In which nobody is actually left-handed.

Inigo paced back and forth at the top of the cliffs, pausing every so often to peer over the edge at the Man in Black before resuming his trek. It had been a whole minute since Vizzini, Fezzik, Porridge, and Clara disappeared behind the ruins, and no matter how many times he checked, the Man in Black seemed to barely move. Inigo hated waiting. It gave him too much time to think about the hurt and betrayal in Clara's eyes, and the doubt in Fezzik and Porridge's eyes. Too much time to think about the doubt lurking in the back of his own mind. All this introspection made him irritable. If he was a philosophical man, which he wasn't, he would say that spending all his time waiting to catch up with the six-fingered man left him no patience for waiting for anything else. At the moment, all he knew was that he wanted the Man in Black to reach the top of the cliffs now, so that they could get on with the slightly more interesting activity of attempting to kill each other. Then he could kill the Man in Black, catch up with the others, and continue to ignore the pesky whispers of his latent conscience while resuming his quest for revenge. Inigo was a simple man, at heart.

He looked over the edge again. The Man in Black had moved up a whole inch. As if he felt Inigo's eyes, he looked up. Inigo waved. 'Hello there. Slow going?'

The Man in Black sighed and reached for another handhold. 'Do you mind? This isn't as easy as it looks. The last thing I need is you distracting me.'

'Oh. Sorry.' Inigo backed away from the cliff, making another circuit of the ruins before returning to his vantage point. The Man in Black had moved up two more inches. At this rate, he'd reach the top of the cliffs sometime the next morning. The very idea of waiting that long was making Inigo twitchy. 'I do not suppose you could speed things up?'

'Look, if you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or send down a trained giant eagle, or find something useful to do. Otherwise shut up.'

Inigo blithely ignored the rudeness. He was not easily offended, which was a good thing, considering he worked for Vizzini. 'I do have some rope up here. I would offer my help-' the man grunted noncommittally '-but I do not think you would interested.'

The Man in Black sighed heavily. 'Why is that?' he asked resignedly. He didn't seem particularly involved in the conversation, more like he was humouring Inigo in an effort to get him to stop talking. Obviously he didn't know Inigo. Nothing could get him to stop talking.

'Well, I am only waiting up here to kill you.' Inigo felt it was important to be honest, especially with people you would be running through in a few minutes. Or hours, since his would-be opponent wasn't moving very fast.

The man snorted. 'Seriously? You expect me to be surprised by that? I figured it out for myself when you cut the rope.' He muttered something under his breath. Inigo wasn't sure, but he thought it sounded like pudding brain.

'In my own defense, Vizzini cut the rope, not me. But I do work for Vizzini, and Vizzini ordered me to kill you, so…' he shrugged.

'So we're pretty much back where we started. Shut up and let me climb.'

'I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top,' Ingio offered.

The man snorted again. 'Oh, yes, that's very comforting. You'll just have to wait.'

Inigo groaned. 'I hate waiting.'

'It'll be good for you, then.'

'I could give you my word as a Spaniard,' Inigo suggested hopefully.

'I don't trust the word of anyone, Spaniard or otherwise. Doesn't matter where you're from – a pudding brain's a pudding brain.'

Inigo scratched his head. 'Is there no way I can make you trust me?' he asked plaintively.

'Nope.'

'That does make things difficult.'

'Yep.'

Inigo stared blankly at the horizon for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly on the hilt of his sword. His hand froze, and he glanced down slowly at the sword that was the symbol of his quest for revenge. He took a deep breath. 'I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya: You will reach the top alive.'

The man looked at him for a minute. Maybe he was weighing his options, maybe he was struck by the seriousness in Inigo's voice, maybe the gravity of the vow was written on Inigo's face. Whatever he saw or heard seemed to decide him, for he nodded and said, 'Throw me the rope.'

It was almost comical how quickly he scaled the cliffs after Inigo threw down the remainder of the rope. The way he climbed, it was no wonder he had come so close to catching them. When he reached the top, Inigo grabbed his arms and hauled him over the edge. The man lay on the ground for a minute, presumably catching his breath. Inigo couldn't blame him.

'Thanks,' he said to the dirt.

Inigo shrugged expansively. 'Is my pleasure.'

The Man in Black grunted before pushing himself to his feet. He turned to face Inigo, attempting to drop into a defensive crouch that nearly resulted in him toppling over.

Inigo raised his hands, holding them away from his body so that the man wouldn't think he was going for his sword. 'No, no – we will wait until you are ready.'

The man eyed him for a minute, then shrugged and dropped heavily onto a rock. 'Thanks again.'

Inigo watched as the man ducked his head so that he could pull off his glasses and clean them on the edge of his jacket. He frowned, studying the man. He was older than Inigo expected, with lines around his mouth and bushy grey eyebrows looming over the tops of his dark glasses. Frankly, Inigo was surprised that the man could sail a boat all night and scale the cliffs and still be relatively upright. There was something about him that didn't sit right with Inigo, something that seemed off – aside from the odd choice of clothes and the decision to follow them across the channel and up the Cliffs of Insanity for no apparent reason, that is. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but since he was going to kill the man in a few minutes anyway, he decided it didn't really matter. Instead, figuring that this would be his best opportunity, he asked, 'I do not mean to pry, but do you by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?'

The Man in Black slowly put his glasses back on, raising his head equally slowly to look at Inigo – at least, Inigo assumed that was what he was doing. It was hard to tell with the glasses. He stared in silence for a full minute, long enough for Ingio to start squirming uncomfortably. He was used to confusion, even fear when he asked that question, but he'd never gotten a response like this. 'Do you begin all conversations this way?' the man asked deliberately.

'Well-'

'Because it's incredibly rude. How would you like it if people came up to you and asked if you had two hearts or a second face on the back of your head or some other invasive question?'

'I did not-'

'Obviously you didn't. Because if you weren't such a pudding brain, you'd realize it's extremely offensive. No wonder you're taking orders from Mr. Chuckles if that's the extent of your conversational skills.'

I apologize if-'

'What gives you the right to go around asking complete strangers such inane questions, anyway?'

'My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man!'

'….Oh.'

Inigo sighed and slumped onto the rock next to the Man in Black. 'It was twenty years ago, and this is the only way I know how to identify him.' Inigo repeated the story he'd told Clara, although with fewer dramatics. For all of the Man in Black's own obvious melodramatic tendencies, he didn't seem to appreciate theatrics in others.

'You've done nothing but study swordplay for the last twenty years?' Inigo couldn't tell if the man sounded admiring or incredulous.

He shrugged. 'Well, it has been more pursue than study the last few years. I cannot find him anywhere, and I am starting to lose confidence.' He waved in the direction the others had gone. 'I only work for Mr. Chuck- that is, for Vizzini to pay the bills. There is not a lot of money in revenge.'

'I can't imagine why,' the man remarked dryly. He got to his feet and dusted himself off. 'Well, let's get this over with.'

Inigo stood up as well, making a point of drawing his sword with his left hand. Assuming a fighting stance, he finally realized what was bothering him about the Man in Black. 'Wait – do you not have a sword? How am I supposed to fight you if you do not have a sword?'

The man smirked. 'I haven't got a sword.' He held out his arms, turning in place. 'I don't need a sword. I have something better.' He reached into his jacket and pulled out a spoon. Granted, it was a large spoon, but it was a spoon all the same, and no match for the sword for which his father had died.

Inigo dropped his stance, straightening up in indignation. 'You cannot seriously expect me to fight a man who wields a spoon!'

'Why not? Afraid my spoon and I will defeat you and that fancy sword of yours?'

'It is an insult to the art of fencing!'

The man's smirk widened. 'It should make it easy for you, then.'

'I do not want an easy fight!'

He shrugged. 'It'll certainly be an interesting one.' Dramatically, he assumed a fighting stance, right hand on his hip, left hand holding the spoon out as if it was indeed a sword. 'Begin!'

Well, if the man was determined to get himself killed because he was armed with nothing more than a spoon, Inigo certainly not going to be the one to dissuade him. Shrugging philosophically, he lunged forward.

The shock he felt when the man deflected his sword with the spoon was almost enough to send him toppling into the dust. He stumbled a few steps past the man before recovering. Turning back to face his opponent, he eyed him narrowly, trying to determine whether it was skill or luck. The man gazed back impassively, waiting for Inigo to make the next move.

Growling, Inigo lunged again, and again the Man in Black turned aside his blade with the spoon. Even worse, Inigo felt the man rap the back of his head with that infernal spoon as he went past. Whirling around, he saw the man shrug innocently and twirl the spoon in his fingers.

'Give up yet?' the man asked with a smirk.

'Never!' Inigo snarled. 'Stop toying and fight me!'

'I thought that's what I was doing.' But he was the one to lunge forward this time, and they began fighting in earnest.

Now that Inigo was no longer underestimating the man, he found that they were surprisingly evenly matched. The fact that the Man in Black fought with a spoon did not diminish his skill at all. And it was ridiculous, but he couldn't help treating the spoon as if it was a deadly weapon, when it was just a spoon. He knew it, knew that if the man managed to hit him with the spoon it might bruise, but it wouldn't cut. That knowledge didn't prevent him from ducking out of the way when the spoon came flying at his head, or hopping backwards over rocks as the man advanced on him.

The spoon came uncomfortably close to his nose, and Inigo threw himself into a backflip to avoid it. He landed easily, striking a dramatic pose. Just because he was fighting an idiot with a spoon didn't mean he couldn't look good. And he knew he looked good. His antics seemed to take his opponent aback slightly, and he decided to press the advantage. Nothing distracted an opponent like conversation.

'You are using Bonetti's Defense against me, ah?'

The man paused briefly, but opted to respond with a slash of his spoon rather than a verbal retort.

Inigo nodded anyway. 'Eh, is fitting, considering the rocky terrain.' He barely managed to catch the spoon on his sword, spinning out of the attack. 'Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro?' he asked, suiting action to words.

The man grunted, turning Inigo's attack and returning with one of his own.

'Ah, I see you too find that Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro.' Inigo backed the man to the edge of one of the ruins, grinning in satisfaction when the man was forced to jump to the ground. 'Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa…' he continued, summersaulting over the man's head to land in front of his opponent, 'which I have!'

'Do you have to do the banter?' the man finally asked, as if he couldn't keep quiet anymore. 'It's very annoying.'

Inigo laughed, delighted that he managed to get a reaction. 'Annoying? Never!' He punctuated his words with slashes of his sword. Witty,' slash 'cutting,' clank 'sharp, even,' clash 'but never annoying.'

The man snorted in disbelief and went on the attack. With his spoon.

'You are wonderful,' Inigo remarked in honest admiration. And he was. In fact, as he was slowly forced to give ground over the treacherous terrain of the ruins, Inigo had the suspicion that the man might even be better than him. Well, slightly better, anyway. When he was fighting with his left hand. And on that note… Inigo grinned. 'But I know something you do not know.'

The man sighed. 'What's that?' he asked, his voice clearly saying that he really didn't care but was once again humouring Inigo.

'I am not left-handed!' With that, he smoothly switched his sword to his right hand and went on the offensive. With the advantage of his dominant hand, he was able to force the Man in Black backwards, up a flight of ruined stairs to a higher level of the ruins. Finally, finally this duel was going the way it supposed to. No man armed with a spoon was better than Inigo Montoya, no matter how long he managed to hold out.

'You're amazing,' the man stated as Inigo drove him back towards a ruined wall.

Inigo preened, catching the man between the wall and his sword. 'I ought to be, after twenty years.' He was proud of his skill, and saw no point in wasting time on humility.

'There's something I ought to tell you, though,' the man said, as loose stones fell off the wall to the water far, far below.

Now that the fight was all but over, Inigo was feeling generous. 'Tell me,' he said magnanimously.

The man's face split into a wide, toothy grin. 'I'm not left-handed either.'

For a split second, Inigo froze in shock. He recovered almost immediately, but it was enough for the man to throw him off and switch the spoon to his right hand. Suddenly, Inigo felt very nervous. He hated feeling nervous.

The man attacked again, pushing Inigo around in a circle. Suddenly he paused, spreading his arms wide. Taken aback, Inigo eyed him for a minute. He knew the man was up to something, but he had no idea what it was. So he lunged forward. Somehow the man repelled his sword with the spoon, circled around so that they were back-to-back, and shoved Inigo off the ledge. It wasn't a long drop, but it caught him by surprise, and he only just managed to land on his feet. He whirled to look back up at his foe. The Man in Black smirked, polished his spoon on the sleeve of his coat, and tucked it into an inside pocket before launching himself into the air, catching hold of a bar lodged between two columns and swinging himself around twice before somersaulting off and landing solidly in front of Inigo.

Inigo gaped at him.

The man shrugged and pulled out the spoon again, and they resumed the fight. But Inigo knew that the man really was better than him, and his attacks took on an edge of desperation. He began to fight with less skill and more panic, wildly throwing everything he could at the man to postpone the inevitable.

Finally, the man knocked the sword out of his hand. Defeated, Inigo fell to his knees. 'Who are you?' He panted, bracing himself for the death blow.

'I am the Doctor. And this is my spoon!' Inigo caught a brief glimpse of the Doctor raising the spoon, before he brought it crashing down on Ingio's head and everything went dark.

This was the scene that made me want to write this story in the first place. Just the idea of Twelve fighting Inigo with a spoon is hilarious. It was intimidating to write though, because I've never written a fight scene, and I wanted to do it justice. It ended up being a mash-up of the Princess Bride duel and Twelve's fight with Robin Hood.