Caspian was a young boy when he first heard of High King Peter the Magnificent.
He was wide eyed and slightly breathless as his Professor told him the stories of how the young boy had led an army to battle the White Witch and triumphed, restoring peace to all of Narnia.
Caspian was five, and the Peter the Magnificent was his hero.
It was only a few years later that his professor approached him, sad eyed and head hung low one morning, and informed him of his father's death.
There were no children, none who would play with him when he needed, or console him when he was upset, and the Lords of the council provided little to no comfort for the young boy.
And so he turned to the dusty pages of the history books he was read as a child.
Caspian was ten years old, and Peter was his best friend.
As he grew to a teenager, he looked to the High King written in the stories for guidance. He wanted to be nothing like his cold and unforgiving Uncle Miraz, he wanted to be a good King.
He wanted to be like Peter.
Caspian was fifteen, and Peter the High King was his idol.
It wasn't until he was older, only a year or so, that he pulled the white horn belonging to the Queen of Old to his lips, and blew through it that he was faced with the man that he had looked up since he was young.
Before him stood a boy, young in physique but no doubt a King in every way. The sunlight touching his hair and making it golden, more so than it already was, effectively giving him a halo. That was fitting, for Peter, Caspian thought.
Peter was all piercing blue eyes and soft lips, proud in the way he held himself.
Yes, there was no doubt in the mind of anyone who saw him - Peter was every inch a King.
But this was different. This was new, unexpected. And Caspian was lost right then and there.
Caspian was seventeen, and Peter Pevensie was his soulmate. Not Peter the High King, or the Magnificent, just Peter. And that was perfect.