Basic Courtesy

The smell of tea was intoxicating - it permeated the cold morning air, its aroma of mint mixed in with something else.

Two months have passed, faster than he thought possible, and the drink had steadily become one of his favorites.

His stomach was of a much different opinion on the matter - regularly churning in protest to the beverage - but after two months of living with Lyslenne, he had quickly learned to ignore it.

After all, if he were to say one thing about the woman's culinary tastes, then it'd be that she had a penchant for meals that were harsh on the belly.

Yet one more thing he'd come to learn about her.

Well... that and her random urges to travel, where she'd disappear for as long as two consecutive weeks at times - doing who knows what.

Which brought him back to this very moment: Lyslenne darting in and out of the hallway, tension in her pace.

"I should be back by the end of this month. Will you be able to manage the shop?" She asked for what may well have been the hundredth time.

An eyebrow raised, and he even had the gall to heave a sigh, "Yes, I can handle myself..."

"Good." She replied curtly, golden locks of hair phasing in and out of the kitchen as she double-checked every nook and cranny of the house.

Her hurry didn't go unnoticed, much less did the heavy white cloak she adorned. Were it not for Lyslenne's strapped-in leather boots, he'd probably mistake her for a beggar from the Sea of Ghosts' bay region rather than the owner of a potion shop.

"Where are you even going anyway, to be away for that long?" He probed in.

"Meeting old business partners." Alas, no such luck, "Ok, let's go over what I've told you one more time."

A beat of silence and he sighed again, resigned, "Don't wander off, there are food recipes in the cabinets, continue your studies..."

"And..." She drawled.

"Offer tea as a courtesy for any new customers to the shop."

Lyslenne stopped for a moment by the kitchen's backdoor - it leading to a backstreet adjacent to the main road - and frowned.

"... And to not offer - under any circumstances - such courtesy to the usual costumers. Ingredients too pricey to be handing around and all that."

The frown swiftly went away, and a small but frail smile adorned the edges of her lips.

"Take care, kid." She said before shutting the door.

*

*

*

Two weeks later...

It was afternoon, and he had yet to make any progress. His Magic refused vehemently to stay put - he could throw it around, destroy a boulder or two, but any more than that was still beyond his understanding.

His best achievement yet, after all this time alone, was to shape it in a cumbersome and ethereal blade of sorts.

Sure, it made for a grand feat of prowess when compared to his previous skills, but it still paled in comparison to the likes of Shalidor, an Arch-Mage said to have built Winterhold with but a whisper in his lips.

...Or so theorized the books that he'd been gifted with by Lyslenne - ones given to him right after his first successful bout of Magic.

Awfully suspicious, the shop owner sure had her secrets - most of which, though, he dared not to pry. He already had his doubts about Barildar, the local butcher, but for Lyslenne to also be an undercover vampire... now that would be terrifying.

He shook his head; now wasn't the time to be delving into conspiracy theories and the like.

Magical anecdotes and theories required his focus, and while reading books without Lyslenne's aid was a steep hill to climb, he still had to carry on. ​Surely... Shalidor didn't become a great wizard in the First Era by whining like a petulant child.

'Though, why is she even going away for that long?' Left and right, he shook his head once more, 'Right... now is not the time.'

Getting up, he ignored the wooden crutches lying beside his bed. A quick smile graced his face then, but it quickly fleeted away. Being able to walk unaided could be considered a feat of Magic just as well, but it wouldn't earn him an entrance to the College of Winterhold.

It wasn't controlled Magic, but instinctual instead. Which reminded him of a running theory he had ever since the day he'd devised such a method for walking.

He picked up a journal from his bed stand, leafing through its sturdy and yellowed-out pages, before stopping at a blank page. Sitting by a nearby chair, he set to work. There, he wrote his most recent findings.

[ Entry -- 16 -- on. Magic Control ]

\\

While Magic is the building block for all things in and out of Mundus, be they alive or dead, it still is volatile at its nature.

Control over it takes exercise, visualization (as exemplified in ENTRY-15), and a focused mind. However, further tests have proven that more than that may be necessary for mastery over the Arcane.

A possible lead may be the distinction between conscious and unconscious use of Magic - the latter being much more broad and flexible at its uses. An example of that is a body's instinct to warm itself in an attempt to survive frostbiting temperatures.

Or, in other cases, the body's instinct to avoid falling over when off balance - Magic can, then, be applied in much broader uses.

Thus, following that line of reasoning, it can be inferred that visualization pales in comparison to sheer instinct or, in order words, an understanding ingrained in one's very bones.

By studying the natural phenomenons of nature then, such as the formation of ice, or the igniting of fire, it may be possible to overcome such hurdles.

Through the comprehension of the inner workings of Mundus, it may be possible to draw inspiration from great beings such as Magnus and his followers - the architects behind the creation of the Mortal Realm.

Further testing must be done.

//

[ Entry.END -- 16 -- on. Magic Control ]

The incoming headache was no surprise, so much so that he didn't even complain.

The smell of tea hung on his clothes, and the Sun was low on the sky. Already, he could see the side effects of cramming through his textbooks in an effort to find an answer to such a conundrum.

It wasn't all for naught, though - he reassured himself as he made to close the shop for the day. Sure, while still in the works, one theory was better than nothing at all.

There were still a few more days to his self-imposed deadline. Perhaps he'd been arrogant at the time: to believe he could replicate a Novice-level Spell without any formal education, but he was determined if nothing else.

Were it not in three months, then-

"A customer?" He muttered, half surprised, half caught off guard. Coming to the front counter, the sight of a tall and cloaked man came into view.

The man regarded him for one fleeting millisecond before he went back to peruse a tall vial of glass. From the opposite window, the sunset's light cast a looming shadow over the rest of the store, and one couldn't identify anything on the man's face but a scar running diagonally from the man's cheek to his left eye.

What surprised the boy the most, however, was that he'd never seen the man before. Shoulders relaxed, feet wide apart, and a chin held high - he was practically a 180º take on the people of Winterhold.

A new customer - a voice very much like Lyslenne reminded him.

'Right, got to follow the rules.' A tiny smile came over then, a memory of Lyslenne fretting over him resurfacing to the forefront of his mind.

"Good afternoon." He greeted the man with a smile, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

The man turned his head to regard the boy once more, an inkling of surprise in his aged face...

The Sun had disappeared completely then, the only source of light now coming from a humble hearth. It cast shadows over the man's face as he smiled.

"Sure, why not?"