Picked up a stick when I was a kid. Been training since then, more or less.

[He takes the bottle from her, sniffs it once, and wrinkles his nose. The fact that it smells bad does not, apparently, deter him at all, though; he shakes out his rag, folds it over, and dumps out a little test blot on one corner.]

Wasn't like that, though. For me, at least. The Wardens don't always have the luxury of formal recruitment. [He rubs the oil into an undamaged section of the breastplate, careful circles, and shoots her a Look over his shoulder.] I keep telling you, it isn't like being a knight.