No ado. Update away.

Deanne managed a fairly regular schedule the next day, but harbored a persistent feeling of anticipation for Loredas. It kept her from crying herself to sleep that night over Marc. Just like before, Magister Mirabelle came to her door in the early morning and escorted her up to the Archmage's quarters. He was already waiting.

"Excellent. I've dug out some of my tools. We should make some real headway today."

Deanne had a clipper in her hand before Mirabelle had even left the room. It wasn't long before she'd been swept up in the Archmage's enthusiasm for the work. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed it otherwise; working with ingredients on the alchemy table—mostly through trial and error—was interesting. But understanding the plants in their earthly stage gave her insight. She came to learn why ingredients did what they did. Why the leaves of some plants held some quality while others didn't.

For the entire day, Deanne acted as the Archmage's assistant; following him through the garden area and tending to this task or that when he turned to another. She learned the general layout of the chamber and several noteworthy storage locations, and how to find her way to and from them without incident. Once certain her curiosity was welcomed, Deanne began asking questions en mass. The Archmage's voice grew hoarser as the hours flew by but he showed no signs of stopping. It was rewarding work in every sense, whether they were elbow deep in foliage, or picking the petals off of blooms. There was just so much to learn!

By day's end they did indeed have the garden well in hand and several collected ingredients processed for storage and use. Although…they still hadn't made a single potion. Mentioning as much earned her another clear and energetic laugh. Deanne returned to her room with dirt under her fingernails, limbs scarcely strong enough to lift their weight, and a dozen scents still clinging to her palms. And she couldn't have been more pleased.

Deanne set aside her fur mantle inside the door and went about carefully scrubbing her hands clean in her room's washbasin. She was so tired that she didn't notice someone approaching until they had actually entered her room.

"So…" Ancano's very first word froze the woman and sent a chill down her spine. "It seems the Archmage has a new favorite." He was perfectly aware of her discomfort. Reveled in it, even. The Thalmor entered without invitation, gliding over to her wardrobe. One of her drawers slid open as he remarked, "You are certainly moving up in the world. Private lessons with the College's primary Enchanter and the Archmage, all in the same month. Most…impressive." One by one, her drawers opened, and every clunk of their closing made Deanne's spine tighten. Her hands were starting to tremble in the basin.

"I wonder," he continued, opening the doors of her wardrobe in the process. "What might warrant such interest from two illustrious members of such a fine establishment? One could hardly credit your expertise." The sneer crawled up her skin. Deanne began scrubbing up her forearms as he continued to speak. "Then I thought: perhaps the significance is not your own qualities, but the qualities of those you gravitate towards. These are powerful magic users whose company you seem to find yourself in. Why, I wonder? Do you think to discover their secrets? Learn the means by which they have attained their greatness? Perhaps take it for yourself?" The wardrobe snapped closed and Deanne jumped, not daring to turn from the basin and face her aggressor.

He strode the distance to her, coming to a halt too close. The Thalmor loomed behind her, hissing over her shoulder, "Or are you indeed as weak as you appear and merely appeal to these superior mages for the protection? Or have you some other intent that no one has yet gleaned from behind that frail façade?"

Deanne cringed inward, hands clasped tightly together in the washbasin to keep them from shaking.

But he saw. He must have. Why else would he chuckle so cruelly, and remain so close for so long? "Regardless, I believe you warrant close observation." The voice was a cold needle, lacing into her heart. He held that position over her until Deanne was afraid to breath. Only then did he withdraw and stride out of her doorway, somehow leaving the terrible weight of his presence behind.

Only when the Hall's front door had closed did Deanne's breath burst free, the woman slumping forward against the edges of the basin. She shook, gasped, tried to calm herself, her body still ringing with a fight or flight instinct.

'If Ancano speaks to you again, about anything, I want you to come and tell me right away.'

Faralda's words echoed from her memory. Despite how exhausted she was and the evening hour, Deanne wrapped herself in her fur mantle once again and left her room, rushing for the promised safety of Faralda's chamber.

XXX

"That supercilious, conceited, preening, conniving snake! Stendarr's mercy, I can't—No. No, I can believe it. Divines help me, I can't understand how he is tolerated. Every time we turn around, he's doing something!"

Faralda was not taking Deanne's recounting well. It was difficult to tell how much of it was in defense of Deanne and how much was that Faralda hated this man. And she did hate him. Deanne could feel the air charge with volatile magic, the source of which was the magister now pacing the room. But she didn't worry. This room felt secure. Something about the walls. There was magic deliberately woven into them. Faralda had said once that Ancano 'knew better' than to snoop around in here anymore. Deanne smiled a little thinking about a destructive rune going off when he'd tried to search around where he shouldn't have.

Something snapped in the air over on the table, like the crack of a flame, and Faralda stopped pacing immediately. The magister took a few very deep breaths on the spot and, slowly, the charge in the air faded away. Then she turned to Deanne.

"That's it. You need to learn some Destruction spells. Ah! Not a word. I know what you're going to say, and I understand. But you need to be able to defend yourself. You may never have cause to use it, but you need to have something."

"But, Faralda—"

"Don't 'But, Faralda' me. I am teaching Morndas morning. I'll come and get you myself beforehand. Now, there is the matter of where you will be sleeping tonight. We've cots and extra blankets. I can set one up for you in here if you don't feel your own room secure after that one was in there."

"Oh, no! Faralda, it's fine. I don't want to impose."

Magister Faralda made a displeased sound, but accepted her answer. "I want to set up a few runes in your room, though. Something to...deter him in the future."

The process of placing the runes was much like how she'd assisted with healings in Skingrad: Faralda used both their magickas to place the explosive symbols on the ground. And, because the spells seemed to know Deanne, they would not go off when she stepped into them. "Any mage will be able to sense them and know better than to come in. And any who don't will deserve to lose their eyebrows." And Faralda left with a renewed promise that Deanne would be attending her lecture.

So Deanne was set to learn a new school of magic. However, the time between now and then was sure to be spent, not in anticipation, but apprehension.

XXX

That had been…excruciating. Sitting in a classroom of real mages, trying to maintain a handful of flames while the other students were forming fireballs. The fact that Faralda took every available minute to cosset Deanne's meager attempts made the experience all the worse.

"It's alright, Deanne. I'm sure you'll get it after a while," Brelyna insisted as she walked Deanne back towards the Hall of Attainment.

"But I don't want to get it. I'm…" She tugged her hood forward and fondled the edge, seeking comfort from the softness. "It's not the difficulty. Really. The spells feel just like what Enchanter Sergius has me doing when I enchant weaponry. I know how fire and frost and electricity feel in magic. It's that…It's that I'm making it. It's that I'm the source and not the finite energy in a soul gem. I mean…if I use a little more magicka and I could really hurt someone!"

"I think that's sort of the point," Brelyna pointed out, trying to lighten the mood as they came into the Hall.

Deanne just deflated. "I don't know how Faralda thinks I'm going to start casting runes or cloaks. I just don't like Destruction magic." She'd rather think about the next Enchanting assignment that Enchanter Sergius had in store for her. Or if she and the Archmage would actually get to potion-making the next time they met. Something else. Anything else.

"Well…maybe another school. What about Conjuration? Oh!" She clapped her hands gleefully. "I'd love to see you sick a flame atronach on Ancano. Or a dremora! One of those big churls. Or a kynreeve!"

"Brelyna, I haven't touched Conjuration. Ever," Deanne said, pausing at the focus point to run her hands through the flow of magicka. The pleasant buzzing of energy as it wrapped around her skin was more calming than the Destruction magic she'd been handling earlier. "And if you want someone to set an atronach on him, why don't you do it?"

"Because you're the only one no one thinks would do it, so you're the only one who could get away with it. You'd be your own alibi!"

Deanne giggled with her friend, reasonably sure that Brelyna was joking. On another note, "The flow seems a little slow. I think I should do a cleansing." It was about that time. And it would take her mind off today's disaster. Brelyna left Deanne to retrieve the enchanted gloves and went to get something of her own before leaving for her next class.

Deanne returned to the focus point with a bag on her shoulder and began the process of removing the crystals from the bottom. The door to the Hall opened and a few of the other apprentices entered. Most went about their own business, with none of those who'd witnessed today's class making a comment, thank the Eight.

But one came to the focus point and stood beside her. "J'Zargo greets you."

She paused in her work, not wishing to be rude, and turned toward him. "Hello, J'Zargo. Did you need something?"

"J'Zargo is hearing some strange rumors," he said, almost eagerly. "He is hearing that you are taking lessons with the Archmage himself. Is this true?"

Well…that hadn't taken long to get out. "I…am. He's an alchemist. We've been working in his garden together and studying the flora. It's very interesting."

"I see." The Khajiit sidled forward and lowered his voice a little. "Perhaps J'Zargo might be able to be a part of these lessons. He is sure to excel at Alchemy as he does all else. And he would greatly like to meet the Archmage."

Deanne hesitated. "I don't think that would be possible. Unless…Perhaps you could talk to Magister Mirabelle about it? She's the one who decided I could study with him."

"Oh, come on. J'Zargo is sure the Archmage would not mind. One more set of hands, yes? And J'Zargo's fingers are skilled and his eyes are sharp."

Deanne's stomach twisted, feeling pressured not to stand in the way of someone learning something new. Except— "You'll need to ask Mirabelle. Maybe she would let you come along. But, I don't make that decision."

J'Zargo's genial demeanor evaporated. "J'Zargo wonders what you can learn from the Archmage at all. He saw you in the Destruction magic class today. You could hardly hold a spell. Why should you learn from the great ones and J'Zargo should not?"

"I'm not saying you couldn't," she insisted. "You'll just need to ask Mirabelle first. I don't decide that sort of thing."

He huffed, miffed. "Anything the blind mage could do, J'Zargo is sure to do better." His attention shifted. "What is it you do here?"

Deanne turned to the focus point, more than happy to change topics. "I'm cleansing the focus point. It needs to be done periodically so that the flow of magic through the College stays clear."

The apprentice surveyed her progress. "J'Zargo could do this. And in half the time!"

"It's not a race," she said. "And no, it's not very difficult."

"Ha! You say it yourself: J'Zargo could do this better. You see?" Before she could react, J'Zargo had leaned over the stonework and plunged his hand down into the molten magic of the focus point. Almost immediately he leapt back with a yowl, scattering the viscous liquid as he danced around, trying to alleviate the surge of magic he'd suffered.

"Are you alright?!"

"J'Zargo is fine!" he hissed, growling unhappily. He soon stalked back up to the focus point. "There is a trick, no doubt. J'Zargo will find it."

Deanne removed the magically enchanted gloves quickly. "These will protect you. Magister Neloran gave them to me for the task." She didn't argue when he snatched them from her with a sense of entitlement. She didn't want him hurting himself, after all.

J'Zargo must have put on the gloves because he reached into the focus point and began rooting around the bottom for crystals without complaint. Deanne reached around for her bag and held it open for him to place the crystals inside. It was a bestowal he was resistant to give, but ultimately took advantage of. Though she did hear him place a few into his pockets.

"You see? This is not so difficult."

"No, it isn't. There are two more to do: in the courtyard and in the other hall. Would you like to do those too?"

"J'Zargo does not need your help for this." He took the bag from her hands and strode toward the door without waiting.

"Please bring the gloves back when you're done!" she called after him. She thought he might have huffed in response but couldn't quite hear it before he snapped the door closed.

With nothing else to do, Deanne went to her chamber and sat down to wait, practicing her warding in the meantime. A few people came and went from the Hall: apprentices meandering in to retrieve items before leaving, or settling in to study upstairs. J'Zargo's reentrance was one she could discern by his footsteps. Khajiit's paces were distinct. He was walking slowly, and went directly toward his room rather than come to her.

Deanne stood at his entrance and went to her doorway to address him. "J'Zargo." She could have sworn he jumped a little bit. Funny. So one could sneak up on a Khajiit. "Are you finished already?"

"Uh…J'Zargo has realized that this task is not worth his time. He sees now why you are the one doing it. He has much more important magical tasks to complete."

"Oh." It had seemed like they might have had something to talk about. Or at least do together. But… "Alright. I understand. May I have the bag and gloves back, please? I can finish up if you haven't."

There was a hesitation. Then he came over and dropped the strap of the bag over her outstretched arm. She reached in to check the contents while he turned back to his chamber. "J'Zargo." He stopped. "Where are the gloves?"

"Oh, they are somewhere. This one is sure."

"Where?" she pressed. "You had them when you left. Where did you leave them?"

He became defensive. "J'Zargo knows when he had them and when he did not."

That was hardly an answer. "So where are the gloves?"

"…"

"J'Zargo." Deanne was getting anxious. "J'Zargo!" The anxious knot tightened, and she stepped around the well to pursue him when he started to walk away. "What happened to the gloves, J'Zargo?!"

He hesitated again, the silence making her unease worse. "J'Zargo's claws…might have punctured one."

"You what?!"

"It is not J'Zargo's fault! The gloves were small, and he keeps himself well groomed. They are just gloves. This one is sure you have others."

Deanne stopped. "You…I don't have any others. Those were the only ones…"

"Oh. Well…It is not so important. J'Zargo has other things to do."

Deanne stood there dazed. And then, astonishingly, she became…angry. "It is important! How could you?"

He tried to defend himself. "It was not J'Zargo's fault. The gloves were not made for Khajiit hands—"

"No!" she shouted. She would have been startled herself if she hadn't been so worked up. "No, this is not alright! I gave you those gloves. I trusted you when you said you could do this!"

"It is not so important—"

"It is important! It affects the whole College!" She was fuming. Yes, fuming! "The focus points purify magic for the College and for everyone here. Everyone's work is affected when they're not cleansed. And you, taking the task and then claiming it's not important when you fail—How dare you? How dare you?!" She moved toward him, needing to move—to advance on him. How dare he?! "You don't get to pretend something isn't important when you can't do it. You belittle this entire institute and everyone in it, and everything it is trying to accomplish. How dare you?!" She couldn't believe she was shouting at him. Couldn't believe she was shouting. "Where are the gloves? …Where?!"

"The courtyard," he replied, his voice somewhat smaller and a little frayed. Had she actually cowed him?

Deanne swung the bag over her shoulder and stormed—yes, stormed—out of the Hall.

Gods above, she'd never been this angry before. In fact, she'd never been angry before. Never! Never shouted at someone. Never retaliated when something had been done to her. But, by the Eight, this was important! And she was furious about it!

She almost lost her way to the courtyard focus point. The noise of it helped. By the time she reached it, Deanne had lost the burst of angry adrenaline she'd had in the Hall. Oh dear, how was she to find the gloves? Where were they? She circled the stone, hands running along the edges, and came across a handful of fabric: one of the gloves, the fingertips ripped from where claws had punctured through. She handled the material, checking it to see—Oh, no. The enchantment was gone. Bled out with the tear, leaving the glove unremarkable.

Deanne's chest hitched. Where was the other one? Was it still intact? She needed to remember to breath before the panic set it. She finished her journey around the well and found nothing more. Her mind rushed. Perhaps he'd tossed it on the ground. But where? How far? She'd need to ask someone to come help her look. It was snowing. She should do that soon before the glove was buried.

There was an irregular sound of something breaking the surface of the focus point. Deanne's hand leapt out and she just caught the edge of sodden fabric before it vanished underneath again, pulled by the current within the focus point. Deanne lunged against the edge, her hip bones pressed almost painfully into the stonework, listening intently for the glove to reappear so she could capture it. But...after several minutes…nothing! No, no, no, where had it gone?!

Thoughts flurried. There was a circulating current in the fluid of the well. And there was no outlet, so it had to still be in there. But…was it caught on something? One of the gems at the bottom? Oh, no. If it was caught down there... The other glove wouldn't insulate her anymore. Maybe a stick? She could poke around and try to dislodge it. Would that damage the focus point? Pollute it more?

Or maybe…maybe she could just reach in quickly. She wasn't trying to collect the gems, just find the glove. If she could just reach in and grab it back… Deanne chewed on her lip, still listening for the glove to appear. She didn't want to go back to the Hall of Attainment for a tool. Not after her outburst.

She rolled her sleeve up and reached in. The fluid buzzed, wrapping, thick and alive, around her arm. She reached down, right to the limit of where it became painful…then rushed for the bottom.

It burned! Pure magic slammed into her, forcing power under her skin and up her arm. It hurt! She bit back a cry and flailed around erratically, bumping her fingers against crystal and stone for as long as she could before pulling her arm out. She gasped in relief and cradled her arm close. Even out of the well, her skin still buzzed, the overload of energy persisting, flowing the rest of the way through her as her system sought equilibrium. She breathed deep, until the painful buzzing dissipated. Then, like a madwoman, she stepped back up to the stone ring. Oh, she had to be mad. But…she needed that glove!

Once again, she reached into the deepest part of the well, gritting against the purified magic assaulting her as she searched around for cloth. By the Eight, it was indescribable. And she had to do it three more times. Even taking time to recover, the buildup of magic left her heady. And with each subsequent exposure, she could feel more: the pulsing veins of magic as they were drawn from the stone of the College, the billowing currents that were thrown upward to dance through the air, protection and fuel for this place where power was drawn and centered. Caught in the flow, she could feel the very heartbeat of the College of Winterhold.

So much so that she almost didn't register when something softly brushed her fingers. The glove! Deanne seized the billowing bit and yanked it out of its captor's clutches. A crystal came loose from the gesture, but so did the glove and she pulled it from the well.

Deanne needed a long few minutes to regain her senses. That had been… the College like that. Feeling beyond herself like that. It was like her first encounter with the ocean all over again, the sphere of her world expanded. And not just by sound. She'd felt the College. The stone, the air, the weld and waft of it's power. The echo was still in her soul.

The article of cloth in her hand cut through the froth of magicka still in her system. Despite being overcharged, her fingers still buzzing from the exposure, she was able to assess its condition. Undamaged. Despite having been submerged in the well, the enchantment in the glove was no worse for wear. Sergius's work, no doubt. Deanne sighed with relief and slumped back against the focus point. It was alright.

But now there was only one glove. She didn't strictly need both gloves for the task, unless there was a particularly large gem. But what if Magister Neloran asked for them back? She'd allowed another apprentice to take the task without conferring with the magister. Magister Neloran had entrusted the task to her and she hadn't considered that J'Zargo might damage the gloves. What was she going to tell him? This was her fault!

But maybe… She could make new ones. She had the expertise, an article carrying the necessary enchantment, another soul gem from Enchanter Sergius. Yes, she could fix this. She could fix this! Magister Neloran wouldn't get precisely the same gloves back if he asked for them. But she could have something to give him if he did.

Deanne hurried back toward the Hall of Attainment. By the Eight, she could still feel it. The unbridled flow of magic through her left Deanne's senses open and raw. She could feel the magic around her: the veins dug deep and moving through the College walls, the currents wafting through the air, flowing around her. She could almost see the world around her, etched in magic in her mind's eye. It was…amazing!

—The glove. She needed to mend the glove.

But, by Aetherius, she would never forget this feeling.

Auh, J'Zargo. You drove Deanne to a shout. Jerk!

Thanks for reading. I'll see you next update.