"With your sword?" It's a disbelieving murmur. The sword is so much nicer than anything he's used before, and Luke is not the world's greatest competitive athlete. He doesn't want to damage it. He wraps his fingers carefully, clumsily around the hilt.

"Okay, he never actually showed me that bit," Luke admits, holding the sword with both hands because he's suddenly terrified of tripping and slicing someone open. "But he did tell me to start like this."

He settles into the footwork he'd tried so hard to copy all those months ago, and glances up at Aramis for approval.