Ducking slightly, first Peter and then Edmund entered the pavilion, and they simultaneously stopped short as they saw what awaited them. Two finely wrought suits of armor stood neatly on wooden stands, the chain mail hauberks, leggings, and coifs glittering in the bright lantern light. Helmets, vembraces, pauldrons, greaves, and sabatons shone with fine etching and decorative work, and the red velvet tabards were embroidered with splendid, rampant, golden lions.

Peter drew in a sharp breath and found he had no words to express his amazement. Beside him, Edmund also seemed slightly dazed, his lips parted with shock. Finally, he gave a low whistle. "Great Scott," he said. Turkin had come to stand between them, looking satisfied at their reaction. "We'll need to fit it to ye," he said, moving forward, "It looks 'bout right, now I see ye with it, and o'course Aslan himself gave the measurements, but jest to make certain, it's best to have ye try it on. We kin make adjustments a'fore you need it on the morrow."

The boys glanced at one another, the thought of the impending battle slicing through their delighted astonishment – the reminder that the armor was not just for show and instead was to protect them against a deadly enemy. "We are truly honored by this," Peter told Turkin, but the dwarf cheerfully shook his head. "'Twas Aslan, yer majesty. He is the one you should thank." He pointed to the armor on the left. "This is yers, High King, and the other belongs to yer royal brother. I'm assumin' ye are somewhat familiar with how to put it on?"

Edmund took his helmet from the stand, turning it over in his hands and smiling. "Somewhat," he said, "Though I'm afraid we'll need your help – at least for the first try."

Turkin nodded once. "Very good, yer highness. If it please ye, I'll need to call my 'prentices." At Peter's acquiescing nod, he went out of the pavilion, leaving them to admire – admittedly with some trepidation – their gifts.

"Peter," Edmund said after several moments, "Does all of this make you feel, well…odd?"

Peter looked up from where he was examining his smooth, fluted metal greaves and met his brother's gaze. "Yes," he said, "It's like waking up from a dream, or going into one. On our journey to meet Aslan, I had to keep from pinching myself at times. Fauns? Talking beavers? And yet, this is real. Aslan is the most real of all."

"Yes," Edmund replied, dropping his gaze and fingering the velvet edging on his tabard. "And I'm glad of it."

There was silence again until the younger boy spoke once more. "I am sorry, Peter. For what I did."

"I know, Ed," Peter replied simply, "And I believe you." They looked at each other over the dwarf-made finery, deep brown eyes and sky blue, and suddenly Peter smiled, warm and affectionate. His eyes stinging slightly, Edmund smiled back and thought that Aslan had been right about forgiveness and its freedom.

Turkin chose that moment to re-enter with two other dwarves – both younger, but both with the same riotous red hair and beards. Accompanying the armorers was a graying faun, whom Turkin introduced as Palomnus. "I have come to assist as your valet, my kings," he said, sketching a courtly bow from the waist. "As you are going to war, the first thing I shall do in your service is learn to fasten your helmets properly. Can't have your heads flying off in the midst of battle from lack of protection."

"That would be rather horrid," Edmund replied, a sardonic half smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. Palomnus's hazel eyes twinkled in response, but he merely nodded. "Just so, sire."

Turkin humphed a bit and rolled his eyes. "Yer majesties?" he gestured to the suits of armor with his brawny arm, and he and his apprentices set to work.