Desmond’s wherewithal didn’t co to him the first ti he woke up after defeating the dragon.
He was fully conscious many tis but he could hardly rember those monts. For days, he woke up screaming in pain and being put back to sleep imdiately after.
There was finally a ti when he was sedated enough by the king’s enchanting magic that he spoke calmly. He could answer questions despite the pain that took over his entire being.
The healers confessed he was likely too damaged to wield a sword again. Whether it be because his arm had healed too tightly against his body and he had no range of motion, or because he had lost a bit of flexibility, the outlook of ever using a sword with the sa force as before was slim.
The first few tis he held a sword again and was fatigued by the re weight of it, Desmond realized that to be true. Considering his scarred hand beca stiff and he had to learn decent penmanship with his left hand, he knew it would be even worse to wield a sword.
An activity he held dear to himself beca another prison alongside so many others. For a long ti, things felt bleak.
He occasionally swung his sword to test his limits despite knowing the outco. He regretted it whenever he did that. The repercussions for ignoring his body were severe.
Yet, there were tis when the only thing that would reach his frustration was swinging a sword. He would never be out of practice in case of ergency. Pain was inevitable and he would deal with it to retain his skill.
However, Leonor reinvigorated Desmond’s life. When Stephano spoke about how she excelled at the Magic Academy and how happy she was to be there, he knew he wanted her light in his life.
He had been thinking about sword fighting much less the closer he got to her. If she was next to him, his thoughts were filled with her.
When he heard the shouting of a drunk fool, challenging his qualifications as duke and his skill with a sword, Leonor gasped but Desmond wasn’t all that surprised.
His pride ate at him and the duke started to stand.
They were over halfway through the battles. If they wanted an intermission, he wasn’t going to hold back.
Leonor tried to stop him, but he held his left hand towards her in a warning to allow him to do whatever he pleased.
"By all ans," Desmond said. "Give an opponent."
Without warning, the duke put his left hand on the wall surrounding his place with Stephano and Leonor.
The duchess gasped even though she knew he was more than capable of jumping to the dirt ground where the matches took place. The wall couldn’t have been much higher than the one he easily jumped off in the military outpost.
She stood from her seat and looked down into the arena more than she had for all the other matches.
It felt like sothing was at stake as her husband decided he had to prove himself.
"Are his scars not enough?" Leonor uttered, only Stephano’s ears picking up the words she said. "Has he not sacrificed enough already?"
"He won’t be happy until he proves himself," Stephano said. "Don’t worry about him. He would rather hear you rooting for him than worrying."
As Desmond looked for an opponent willing to challenge him, all his n bowed out. They were unwilling to test him considering he was their leader.
However, soone from a surrounding township walked forward. He had already won his match and would go on to the quarter-final round until a winner was chosen.
Considering how his match had panned out, he felt good in his ability.
"If soone will test you, it might as well be , your grace," he said. "I’m ward up. Should I allow you to do the sa?"
Desmond’s eye peered at the man and his mouth held a slight frown of disinterest.
That day he wore bandages since he would spend much of his ti outdoors with Leonor. After all, there was little he could do to hide if the sun was beating down on him.
The duke undid the chain at the top of his chest and tossed the cloak onto the ground. He revealed his bandaged head to the arena and pulled out his sword.
That day he wore a grey vest over a cream colored shirt. The material was gathered at his neck and Leonor thought he looked handso. It certainly wasn’t fitting for a swordfight, but it wasn’t an expected outco of that day.
"I don’t need to warm up," Desmond said. "However, you’re wearing armor, while I’m not."
The duke pointedly looked at a few of his participating n and one of them ran forward, giving up his chest armor for the duke.
His blood was already rushing from being challenged in such a way. His head felt hot and his irritation was at peak levels.
He didn’t want to prove himself to the dukedom as much as to prove himself to Leonor. He needed to be strong in front of her. She was surprised each ti he exerted himself and he decided enough was enough.
A mage went forth and protected his sword with her magic.
It was ti for the battle to begin and everyone in the audience was waiting with baited breath for the duke to show why he held that title in the first place.
Leonor was most shocked by him throwing off his cloak and revealing a bandaged facade to everyone in attendance. After being married to him for a year, it was her first ti seeing him without a hood.
Where he stood, the bandaged side of his face was towards her and she saw a handso profile underneath the bandages. She wished he would let her see more.
However, recognizing his handsoness only pushed away her nervousness for a split second. She went right back to worrying as he approached the other swordsman.
When the apprentice swordsn calling the matches walked to the center of the arena where the duke and warrior stood with swords drawn, he counted down for the match to begin.
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