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The curious thing about amnesia is that there is plenty of room in one’s brain for new memories and information, which makes the masked apprentice an infinitely better student than he thought he could ever be. Not that he really knows if he used to be one before, anyway, but the point stands.
Lord van Zieks doesn’t quite teach, not in a stereotypical way at least. He doesn’t even seem quite comfortable with having him always by his side, except when it comes to his defence. He teaches by showing, or simply assumes that he’ll pick up along the way. The disciple appreciates the implicit trust.
A thing he learns about himself in the process is that he’s extremely quick at picking up new words. He knows English isn’t his first language, it’s obvious from the way he looks down to the way he speaks to himself in the privacy of his brain; he can also tell that he’s still pretty familiar with the language, so much so he would call himself fluent (if only he was allowed to speak at all, that is). So, he writes. And he observes a lot.
He finds out that a common way prosecutors refer to fellow barristers is by calling them their “learned friends”. The apprentice finds it amusing, to say the least. He doesn’t think he could call anyone a “friend”, let alone somebody he’s never even seen outside of court, and Lord van Zieks doesn’t look particularly friendly at all. And calling someone “learned” sounds a little like mockery to his ears, but then again, it’s not his first language. He learns plenty more flowery phrases and overcomplicated terms from his mentor and practices saying them once he’s alone, over and over and over again to be sure they enter his vocabulary and, especially, that he never fumbles the words.
(Just because he can’t be heard at the moment doesn’t mean he’ll never speak again, and he has to be more than prepared for when the time comes. He thinks he’s made a fool of himself before due to bad enunciation, which means it must’ve been a catastrophic event for him to almost remember, and he’s definitely never making that happen a second time.)
There is so much more that he notices becoming part of his identity, completely unrelated to law and entirely his mentor’s fault – he’s not sure whether it’s good for his personal sense of self, but it’s too late for that anyway, for the only way he can currently describe himself as is “Barok van Zieks’ mentee”.
His wardrobe is one of those things. The apprentice isn’t quite sure whether he already liked the clothing before his memory loss or whether he thinks his mentor simply looks good in it – and damn, he also wants to look good – but he often finds himself gravitating to the smaller fitting apparel in the van Zieks manor. His muscles got more defined with all the time he spent on ships, and it would be such a shame not to show them off, wouldn’t it? (Nobody sees ever them due to his stupid cape, but man does he enjoy watching himself in the mirror, the white of his suit highlighting his shape further; he’s even more striking than his mentor, if he can say so himself.)
Speaking of the cape. He’s noticed van Zieks assuming a very secretive pose with his own in court, so that’s another thing the apprentice also imitates occasionally. He doesn’t think he gets the angle quite as right as his mentor yet, but he’s working on it.
(It reminds him of the bats that inhabit their office – bats which he’s learnt how to feed and also secretly named in his head. His favourite is Oswald. Van Zieks’ favourite is definitely not Oswald; he often leaves faecal matter on his desk. It’s probably not that funny, and he’s unfortunately the one on cleaning duty, but it’s still a little funny.)
Other than the pose, the apprentice is also practicing his own leg slam, though his mentor doesn’t quite know that yet. He tried it out once in the office and van Zieks didn’t seem to appreciate his paperwork ending up all scattered on the floor afterwards. Not like he has his own desk to practice it on in his workspace. So, he started stretching his legs at length every morning in the gardens of the manor after spotting his mentor once training against a tree. The apprentice is definitely not as flexible and his slams aren’t as refined and fluid, but he’s certain that with enough time he'll surpass van Zieks himself in the art. Perhaps even giving it his own personal flair, doing something even more daring such as sitting on the bench itself. …No, that’s probably too much flair.
To be frank, he still doesn’t understand how that’s allowed in court, though that’s probably the least weird part of van Zieks’ courtroom behaviour. Drinking on the job is far worse; something he himself would rather not do, but mostly because he knows he doesn’t share the infinite tolerance level of his mentor. He does enjoy being included in the action though. He’s proud to say he’s become quite proficient at his bottle opening sword skills, honed through weeks and weeks of replacing his cutlery with his very own blade. …Slightly excessive, perhaps, but he’s never felt as right as when he was first given that sword from Lord Stronghart; there’s still something missing, but he knew then that he was always meant to wield such a weapon.
Sword fighting comes so very easy to him. It feels like second nature, like he’s learnt how to hold one before learning how to speak. It’s only natural that the lessons he loves the most are, well, not even lessons per se – it’s when him and Lord van Zieks are alone in the courtyard and they’re able to spar with their blades, letting them speak their own language in a duel. It’s the only time they feel like equals and, most importantly, that he feels like himself instead of being the “masked apprentice”.
Their techniques are so vastly different from one another – surely more proof of his heritage – yet still familiar in the way they almost seem to complete one another. There’s something van Zieks isn’t telling him: it’s in the way his eyes flashed with recognition and something painful the first times they sparred, in the way he can tell his mentor can almost adapt to his style, in the way he praises his skills every time with an undecipherable tone that makes him wonder whether he actually means it. He always wants to ask. He’s not sure he’d appreciate the answer.
“Apprentice,” Van Zieks’ voice snaps him from his thoughts. “Pray forgive the discourtesy of demanding less beverage to be poured in my hallowed chalice next time.”
Blood red wine is overflowing from his mentor’s cup, staining his desk and the floor below. And he’s still on cleaning duty for, well, presumably forever.
The apprentice sighs and immediately tips the bottle away from the chalice. There’s clearly a lot more to learn.