Wei Wuxian (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrookedpath) wrote2020-09-02 08:36 am
acrookedpath) wrote2020-09-02 08:36 am
[pfsb]
The latest idea that struck Wei Wuxian mid-lunch: if he combined one of the theoretical energy talismans with a paper doll, would that allow him to search the grounds for resentful energy without having to blanket the whole inn with talismans?
It seems like a sound idea! It won't replace the planned night hunt with Lan Zhan -- nor would he want it to -- but if he succeeds, it will be a fun experiment.
First, though: combining a paper doll with a simpler talisman. Which brings us to Wei Wuxian at a table underneath the Observation Window, not an inch left uncovered by his notes, scribbling onto a tiny cutout with a ballpoint pen Bar gave him. (What an invention!) He completes the last character with a flourish and waves his hand over the doll; it springs to its "feet," and, grinning, he directs it toward the empty cup perched precariously on a corner of the table.
It seems like a sound idea! It won't replace the planned night hunt with Lan Zhan -- nor would he want it to -- but if he succeeds, it will be a fun experiment.
First, though: combining a paper doll with a simpler talisman. Which brings us to Wei Wuxian at a table underneath the Observation Window, not an inch left uncovered by his notes, scribbling onto a tiny cutout with a ballpoint pen Bar gave him. (What an invention!) He completes the last character with a flourish and waves his hand over the doll; it springs to its "feet," and, grinning, he directs it toward the empty cup perched precariously on a corner of the table.
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I have to stop them-- They're going to--
The first dim inkling of what this dream may have been starts to seep into his awareness.
His fingers still, leaving his hand gently cupped around the back of Wei Ying's neck as he searches the other man's face, worry visible on his own.
"Wei Ying."
He says it as gently as he can.
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Lan Zhan is not wearing his forehead ribbon, and they are in a room, not a cave, with two beds side by side, and a towel draped over the privacy screen that is nothing like the finely-woven cloth of home -- because this isn't home. It's the inn.
They're at the inn.
His face crumples, loosing the tears down his face, as he leans into Lan Zhan.
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After a moment or two, it's clear that this storm will take some time to pass. He shifts them both slightly, enough that he can slip one arm under Wei Ying's knees, and then uses his core's strength for support as he heaves himself upward, carrying Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji sits down on his bed, Wei Ying on his lap, puts both arms back around him, and holds him close while he cries.
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Behind his eyelids, bodies sway above the gates of Nightless City.
"She wouldn't let me," he tries to explain, but it's too clogged with tears to be understandable.
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For now, he keeps him secure in his arms and draws slow, soothing circles over the middle of Wei Ying's back with one hand.
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And yet, somehow, he does. Somehow the sobs turn into hiccups that hurt his chest just as much; somehow the vise in his throat lessens enough for him to swallow more of the tears back. Somehow, he is still here in Lan Zhan's arms, and for all he feels as if he will shatter like the most fragile of glass, Lan Zhan does not let go.
I'm sorry. He isn't sure if he says it aloud to Lan Zhan, or silently to the faces of the dead he could not save. I'm sorry.
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He does not loosen his arms, though, nor does he stop the steady, comforting movement of his hand against Wei Ying's back.
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When he feels Lan Zhan move, he tightens his hold a little, unconsciously.
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Lan Wangji pulls him a little closer and lowers his face into Wei Ying's hair. He takes a small, careful breath, and hums quietly, wordless and reassuring.
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"I woke you again."
An exhausted whisper against Lan Zhan's robes.
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His breath is warm against Wei Ying's hair.
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"I don't know what happened," he mumbles. "I couldn't move. I thought -- "
His voice twists anew.
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Then--
"Thought what?"
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"Wen Qing," he whispers, bleak. "She stopped me from following them. One of her needles."
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So much is explained, now. He had never understood how the Wens could have been taken by the Jin sect in the first place, how Wen Qing and Wen Ning could have surrendered themselves without Wei Ying stopping them. Because he would have, surely he would have, unless he was badly injured in the attack at Qiongqi Way, or worse--
When Xichen had sent word of what had happened, Lan Wangji had broken Shufu's decree restricting him to the Cloud Recesses save for official sect business, part of his punishment for going to Yiling before, and had traveled as fast as he could to the Burial Mounds, terrified at what he might find.
Wei Ying had not been there. Instead, he had found only A-Yuan, alone and feverish. Frantic with worry, he had nevertheless taken the time to bring the child to a doctor in Yiling, leaving him there with a promise to return, before he sped to Nightless City, only to arrive too late.
Too late.
"I knew something must have," he manages, each word half-choked by the tightness in his throat.
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He's crying freely again, one hand fisted in the collar of Lan Zhan's robes.
"I tried to break through it. I couldn't move fast enough. How could they? There were old women, children -- "
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Unthinkingly, he begins to rock back and forth, very slightly, trying to comfort him further against an impossible, vicious grief.
"It was wrong. They were innocents. It was wrong."
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He has just enough presence of mind to know Lan Zhan would be horrified if he spoke that thought aloud. But there are times when he has dreamt of the Wens, and awoken howling his grief into his pillow, when he wants to rip the entire mattress apart with his bare hands. When he screams not in heartbreak, but in a rage that threatens to break his mind open again. When he could inflict the full horror of the Yiling Patriarch upon the clans, everything they believed him to be and more, and still it would not be enough to satisfy him.
That little spark of fury dries up some of his tears. He draws a long, shuddering breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and sniffles again, trying to pull himself back to some distant relation of steadiness.
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It gives him the strength he needs to relax his hold, albeit only slightly.
"I am sorry."
For so many things, including not only his own failure, but that of Gusu Lan.
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As Lan Zhan loosens his hold, so does he, forcing himself to uncurl his fingers from the other man's robe. He pulls away just far enough to straighten up; his head stays bowed, most of his expression hidden behind his hair.
Clumsily, he scrubs at his eyes and draws another long breath.
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He rests that hand lightly on Wei Ying's arm and waits, silently, giving him all the time he needs.
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Very softly, at last: "Do you remember A-Yuan?"
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"I do."
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Simply said, his voice still thick with tears.
"I don't remember seeing him with -- with the others. Over the gates. I suppose I should be grateful they thought that much a step too far. Hanging a child's body up for display, like that."
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Even though he is still certain in the decision he had made previously, he cannot, he cannot let Wei Ying suffer, believing this.
"He did not die, Wei Ying."
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