Chapter Text
Oh Peter. Your beautiful first-born. His shoulders bear the weight of every eldest child, the task of protecting his younger siblings. When you send him away, Helen, it is with instructions. Take care of them, you whisper with a kiss to the top of his head, stealing one last whiff of his hair before he and his sister herd the younger two onto the train. You note, as the train chug chug chugs your children away from you, that his eyes are not pricked with tears, but hard-set like the colour of the sky on a cloudless day.
When they return, your eyes once again meet his. There is a hard pang in your chest and you squeeze your husband’s hand tightly as you realise they have shifted from that darling sky-blue you remember to a thundering grey. They still shine in the sun, but they are tense in a way you do not remember, as if they hold up the sky. Your eldest daughter is holding onto his arm, and they make a regal picture, chins held up high. They are flanked by the younger two, youngest next to Susan and youngest boy next to Peter.
What you see is a strong boy, only a bit broader than when you last saw him. Dirty blonde hair flips in the wake of the wind and stormy eyes survey the crowd around him that seems to part like the Red Sea.
What you do not see is his vice grip on Susan, the way he shifts to his right to brush his shoulder against his brother’s. His clenched teeth and the way his chest pounds like it only did on the battlefield. This is not a battlefield, except it is.
What you know is that the second they are in range, you envelope your children in your arms, gently weeping, sure you are getting tears on their collars. Peter strikes you especially, the way he seems to hold all of you at once despite his small body, only fourteen.
What you do not know, and never will, is how he got this way. Crowned high king, his domain overtook him, as it did them all. His shoulders grew broad and he grew taller taller taller, and his gold-blonde hair assumed a permanently wind-swept look. The cliffs his bright skies encompassed etched themselves onto his jaw, his shoulders, the hard lines of his furrowed brow.
As you pull him alone into your arms, what you do not feel is the tears finally threatening to spill from his eyes, any of this hard work, this magnificence.
What you do feel is your son against your chest and his steady heartbeat in your ears.
When you sent him away you told him to be strong. Will you ever know just how strong he became?