“Left-right-left…” Kurt instructed, dodging nimbly as Blaine advanced, the Dwarf holding Kurt's sword, Riverdancer, in both hands, making his clumsy progression forward. “Now, I know you favor your leg” – Kurt tapped the boot on the foot of Blaine's lame leg with his toe – “but try not to make that a weakness. Redistribute your weight, don't just lob all the work onto your more steady limbs.”

“But I…I do not know how…to do that…exactly,” Blaine panted, dropping his sword angle and rolling his sore shoulders.

“Concentrate on your stance and your gait. Try to make them flow.” Kurt broke from the opposing position and joined Blaine by his side. “Here. Allow me to demonstrate.” Blaine watched his husband set up by his side, his feet shoulder width apart, his elbows close to his body, his blade at an angle to his torso. Swifter than swift, Kurt pushed off his back foot and glided across the ground, performing the twelve offensive and defensive swipes he had taught Blaine so quickly that Blaine barely saw the blade cut through the air. The blade, humming with its Elven-imbued power, seemed to become one with the sky. When Kurt was through, he stood several feet away, and leaves that had fallen in his path as he moved lay at his feet, sliced to neat ribbons.

“That was…that was amazing,” Blaine said. “Incredible. I…I don't think I could ever wield a sword the way you do.”

“You never know, my love.” Kurt returned to his husband and dropped a kiss in his curls. “You may someday. Or you may find a form that suits you better, and best me with it.”

“I wish I had the same faith in me that you have.” Blaine looked sadly at Riverdancer, trembling in his grasp. Kurt would say it was Blaine's muscles growing weary that made the sword shake so, but Blaine felt it was the blade longing to return to its rightful master. Riverdancer never quite felt settled in his grasp, even before he gave it to Kurt. Now, it felt even less so. “As it is, I don't believe I'll ever master all those forms, and you even spoke of new ones! How am I to learn them all?”

“I don't expect you to learn them all at once,” Kurt said, noticing the shift in Blaine's expression. “Practice them one at a time, then put them together. It takes years to become an expert in the art of swordplay, my love.” Kurt watched Blaine, staring at his sword, eyes shrouded, jaw locked. “Did you want to stop practicing? Are you tired?”

“No,” Blaine said, voice shaky but resolute. “If you can continue, I can.”

“This is a lesson, my love,” Kurt laughed, “not a competition.”

“But I must do better,” Blaine demanded, his eyes focused on the blade in his hands so as not to see the gentle teasing of his husband. “I do not want to appear feeble in your eyes. You worry for me. You do your best to help me. I know you love me, and you mean no harm, but I see it.” Blaine looked up, a fire building in his golden eyes. “You think me weak.”

“I have never thought of you as weak, Blaine Andurinin,” Kurt stated firmly. “Even when” – Kurt stuttered a breath, steeped with regret – “even when I wasn't particularly kind to you, I could see your strength. You are one of the strongest beasts I have ever beheld.” Blaine's cheeks went fire red at that, but he would not look away. “I worry for you because I love you. My heart would die if anything ever happened to you. But that does not mean I see you as feeble.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said. “I appreciate you saying that that's how you see me. But” – another glance at the blade and a sigh – “I still feel weak, and I…I do not know how to help it.”

Kurt felt Blaine's pain, his grief settling in his chest, as if it were his own. He always tried to be as plain about his feelings as possible with his husband. How did this one thing fly past his notice? But Blaine was right about the way he handled a sword. He wasn't at his best with that particular weapon. To offer to find him a shorter, lighter sword might seem like an insult in Blaine's eyes, especially considering this truth he just shared. Kurt needed a way to make Blaine feel useful, with a weapon he could use at his best. But it wasn't only his leg that was an issue. It was his right arm as well, a deficit that Kurt would always blame himself for.

But Blaine had forever told Kurt to forgive himself for whatever part he thought he played in the injury, and to forget that it even existed.

Maybe this was finally the day for Kurt to forget.

Kurt looked about the glen, scanning the ground for something they could use. As if providence had placed it there especially for him, Kurt found a branch, thick through the handle and curved at the end, shaped almost exactly like an ax. He picked it up and tested it in his hands. It suited him well enough. He hoped it would suit Blaine as well.

“Here,” Kurt said, “pretend this is one of your axes, and come at me with it.” Kurt took the sword from his Dwarf husband, and placed the branch in his hands.

“Are…are you serious?” Blaine asked. He would have been insulted by the suggestion had it belonged to anyone other than his husband. As it was, he didn't know whether or not he wasn't at least a little bit hurt.

“I am,” Kurt said solemnly, returning Deadheader, the sword of his half-brother, Finn, to his sheath, and wielding only Riverdancer.

“But, how do you expect me to fight you and a sword with a bran--- I mean, an ax?”

“There are other Dwarf fighters, are there not?” Kurt asked. “Warriors among your people? Do they not fight with axes?”

“Well, yes, but, they are different than me.”

“How, Blaine?” Kurt asked calmly. “How are they different than you?”

“Well” – Blaine searched his mind and discovered an answer he did not want to give – “they are bigger than me. And taller.”

“Then use your height to your advantage,” Kurt suggested. “Do not focus on my sword when we fight. Come after my arms, my legs.”

“But you'd have my head before I did any damage.”

“Have faith, my love,” Kurt said, backing away, putting distance between them, “and practice.”

Blaine did as he was told, and held the branch in his hands like an axe. Kurt ignored his wince of pain when he lifted it in a defensive position, leading with his right.

“Alright,” Kurt said, pushing past that, “now, come at me.”

On Blaine's first swing, he held back, from exhaustion and uncertainty in equal amounts. But Kurt returned with a parry, and Blaine found that he could get underneath it, swing out ahead, and, at the very least, cause Kurt to retreat, the blade of his make-shift weapon grazing Kurt's groin. Kurt looked at his husband, startled by his own success, and smiled.

“You see?” Kurt said proudly. “That blow would have definitely caused some considerable devastation.”

“I supposed you are right,” Blaine replied, smiling to himself.

“You suppose I am right?” Kurt frowned. “I am absolutely right, and don't you forget it.”

“Are you saying that you are right about everything?” Blaine asked, limping up to his husband, hoping for an invitation into his embrace. He dropped his branch to the ground along the way, unable to lift it a second time.

“Mmm, maybe not about everything,” Kurt said, putting Riverdancer away so that he could hold his husband properly. Blaine curled into Kurt's arms, and Kurt held him tightly, laying kisses across his forehead. “Only when it comes to you.”