Chapter Text
Every Rose has its Thorns
CHAPTER TWO
Voltehre
Lambert takes the pain potion Milena hands him with only a little complaint.
“Mushrooms? Why does it taste like fucking mushrooms?” Lambert shudders after swallowing the human pain reliever. “Seriously. What the fuck?”
Voltehre can’t help but agree. The potions are awful and often taste nothing like they logically should.
Milena just shrugs.
Voltehre and Aiden gently and swiftly redo the splint on Lambert's arm, and then lead him into the hot springs.
“What the fuck.” Lambert says when they walk into the room of steaming pools.
Aiden laughs. “Like I said, this made the whole Warlord thing worth it."
“Is this natural? How do you keep the pools clean? How the fuck do you keep the temperatures stable?”
“Bath now, questions later, yeah Lamb?”
“Fine,” Lambert grumbles, letting Voltehre help him pull his clothes off and get him into the bath.
When Milena joins them, Lambert resolutely refuses to look at her. His face is pink with embarrassment almost the entire time they bathe. Voltehre has to commend the lad, he tries to act as normal as possible while still refusing to look at Milena at all.
The four Wolfblood manage to get Lambert clean before he begins to list sideways. Voltehre slides up beside him and props him up with his arm and side so he can continue to relax in the hot water, and Lambert doesn't have to worry about drowning.
“I've got you, Lamb.”
Lambert hums. “Thanks Honey,” he mumbles before nodding off again Voltehre's arm.
*
Milena
The boy falls asleep on Voltehre's shoulder, completely trusting his weight to the Wolfblood.
Milena can't help but smile at the sight as she settles more comfortably into the seat beside where Aiden is lounging. She leans her arms back on the ledge behind her.
She had kept herself a bit more subdued and more modest than she usually would for the boy's propriety.
He'll grow out of it soon enough, she thinks.
She sighs and stretches her legs out into the warm water. “So, Voltehre, tell us the full story of how you met this charming young man.”
Aiden grins, keeping his eyes closed. “Yes Honey, do tell us.”
“Don't you fucking dare give him shit for that,” Voltehre whisper-snarls.
Aiden's eyes fly open, startled. “I wouldn't, I swear.”
It's not often that Voltehre gets angry, so seeing him come to the boy's defense in such a way is surprising.
“It's taken weeks to get him comfortable enough around Letho, Cöen, and myself,” he explains after taking a deep breath.
“A few weeks ago, he made the joke that I'm sweeter than the honey straight from a beehive. Letho told him that must mean that Lambert is the Bees.”
“He swore at Geralt. When he knew who he was,” Aiden says. “He looked Eskel in the face without flinching,” he continues, skeptical.
“The first time he met us he cursed Letho and told him he was making Swallow wrong,” Voltehre deadpanned. “He's the sort to face down a nesting manticore by himself.”
Milena snorts. “Oh, so a proper Wolf then?” She's not thinking of a particular incident that Voltehre was involved with. Not at all.
“You have no idea,” Voltehre sighs quietly. “He's got balls of steel, I'll give you that. But he's deeply afraid of everything. The first night we met him, he was terrified of the idea of a trade.”
Aiden frowns.
“Sure, he insulted Letho, but he was terrified. I'm pretty aure he thought he was going to die either way.”
“Ye Gods,” Milena whispers.
Voltehre nods smiling bitterly. “He won't talk about his family, beyond the fact that his mother is dead,” Voltehre continues. “He's definitely a commoner, but he won't say where he's from exactly. He'd been travelling for some time fairly ill-prepared, by himself.”
Milena and Aiden look at each other concerned.
“He was perfectly content to find a troop of Wolfblood and subject himself to our mercy. It was better than whatever he had waiting for him back… Wherever home was.”
“So he's ours then,” Aiden says.
Voltehre looks at him.
“Letho, you, and Cöen all have staked a claim. If I and Leocadie do as well, then we're only missing a Crane.”
Milena groans. “Please no.”
Voltehre snorts. “Its just a matter of time. He's smart. He'll catch their attention eventually.”
“He's too old for the trials,” Milena thinks, silently thanking the gods.
“Yes. But he'll be ours regardless,” Aiden says, a mischievous smile growing on his face.
“I'm going to regret this, aren't I?” Voltehre sighs.
“What else are friends for?” Milena adds, chuckling.
“Fuck me,” Voltehre sighs into his free hand.
Aiden and Milena laugh slightly too loud, as Aiden wiggles his eyebrows lecherously.
Lambert startles awake, as Voltehre glares at them.
Lambert's scent turns panicked as he flings open his eyes and sees Milena and Aiden.
Voltehre squeezes his shoulder. “Its alright Lamb,” he says soothingly.
Lambert swings his head up to look at Voltehre, his scent soothing out into relief.
Voltehre was meant to be a brother, Milena thinks. He'll be an amazing trainer some day. Or a clan father.
“Sorry,” Lambert mumbles, sleepily.
“Let's get you to bed before you turn into a prune, yeah?”
“As long as it's not a raisin. Fuck'n hate raisins…” He mumbles, half asleep.
Aiden laughs, incredulous.
Milena wants to know when Lambert tried raisins. They're not easy or cheap to acquire this far north.
*
Lambert
Lambert wakes up alone, bundled up warm beneath multiple furs. The mattress is soft, and while he's sore, it's surprisingly not the worst he's ever dealt with.
He vaguely remembers Voltehre helping him into clean clothes and tucking him into the bed after their bath. He wants to feel embarrassed, but his arm hurt, and he was fucking exhausted. Naming that damn climb “The Killer” was fucking accurate.
Besides, he'll poison Voltehre if he says something bad about him. Not that he will. He's proven that over the last almost month travelling together. He never teases Lambert maliciously. Neither do Letho or Cöen, for that matter.
He climbs out of bed, careful to not jostle his (potentially) broken arm, and pads out into his sitting room. Seriously, what the fuck?
He finds a piece of paper sitting on the small table there, and he picks it up, grimacing. The writing appears legible, but Lambert's education when it comes to literacy is spotty at best.
He thinks he makes out “door” and it is signed with a word beginning with “C” at the bottom… Maybe Cöen? He's honestly not sure, but there are no other clues.
He goes to the door leading to the hallway and opens it up. There's no one in the hall, but the door closest to his is slightly ajar, and he can hear familiar voices talking inside.
The door next to his is supposed to be Voltehre's, he remembers. So he quietly walks the half dozen or so steps down the hall towards Voltehre's door.
He peeks his head around the door frame, and is relieved that he can see not only Voltehre, but also Cöen and Letho. They're sitting in chairs facing away from him, and Aiden and Milena are sitting on the hearth facing the door.
It's Aiden who spots him, grinning widely. “Lambert!”
Letho, Cöen, and Voltehre all turn before frowning at him. Voltehre makes a dismayed noise and bolts into his bedroom where there are a few thumping noises, before he emerges holding a pair of slippers.
“Your feet must be freezing! Sit! Put them on!” he grabs Lambert by the shoulders, and gently pushes him into the vacated chair.
“What the-” he tries to say before Letho dumps a blanket over his head. When he manages to detangle himself from it, he notices it is a dark yellow. It reminds him of the sun flowers deep inland in Vicovaro. They’re large, and yellow, and face the sun… It’s a fitting colour for Sunny Voltehre, he thinks.
He looks away from the blanket to see Voltehre leaning on his hands, legs outstretched on the hearth with Milena and Aiden.
Cöen is putting together a plate. He notices the others have already eaten, and merely have tankards of ale sitting beside them now.
“Fuck you, old man,” he snarks at Letho, as he settles the blanket around his shoulders and tries to fix his hair, which is now standing up from the woolen blanket.
“Not until you’re older, boy.”
Lambert gags. Fucking gross. Ew.
Voltehre gives Lambert a pointed look, and Lambert looks at the slippers in his hands. Right. “Mothering pain in the ass...”
The fucker just smiles.
Cöen hands Lambert a plate once the slippers are on, and a small vial. It’s the same pain reliever from yesterday. He suppresses a gag.
Voltehre gives him a pointed look, so he swallows it down in one go, shuddering. “Seriously, why the fuck does it taste like mushrooms? What the fuck?”
“Once you’re introduced to Leocadie, maybe you can help them improve the taste,” Milena suggests.
“Fucking right I will… I already have a bone to pick with whoever taught Letho. Fucking morons.”
The collected Wolfblood snort.
“Old as fuck, no fucking vision…”
At that, the wolfblood lose the fight with their laughter. Aiden and Voltehre are leaning on each other, howling. Letho is chuckling deeply.
Lambert stuffs a piece of cheese in his mouth, embarrassed as the wolfblood continue to laugh. As he chews, he realizes how hungry he is, so he keeps eating while Letho tells Aiden and Milena of the first night that Lambert stumbled upon their camp and harassed Letho for his potion-making abilities.
His arm is aching less now, and he’s feeling more alive, though he’s still exhausted.
Once he finishes eating, he sets his plate on the small table beside the chair, and curls his knees up so he can wrap his arms around them. He burrows himself in the blanket. He probably looks like a child, but he’s tired damnit, and cold, and this blanket is fucking comfortable.
He sits there, curled up, warm and comfortable, listening to people he trusts, tell people they trust of the last 3 weeks of travels across Kaedwen.
He lets out a yawn, at some point, and swears. “Why am I so tired?”
“You successfully climbed the Killer, lad. That’s a feat in and of itself,” Letho tells him. “You rest up tonight, and tomorrow morning, we’ll do footwork. I want to rest your arm in case it actually is broken, but we will keep you practicing regardless.”
Lambert grumbles. Stupid fucking arm. Stupid fucking Killer.
“Enjoy it while it lasts, lad,” Cöen says. “We’ll go easy on you for a few weeks, but now that we’re back at the keep, your real training can begin.”
Lambert decides to forgo arguing as he yawns again.
“Alright Lamb, let’s get you back to bed,” Voltehre says hopping up.
“Not my fucking mother.”
“No, but I’m your brother, and this is what you get,” he says, smiling.
“We’ll see you in the morning, Lad.” Letho says.
“Goodnight.”
There’s a chorus of goodnights as Voltehre leads Lambert back to his room.
Voltehre pauses at the door.
Lambert looks at him.“You can come in, you know,” He says.
“Privacy is important here. No one will come in here now without your permission.”
Lambert glares at him. He doesn’t think Voltehre is lying to him. “You can come in pretty much wherever,” he says quietly. He trust Voltehre. “You won’t abuse it.”
Voltehre grins even wider. “Thank you. Now, get to bed. I’ll wake you in the morning.”
“Night Vol.”
“Good night Lamb.”
*
Lambert
Lambert is woken up the next morning by a too damn cheerful Voltehre. The red-headed Wolfblood he remembers from from the previous afternoon is with him.
Voltehre throws a set of clothes at Lambert. “Get dressed, Lamb. Put your boots on, and grab your cloak.”
Lambert makes a rude gesture before heading into his bedroom to change and grab his boots. He grabs his cloak, and after a moment of thought, grabs his hat and gloves as well.
He heads back out into the sitting room, and in one of the trunks there, he grabs the knife Letho gifted to him, and straps it to his belt. He puts his boot knife where it belongs as well, before turning towards where the red-head and Voltehre are talking in the hall.
“Lambert, I don’t know if you remember Gweld from yesterday?”
He nods and Gweld grins, almost as cheerfully as Voltehre. Lambert looks at them both, and glares. “Ew. Another morning person.”
Voltehre laughs. “Where do you think I got it from?”
Lambert is sure his face is disgusted.
Gweld and Voltehre cheerfully talk while leading Lambert through the halls, down through the great hall, and out into the courtyard. They walk across it, and towards the groups of Wolfblood who are training in various ways and styles.
They find Letho and Cöen who are currently fighting together against two others. As always, they move with speed and grace that human warriors aren't capable of. They meet strikes, and block faster than Lambert can follow. After a few minutes of watching them, enthralled, there seems to be some sort of signal, and the 4 fighters step back from each other, and lower their weapons.
Letho steps away and over to Lambert. He looks him up and down, and nods. “It will be good to practice bundled up.”
Lambert steps forward when Letho gestures to him, and mirrors his stance as he has for so many mornings over the last month.
“Move,” Letho says, and Lambert mirrors him, step for step. When he fumbles, he catches himself and keeps going. He’s off balance from the splinted arm, but keeps it tucked to his chest and matches the forms as best he can without it.
“Good,” Letho will praise every so often.
“Faster,” Letho says after a few minutes. They speed up.
Lambert starts to feel warm after another few minutes, but keeps going. He can feel beads of sweat trickling down his temples from under his hat.
He tries to stay relaxed, and focused, but he can see the small crowd gathering from the corner of his eyes.
“Eyes on me, lad.”
Lambert focuses his breathing, and stares at Letho’s chest, following his movements. He manages to tune everyone except Letho out, when something touches his back.
Fuck no. He reacts without thinking, his left hand going to his knife, and he turns before he consciously thinks of it.
He puts Letho at his back; at this point he doesn't think the man will stab him in the back. He strikes out at whoever was behind him. He makes contact, but it’s a blocked blow, not a stabbing wound. Fuck. That was his one chance.
He looks up. The large wolfblood in front of him looks down at him with mismatched eyes, and a proud grin, despite the line of blood running from his arm, where he blocked Lambert’s lunge.
“Excellent reflexes, boy,” the wolfblood says.
Lambert scrambles backwards, his back colliding with Letho, who grabs his shoulders.
Lambert can feel his breathing speed up. His heart is pounding in his throat.
“Easy, Lambert,” Letho says in his ear. “This is my mentor, and the head of my school, Ivar.”
The old Wolfblood looks down at his bleeding arm, nodding. “It appears he is teaching you our tricks as well. Good.”
Letho’s teacher. Is this the teacher that taught Letho alchemy? “The fuck is wrong with you?” he blurts out.
Ivar grins, sharply. “It is a long list, boy. Would you like it chronologically? Or by severity?”
“You taught Letho alchemy.”
Ivar tilts his head. “I tried to, yes.”
“Who the fuck taught him to prepare and harvest plants, because they skipped a lesson, or five,” Lambert sneers, looking up at Ivar as he steps away from Letho’s hands.
Ivar stares down at him, face blank. Lambert stares back.
Ivar smiles and steps back. “Stabby and smart. Good. You’ll do, boy.”
“What?”
“Meet me in the alchemy classroom after luncheon. We have work to do.” Then he turns and walks away.
Lambert can’t help but watch him walk away, confused. “What the actual fuck?” He turns to Letho. “Are all you Vipers fucking insane?”
Letho smirks and nods. “Yes.”
“Fuck you.”
Letho laughs. Some of the surrounding wolfblood join him, but their laughter is more incredulous. Lambert stomps over to Cöen.
“You’re the sensible one. Your turn.”
Cöen laughs and nods. “Follow me. I would like to see how you fare on one of the obstacle courses.”
Lambert nods and follows Cöen after he glares at Letho one last time. Across the practice field are the wooden obstacle courses. Milena joins them halfway across the field. Cöen nods to her.
“Would you like a practical demonstration, brother?” she asks.
“Indeed,” Cöen says to her. “If you would be so obliged.”
Milena nods and heads for the course. Cöen and Lambert come to stand beside it to watch her.
Milena is probably the same age as Voltehre, if he had to guess. She’s a tiny woman, and is shorter than Lambert even now. Her hair is up in an elaborate braid, and she has a multitude of hairpins holding it in place. More than is necessary… He can’t help but wonder if any of them are fucking weapons. They probably are. Wolfblood seem to like shiny and pointy things.
“Observe,” Cöen instructs. “Milena will go slowly, showing you how it is done. This is a course we usually use for the unGrassed trainees to improve their balance, and keep them fit before the Trials.”
“So it’s supposed to be fucking easy, yeah?”
Cöen tilts his head. “Not necessarily for a beginner. Do not be discouraged if at first you do not succeed, especially with your arm injured as it is. This is more to ease you into training. You will not be required to train as vigorously as those who are to become Wolfblood.”
Lambert nods, and watches Milena make her way slowly through the course. It appears to be more for practicing balance, though there are few pendulums to dodge while also balancing. Fucking Wolfblood.
As Milena finishes, he takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the task at hand, and not the strange fucking morning he’s having.
*
Ivar
The boy is aware of his surroundings. He is fast. Its a shame he's too old for the trials. Ivar knows that he would have made a fine wolfblood.
The cut on his arm is already healed before he reaches the wall. He stands in the shadows around the side of the practice field, observing. He only came out to assess the boy after Letho came to him claiming that the boy was a promising potential student.
Ivar saw the boy. He warned Geralt and Eskel. He knows the boy brings with him change to the Keep, and to Wolfblood as a people. What exactly that means is as of yet unclear, but Ivar looks to the future with hope.
The Wolf was the last to grace Ivar with visions of such omens. Those visions hint at mostly good things as Wolfblood figure out how to once more coexist as one people. This boy will be one of several who help show their people how to live in a world that is evolving and changing around them.
This afternoon, he will assess the boy's potential skills in the lab. Perhaps it is time that he and Leocadie taught someone their secrets.
Afterall, the lad will be likely around for a long time yet, if the visions hold true, and Ivar and Leocadie's suspicions are correct.
*
Lambert
After a morning of trying (and miserably fucking failing) to not to fall on his ass, and more footwork with various new Wolfblood, Voltehre and Aiden lead Lambert down the the baths.
Lambert holds back his fear at the crowd in the hot springs. Bathing after training is the habit here it seems. Apparently communal bathing is also a fucking thing so he'd best learn how to fucking deal with it.
He swallows his pride and slides into the pool with Voltehre and Gweld. They’re not alone in the pool they’ve chosen. There are a bunch of Wolves (if Lambert is to trust the medallions), and they all wave or nod in greeting. Lambert nods back, and settles in beside Voltehre.
He grabbed a nice lemongrass soap from one of the shelves, so he palms it and ducks under the water to soak his hair. He hides under the water for a moment to let his hair soak up the water. It’s thick and unruly; it usually doesn’t like to cooperate with him.
When he surfaces, he gets a facefull of water. Fuck. As he tries to breathe, he can hear the others in the pool swearing at the person who Lambert assumes just jumped unceremoniously into the pool.
He coughs and flails a bit, unable to see; someone grabs his upper arm to steady him. It's Gweld, he thinks.
“I hope you drown in an inch of fucking sewer water!” He sputters as a wolfblood surfaces in the middle of the pool. So the fuckhead did just jump into the middle.
The wolfblood sneers at him. “What, did your father never teach you to swim, little boy?”
Lambert flicks his hair out of his face and sneers at the man. Gweld releases his arm. “My mother taught me, actually, fuck face.”
“Ah, a momma’s boy. No wonder you’re so soft, little boy. You’re just a baby who is too weak to deal with men. Your father must have gotten rid of you because you’re useless.”
Lambert’s vision goes white.
Next thing he knows, there is yelling, and he is biting, and scratching, and kicking at the man in front of him indiscriminately. He doesn’t care where he hits, and he doesn’t care that the man could easily best him, he just reacts. He wants to hurt him.
He wants to fucking hurt the man so much, as futile as that endeavour might be.
An arm wraps around Lambert’s chest and he forgets about the asshole in front of him. He doesn't know this arm.
He kicks backwards, and then bites the arm when it doesn't release him. That doesn't work either. The arm just holds him… Gently?
Fucking Wolfblood. He wordlessly screams as he bites harder, drawing blood.
He can see Voltehre tossing the man from the pool, and the big scarred man from yesterday grabs him by the back of his neck. The pair of them drag the asshole out of the hot springs. Voltehre stomps furiously after them. Gweld is still in front of him.
Lambert struggles in vain for a few moments longer before the arm starts to release him, and Gweld tries to gain his attention.
“You can let go of my arm now, lad,” a gruff voice says above his head.
Lambert promptly removes his teeth from the man's arm and turns. Fuck fuck fuck.
It's an Wolfblood older than even Letho. He has grey hair, and a grave face.
The old man looks at his arm, an impressed look on his face. He then looks at Lambert appraisingly. “Lambert. Yes, I can see what Voltehre meant now. You're scrappy in a fight, aren't you?”
Lambert stands in front of the old man, chest heaving, feeling sick. His arm hurts too. Fuck. He just attacked one of them. And bit another who was trying to prevent the attack. Fucking Fuck!
“Calm down,” the man in front of him instructs. “We blame Clovis, not you. He is a disappointing example of our school's manners. I believe Eskel and Voltehre are taking care of it.”
“I attacked you,” he says, trying to ignore the new throbbing in his arm. He fights down the panic too.
“As you should have. An unknown assailant grabbing you from behind when you're fighting someone else? You have good reflexes boy. And you use all weapons at your disposal,” he adds, holding up his forearm to display a rather impressive bite mark.
Lambert's chest hurts.
“Finish up your bath now, lad,” the man says, unbothered. “I believe Letho here is going to escort you once you are finished.”
Lambert turns to where the man is gesturing and sees Letho standing there, buck-ass-naked, glaring down at the Wolves.
“Aye, I am, Vesemir,” Letho growls.
Lambert backs away from - Vesemir, apparently, and grabs a discarded soap from the ledge. He quickly scrubs down his body, forgoing his hair. He's not taking his eyes off anyone again any time soon.
He splashes the soap off and climbs out of the pool, where Letho is holding a towel for him.
He wraps it around his waist, grimacing as he jostles his arm.
“Let's get that looked at,” Letho says. Lambert nods, swallowing back panic. He follows Letho, leaving Gweld, and Voltehre, and Vesemir behind.
*
Letho
Letho helps Lambert get dressed in clean clothing, and then takes him to one of the sitting rooms that the Vipers use. It's almost empty at this hour, just a handful of older Vipers quietly reading.
Letho points to one of the chairs in a corner facing the door. Lambert sits without complaint. He's holding his arm stiffly.
Letho goes to one of the cabinets off to the side to grab some salve, and some bandages. The wolfblood keep various places like this stocked at all times, because the propensity for stabbing first, asking questions later in this keep is pervasive. The bandage will work to rewrap the boy’s arm.
If it wasn’t hurting before, it certainly is now. Letho doesn’t think it’s broken anymore, but it is hard to be certain. The boy doesn’t complain much, and he’s still suffering from the rush of adrenaline that he gained in the hot springs when he attacked Clovis.
Letho sighs and walks back over to Lambert, where he is glaring down at his boots. His scent is muddled.
“So clearly we need to work on your grappling skills,” Letho says, as he kneels on the floor before Lambert, taking his arm gently into his hands. He gently feels along the arm, being careful not to reopen the scrapes the boy already has, or poke the dark bruises too hard.
The muscle feels good, and while the boy grimaces in pain, he doesn’t indicate any spot that is more painful than another.
“I will punch that fucker in the face if I ever see him again,” Lambert says, unrepentant.
“I think Voltehre and Eskel have dealt with that for you, lad,” Letho chuckles as he re-splints the arm. “You’re going to wear the splint at all times for a week. I don’t think it’s broken, but it was probably a close thing.”
Lambert scowls.
“I know it hurts, don’t try to lie to me,” Letho says pointedly poking a bruise.
Lambert grimaces. “You’re a jackass.”
“No, I’m a Viper.”
Lambert groans and relaxes back into the chair. “ I don’t know why I like you,” he snarks.
“No one ever does,” he responds as he finishes wrapping the bandage securely around Lambert’s arm, tying it off by his elbow.
*
Letho sits at the table near the chair where Lambert was sitting. There is some time until luncheon. Hmm.
“See the shelf with the leather-wrapped texts?”
Lambert’s scent is suddenly wary. Letho keeps his face carefully neutral.
“Yes.”
“Go grab one. I’m going to teach you about monsters. You’ll never see them, but you’ll need context for our stories.”
Lambert gets up without argument and walks over to the shelf. His scent goes more sour. “Does it matter which one?”
“Nah,” Letho says, purposefully nonchalant. He wonders what is going on in the boy’s head. “For you, we can learn these in any order. And you don’t have to memorize it.”
Lambert grabs a book at random, bringing it back towards Letho. He doesn’t look at the cover. Letho watches him, intently.
Lambert drops the book on the table by Letho’s elbow and sits down beside him. He doesn’t look at Letho.
Letho looks at the book. It’s not in Common Nordling. It’s in Skelliger Dialect. Interesting. “How many languages do you speak again, Lambert?”
Lambert looks up at him. “Fluently?”
Letho shrugs.
Lambert looks at him warily. “I’m proficient in three,” he says, carefully.
“And how many do you know some of?”
“Half a dozen?” Lambert says, still cautiously. Like he thinks it’s a trick question
“Do you speak Skelliger?” Letho carefully doesn’t look at the book on the able.
“Only some…” Lambert says.
“Do you read Skelliger?”
“No,” Lambert says, eyes darting to the book on the table. Smart lad. He swallows, and his scent goes nervous.
“What languages can you read in?” Letho asks, outright.
Lambert stays silent, his scent going panicked. The boy can’t read - or can barely read then. Interesting. Given the other things he knows, Letho expected him to have at least a basic knowledge, but apparently the boy is very good at getting by without.
“Let us start there then,” Letho says, calmly. “Luckily, I have spent some time in the Archipelago. Let’s see what we can decipher together, hmm?”
The boy is silent for a moment. “I can’t actually read that well at all,” Lambert mumbles. “My mother was teaching me when she-” He abruptly cuts off. “I know my letters in Common Nordling.” His shoulders are around his ears. But he trusts Letho enough to tell him this.
Letho nods. “Well, let’s work on Skelliger today then. Leocadie and Ivar will want you to be able to read and write to help them in the Lab, so you will need to be proficient in at Least Common Nordling to start.”
He says it in a straightforward manner. It's not an admonishment. Lambert likes learning, so he'll use that as encouragement.
Lambert’s head shoots up.
“Luckily,” Letho continues, “This book is in Skelliger. It’s a similar alphabet to Nordling, with a few exceptions. You can show me what you know, and we’ll go from there.”
Lambert swallows. His eyes are glassy, but he breathes deeply and then nods.
“Besides,” Letho continues. “You’ll like Skelliger swearing.”
The boy smiles weakly at that. “Yeah, alright.”
“This book was written by a Bear Wolfblood. I happen to know that he, while quite quiet in person, is incredibly verbose in writing…”
Progress is possible, Letho thinks. You have to let the boy come to you. It’s been a long month getting the boy to a point to admit a weakness, but clearly he trusts Letho, and Letho will not take that trust for granted.
*