When Peter was a little boy, he was fascinated by war. The soldiers in their smart uniforms, holding their machetes and marching forwards in perfect synchronization. Peter watched documentaries of war hungrily, and he had wanted desperately to be one of them, protecting the country.
But when one of his school friends told him that his brother had passed away because of a stray bullet in his chest, Peter was shaken to the core.
He seemed to have forgotten that people died in war.
Peter had always hated Aslan a little for telling them they weren't allowed to come back to Narnia. Listening while Edmund and Lucy told him tales of Caspian's Dawn Treader was utter torture. He would stay awake at night and torment himself with wonderful images of Narnia in his head.
Peter had always wondered: of Aslan had let them back into Narnia again, would Susan have turned out the way she was?
But as Aslan told him later on, he would never have known what could've been.
Peter loved his family dearly. Little Lucy, with her bright smile and ability to cheer him up; Edmund, with his dry wit and humor; and even Susan, whom Peter suspected had never really lost faith in Narnia.
The happiest memories he had was when all of them were in the study after dinner. He would always be working on his school work, Susan would be reading a book, Edmund would be playing against himself in chess and Lucy drew pictures.
Then the train accident happened.
Peter knew Susan hadn't lost faith when he spotted her one rainy night, crying and scrabbling through a cardboard box when he was just passing by, on his way to the kitchen for a late night snack.
Peter paused at her door; it was ajar. Even now, when Peter was in the Real Narnia, he could still hear Susan's loud, dry sobs when she pulled out an old, dry leather strap with the name Caspian engraved on it. She pressed it to her chest, and cried her heart out. At the door, Peter's own heart was breaking. This was his sister, for Pete's sake.
Peter had always kind of, sort of, maybe a little, hated himself for not going inside and comforting her.
Peter never told anyone about what Susan did that night.
Peter loves sword-fighting. The feeling of solid steel in his hands, the way its sharp blade sliced effortlessly through the air, how brightly the steel glinted in the sun, the sharp clanging sound metal on metal would make.
When Orieus had given him lessons on sword-fighting, he had been utterly delighted. He spent all of his time dedicated to mastering sword-fighting.
It was when Peter killed his first man that he began to hate that sword.
Peter had been completely drenched in terror when he fought against Miraz. He didn't exactly fear for his own life; it was his loved ones he feared for. If Miraz won, what would become of Narnia? He would never forgive himself if he lost.
Memories he had of this fight mostly consisted of sweat and hazy fear. The sting of his arms when he began to tire. The dull ache on his head where Miraz had clubbed him. It was over in minutes and he'd won, but if Peter had to choose from his most scariest moments ever, it would've been the fight.
Handing over his throne to Caspian was probably the hardest thing he had done. Peter had been a little worried before -- this was a Telmarine who had invaded Narnia! And maybe he was just a little reluctant to let go of his title. He had loved ruling over Narnia, but this was a sacrifice he had to make.
Before Caspian's coronation, he still had his doubts, though.
But those doubts vanished the moment after the fight, when Caspian had slammed his sword down in front of a resigned Miraz, telling him to keep his life. Peter knew then that he couldn't have chosen anyone better to be the next ruler of Narnia.
When Peter was seven, Peter got a huge bagful of assorted candies from a relative. There were lemon sherbets, strawberry lollipops, gumdrops, liquorices and plenty more. Peter shared them with his siblings, of course.
Peter still remembered that there was still one more left: a large chocolate bar. Peter loved chocolate, so he saved that until last. Then him and Edmund got into a fight, about something Peter didn't really remember.
Peter kept the chocolate bar in his room, on the topmost shelf of his bookcase. Peter went to be, irked at his brother that night when they fought. The next morning, the chocolate bar was gone.
Peter pretended he didn't know, and Edmund pretended he didn't know that Peter knew.
There was no doubt that Edmund took it, though Peter never accused him, for some reason. For the next few days, Edmund would look away guiltily whenever both of them made direct eye-contact, his fingers twisting around nervously.
Three days later, Peter found the chocolate bar's bright blue wrapper on his side when he woke up one morning, along with a note scrawled in Edmund's messy four-year-old script. Im sory, Peter.
Peter hugged Edmund later, and murmured into his hair that he was never angry.
Growing up was the hardest thing Peter had ever done.
Sometimes he wished he could stay a kid forever.
The very last moments of his life were spent protecting Lucy.
Peter noticed when the train veered to fast around the corner. The train tilted a little, and he remembered Lucy stumbling slightly. Out of the windows, he saw the curb coming in just a little too close, and the train gave an almighty screech that hurt his ears immensely.
Peter suddenly knew what was about to happen.
He wrapped his arms around Lucy, and she instinctively hugged back. The windows broke, everyone was screaming, the whole world dissolved in chaos. Beside him Edmund gave a little yell. He pressed his face against Lucy's hair, like he had always did countless times before.
There was a huge impact, and he knew no more.