[ he takes it.

he holds it aloft of them both, and moves his thumb down upon it slowly, until the glimmering blade springs out from its sheath with a merry sound.

with the same good humor he'd used to suggest this as a good day to die, ]

I despise handling weaponry... the cold, dense sense of metal in the hand...
Ah, but what's one more sweet little favor for me to do you?