Gigue's roll was already set into motion - a sluggish move, catering to his weakened state and relying more on weight than muscle power to perform the takedown. However, the sudden feeling of a sword's point pushing through the leather padding and prickling the skin acted as a spur to his body, evoking a guttural fear that struck with a sudden shock, bunching muscle, and left the taste of metal in his mouth. This was a response of the subconscious: his mind remained calm, seizing control over the situation right after to turn what would be a panicked jerk into a seamless, forceful and calculated motion.
His entire body, from feet to shoulders, twisted clockwise; legs straightened, pushing him backwards and slightly upwards; spine arched. This accomplished several different tasks at once, the total sum of which would be the sword slipping, its tip glancing off one of his ribs and screeching against the shoulderblade, and Sigurd being tossed to the ground face downwards, Gigue crashing down on top of him.
The first, instinctive impulse would be to move his body away from the direction of the force - which he accomplished well enough. The torquing of his torso moved it enough to disrupt the stab and take away some of its power, while arching backwards steepened the angle between his ribcage and the blade, helping it glance off the bone. The next step - transforming this into a throw - was most simple to execute: pushing with both legs, he lifted both himself and his adversary upwards, shoving Sigurd's own knee into the man's chest and towing him along by the belt as well. Together with his spinning momentum, it would be enough to sweep the warrior off his feet, armor and all.
There was little the victim of such a grapple could possibly do, so as he landed, Gigue was already thinking of how to follow it up. The man would be pinned, most likely stunned by the impact, so he'd a snippet of time to further tilt the clutch in his favor. Quick to pick out the best available options, he placed his bet on securing a rear naked choke: grabbing one of the horns on Sigurd's helmet would allow him to easily expose the man's neck, wrenching his head backwards - quick, and usually effortless.
Right now, Gigue felt like his swelling muscles were heavy stones rolling under the skin, limbs leaden with weight, movements slowed and imprecise - but as hell was he going to let victory slip from right under his nose. The mammoth heavyweight was here to win, and he'd let nothing stand in his way, not even his own weakness.