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In the heady days after the war—after their coronation—Peter thought he knew what glory looked like. It was the flash of a blade in the sunlight, held up in victory. It was the roar of a lion bringing renewed hope to Narnians. It was contained within the heavy mantle of responsibility he was still getting used to.
But in the years that followed, he found it elsewhere. Yes, there were more battles and glorious moments therein. However, the true glory was in the small changes he and his siblings made to restore Narnia to her full beauty.
The council that Susan and Edmund set up to learn about the history of the land and advise them on rulings. The wild gardens that Lucy helped plant as she traveled the length and breath of their kingdom, making friends everywhere she went. He saw it in the restored hope of every Narnian they came across.
There was glory in a legacy. Even if Aslan had not promised it would be so, Peter felt sure that they would leave a glorious legacy.
And he would never say it, but the real glory was the joyous cackle of laughter that was just four siblings in a blanket fort in front of a fireplace at the end of a long week, telling stories and shedding all responsibility at the threshold. And every side glance at a formal function carried an echo of that laughter, a secret just for them. He would fight to control his smile, but it was a glorious battle he fought every time.