Peter didn’t leave. Long after Susan had stormed off, Caspian had left to deal with his private demons alone and Edmund and the others had gone to dispose of the bodies of the hag, the werewolf and Nikabrik, Peter just sat, staring at the shattered wall of ice and the image of Aslan behind it. So Lucy lingered too, watching him. Worrying about him, just as she had been since long before they’d come back.

He seemed to sense her presence, even though she knew she was out of sight, because he spoke to her: “Was I a good king, Lu?”

Lucy laughed at the absurdity of the question. “Would Aslan have made you High King if you weren’t?” When he didn’t answer, she realized he’d been serious. “Peter?”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder, but only for a moment before his eyes swung back to the carving of Aslan. “I was so sure, so certain I was doing the right thing. But you were right: I didn’t listen. And a lot of our people were killed.” The agony in his voice tore at her heart. “They trusted me and I led them to their deaths.”

Now Lucy understood. “If you’re asking if you were a good king last night? Then no, you weren’t,” she answered bluntly but gently. “But if you’re asking if you were a good king when we ruled here…yes, you were. Don’t you remember what you said to me the first time you and the others ever included me in a major decision of state, and I didn’t want to be?”

She couldn’t see his face yet, but she could tell by the tilt of his head that he was probably frowning. “No…no, I don’t.”

“I complained that matters of state weren’t any fun, and you said, ‘Being a king or queen isn’t about having fun. It’s about putting the best interests of the people you’ve been given to serve ahead of your own.'”

“I’d forgotten that,” he answered softly.

She nodded. “Last night, yes, I think you did. Perhaps that’s why Aslan didn’t send us here to be kings and queens again, but to help Caspian become king. Maybe he knew we wanted it too much.”

Peter didn’t answer her for a long moment, long enough to finally give Lucy the courage to approach him and sit down at his side.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Peter finally said, so softly she nearly couldn’t hear him.

Lucy looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“To have seen Him. I wish He’d just given me…” He struggled to find the words as she turned her own eyes to the image of Aslan on the wall of the How. “…some sort of proof.”

Lucy thought about all they’d seen since returning…and all they hadn’t. Susan and Peter had both asked why they hadn’t seen Aslan, and she had given them the only answer she could. But now, thinking about it, she realized how easy it had been the last time. She was still young, but old enough to know that life didn’t always hand you the answers and the happy ending. Maybe now that they were older, they had to earn it.

She twined her hand in his, squeezing it to reassure him just as he’d done for her so many times when she was frightened or confused, both in Narnia and in England. “Maybe we’re the ones who need to prove ourselves to Him.”

Peter looked at her, then looked up again, and in that moment Lucy knew she had her brother back, instead of the boy who’d missed the man and the king he’d been so much that he’d forgotten all the things that had made him that man and that king.

And if Peter was back…her Peter…then maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.