#wenselyr

[styliferous]

I wanted to draw my dad in dream daddy :’’’)

[styliferous]

“They say his mother had an affair with a Dunmer around the time he was conceived.” “Well, I hope they don’t say it too loudly. For their sakes.”

I’M BACK INTO SKYRIM.... SO I’M BACK INTO WEN.

[ghosthunterandpriest]

How did Wenselyr and Celedil fall in love?

There was not one moment.

You hear it in the stories, in the fairytales, in the tellings of someones mothers brothers cousin that knew someone that married someone else. In all of those, you hear about The Moment. The moment where two pair of eyes meet over a crowded marketplace, or on opposite sides of the ballroom floor, and they both know.

Real life, as it turns out, is not that simple.

It started, maybe, after Wenselyr was blinded.

In that moment where Celedil sees beyond the facade of the noble (a facade that stayed even after Wen rejected everything about the Rancale name except the actual name itself) and sees a mer that does his best in a situation where most would’ve given up. Celedil appreciates stubbornness, and he respects someone who fights in the face of adversity, so he offers to teach the younger mer Alteration.

It’s not love, not yet, and its barely anything but a handshake between a teacher and his student.

But then its the first lesson, and he sees Wenselyr smiles, and he shows the way to twist your fingers when you want a spoon to bend, and there is something there, something more than just a friend helping a friend out.

The second lesson he learns that Wenselyr hates being a beginner but loves learning, he realizes that Wenselyrs hands are cold and that the other mer rubs his hands together underneath the table because it’s rude to do so above and he notices that when Wenselyr concentrates, really concentrates, he scrunches up his nose which makes three freckles over his eyebrow and nosebridge align into a perfect triangle.

Between the second and third, Wenselyr sends him a letter, it’s dictated and the only thing that’s written by Wenselyr is the mers name and it’s splotty and not at all gracefully written, but its so typical that he doesn’t allow someone else to sign his name and that he will do it, blindness be damned. Celedil, without really meaning too, smiles when he reads the letter and when he realizes that, he drops the letter and the smile at the same time.

The third lesson he contemplates not showing up, because he’s really way too old for this, and Wenselyr might be blind and a disgraced Rancale but he’s still so much more than Celedil deserves. But of course he shows up, right on time, because the only thing worse than seeing Wenselyr is not seeing him and that’s when he realizes that this is so much more than it should ever have been. Wenselyr smiles to him when they say goodbye, and its a slow, secretive smile and Celedil has to stop three houses down and breathe for a moment in order to be able to continue without falling over.

The fourth lesson he thinks about nothing but how Wenselyr smells, about the way his fingers move, about the gracefulness in each movement.

The fifth he stays home, sends a letter by courier and apologizes. He tries sleeping, as if though all of this is something you can just sleep off. It fails, of course, and the next time he stands outside Wenselyr door he’s not entirely sure if he’s excited or if he’s panicking.

The sixth time he makes Wenselyr laugh by telling the dumbest joke he knows, and watching the normally staid mer lean against a table and laugh so hard he can’t breathe doesn’t really help things.

The seventh he allows himself to be indulgent, for just a second, and lean just a bit too close. He becomes so embarassed that he doesn’t realize that Wenselyr breathes stopped for a second too.

The eighth, ninth and tenth goes about the way you could expect, with Celedil pining for something he can’t have and not realizing that the house is surprisingly clean every time he comes over, or that Wenselyrs hands linger just a bit too long when he gives the older mer his cup of tea.

The eleventh lesson doesn’t really happen, instead its just the two of them, hands around their cups, talking about everything and nothing. He learns that Wenselyr scratches the side of his nose when he’s embarassed and that his favourite food is wine-cooked mussels.

After that it’s not really numbered anymore, they just meet and talk and if Celedils entirely honest he’ll admit to being very favourable to missions in the Whiterun area during this time.

But then Wenselyr gets the wrong idea, and Wenselyr leaves because he thinks that Celedil doesn’t want him, or that they have no future together, and Celedil has to chase the damn fool down. When he counts he realizes that this, him catching Wenselyr in Solitude, in the rain, his breath caught in his throat, would’ve counted as the thirty fifth lesson had they still numbered them and he’s quite happy with that because both three and five are two of his favourite numbers.

So thats when, with Wenselyrs cold hand in his, soaking wet from the rain (it rains in Skyrim more than it doesn’t but right now he doesn’t care), heart beating so hard he can barely hear Wenselyrs surprised murmur of 'Celedil?' when the other mer realizes who it is, thats when he realizes he’s in love.

[ghosthunterandpriest]

Is Wenselyr famous or something?

Vanye makes a noise in the back of his throat, turning his eyes skyward, “So typical of the lesser races, even if they hide behind a mask, to not be aware of Altmeri history.” He crosses his arms over his chest, “Wenselyr Rancale might not be everything he used to be, but he is one of the most brilliant cryomancers to have been on Alinor soil.” He looks disdainfully at the grey mage, “And since we Altmer excel in magic, that says something.” He snorts, turning away from the grey mage, effectively cutting off any further communication.

[styliferous]

um

[styliferous]

Putting it up as a separate thing because I can

Based on some brilliant writing from Syster

[styliferous]

if Wen was the Champion like he was in my game

"Ye what."

"I would like to hire you, and a group of your most skilled men. I assure you, I do have the money for it."

"I don' think ye unnerstand just what position yer in, boy. Give over yer valu'bles and git out afore I kill ye."

"On the contrary, I understand exactly what my position is, and your skill with a waraxe is commendable." It's difficult to pretend there isn't an axe pressed against his throat, but Wenselyr wasn't raised in altmeri aristocracy for nothing, and maintains his bland expression. He doesn't like being referred to as a boy- he's two hundred and fifty years old, and likely was a boy when this man's great great grandfather was sucking his thumb- but he lets it slide. This is important.

"Then give over afore I commend it into yer gut."

Right. Wenselyr mutters something quickly, and just when the bandit is starting to ask 'what the hell-', fire erupts between them, flashing spectacularly. The man stumbles backwards spitting curses, and the bandits forming a loose crescent around them scramble back as well. 

"I would prefer this remain civil. Accept my contract- come with me into Oblivion Gates, keep anything of value you find there and get paid for doing it- or this conversation will get miles more interesting than it is currently." It's gaudy, but Wenselyr keeps fire licking at his clothes and on his hands (he'll regret that later). Anything more subtle and the bandits would start underestimating him.

It works, and the bandits (resentfully) work out the terms with him, still disbelieving that someone wants to hire bandits at all. One hovers in the background, looking amused at the proceedings, like he can't quite believe what Wenselyr's done. He's ugly- his nose has been broken at least once, his skin is scarred from a hard life, and he clearly doesn't know what shaving is- but he smiles a crooked smile at Wen over his boss' shoulder and introduces himself later as Ed.

------------------------------

Frost works much better against the Dremora than fire ever could, and Wenselyr spends the days after their first nearly disastrous Gate studying ice magic with an intensity that startles the others. He promises himself that he's only setting aside fire and alteration for a short time, until after this Crisis business has been wrapped up.

Turns out, he has a natural affinity for Frost. It's fortunate, and keeps him and the others alive.

He's taking on journeyman spells by the third Gate.

------------------------------

"No. Absolutely not, I will not allow it. I'm surprised Martin did." The old man was stubborn- the set of his jaw was firm. Unrelenting. Unfortunately, so was Wenselyr.

"If you find my arrangements to be unsatisfactory-"

"I do." 

"Then it is regrettable. I will be camping below with the others for the duration of my business at Cloudruler." Wenselyr ignored Jauffre's interruption, who only looked more irritated.

"Why are you so set on them? The Blades are better trained than any bandit could hope to be. Now that Martin is with us, he doesn't need any other protection, and neither do you, if you take my offer and join."

"If Martin wishes, I will take your vows. But I will not dismiss the bandits before their contract has expired. They were very useful in making sure Martin saw the gates of your temple. And the outside of Kvatch, come to that."

"That's all well and good, Wenselyr, but I forbid them having anything else to do with the Emperor. Terminate the contract. They must leave."

"I must decline. If their presence is unwelcome, I will simply take them elsewhere. There are other gates that must be closed." Wenselyr turned, affecting the same calm air he'd maintained throughout the conversation. He was almost to the door when a frustrated grunt broke the silence, and Jauffre called for him to wait. 

The altmer allowed himself a small, private smile before he faced Jauffre again. Eduard and the others would be pleased- they'd taken a liking to Martin and the coin they were earning. They'd be useful down the line, Wenselyr was sure, when events demanded a willingness to dirty ones hands that he wasn't sure the Blades had.

------------------------------

He has been going for so long, it feels like. In reality, it's only been a short time. A month, perhaps two- a fraction of a fraction of his life. In three hundred years time, when he's old, he'll barely be able to remember this.

Wenselyr feels the bitter smirk pulling at his mouth before he even finishes the thought. It's completely untrue, of course. He'll be thinking and dreaming what he's done in the past month for the rest of his life. He is capable of hiding it, for when the civilians get tired of him and no longer whisper around the base of that gaudy statue. Is hiding it even now, for while the same civilians expect a calm and benevolent hero.

He thinks fondly of packing a simple bag, and leaving. Perhaps without expectations to meet, he'll be able to fully comprehend what he's been doing. Even mourn the ones he was unable to protect. 

Dark hair and an earnest priest's voice tug at his memories, and the smirk disappears. It could be that with solitude, he'd even be able to mourn the ones who didn't want his protection at all.

[archerandmage-blog]

"I cannot believe you brought a Bosmer here, Wenselyr! Do you even know if he's purely bred?"

"As charming as ever, Eldafire." Wenselyr sighs quietly, and resists the urge to rub his temple. It would only serve to make his sister that much more unpleasant to be around. At least they were alone- Elda had lead him away from the family for this conversation. 'Catching up,' indeed.

"Bielrin is my son,"

"Your adopted son." Eldafire interjects sharply.

"My son. As I informed mother and father when I wrote to tell them we would be attending, and they no doubt informed you." The corners of his mouth twitch down for a moment, the only expression of irritation Wenselyr allows himself. "I had his purity checked when I took him to the healers as an infant. He is not of mixed parents." Mostly. It had been a move of preservation to have Bielrin's bloodline checked as well as it could be when Wenselyr had realized he'd be keeping the boy. The healer, at least, had agreed to reinforce that Bielrin's heritage if asked. 

Eldafire's mouth thins. "Thank Auri-El for small miracles. He is well behaved, at least."

"You are taking this remarkably well." The shorter altmer snorts and turns away from him, facing her desk instead.

"I'm being realistic. You never were quite right when we were children. Always trying to be different in your strange way. Better. There's no reason you should be normal now." She puts a hand down, brushing the tops of the potion bottles littering her workspace. Eldafire frowns. "Finding him in the mountains, indeed. It sounds like something out of a storybook, Wenselyr, surely you realize that? But then, you always did like being dramatic." 

"Dramatic is a strong word, 'Fire."

"Don't call me that!" Eldafire whirls to face him, scowling. 

"Ah. Still sensitive, then." Wenselyr doesn't react when his sister scowls and snarls something angry at him. "I had thought after two hundred fifty years, you would be less upset by the name."

"Shut up, Cryomancer Wenselyr. This instant."

"I am not one of your soldiers, 'Fire. Do not order me. It is hardly my fault you didn't fulfill your own prediction of magical power. Siblings of Ice and Fire, indeed."

"Shut UP!" Blind with anger, Eldafire flings an arm out behind herself and catches her fingers around the first potion they touch, and throws it. 

----------------------------------

"And that's when the kraken grabbed my best mate, dragged him screaming towards the edge of- Ah! Wenselyr, my boy, we've been wondering where- Wen, lad, you.."

"I am alright, Grandfather. Though I think I should see a healer shortly." Wenselyr ignored the startled shout from Bielrin, in favor of concentrating on not stumbling into something. He reached out a hand to brace himself on the wall.

"Shortly my soggy beard, boy, you're seeing one now! Who did this to you? Your eyes look like someone threw acid in them!"

"A.. miscalculation. Don't worry about it, please."

"Don't worry about it! I-"

"Grandfather, the healer?"