Nathaniel knows exactly what that move is for. He remembers Ser Rodolphe doing it when he was twenty-two, although back then he used a real sword. He would drop his blade, and spend the next several days with an ugly bruise on the back of his sword hand. Ser Rodolphe wasn't afraid of putting bruises on top of bruises, doing it even though Nathaniel's hand was purple and swollen already. It didn't take long for Nathaniel to see the move coming, or keep hold of his blade anyway.

His sword clatters to the ground, and it didn't even hurt that much. He expected it to, of course. He has the memory of that pain tattooed on his knuckles. And it only makes him feel more foolish, which makes him feel angrier. He steps back, face burning, but he has surrendered.