yiling_laozu | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's so tired. So heavy. He's been fighting the current for what feels like hours, yet the shore he can scarcely make out through the water in his eyes never draws closer.

Arm over arm. Kick. Kick. Breathe.

They're motions Wei Wuxian could make in his sleep. For the first time since he startled from slumber to the phantom slither of a whip, Wei Wuxian wonders if he'll die making them too. He should have ignored it, ignored her, but even in death Madam Yu is not a woman who will hear no.

Not even fully corporeal, her specter stands on the far shore, watching him struggle with disapproval in every hard line of her face. Despite his fatigue, Wei Wuxian shudders, words from long ago rising to his ears as if carried on the wind.

If you want to slack off and swim while the others train, swim then. Swim until I say you can stop. Zidian is waiting for you if you fail, boy.

In his youth, Wei Wuxian survived by making a game of it. He treated her torments and tests as trials to make himself stronger, more resilient, a better disciple for Yunmeng whether she wished it or not. He'd been younger then, stronger, and even when she whipped him Wei Wuxian still had a core.

Now he has nothing but the faint lights of home at his back and a growing sense of despair. If he stops now, he'll be lucky if Zidian is the worst thing to find him, for the current of the river is only growing stronger, threatening to sweep him away the moment he falters.

Surely he can stop soon. Surely, even at her angriest, Madam Yu wouldn't actually kill him.

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There is no time for anything but a brief flash of relief at Wei Ying's movement as he fights against the current. It takes a few more, long moments before they reach the shore and Lan Wangji drags both their bodies onto the soft grass only to stare down in horror at Wei Ying's struggling, spasming chest.

His body moves faster than his mind, flipping Wei Ying onto his side, belly against Lan Wangji's knee and striking his hand hard between Wei Ying's shoulder blades. It'll bruise, it will bruise and Lan Wangji swears he will make it up to him once he is dry and safe.

"Breathe."

The pressure reaches a crescendo, and then pain explodes through Wei Wuxian's middle, rocketing him to consciousness in the same moment that his body convulses harder than ever before, expelling water from his lungs in bursts that burn like fire. He coughs and coughs until he wretches, and then Wei Wuxian is vomiting, too, river water and remains of his dinner. It seems to go on for ages, until Wei Wuxian can only lie there, panting in the sodden grass.

A ragged breath leaves Lan Wangji as he gently pulls Wei Ying away from the sick and eases his upper body into Lan Wangji's lap as he coughs and shakes.

"You're alright, you're alright," he whispers, leaning down to kiss Wei Ying's forehead as he pushes wet hair carefully out of his face. He looks so small and fragile, just flashes of pale skin and sodden dark robes and hair against Lan Wangji's pale under robe. "Try and breathe with me. In and out. Slowly."

Wei Wuxian's fingers flex, but he's too exhausted to lift his arms, eyes barely slits as he peers up at Lan Wangji all but glowing in the darkness. He's saying something to him, but Wei Wuxian can only stare, pulling small bits of oxygen into lungs that spasm and itch, burning each time he breathes in, aching when he breathes out.

When he thinks he can manage it, Wei Wuxian cracks his lips, his feeble voice pitiful to his own ears. "Yu Fu- furen. Where?"

"She cannot get to you, will not get to you," he promises, murmuring against Wei Ying's cold temple as he bundles him close as best as he can manage. He does not understand how that woman could be here but he will destroy her if she dares show herself. He will not make the mistake of letting his guard down, again.

He raises a hand to summon Bichen from their home, hoping meanly that it finds her on its way to him, and shifts Wei Ying around to sit up straighter against his chest.

"All you need to do is breathe; I am here now. Am sorry it took me so long."

Wei Wuxian goes where he is manhandled, too weak to resist and unwilling to do so were he not. He doesn't deserve the warmth of Lan Wangji's embrace, but he curls greedily into it, eyes travelling unerringly to the place he last saw her.

He doesn't question her presence. Any can come to Darrow, and that doesn't exclude the people he has wronged. "It's never been so long before," he whispers. "She always let me stop. Eventually."

Lan Wangji takes a slow, measured breath to control his anger once he realizes Wei Ying does not mean here, only here. He hates the woman, would take pleasure in destroying her and will not tolerate any defense that Wei Ying might make born out of his low opinion of himself.

A part of him hopes she is still here so that he can hunt her down. But Wei Ying needs him. A soft noise catches his attention and he snatches Bichen out of the air, lowering it beside Wei Ying before taking his face in both hands.

"Never again," he vows, prepare to stand sentinel every night until he can confirm either her demise or disappearance. "That is not your life, here. Will not allow it. You are mine."

Wei Wuxian draws a shaky breath as a strength not even the water could take from him returns to his limbs. Lan Wangji is his husband, his zhangfu. He belongs to him more deeply than he ever belonged to Yunmeng. Wei Wuxian grips Lan Wangji's wrists, taking comfort in strong bones and warm flesh beneath his fingertips. His Lan Zhan won't allow her near him again, no matter what argument Wei Wuxian's guilty conscience might make.

"I'm yours," he agrees, smiling despite his pallor. "Ah, my Lan Zhan is so handsome when he says such things."

"Ridiculous," Lan Wangji huffs as he hugs Wei Ying close, frowning as he feels his cold body shivering against his own. He needs to be warm and safe, now.

"Will fly us home, faster than carrying," he announces, Bichen unsheathing with a flick of Lan Wangji's fingers, floating alongside them. He stands smoothly, lifting Wei Ying's too light body with little effort as he carefully adjusts him in his grip.

"Agree?" He will do so without agreement, but likes to offer the choice. Even if it means nothing.

Wei Wuxian nods at once, eager to be in the safety of their home. He ought never have left it, regardless of the smear of purple he'd seen out their bedroom window. "Lan Zhan," he says, snuggling shamelessly into him. Every breath he takes still burns, the ache worsening in the cold, but it's not his first concern just now.

He peers over Lan Wangji's shoulder into the darkness. "What if she's still there?"

He steps neatly onto the sword, rising carefully into the cool night air, keeping a keen eye out for exactly such a threat. His arms are iron bands around Wei Ying, his one and only priority. Even if she is there, if Wei Ying is started, he will be safe in his zhangfu's arms.

"If she is there, I will take care of it," he bites out as they head back up over the river, no such purple glow showing itself yet. "I am Hanguang-Jun. She will fall if she attempts to harm you, again."

For once, Wei Wuxian is quiet. He drew too much notice from the Qishan Wen and brought ruin unto Lotus Pier. If she wishes to harm him, she has every right. Unless, of course, his zhangfu refuses...

"You are Hanguang-Jun," he repeats, relaxing slightly in Lan Wangji's arms. "She will listen to you no matter how angry she is." Madam Yu might have been frequently unreasonable, but she wasn't mad.

"I am uninterested in discussing anything with that woman," he growls, hovering in the air as he looks carefully over their property, incensed as he realizes she must have trespassed their wards. He will have to do better.

He pauses, waiting until he catches Wei Ying's gaze, floating carefully down to their front yard. "Beat down thirty three Lan elders. I can handle Madame Yu. She will never look your way again."

Lan Wangji received the scars on his back for that fight, but a bit of warmth floods Wei Wuxian anyway. How magnificent must he have been then, and all to save Wei Wuxian's empty home and little radish, too!

"I would be glad for that," he admits in a rush of filial impropriety. "I've never made her happy once in my life. It would be a relief never to have to try again."

He suspects Wei Ying does not fully understand his meaning, that he would strike to kill if she showed her face, again. He has watched Wei Ying die once, will not do it again and certainly not at the hands of the woman responsible for so many of Wei Ying's incorrect opinion of himself.

There is no need to clear it up he thinks as Wei Ying would take no joy in it. He would find some way to blame himself if that wretched woman ended up dead. It is irritating enough that Wei Ying feels the need to pay filial piety to her at their family altar.

He pushes into the front room and starts a roaring fire with a wave of his hand before grabbing two soft blankets from a basket. He'd found this world's fascination with blankets very strange until he'd realized how cold Wei Ying often is and immediately purchased twelve of them.

"We will stay here until you are warm," he murmurs, lowering Wei Ying onto the first blanket, unhappy with his still pale lips as he moves to pull Wei Ying's boots off.

Before a fire with his beloved sounds very fine indeed. With the solidity of their walls around them, the last of Wei Wuxian's adrenaline is rapidly fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He struggles even to remain seated upright, but pushes the sodden tangle of his hair over his shoulder so it will stop dripping all over him. With the soreness of his back on top of his overused muscles, he doesn't know if he'll ever make it out of his robes, and so he waits in pitiful silence for his Lan Zhan to do it for him.

Wei Ying looks a bit like a wraith, Lan Wangji observes grimly as Wei Ying's boots are set in front of the fire and his deft fingers quickly undo Wei Ying's robes. He is all pale skin and sharp corners and dark hair and Lan Wangji wonders how he stands the winter in this place. Perhaps Lan Wangji could construct a way to heat their bed.

He moves behind Wei Ying to gently peel off the sodden fabric and stills at the deep bruises across his back, nearly identically placed to Lan Wangji's own ridged scars. "She did this?" he asks, voice strained as he moves again, sliding the sleeves all the way down to remove the robe.

Drowsy, Wei Wuxian frowns before he recalls the stripes Zidian had placed on him before he made it to the water. He shifts experimentally, but the marks only ache - it must be courtesy of his thicker sleeping robes that he hadn't been burnt.

"The marks won't last long," he says before remembering that the last time he met Zidian before this, he still had a core. "With herbs, probably."

"You will have herbs and my healing," he promises, running two fingers over Wei Ying's narrow wrist to check his meridians. They are never what they ought to be without his Core but he can feel the qi running, albeit sluggish and weak. His own qi ought to help.

He works his hands down to Wei Ying's trousers, untying a stubborn knot as he tries to ease them down Wei Ying's hips, blankets at the ready.

"Anywhere else? Concentrate. Anywhere else to direct healing?"

Trembling now despite the fire, Wei Wuxian concentrates as he's asked, but he doesn't note anything he hasn't before. He lifts a hand, rubbing at his chest where the ache and itch persist. "I breathed in water," he says. "Aiya, so embarrassing, Lan Zhan!" he laments. He lived nearly his entire life by the water, swimming fearlessly even in the currents of the river.

He pouts with still blue tinged lips. "How will you ever take swimming lessons from me now?"

"Not embarrassing when one is drowning," he huffs, immediately bundling Wei Ying up in two blankets and grabbing a third and setting it aside before raising a hand at Wei Ying.

"Stay exactly there. Will be right back."

He hurries to the kitchen and grabs a tea set for Wei Ying and water, carrying all of it back quickly, not bothering to heat the water just yet. He sets the water to heat with a touch, leaning against the chaise and pulling Wei Ying in between his legs, third blanket thrown over them both.

Wei Wuxian snuggles in shamelessly, greedy for the furnace that is Lan Wangji's body. He lays against him as limp as a noodle for a time, until the growing guilt within him wins its battle with exhaustion. Wei Wuxian sighs.

"I'm sorry, Lan Zhan," he murmurs, cheek pressed against his husband's chest. "I shouldn't have gone outside at all. You sleep so poorly of late as it is. I should have stayed here with you where my heart actually lies. It's been years and I still jump when she commands it."

"I am far more guilty of obeying when I should not. Wei Ying owes no apologies," he assures, reaching over to steep the leaves with the now hot water, the scent of jasmine filling the air. Lan Wangji frowns and dislodges Wei Ying just enough to slip his own robe off, not wanting to further cool him down with his own damp robes.

"It could be this place and not truly her," he says as he pours the tea and brings the cup up to Wei Ying's lips. "Regardless, she will not touch you again. Wei Ying owes her nothing. She will take nothing."

He does owe her, it's why he went outside in the first place, but there's no merit in arguing the point. Calm though it is, Wei Wuxian can hear the anger in his husband's voice, and he doesn't wish to stoke it. He opens his mouth instead for the tea, wincing as it burns, then gulping at it when the searing warmth carves a path through his chilliest places.

Once he's swallowed, Wei Wuxian considers properly. "She wasn't...she didn't seem quite right, now that I think on it," Wei Wuxian admits. "I'm not sure she even spoke. I just knew what she wanted."

He is pleased that Wei Ying drinks without coaxing, holding the tea perfectly steady for Wei Ying when he is ready.

He rubs his cheek against Wei Ying's damp hair, frowning as he pulls a corner of a blanket up and over his head, swaddling Wei Ying further. "Thought I saw my mother at the park, along the river," he admits, wondering how she'd have acted if given a chance. This place does not seem to bestow blessing as much as it does terrors. "Thought I was tired. Perhaps it was something of the same. This place."