Chapter Text
Third Person POV
Helen Pevensie knows her children.
They may have gone to the countryside for a while, she muses, but there’s no way any of them could change that much in that short of a time.
Peter. Her eldest. Only 14, but he’s taken on more responsibilities than he needed to. A boy trying to be a man, trying to be brave in a world filled with fear.
Susan. Her second-born. Only 12, not yet even a teen, but dealing with feelings no child should. A girl trying to be a woman, trying desperately to be seen in a world that would rather her be invisible.
Edmund. Her youngest son. Only 10, but carrying the fury and anger of a man 3 times his age. A boy trying to be strong, trying to prove himself in a world suffocating in rage.
Lucy. Her youngest. Only 9, but with the wonders of childhood mostly gone from her eyes. A girl trying to cling to youth in a world that ripped it away far too soon.
The whistle of the train drags her out of her thoughts and she scans the crowd of children leaving the train, hoping to find a glimpse of hers.
“Mother.”
The formal address, one that has never been used by her children, throws her off.
Peter stands straighter than before, his eyes a bright blue that brings to mind the blue embers she has sometimes seen in the ashes of a fire. He is steady, calm, but with an intensity in his posture she has never seen before as he stands slightly ahead of his siblings.
Susan seems more confident than before, her eyes a brown that brings to mind a witch hazel tree. She is solid, grounded, but with a grace in her posture that wasn’t there before as she stands just behind and to the left of Peter.
Edmund is less tense than before, his grey eyes bringing to mind the smooth rocks she’d seen near water in a picture of the ocean. He is cool, still, but there is a fluidity when he moves that wasn’t there before as he stands just behind and to the right of Peter, seemingly at ease among his siblings in a way she hasn’t seen in years.
Lucy is the most recognizable, small and still fidgeting slightly in the way of all young children. Her eyes a light blue that brings to mind clear skies she hasn’t seen in a long time. She is bubbly, but there is a sort of lightness in her stance that wasn’t there before as she stands just behind and to the left of Susan, further away from Peter than she ever thought he’d be comfortable with.
She takes in those differences at a glance, reserving thoughts about them for later, as she holds open her arms for her youngest to run into.
Lucy looks at Peter as if asking for permission, who gives her a slight nod and she runs to her mother. Her small arms wrap around her mother’s waist, though with a looseness Helen doesn’t recognize.
Susan’s hug is quick, kissing her cheek with a regality she doesn’t recognize, while Peter’s is like that of a person hugging someone they barely remember and Edmund’s is almost perfunctory in nature.
Helen is… confused, for lack of a better word.
She takes in the differences in their eyes, the change in their movements, the transformation in their standing positions, and she realizes something with a painful clarity.
Something has fundamentally changed in her children.