Tirim? sat on the floor, legs crossed alone with her grandmother, simply waiting. The cellar was large and spacious and reasonably well-lit with braziers stood here and there and on top of a table or two. The rest of the space was devoted to a large chest of assorted junk and barrels of Flin and Sujamma. Her father's own supply. Few in Blacklight could boast a finer assortment.

Her grandmother seemed to like beginning a lesson with silence. Perhaps patience was part of the lesson, or a lesson in itself that patience was a key to magical understanding, or maybe it was simply that her grandmother never decided what to teach until the lessons began and liked a slow start.

“Am I armed, little one?” Her grandmother liked calling her this, and still did though since she was fourteen Tirim? had been taller than her grandmother and now, over three years later had continued to grow until she was a full head higher than the one addressing her as little. Still, she liked it. When she was little the old woman had scared her with her wrinkled greyish skin, suspicious red eyes and scowling looks but she had seen through that persona long ago. More than that, her grandmother had a lot to teach and the lessons never failed to excite. Her grandmother showed her empty hands to suggest the answer she wanted.

“No. Unless... well, a mage is never unarmed because” Her grandmother moved one arm towards her and by the time it stopped there was a ghostly blade in her hand, a translucent sword, not truly real, but real enough to cut and to kill.

“I will teach you how to always have a sword ready.” Two hours later and Tirim? was able to cast the sword reliably, even bringing forth one in each hand to twirl them about like some fabled Akaviri blademaster. Afterwards she practised and practised to summon it swiftly, so that it would appear in the moment of attack and not before. Then at the end her grandmother dug out something wrapped in cloth and stood before her.

“This is yours, it belonged to your father” Tirim? unwrapped the linen to uncover an Elvish sword, finely made and still it seemed, quite sharp to the touch. “Carry this with you when you head West to Skyrim.”

“I don't need this now, you just taught me-” Her grandmother held up her hand as if she was being foolish again.

“I taught you how to use a sword if yours is taken away from you. If your enemies take it away, then they will think you are harmless, won't they? Let them. It is always the hidden blade that cuts the deepest... Now come here.” Tirim? bent as her grandmother pulled her down and kissed her on the forehead, thinking ahead perhaps and wondering how much she would miss her after she was gone. Her grandmother looked at her pale golden skin, white-blonde hair and bright green eyes, pretty and tall like so many Altmer.

“Do you know, that of all my grandchildren, I think you are my favourite?”