don't bring lasting peace, only lasting death.
You get what you expect. Expect to heal. Expect victory.
Humiliation sets armies marching, empires falling, breaks hearts and minds and souls.
Wanting neither too much to live, nor too much to die.
I see ranks ready for battle, stretching out. Five, six horses across, ranks in formation. Endlessly.
Tempus would be protected, better shielded from whatever the Stepson thought threatening, if love could heal and save.