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Even laying as he was, Deanne felt dwarfed by Vilkas where he was sprawled over her. The weight and heft of his head against her abdomen alone shortened her lung capacity. And his torso was quickly causing her legs to go numb. She tried to swivel her knees a little out from under him, or at least into a more comfortable position. The man turned beast responded to circumvent her efforts, shifting slightly onto his side and leaning more so on top of her with a low throaty grumble. Deanne felt his throat work as he swallowed and she was left even more pinned than before.

The sound of each breath and the subsequent expansion of his torso reminded her again and again how massive he was. He could easily tear her apart. But he hadn't. Either now or in the bandit cave. And he didn't seem violently inclined at this moment. Still, she didn't want to chance upsetting him by trying to squirm free of his weight. His body was hot, so at least she was not to freeze here.

So Deanne tried to keep calm and still. It was a little while before she had the courage to reach up and touch him deliberately again. Vilkas didn't make a move when she did so Deanne proceeded to run her hand over his back. His coat was thick, made for traipsing around in the northern elements no doubt, but not altogether coarse. It actually had a nice texture. Not itchy, so she didn't mind the contact. Neither did he, it seemed.

On one pass, the tip of her fingers brushed ragged flesh. She reached again deliberately and found a wound, her mind immediately swelling with concern. "Vilkas, you're hurt."

Whether it was because he didn't comprehend her or didn't care, Vilkas did not react beyond an involuntary twitch of his muscles when she found the wound.

How many other wounds did he have that she didn't know about? It wasn't as though she could ask him. But open wounds couldn't be left untreated. He could be bleeding profusely somewhere else? What if he was? What if he bleed out right here? Deanne thought hurriedly. The packs were against the chamber wall several feet away. Maybe Vilkas would let her up to get them. But she'd still have to find his hurts and he might not respond well to that in this frame of mind.

There was something else she could do. But Deanne was even more hesitant to attempt that. Vilkas was Nordic. And Nords didn't like magic. And she had never tried to cast a spell like this by herself before. But she had to do something for him.

Deanne swallowed. "Vilkas…I'm going to try and help you. Just…just stay like you are, please."

The woman leaned forward and stretched to place her hands directly over the wound. The spell was supposed to reach the whole body no matter where contact was made, but she wanted to make sure.

She felt for the magicka within her, a glowing well of energy at her center. She willed it into a restorative form before letting it flow through her arms and out to her hands. This was usually where the priest she was assisting would take her hand and pool their magicka, then manage the task of directing it into whatever hurt their patient had. But she was on her own here. She would have to find his wounds and heal them herself.

Deanne let the energy flow from her body into his. Vilkas jerked in surprise and his forehead bumped slightly against her elbow with the lifting of his head.

"It's alright, Vilkas. This is just to help. I promise."

She had to focus on what she was doing, but Vilkas was paying curious attention now. Deanne felt the energy pass between them. Though she'd never been trusted with a healing on her own, the healers had talked to her before about what they did. She couldn't direct her spell to any specific wound without knowing where they were, but she could follow the body's energy to where it was trying to heal itself, a trail drawn by his own internal life-force.

Deanne poured her consciousness after that flow, reaching into his body to find where there were places damaged or missing. The immediate wound was a good guide. She felt the frayed ends of flesh that were supposed to be knit into the rest and the life-force that his body was already pouring into the area as it tried to heal itself. Deanne didn't need to actually knit the flesh together, she just had to give his body the extra energy to do it itself. Living bodies already knew what to do to sustain themselves, most often they only needed help.

Magicka was a very potent additive. Vilkas's system drank it up, mending what lived and severing resources to the parts that could not be salvaged. With the first wound on its way, she reached further. This part felt odd. Deanne's consciousness flowed along with the energy of his body, trying to find more areas that felt like the first: disrupted and demanding of the body's resources. Some were minor, others more significant, none of them seemed life threatening, thank the Eight. Deanne focused on devoting her magicka to the more demanding areas.

Too soon that magicka began to fade. She was healing someone by herself for the first time and did not have a great deal of schooling in magic, nor was her magicka pool very large, not having been exercised or developed. But Deanne gave all that she had until she was depleted. There was still healing to be done, but at least a portion had been taken care of and his system had a good head start on it. Although she wouldn't be casting anything again for a while.

When Deanne's mind came out of the spell, Vilkas's head was once again heavy on her lap. Apparently he hadn't felt much in the way of distress over her casting so he hadn't moved. Deanne herself was exhausted. Casting like that on her own was much more difficult than she thought it would be. But he wasn't bothered by the act and was at least partly better as a result. That made the effort worth it.

Deanne slumped forward slightly, leaving her hands where they were draped over his shoulders and feeling satisfied if unfit to move. It was extremely tempting to doze off, except that at least one of them should remain alert in case something else happened.

That was when she heard the first crack.

Deanne might have thought it was from the ice around her, except that there was a discernible jerk of the body she touched and the creature himself groaned in response.

"Vilkas?"

There was another crack and this time part of his body buckle beneath her hands.

"Vilkas?!" Oh Divines, what had she done!?

She didn't know what was happening or how to stop it! The sounds quickly increased in volume and frequency. Vilkas squirmed and contorted, whimpering and whining for discomfort and pain. Deanne, still partly pinned beneath him, was subjected to the pressure wrought by his body's movements. As Vilkas writhed he rolled into her, shoving her back in the snow and shortening her breath.

His body itself was contorting. Deanne felt his bones jerk and realign, his muscles ripple unnaturally. His hair began coming off against her as he whined. All she could do was hold on and talk to him as tears of helplessness were driven from her eyes. Deanne did her best to reassure him that everything would be alright even if she had no idea what was even happening.

Gradually his sounds began to lose their bestial quality. He was becoming human? His body shed itself of the thick coat, his muscles and his frame contracted. There was a final very human sounding groan and Vilkas utterly collapsed where he lay, breathing hard into her clothing and very much the man she'd know him as.

Deanne was less hesitant to reach out and touch him now. She ran her hands over his back, trying to detect if the change had hurt him further. But, no. There were only the wounds she had begun to heal, still present but no worse for…whatever had just happened.

She sat back with relief. His head was still upon her lap, human now and no longer possessed of the protuberant jaws. He breathed normally. He didn't make any sounds of pain. Thank the Eight. Deanne laid her hands on his head, brushing his hair back from where it was cast about his face. She'd never been as scared as just now. Not even with the bandits or with these people who'd tracked them to this crevice. Vilkas had been right here, well within reach, with something terrible befalling him and she could do nothing! Helpless didn't even begin to describe what had overtaken her. But it was alright now. Everything was alright now.

Vilkas didn't stir. His…transformation must have taken a great deal out of him. Deanne didn't want to wake the man before his time and took to brushing any stray hairs of his coat off of his now bare shoulders. Vilkas shuddered at one point and curled his legs and arms in as if to contain his own warmth. Divines, he was naked! Naked in the snow in the frigid North. Even for a Nord, that could not be good. Deanne thought quickly. The cloak was over on the packs where the leader of their attackers had torn it from her. She wasn't even sure in exactly what direction that was. And she didn't want to leave him.

The woman thought hurriedly and then pulled loose the ties of her robe. She shrugged the garment off of her shoulders and tugged the sides out from beneath his head, then did her best to cast it over his body. Hopefully it reached far enough. But how much would that even help? He was still laying on the snow. Maybe if she got up and found the sleeping pallet amongst the packs, she could get him onto it. But how was she to move him? How long would he sleep? How likely was it that he would wake before freezing to death? Was it possible to heal someone of being cold? When would she even have the magicka to attempt it?

However long Deanne spent puzzling over all of it, before she could decide on a course of action, Vilkas shifted toward her and made a sound of groggy wakefulness. Deanne listened keenly as he came out of the stupor the transformation had left him in.

"Ugh…" His head rolled on her lap and she heard one of his hands slide through the snow to her left to brace as he tried to rise. Vilkas lifted some of his weight off her legs. "…Deanne?"

"I'm here," she said. He sounded confused. How much did he remember? Did being the creature cloud his mind?

Vilkas groaned again as he lifted himself up and back onto his haunches, the heat and weight of him disappearing. "I…" He suddenly gasped and scrambled to his feet, taking several steps away from her.

Deanne sat up and turned toward him. "Vilkas?" He didn't move. Or speak. But he breathed like one anxious. Was he seeing the cave and the dead? Was he seeing himself naked and likely bloody? Was he seeing her and was perhaps realizing where he'd been? Was he remembering? It must have been very difficult because the Nord was shocked. Maybe he didn't know what happened when he turned into that creature.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was smaller than she'd ever heard him from him.

"No, I'm fine," Deanne reassured him. Her throat was a bit sore from being choked, but she suspected saying so might well spook him. And it hadn't been Vilkas's doing in the first place.

The quiet stretched out again, his breathing barely discernible and the only sign he was still in the crevice.

"Vilkas?" she asked again, concerned for him.

He still said nothing. Deanne listened, attentive to any sign or movement to tell her what he was thinking or feeling, remaining still.

The robe around his shoulders shifted. There were a few false starts. She felt him steel himself. "Deanne..." He trailed off and she waited patiently. The whistling across the crevice's entrance did not mask the deep breath he took.

"Deanne…I won't hurt you," he said, the words seeming both an apology and a promise. He did know what had happened.

The young woman could only think of one thing to say in response. "I know."

And she did. It was odd. The creature was the singularly most frightening thing she'd ever been exposed to in her life. But she had twice been at the creature's mercy and come out unscathed. Vilkas had had ample opportunities to do her harm, and had not. That was proof enough for her.

But, for whatever reason, her reply garnered ire. Vilkas exhaled harshly and turned to take a few steps. Deanne raised herself to her knees, ready to stand and approach him. "Vilkas?"

"Don't," he said curtly. She stopped her ascent and lowered herself slowly back onto her knees. Another stretch of quiet. There was little sound from him, but what she heard told her he was…irritated? Frustrated?

Keeping her place this time, Deanne repeated, "Vilkas?" She couldn't know what he was thinking or feeling unless he spoke to her.

He turned on his heel and retraced his steps. By some movement of fabric, Deanne deduced that he was beside their packs. The Nord was quick to walk back over to her and she felt both the robe and her cloak dropped around her shoulders. Without saying another word he went back to the packs and about pulling something from them.

Deanne waited, holding her layers close, interpreting the sounds of moving fabric to be him dressing.

She waited as long as she could manage, but his continued silence was worrying her. "Vilkas."

The movement paused. And stretched on. Almost long enough to break her normally lasting patience. What was bothering him? Why wouldn't he talk to her?

"I'm going for my sword and armor," he said flatly, all emotion gone from his voice. "You're going to stay here. When I come back, we'll leave. I'm getting you to Winterhold…tonight."

XXX

Vilkas wasn't keeping a constant pace this time. He was going as fast as he possibly could. Sprinting, leaping over obstacles, skidding through the snow often and fast enough to keep Deanne's heart perpetually in her throat. They hadn't spoken since Vilkas had gone for his armor. The attempts she'd made to communicate after he'd returned had been shut down and now there was no opportunity to talk.

They left the high echoing walls behind quickly and were soon traveling through the gusting winds again. Things got horribly cold as night fell, but Vilkas just kept going. He seemed intent on reaching their destination no matter what. Deanne could only hold on.

It was a long while through the cold of night. She'd lost track of the time. Their path began taking them up and up and up, stone blockages building against the wind on either side of them. Vilkas's steps slowed as they reached a peak and he exhaled with gratification.

"Almost there, little one."

He stepped forward and they went down, having crested whatever path they were traveling. No sooner had the path leveled out at the bottom, Deanne heard them pass between two wooden structures. An abrupt left turn and the snow became an icy path beneath his feet. Their pace slowed and Vilkas looked around. Then his footsteps changed, his steps striking on what was most certainly stone. Even exhausted as she was from the night of travel, Deanne forced herself to account for the path, the side guards and a structure that they passed beneath when the incline leveled out.

The wind was all around them at this point. They must be up on an elevated path? Deanne heard the rushing of magicka when Vilkas turned a corner. There was another such rushing at the next as well. A long straight stretch, one final incline and Vilkas came to a stop following a last point of rushing magicka.

There was a building before them. Much like Nightcaller Temple, she heard it breaking the wind before it. Although there seemed to be much more wind to break here than in Dawnstar.

She raised herself up a bit and turned her head forward. "Is this it?" Had they reached the College?

Instead of answering, Vilkas took a step forward and banged hard on a metal gate. Deanne jumped at the unexpected sound.

"Hoi!" he shouted, almost rattling his armor with the force of his voice. Next he grabbed onto the gate and Deanne felt his whole body go into shaking it hard, producing as great a sound as when he had struck it. "Hoi!" Vilkas roared again. But there seemed to be no response.

The support beneath her rear vanished and Deanne was lowered to stand on the ground. Once she stood on her own, Vilkas stepped back up to the gate and went about trying to get it open.

Deanne took a step back to give him space. The step brought her in contact with the stone side guard. It was frigidly cold when she placed a hand upon it, the height of it coming just up to her chest. Curiously, she leaned over the side and received a blast of wind from below. She drew back quickly. That must be quite a height.

The rush of magicka drew her attention next while Vilkas continued to strain and fuss with the gate. Deanne put her hands out and stepped toward the rushing sound. She found another stone wall, slightly lower than the outer one. Running her hands along the edge, she found it to be circular. Perhaps a few feet in diameter. And, upon reaching in, the stone turned out to be a well of sorts. The liquid inside was what produced the rushing. Well…the product of the liquid.

However it was happening, there was a steady stream upward of…not wind, but magicka that felt like wind. She didn't know if this was the intent or just the product of something else, but it felt pleasant as she ran her fingers through the flow. The warmth of the magic twisted and wove around her hand. Maybe she would get the chance to ask someone here about it.

The gate was still steadfastly closed, so Deanne chose to dip her fingers into the substance of the well. It was like molten magicka buzzing against her skin, sending strange vibrations all the way to her bones. It felt lovely.

There was a sound of someone from beyond the gate. "You there!" A woman, severe and proper and haughty. Vilkas growled but no longer aggressed the gate. She reached them, although there was no sign of the door opening.

Before the woman could say another word, Vilkas demanded, "I need to speak to whoever's in charge."

His aggression did not go over well with the woman beyond the gate. "You may speak to me."

"And who are you?"

"Faralda, magister of the College of Winterhold," was the reply. "Whatever you have to say, you may say to me. I'll see to it your message is passed along." By the way she said it, Deanne doubted she'd pass any message, just to spite the Nord.

Vilkas growled, "I want someone in charge. It's important."

Deanne heard the woman harden to his words. "I don't care what you think is important. The College is a safe haven for magic users. Whatever grievance or bigotry you've come to spout, you may do so here. But be warned, I am a master of the Destructive school. And I would sooner destroy you than permit you within these walls."

Deanne heard Vilkas building up for what might well be a physical attack on the gate. She hurried forward and wrapped her hand around the first part of him she found, his arm. "Vilkas, please. This isn't helping." The sense in her words stilled him briefly. She took the opportunity to step in front of him and try to take charge of the situation, even if it meant speaking with this clearly formidable woman.

"My name is Deanne. I was sent here from Skingrad by my father. He studied under Tolfdir. They were friends. I was told I would be allowed to stay here." She sent a prayer up to the Divines that this woman knew she was coming.

"Hm…I recall hearing something about that." The woman's harsh voice was now surprisingly gentle. "I was under the impression there would be two of you."

Deanne flinched slightly. "There were. But my brother and I were separated on the way here. I…I was hoping he would be waiting."

The woman Faralda seemed became genuinely sympathetic. "You are the first new arrival in some time."

Deanne felt the urge to deflate, but didn't dare. She needed to be strong until she was certain they would allow her to stay. "Would you please get Tolfdir? I…I don't have the letter he sent, but I'm sure he'll remember my father—"

"There is no need," the woman cut her off. "I know you are expected. Actually, Tolfdir is more likely to be the one to forget. He spoke of your father. You are most welcome here." There was a pause and some of the harshness returned. "You're companion, on the other hand…"

Deanne insisted, "He saved me on the road. I never would have gotten here without him—"

"It's fine," Vilkas said. He shifted with the packs and one of them dropped from his shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure she got here alright. You're gonna make sure she's got a place here, right?"

"Of course. We take care of our own here."

Vilkas grunted and placed the strap of her bag into Deanne's palm. "Here." She took the weight of her belongings and held it to her. Vilkas was quick to turn and begin walking back down the path.

Deanne stood nonplussed. Was that all? "Vilkas." She just heard his footsteps stop in the unceasing wind. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. Truly."

She began to wonder if he would respond at all when he said, "Well…just take care of yourself."

The woman nodded. "I will."

He began walking again and he was soon lost to her. Was that all, then? He'd carried her so far, he'd been so considerate and kind to her. But here at the end…he left without even a 'goodbye'. Had she done something wrong?

The gate behind her sang as it opened. "Come along. Let's get you settled."

Deanne turned from her vanished protector and walked toward the now open entrance of the College, entering what was to be her new home with a weight on her heart.

Yes! I wanted to get Deanne to the College before I set this story aside. Well...not set it aside. But not have it right in front of me. Ok, so yeah, there it is. she made it. She's within the walls. As if updates weren't slow already, they'll be slower now as I go back to my Wolf of Cyrodiil (which has been growing moss)... But what do you really care about my mental creativity drama? You just want me to put out...so to speak.

...I'm going to stop now.

Read, review, try to forget my slight stress break. X) Thanks for keeping up with me.