Note: Random, random plotbunny here. I had so much fun writing this, and I do hope you enjoy it. :) Susan, Edmund, and Lucy to follow, with a chapter or two after that. Yay.

Disclaimer: If I owned Narnia, I'd probably need my own personal psychiatrist, too. :)

—viennacantabile

How It Happened

Chapter One: Defender of London

.

...in which Peter leaps sidewalks with a single bound.

.

Alice Carroll frowned.

The doctor was—whistling.

This was disturbing, thought Alice, narrowing her eyes. Dr. Lewis was in high spirits today, which alone merited attention. The secretary had never seen him in such a state. Most days, he simply trudged into his office complaining about his no-good brother and the weather. Today, he had practically skipped in and actually smiled at her quite pleasantly. Most disturbing, indeed, she thought.

The doctor opened the door to his office and tossed back over his shoulder, "Fine day, isn't it?"

Alice gasped and dropped the paperwork she was processing. For a moment, she thought she would die of shock. The doctor never behaved like this. Staring at his closed door, the only rational conclusion Alice could come up with was that he was either very happy, or monstrously ill. She didn't know which option scared her worse.

But in fact, the doctor was happy.

He'd received quite an unusual request this morning. Four siblings, each with their own highly unusual problems. Dr. Lewis grinned and rubbed his hands together. It was rare to see an entire family in one year, let alone one week. And as the foremost psychiatric diagnostician in London, he was just the man to handle it.

Oh, yes, it was shaping up to be a fine day, indeed.

The intercom buzzed. "Doctor, Peter Pevensie is here to see you."

"Good, good," Dr. Lewis practically purred. "Send him right in."

The door opened and in walked a light-haired boy of about thirteen. Peter Pevensie, thought Dr. Lewis, referencing his notes. What did his mother say the problem was? He looked down. Thinks he's a superhero was lightly penciled in. Well, that wasn't exactly original.

The doctor rose and held his hand out, smiling professionally. "Dr. Richard Lewis. Pleased to meet you, Peter. Sit down."

The boy didn't look crazy, he decided. He acted normally, even to the extent of possessing a smudged face and rumpled clothes, Dr. Lewis noted with slight distaste. He always made it a point to be immaculately groomed and attired.

Dr. Lewis sat, his hands clasped in front of him. "Your mother says you're...a superhero," he began tactfully.

"Yes," offered Peter cautiously.

"And...how do you...display this identity? What are your powers, for example?" the doctor probed.

"Oh, you know, I've been—moonlighting hero work, and such," Peter shrugged, eyes darting nervously about. "Gotta keep London safe, you know?"

Dr. Lewis made an noncommittal noise, pausing to make notes. Delusions of grandeur.

"As for powers, well—I can balance Mother's checkbook and leap sidewalks with a single bound, sir!" Peter grinned excitedly. "Will that do?"

"Yes, yes," Dr. Lewis murmured. "And...what exactly prompted you to take up this...hero work?" he asked carefully.

Peter's eyes took on a fanatical gleam. "The Lion, sir!"

"The...Lion?" asked Dr. Lewis, not certain if he had heard the boy correctly.

Peter nodded vigorously. "The Great Lion, Aslan! He spoke to me and knighted me Sir Peter Fenris-bane! And," he leaned over and whispered secretively, "He says that if I do well, he'll crown me King Peter—the Magnificent!"

Dr. Lewis made more scribbles. Hallucinates talking lions and masquerades as Sir Peter Fenris-bane; possible future alias, King Peter the Magnificent.

Peter let out his breath in a whoosh and leaned back in his armchair. "And ever since then, I've been defending London from evil."

"Evil?" Dr. Lewis asked, skeptical.

"Petty crime," the boy clarified. "I did try to find a Giant or two, but they're rather in short supply these days."

"Quite," murmured the doctor.

"And how is one supposed to find a really good sword in London, anyway?" sighed Peter dejectedly.

Dr. Lewis wrote furiously, underlining the words. Keep away from sharp objects!

"Your mother said there have been—issues with your newfound identity," the doctor probed. "What sort of issues?"

Peter sighed. "My family doesn't exactly support me, you see."

"Ah, yes." Dr. Lewis nodded sagely. "That can be discouraging. Can you...give me an example of this?"

"Oh, loads," said Peter glumly. "I mean, just the other night..."

.

"Wha-what?" muttered Edmund blearily. "Peter, it's two o'clock in the morning. Go away."

"But Ed," whispered Peter nervously, twisting his hands, "I've got a favor to ask."

"No," said Edmund, yawning as he turned over in bed and burrowed deeper underneath his warm blankets.

"But—you haven't even heard what it is!" Peter protested.

"No."

"Edmund, please, I'm late, I'm begging you, won't you? For London? For me?"

"Peter," said Edmund clearly and distinctly. "For the last time, I am not going to be your sidekick."

.

"The outfit wasn't even that bad, really," sighed Peter wistfully. "I realize that spandex doesn't quite suit Ed, but the blue is really his color, you know. Brings out his eyes and all that."

Authority complex, Dr. Lewis jotted, stroking his beard absently. "And...how did you feel when your family expressed their...disbelief?"

Peter's face collapsed. "Horrible," he mumbled. "I mean, here I am, trying to help the world, but I just get made fun of."

"And how do you deal with this?"

"Well," Peter started thoughtfully, "I begin by remembering that I'm in the right. And then—well, usually, I just tie my sheet around my neck and jump out the window to do some good and right some wrongs."

Lock all windows! Dr. Lewis scribbled particularly hard, then forced an interested look. "A sheet?"

"Yes," the boy nodded earnestly. "Mother says she doesn't have time to sew me a cape, so I have to make do with what I have. What're you writing, anyway?" Peter leaned forward curiously.

"Oh, just some notes," Dr. Lewis smiled engagingly, smoothly covering up the dark writing. "Nothing you'd be concerned with."

"Oh." Peter settled down onto his chair again. "Have you figured anything out yet?"

"Ah. Yes." Dr. Lewis steepled his fingers. "Peter, time is money, so I'll be brief. You've got a very advanced case of obsessive-compulsive disorder, no small amount of delusions, adjustment disorder—possibly caused by the war, we're seeing a lot of it these days—and a mild case of avoidant personality disorder."

"Oh," said Peter, who hadn't understand a word. "Right. What's to be done, then?"

Dr. Lewis shut his notebook with a snap. "As a matter of fact, Peter, I do believe I can help you."

"Really?" asked Peter pathetically.

"Really," confirmed Dr. Lewis, reaching for a scrap of paper. "But I'm going to have to refer you to my colleague, Dr. Kirke. I'm afraid that I don't handle these sorts of cases, you see, and Digory's an old hand with them. Nice chap, really, though I must say, he's gone a bit off in the head, himself—though of course, I don't blame him, with that nutty uncle of his..." Dr. Lewis noticed Peter still hanging on his every word and coughed, embarrassed. "But—oh yes, you need the address. Right. 50595 Colney Hatch. Ask for Dr. Kirke. Repeat that, now.

"50595 Colney Hatch," said Peter dutifully. "I'm to ask for Dr. Kirke."

"Excellent," he said, scribbling it down. "Just look for the broken lamppost. Can't miss it."

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Peter, with abject gratitude. "I can't tell you how it feels to finally be believed."

"Yes, yes," said Dr. Lewis, ushering Peter out the door with a practiced smile. "Good luck, then." He shut the door and shook his head. "Well, if that's what they're all like, this shouldn't be too hard."

Suddenly, the door popped open again, catapulting an astonished Dr. Lewis to the carpeted floor.

"Oh, Dr. Lewis!" piped Peter Pevensie cheerily. "I'm so terribly sorry, but—I forgot to leave you my card."

"Your—card?" repeated the doctor dazedly.

"Of course," replied Peter matter-of-factly, "in case you ever need me." He deposited a small white business card with gold and red printing in Dr. Lewis's hand. "Ta!"

With that, he exited the room.

Dr. Lewis gaped at the open doorway, then raised the card to eye-level. "Sir Peter Fenris-bane," he read aloud incredulously. "Defender of London and A Friend in Need." Hastily scrawled on the back were the lines, "Contact Information: Shout 'Magnificent!' to the Northern Sky and I will come to your aid."

Dr. Lewis cast his gaze heavenward and mumbled, "God help me."

"'Aslan' will suffice," purred an enormous golden Lion not two feet behind him.

And with that, Dr. Lewis knew no more.

.

.end.