Work Text:
“i have my brother’s hair !”
(and she truly was convinced of it, innocent and genuine as she always was, as a dryad was combing her hair one day, while complimenting them.)
it was true after all. they had the same brown hair that shone like molten gold and blazed like embers under the gentle rays of the sun. the same unruly, wavy, mane-like locks.
lucy knew they had the same smile too. whenever she could feel her cheek hurting from laughing and grinning she knew peter felt the same way too. the same hair, the same eyes, the same smile, the same skin. one that gently hugged the sun back on Narnia’s warmest days, while susan and edmund walked around with the tip of their knuckles, knees, ears and noses lobster red.
so she must have gotten all of this from peter. she knows she does.
maybe if she had a clearer memory of her father (long gone, forgotten, far away, amidst the dust and the smoke, the blood and the dead of a war she doesn’t remember), she would have known that the way her hair curl while embracing the gentle wind, the way she smiles and the way she laughs, was so very like her father.
but she never got to remember, be it her father or the man behind that name, and whenever she felt like she had to, she would always turn to peter anyway.