But Wei Ying is a whirlwind in motion, already dressing, already prepared to run, while Lan Wangji can only gaze after the trail of his retreating form, mouth cold. Clumsy. He shakes his head, seeks word, dissects them tens of times over before concluding: )
...I cannot speak to you in this way.
( With anger, with force, with venom, without regret. If Wei Ying needs time to cool off apart, so be it. They will come to no agreement in fits of wrath.
But Lan Wangji may rise first, studiously. )
Stay. This is your home. I may visit — ( But all the elders are congregating, his family is withdrawn from him. ) The cold streams.
My home is not with a man who always pulls me in only to shove me away. So fuck you, you think you cannot speak to me like this? You're always doing it. [He stops at the doorway, fumbling with his socks as the wall of cold winter air hits him hard enough to make him shiver. He's angry and frustrated enough to keep yelling, violating so many rules in the process.]
This is the second time you've done this in three days, did you know that? And not even the second time overall!
[He turns around, eyes red not from tears but from the resentful qi churning in his body.]
You always do this! You lead me on then stop right as we're about to do something, and then you blame me for the distance you put between us! [He doesn't stomp like a child, but it's a near thing.] Why do I deserve this much contempt from you, Lan Zhan!
( Enough. Enough of this. He aches. Wei Ying aches. They cannot reach compromise, nor speak when Lan Wangji is verbally paralyzed and Wei Ying is... overwhelmed by anger the likes of which emanates from his person.
And here, now, Lan Wangji rises. Here, now, he draws the line. )
Wei Ying. What will they think of our request, if you are seen in this state?
( How will the elders be expected to believe that the Wen and the Yiling Patriarch alike are innocent and helpless, if Wei Ying trots about, radiating wrathful energy? He must be stopped. He must contain himself, and for once, it will not be Lan Wangji who makes his excuses. )
Sit. I will leave. ( He begins the preparations, slower, more methodical even in this, in layering up his defenses. Perhaps another way with Wei Ying will teach him how to dramatically flee the room. ) You may still have privacy.
[Now he uses their precarious state as a weapon. He hates this so much, being a prisoner to the sects, held captive in this house by this man who does nothing but hurt him. Why did he even think salvation would be here? No one is going to help them, Wei Wuxian will just have to do it himself.
He wants to break something so badly. Throw something at Lan Zhan.
He kicks off his boots but leaves them right next to the door, a pointed warning and a promise-- he will not hesitate to leave next time. Then he settles himself in Yuan's bedding, curling up with his back to Lan Zhan.]
( Is there a world in which they may reach understanding?
He does not know so. Does not presume to assume its descent. Only nods, to acknowledge Wei Ying's concession, and honors the remainder of his own agreement, slipping on thick, boiled leather boots, then collecting another layer of fur-trimmed mantle, spread indelicately over his shoulders.
And where will it go? In the end, it does not matter. The streams, as he indicated. The library, if not. This is his home, and he is welcome, where Wei Ying might struggle to secure accommodations.
As a parting gesture, he sends a butterfly by Wei Ying's side, to take assignment once the hour is suitable. )
[If it were up to Wei Wuxian, he would never use that butterfly. He'd just let it languish on Yuan's sheets until Lan Zhan's qi runs out.
But they're not the only people living in this house in the meantime. There's also a little boy with bright eyes and an even brighter smile, who loves them both and has had too many tragedies in his short life for Wei Wuxian to stomach creating another right in front of him.
Still, he holds out for as long as he can, collecting Yuan when the sun starts to set without disturbing the butterfly and playing with him without giving it so much as a look. But then the child asks him where his rich-gege is, and Wei Wuxian has to give in.]
A-Yuan wants you. [A short, curt message, and then he gives Chenqing to the boy to chew on as a distraction, so he'll forget how red Wei Wuxian's eyes become while speaking to the butterfly.]
( In the end, the streams and the library, a pacifying succession of activities that finds him listless when the butterfly at long last seeks him out. He's slow to rise, thoughts yet muddled, some part of him begrudging Wei Ying's own reticence, for all he volunteered his exile.
He delays, pettily, to pass by the kitchens and collect the tray with their dinners combined, along with the buckets of bathing water for Wei Ying and Yuan, in a perfect deployment of Lan strength. So saddled, he treks to his own home, renouncing the sword for fear of upsetting his balance.
He presents himself before his door, breathes in, then walks in without walking, settling down his wares before turning just in time to welcome a prancing Yuan who jumps into his arms. After, a whirlwind: stories of the day, Yuan's opinion of everything, of anything, slow murmured secrets, laughter. Lan Wangji dragged to the low table, where he safely deposits the covered dinner plates, positioning them one by one for service while Yuan claps excitedly.
No need for words between Wei Ying and he, hardly that of a shared presence. Not until it is unavoidable to avoid Yuan's suspicions. )
Please eat. The kitchens made exception to prepare fish for guests.
[Immediately, Wei Wuxian begins on the fish, expertly separating the bones before depositing the flesh in Yuan's bowl on top of his rice. Not just because he wants something to do and providing for Yuan is second nature to him, but because the child likely has never had fish before, so of course he doesn't know that fish have really annoying bones. It falls to the parent to debone the fish before serving their child.
And because Yuan is at that age, and because he's been doing nothing but play all day, he's inhaling each sliver like a starving cat, which forces Wei Wuxian to work faster to accommodate for his appetite.
Not that he minds-- he has a smile on his face that hasn't been present in hours, a quiet joy at watching his ward live the life he should have had from the start.
Then he looks up at Lan Zhan, finally, and nods. He conveys many things in that one gesture, an acknowledgement of him, thanks, and a sign that he would rather wait for Yuan to eat his full before starting for himself.]
( There, some peace between them, Yuan the easiest to pacify and his caretaker grudgingly in his footsteps. Lan Wangji nods, assuming his own position to serve the food out among bowls, rice and vegetables and the slices of the fish toward Wei Ying.
The child cannot eat a fish whole, not without bursting. Nothing must go to waste. Lan Wangji himself abstains from eating, careful to only brush his lips on the rim of his cup of tea, well filled.
They needn't speak, until the meal is done, and the child stretches out contently, his belly filled out pleasantly and slowly patted. Lan Wangji invites him over with a wave of a hand, and he goes greedily, plopping down on his side, head cradled on Lan Wangji's thigh. He strokes his hair, gently.
Sect politics. I understand. [ With how he manages to keep his tone neutral, he should be given a new title.
Oh, how he dislikes sect politics so much. Especially when lives hang in the balance. He couldn't stand it back during the Sunshot Campaign when the sects had to talk to each other and negotiate for who did what and who could stay relatively safe, and it's probably worse right now. They're in peacetime, but it's the winter. There's no war, but people are still in need. They're talking about the fate of the remnants of the Wen sect, who are considered less than dirt by society today.
He doesn't want to know what they think of the little boy cuddling up to Lan Zhan just because he happens to have an unfortunate family name.
It makes him want to make his own sect, where people are free and no one is turned away. Then he shelves that idea, because it's beyond his power. Nobody would ever respect a sect founded by him, led by him, not with his reputation so dirty. Perhaps nobody would even look kindly on them, or leave them alone. He struggles to feed less than fifty people already with charity, how will he handle double the amount of mouths?]
We will have to impose on you a little longer. [And by "we", he means himself. They have already decided that Yuan will stay, and he won't wrench the boy away from this place when it's the best for him.]
( Sharp, perhaps cutting. Whatever their grievances, let there be no questions between them: it is Wei Ying who begrudges, who wishes himself or Lan Wangji gone, who wages their war. Wei Ying who looks upon him as if he is a spoiled, wretched thing, unholy.
Still, he does not insist, attending instead to the peace and safety of the child who entrusts himself so easily to Lan Wangji's care. He is soft in all the ways in which Wei Ying and he are no longer. Sweet. A miracle, whatever his blood.
Unbidden, and only once Yuan's sweet-beaded eyes shutter, he dips down to pass his mouth over the child's forehead. )
They have not debated the Wen. First they must decide whether I remain in the sect and succession line. ( He has transgressed doubly: once in wedding without permission; again, by exposing the sect to political risk through a marriage of impulse with a diplomatic liability. )
Lives are depending on their decision and they choose to prioritize their succession? [And Lan Zhan's words imply that they haven't even come to a conclusion yet.
Which means they're likely to debate it for longer tomorrow, as if putting off the question about the Wen refugees. Perhaps this is their goal, procrastinate and ignore the situation as much as possible for the less dangerous issue that they can quibble over for a long time.
His mouth twists unhappily. He thinks he's made his decision about their future.
He shuffles forward until he's sitting on Lan Zhan's other side, so Yuan doesn't hear and wake up from his doze.]
Lan Zhan. If they choose not to house the Wens, do you want to come back with us?
[He's well aware of what he's asking-- there's a possibility, a huge one, that Lan Zhan would take his question less than kindly. But he wants to give him the option, still. He doesn't want to leave Yuan here if Gusu Lan's doors don't open to them, not with this sort of frigid reception, but he doesn't want Lan Zhan to languish in a sect that treats people in the way that it does. Punishment for his actions by threatening to kick him out? What bullshit!]
( You don't understand. You don't understand anything. So blinded by white hot fury, so irreverently pained, so resolutely black-and-white against the sects —
And Lan Wangji wishes to stand with him, he does. But they are in his home, provided by his ancestry, in the nook of the small family that yet remains to him. He has lost so much, already. Must he give up more? )
They cannot choose not to house the Wen without my exile or demotion.
( A matter whose impact Wei Ying seems determined to neglect. Then again, he has already suffered through defection — perhaps he thinks little of the indignity of being fired from one's own sect. Thrown out. And though he expects neither gratitude nor commiseration, perhaps the smallest sliver of understanding.
He watches Wei Ying and, for the first time this evening, feels him too close. )
The question now asked, their hand is forced. ( The elders have also been placed in an unfavorable position. There is no guiltless man among them. ) Wait.
[Their decision will take a long time, he's now sure of it. Will tomorrow prove him right?]
If they decide to exile you, I will not stay, and I will not leave A-Yuan behind. [But his mind is made up. If they exile their precious Hanguang-jun, Wei Wuxian will drag him to the Burial Mounds.
But he hopes, he dearly hopes, that Lan Zhan will go with him willingly.]
And if that happens, I'll find another way for all of us to survive other than relying on charity. You can count on it.
[Then he stands, scrounging for the inkstick and brush he had neglected this afternoon, returning to the diagrams he'd drawn. He'll start here.]
...Wei Ying. ( Calm yourself. Calm. His hand stills on Yuan's forehead, arrested. He breathes in, and he exhales, and he allows himself to feel out the contours of his grief for a decision yet untaken. Closes his eyes. Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying. )
Give them the chance to do well by you. ( They can, they must. They must believe in their ability to be the better men. Lan Wangji himself must entrust himself to that possibility. His brother leads this pack. )
[Wei Wuxian can understand Lan Zhan's love for his sect-- he himself is much the same. He loves the Yunmeng Jiang with all his heart, and away from it, he feels like he's missing a vital organ.
But these past years have taught him that not all the sects are like Yunmeng Jiang. Sometimes they're like Lanling Jin that hurts people and uses them as stepping stones. Or they're Gusu Lan, whose elders don't seem to care and will just force what they want regardless of what their own sect leader says.]
I know. I know your brother wants to be as fair as possible to us. [But if Lan Xichen makes the same decision as Jiang Cheng, choosing the safety of his still-recovering sect over outsiders treated unfairly, then Wei Wuxian is taking matters into his own hands.]
Let him have A-Yuan for tomorrow night, after the meeting. Their meeting is long overdue. [Before they may be forced to leave.]
( Now, he is the hesitant one, the one harmed and recoiling. Wei Ying does not realise how his hatred stings, how it may bite and incapacitate. Perhaps, with time, he will learn. Perhaps Lan Wangji will yet steer his heart to thaw at the thought of Cloud Recesses.
Yet he begins to doubt that their worlds, once so deeply severed, can hope to once more combine. )
I wish you would not speak so hatefully of them. ( His elders, his people, his family. And he is unkind to ask, unfair when Wei Ying has so long suffered at the hands and indifference of the sects. Still. )
( There was far worse that a sect saddled unexpectedly with the whims of its second foremost son might have done. Worse and gladly, and they have withheld themselves.
Lan Wangji returns his attention to the child, to stroking his hair, to whisking away his hurts. Perhaps he will sleep warm, belly filled, and it will be a finer thing than all that which the Burial Mounds might have afforded him.
He turns his gaze away to look at the trembling silhouette of Wei Ying's back. )
But they are discussing you first. [Wei Wuxian grits his teeth so hard, his jaw starts to hurt.]
They're treating you like a liability, like something to be thrown away now that you've done something they don't agree with! That's unforgiveable to me, not just because you're a war hero who deserves luxuries but because you're my husband. [And no one gets to treat the people he cares about like dirt.
Lan Zhan can't say anything against them, because of his upbringing and because it wouldn't be filial, so Wei Wuxian has to be angry on his behalf.]
( By choosing to wed an outlaw and to expose the whole of Cloud Recesses to the legacy of uncertainty surrounding the Yiling Patriarch and his bloody ascension. It is no more than he deserves, than the ignoble Hanguang-Jun inflicted.
He has been selfish toward both his husband and the clan, compromising both and satisfying neither. He is wholly to blame.
And the gentle downturn of his gaze, the avoidance of Wei Ying's engagement, says so. In the end, he cannot be a coward to bitter end. His hand goes up and out, silently calling for Wei Ying's. )
I am grateful for your devotion. ( But it is futile, wasted, superfluous. )
[Wei Wuxian feels awful for Lan Zhan, being used like this. He doesn't even know how the man feels-- does he feel stuck between his husband's wrath and the judgement of his sect? Wei Wuxian can't help it, because the anger is keeping him motivated, is putting ideas in his head that he's writing down.
But he sees the outstretched hand and knows that Lan Zhan needs comfort right now. So he stands and sits right in front of his husband and grasps his hand in both of his own. Comforting.
Possessive.]
If they throw you out, the sect will be much weaker for it.
[And Wei Wuxian will steal him away and bring him to the Butial Mounds.]
You're one of the strongest cultivators in the land, and if you have to leave, your brother will have to care for the sect by himself. [He will have to send Lan Xichen a dowry one day, when he can afford it.]
( Let him have this: a moment when his hand meets Wei Ying's, when they've achieved their crumbs of peace, when they may draw strength from each other. When he brings it up silently, to kiss the stretch of his husband's battered knuckles, and his eyes shut, and he soothes himself.
It would be a wretched and hard thing, his exile. But for this man, somehow, somehow, it would all prove worthwhile. For this man, alone. )
They held and raised me. I must trust in their honour.
[Wei Wuxian doesn't think they have any honor and that their ancestors are just waiting to slap them in the afterlife for violating so many of their rules, but out of respect for Lan Zhan and the sheer vulnerability he's showing right now, he doesn't say this.
Instead:]
No matter what happens, I'm with you. [Even if they have their problems and they're likely to just keep fighting for the rest of their days. Wei Wuxian will keep Lan Zhan deep within him.]
( It's hard work, the strain of a smile, learning to embody visible kindness. Yuan should see him so, should enjoy him. But the child's already dozing, carefully succumbing to sleep after warming his body.
It's for Wei Ying to enjoy instead, however duly. The frost of their earlier interaction hasn't wholly dissipated, and Wei Ying still wears the marks of reticence. Lan Wangji gives a final squeeze to his hand, before putting himself to the work of moving Yuan, finally, into the nest of his bundled sheets.
He will need to bathe tomorrow. There can be no hope of it today. )
Shall we speak? ( There is a second room, smaller, intended for storage and less intimate guests. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But Wei Ying is a whirlwind in motion, already dressing, already prepared to run, while Lan Wangji can only gaze after the trail of his retreating form, mouth cold. Clumsy. He shakes his head, seeks word, dissects them tens of times over before concluding: )
...I cannot speak to you in this way.
( With anger, with force, with venom, without regret. If Wei Ying needs time to cool off apart, so be it. They will come to no agreement in fits of wrath.
But Lan Wangji may rise first, studiously. )
Stay. This is your home. I may visit — ( But all the elders are congregating, his family is withdrawn from him. ) The cold streams.
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This is the second time you've done this in three days, did you know that? And not even the second time overall!
[He turns around, eyes red not from tears but from the resentful qi churning in his body.]
You always do this! You lead me on then stop right as we're about to do something, and then you blame me for the distance you put between us! [He doesn't stomp like a child, but it's a near thing.] Why do I deserve this much contempt from you, Lan Zhan!
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And here, now, Lan Wangji rises. Here, now, he draws the line. )
Wei Ying. What will they think of our request, if you are seen in this state?
( How will the elders be expected to believe that the Wen and the Yiling Patriarch alike are innocent and helpless, if Wei Ying trots about, radiating wrathful energy? He must be stopped. He must contain himself, and for once, it will not be Lan Wangji who makes his excuses. )
Sit. I will leave. ( He begins the preparations, slower, more methodical even in this, in layering up his defenses. Perhaps another way with Wei Ying will teach him how to dramatically flee the room. ) You may still have privacy.
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He wants to break something so badly. Throw something at Lan Zhan.
He kicks off his boots but leaves them right next to the door, a pointed warning and a promise-- he will not hesitate to leave next time. Then he settles himself in Yuan's bedding, curling up with his back to Lan Zhan.]
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He does not know so. Does not presume to assume its descent. Only nods, to acknowledge Wei Ying's concession, and honors the remainder of his own agreement, slipping on thick, boiled leather boots, then collecting another layer of fur-trimmed mantle, spread indelicately over his shoulders.
And where will it go? In the end, it does not matter. The streams, as he indicated. The library, if not. This is his home, and he is welcome, where Wei Ying might struggle to secure accommodations.
As a parting gesture, he sends a butterfly by Wei Ying's side, to take assignment once the hour is suitable. )
Send word, when you wish me returned.
( The door shutters firmly behind him. )
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But they're not the only people living in this house in the meantime. There's also a little boy with bright eyes and an even brighter smile, who loves them both and has had too many tragedies in his short life for Wei Wuxian to stomach creating another right in front of him.
Still, he holds out for as long as he can, collecting Yuan when the sun starts to set without disturbing the butterfly and playing with him without giving it so much as a look. But then the child asks him where his rich-gege is, and Wei Wuxian has to give in.]
A-Yuan wants you. [A short, curt message, and then he gives Chenqing to the boy to chew on as a distraction, so he'll forget how red Wei Wuxian's eyes become while speaking to the butterfly.]
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He delays, pettily, to pass by the kitchens and collect the tray with their dinners combined, along with the buckets of bathing water for Wei Ying and Yuan, in a perfect deployment of Lan strength. So saddled, he treks to his own home, renouncing the sword for fear of upsetting his balance.
He presents himself before his door, breathes in, then walks in without walking, settling down his wares before turning just in time to welcome a prancing Yuan who jumps into his arms. After, a whirlwind: stories of the day, Yuan's opinion of everything, of anything, slow murmured secrets, laughter. Lan Wangji dragged to the low table, where he safely deposits the covered dinner plates, positioning them one by one for service while Yuan claps excitedly.
No need for words between Wei Ying and he, hardly that of a shared presence. Not until it is unavoidable to avoid Yuan's suspicions. )
Please eat. The kitchens made exception to prepare fish for guests.
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And because Yuan is at that age, and because he's been doing nothing but play all day, he's inhaling each sliver like a starving cat, which forces Wei Wuxian to work faster to accommodate for his appetite.
Not that he minds-- he has a smile on his face that hasn't been present in hours, a quiet joy at watching his ward live the life he should have had from the start.
Then he looks up at Lan Zhan, finally, and nods. He conveys many things in that one gesture, an acknowledgement of him, thanks, and a sign that he would rather wait for Yuan to eat his full before starting for himself.]
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The child cannot eat a fish whole, not without bursting. Nothing must go to waste. Lan Wangji himself abstains from eating, careful to only brush his lips on the rim of his cup of tea, well filled.
They needn't speak, until the meal is done, and the child stretches out contently, his belly filled out pleasantly and slowly patted. Lan Wangji invites him over with a wave of a hand, and he goes greedily, plopping down on his side, head cradled on Lan Wangji's thigh. He strokes his hair, gently.
Then, speaking over the table: )
No decision today. The elders reconvene tomorrow.
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Oh, how he dislikes sect politics so much. Especially when lives hang in the balance. He couldn't stand it back during the Sunshot Campaign when the sects had to talk to each other and negotiate for who did what and who could stay relatively safe, and it's probably worse right now. They're in peacetime, but it's the winter. There's no war, but people are still in need. They're talking about the fate of the remnants of the Wen sect, who are considered less than dirt by society today.
He doesn't want to know what they think of the little boy cuddling up to Lan Zhan just because he happens to have an unfortunate family name.
It makes him want to make his own sect, where people are free and no one is turned away. Then he shelves that idea, because it's beyond his power. Nobody would ever respect a sect founded by him, led by him, not with his reputation so dirty. Perhaps nobody would even look kindly on them, or leave them alone. He struggles to feed less than fifty people already with charity, how will he handle double the amount of mouths?]
We will have to impose on you a little longer. [And by "we", he means himself. They have already decided that Yuan will stay, and he won't wrench the boy away from this place when it's the best for him.]
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( Sharp, perhaps cutting. Whatever their grievances, let there be no questions between them: it is Wei Ying who begrudges, who wishes himself or Lan Wangji gone, who wages their war. Wei Ying who looks upon him as if he is a spoiled, wretched thing, unholy.
Still, he does not insist, attending instead to the peace and safety of the child who entrusts himself so easily to Lan Wangji's care. He is soft in all the ways in which Wei Ying and he are no longer. Sweet. A miracle, whatever his blood.
Unbidden, and only once Yuan's sweet-beaded eyes shutter, he dips down to pass his mouth over the child's forehead. )
They have not debated the Wen. First they must decide whether I remain in the sect and succession line. ( He has transgressed doubly: once in wedding without permission; again, by exposing the sect to political risk through a marriage of impulse with a diplomatic liability. )
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Lives are depending on their decision and they choose to prioritize their succession? [And Lan Zhan's words imply that they haven't even come to a conclusion yet.
Which means they're likely to debate it for longer tomorrow, as if putting off the question about the Wen refugees. Perhaps this is their goal, procrastinate and ignore the situation as much as possible for the less dangerous issue that they can quibble over for a long time.
His mouth twists unhappily. He thinks he's made his decision about their future.
He shuffles forward until he's sitting on Lan Zhan's other side, so Yuan doesn't hear and wake up from his doze.]
Lan Zhan. If they choose not to house the Wens, do you want to come back with us?
[He's well aware of what he's asking-- there's a possibility, a huge one, that Lan Zhan would take his question less than kindly. But he wants to give him the option, still. He doesn't want to leave Yuan here if Gusu Lan's doors don't open to them, not with this sort of frigid reception, but he doesn't want Lan Zhan to languish in a sect that treats people in the way that it does. Punishment for his actions by threatening to kick him out? What bullshit!]
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And Lan Wangji wishes to stand with him, he does. But they are in his home, provided by his ancestry, in the nook of the small family that yet remains to him. He has lost so much, already. Must he give up more? )
They cannot choose not to house the Wen without my exile or demotion.
( A matter whose impact Wei Ying seems determined to neglect. Then again, he has already suffered through defection — perhaps he thinks little of the indignity of being fired from one's own sect. Thrown out. And though he expects neither gratitude nor commiseration, perhaps the smallest sliver of understanding.
He watches Wei Ying and, for the first time this evening, feels him too close. )
The question now asked, their hand is forced. ( The elders have also been placed in an unfavorable position. There is no guiltless man among them. ) Wait.
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If they decide to exile you, I will not stay, and I will not leave A-Yuan behind. [But his mind is made up. If they exile their precious Hanguang-jun, Wei Wuxian will drag him to the Burial Mounds.
But he hopes, he dearly hopes, that Lan Zhan will go with him willingly.]
And if that happens, I'll find another way for all of us to survive other than relying on charity. You can count on it.
[Then he stands, scrounging for the inkstick and brush he had neglected this afternoon, returning to the diagrams he'd drawn. He'll start here.]
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Give them the chance to do well by you. ( They can, they must. They must believe in their ability to be the better men. Lan Wangji himself must entrust himself to that possibility. His brother leads this pack. )
Zewu-Jun has not treated us unfairly.
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But these past years have taught him that not all the sects are like Yunmeng Jiang. Sometimes they're like Lanling Jin that hurts people and uses them as stepping stones. Or they're Gusu Lan, whose elders don't seem to care and will just force what they want regardless of what their own sect leader says.]
I know. I know your brother wants to be as fair as possible to us. [But if Lan Xichen makes the same decision as Jiang Cheng, choosing the safety of his still-recovering sect over outsiders treated unfairly, then Wei Wuxian is taking matters into his own hands.]
Let him have A-Yuan for tomorrow night, after the meeting. Their meeting is long overdue. [Before they may be forced to leave.]
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( Now, he is the hesitant one, the one harmed and recoiling. Wei Ying does not realise how his hatred stings, how it may bite and incapacitate. Perhaps, with time, he will learn. Perhaps Lan Wangji will yet steer his heart to thaw at the thought of Cloud Recesses.
Yet he begins to doubt that their worlds, once so deeply severed, can hope to once more combine. )
I wish you would not speak so hatefully of them. ( His elders, his people, his family. And he is unkind to ask, unfair when Wei Ying has so long suffered at the hands and indifference of the sects. Still. )
Though it is your right.
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That's-- [A pause, a breath.]
You cannot ask me that, not when we're in this situation. Not when they're making us wait for days.
[Why are such spiteful people still revered elders, when the kind, people-loving ones of the Jiang sect are all dead?]
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( There was far worse that a sect saddled unexpectedly with the whims of its second foremost son might have done. Worse and gladly, and they have withheld themselves.
Lan Wangji returns his attention to the child, to stroking his hair, to whisking away his hurts. Perhaps he will sleep warm, belly filled, and it will be a finer thing than all that which the Burial Mounds might have afforded him.
He turns his gaze away to look at the trembling silhouette of Wei Ying's back. )
We only have hope.
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They're treating you like a liability, like something to be thrown away now that you've done something they don't agree with! That's unforgiveable to me, not just because you're a war hero who deserves luxuries but because you're my husband. [And no one gets to treat the people he cares about like dirt.
Lan Zhan can't say anything against them, because of his upbringing and because it wouldn't be filial, so Wei Wuxian has to be angry on his behalf.]
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( By choosing to wed an outlaw and to expose the whole of Cloud Recesses to the legacy of uncertainty surrounding the Yiling Patriarch and his bloody ascension. It is no more than he deserves, than the ignoble Hanguang-Jun inflicted.
He has been selfish toward both his husband and the clan, compromising both and satisfying neither. He is wholly to blame.
And the gentle downturn of his gaze, the avoidance of Wei Ying's engagement, says so. In the end, he cannot be a coward to bitter end. His hand goes up and out, silently calling for Wei Ying's. )
I am grateful for your devotion. ( But it is futile, wasted, superfluous. )
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But he sees the outstretched hand and knows that Lan Zhan needs comfort right now. So he stands and sits right in front of his husband and grasps his hand in both of his own. Comforting.
Possessive.]
If they throw you out, the sect will be much weaker for it.
[And Wei Wuxian will steal him away and bring him to the Butial Mounds.]
You're one of the strongest cultivators in the land, and if you have to leave, your brother will have to care for the sect by himself. [He will have to send Lan Xichen a dowry one day, when he can afford it.]
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( Let him have this: a moment when his hand meets Wei Ying's, when they've achieved their crumbs of peace, when they may draw strength from each other. When he brings it up silently, to kiss the stretch of his husband's battered knuckles, and his eyes shut, and he soothes himself.
It would be a wretched and hard thing, his exile. But for this man, somehow, somehow, it would all prove worthwhile. For this man, alone. )
They held and raised me. I must trust in their honour.
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Instead:]
No matter what happens, I'm with you. [Even if they have their problems and they're likely to just keep fighting for the rest of their days. Wei Wuxian will keep Lan Zhan deep within him.]
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It's for Wei Ying to enjoy instead, however duly. The frost of their earlier interaction hasn't wholly dissipated, and Wei Ying still wears the marks of reticence. Lan Wangji gives a final squeeze to his hand, before putting himself to the work of moving Yuan, finally, into the nest of his bundled sheets.
He will need to bathe tomorrow. There can be no hope of it today. )
Shall we speak? ( There is a second room, smaller, intended for storage and less intimate guests. )
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