lightamidchaos | [pfsb] ritual aftermath

In his dream, he is harvesting lotuses from the lake.

The seeds he planted have flourished beyond all expectation. Flowers cover the entire shoreline; between them, a tiny squid darts to and fro, and he laughs as he chases after it, trousers and robes hiked high to keep them clear of the water. The squid likes to steal the lotus blossoms sometimes. He does not mind. They've even made a game of it: the little creature will try to pluck a flower without Wei Wuxian noticing, and if he catches it, it must give it back.

As he splashes through the knee-high water, his feet tangle on something and send him pitching forward with a yelp. The squid burbles with laughter as it swims away. Wei Wuxian is still laughing, too, as he hefts himself upright, shoving his soaking-wet hair from his eyes.

The laughter dies on his tongue when he sees what he's tripped over.

"Shijie," he whispers, horrified. "Shijie, no -- "

She is tangled in the roots of the lotuses, eyes wide and unseeing. Blood drifts from her mouth in a long thin plume. How long has she been trapped down there? He has seen drowned bodies before, bloated by water -- she is too pale, her fine features swollen, but no, she cannot be dead, no --

Frantically, he tears at the plants to free her. For every one he uproots, another grows fast, seizing his hands, trying to drag him down.

("Shijie," he whispers in his sleep, as he trembles beneath Lan Zhan's hand.)

He wakes with a start in the darkness, unsure at first as to why.

Wei Ying shivers beside him, whispering something, and Lan Wangji realizes what is happening.

He rolls to his side, facing Wei Ying, and raises his hand to the other man's shoulder.

"Wei Ying." Softly, softly said. "Wei Ying. You are dreaming."

Wei Ying.

He cannot tell who says his name. It doesn't sound like his sister, but why would it, if she is dead? (No. No, she is not dead, he will not let it -- )

But something shifts anyway, deeper than memory. This is a voice of safety, of good news, and though it leaves the lightest touch on the dream, it is an indelible one.

Wei Wuxian rips at the lotuses, and they do not re-root. They are only plants in his hands now, not malevolent vines seeking to grasp and drag him down to join Jiang Yanli. He throw himself into the water, wraps his arms around the cold body, pulls --

and he surfaces with a bawling, terrified A-Yuan in his arms, the little boy clutching tight to him as if he will vanish.

He nearly bursts into tears himself from the relief. "Shh, shh," he whispers as his adopted son sobs against his shoulder. "I have you, shh. You are fine. It's all right, A-Yuan. Shhh."

(In the waking world, with no gap to cross between their beds, Wei Wuxian draws closer to Lan Zhan. And as he hugs A-Yuan close in his dream, so he wraps an arm around the other man, seeking comfort, providing the same.)

Lan Wangji stops breathing.

Wei Ying is a warm and solid weight pressed close against him; Wei Ying's arm is around him, holding him tight and keeping him near.

Wei Ying is asleep. He would not do this if he were awake.

It does not matter. Lan Wangji can no more push him away than he could forbid the sun to rise.

Dizzy with the rush of feeling, ears burning, he shifts to lie on his back, putting his arm around him as he does to keep Wei Ying close to him, without disturbing his sleep. He guides Wei Ying's head to rest on his own chest and lies still, trying to steady his breathing and calm his racing heart.

Somehow, in the way of dreams, he has become both himself and A-Yuan, comforter and comforted. It is a strange double vision as he tucks his head protectively over the boy's, long wet hair forming a curtain around them, at the same time he clings tight to a person far bigger than him and cries so hard there is no space left for fear.

It's all right. Shh. You are safe. He is old enough to offer it like a prayer; young enough to hear it as a promise.

Against Lan Zhan, he is boneless, untroubled, his breathing deep and even as he returns to sleep.

Wei Ying is relaxed in his catlike sprawl, deeply asleep once more.

It takes some time before Lan Wangji is able to do the same.

When he wakes again, it is not with an abrupt rush in the dark, but due to the innate time sense that tells him it is mǎo hour and time to rise for the day.

Lan Wangji stifles a yawn and starts to turn - then goes absolutely motionless, frozen in place.

Wei Ying is still lying half on top of him, head on his chest and arm draped over him.

He cannot bring himself to move.

Yesterday was... a long day, to say the least, and Wei Wuxian has never been inclined to wake at mǎo hour, even when he has not participated in strange necromantic rituals that ended with him hallucinating his dead sister and feeling a mountain of resentful energy drop on his head.

He shifts a little when Lan Zhan stirs, but otherwise does not move. After a few moments, a tiny snore escapes him.

Well then. It seems that he will not be rising as usual, not today.

Lan Wangji forces himself to relax and makes himself focus his gaze on the ceiling above them, rather than on Wei Ying's face, the fall of his hair, or the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

In the silence of his mind, he begins to recite the 3,000 rules of Gusu Lan. It is not a usual meditation, but it will serve.

Somewhere around rule seven hundred and fifty, Wei Wuxian finally stirs again.

The bed's... warmer, for some reason? Strange. The pillow feels different as well. Is it moving? Why...?

Groggily, he opens his eyes. Blinks.

"Lan Zhan!" he yelps as he bolts upright, so quickly that a shock of pain goes through his head. He hisses a breath and cradles his forehead before he can muster enough self-awareness to keep up the I'm fine pretense. "Ow. I'm sorry, when did -- ?"

Hang on. Why is the bed suddenly big enough for both of them? Where did Lan Zhan's bed go?

"Do not apologize."

He pushes himself to a sitting position and leans back against the headboard, giving Wei Ying space.

"You needed rest."

He can feel his ears flush, and steadily ignores them.

He kneads his temples, still fixing Lan Zhan with a bewildered look.

"Where did your bed go? Is everything all right?"

"I moved it beside yours."

The explanation sounds stiff and awkward to his own ears, but he manages not to wince.

"I thought you might dream, so--"

"--everything is fine."

He shifts position, preparing to get up.

"Oh." Blankly. With care, he runs a hand over the surface of the bed, and... yes, there it is, a seam where two beds have been pushed so close together they may as well be one. "Yes. Right. I see."

The stab of pain when he moved fades to a soft hum of an ache. Much easier to ignore. Trying to will himself to greater alertness, he rubs his eyes and blinks again as Lan Zhan gets up.

"I did dream," he says, a little smaller. "But it was not awful. Thank you, Lan Zhan."

"No need."

Quieter, this time, and less awkward.

He crosses the room to retrieve the tea tray he had brought up last night, and carries it back to the bed.

He leans against the headboard, tipping his head back with a tired sigh. Why is his head throbbing like this? Surely it can't still be due to the resentful energy. He didn't even call it to himself; it was only the ambient pressure, and the choking dizziness it induced as he drowned in the sheer amount crashing over them.

(He thinks of falling from Wen Chao's sword, hungry ghosts rising to catch him, and shivers.)

Tea ought to help the headache. Conveniently, Lan Zhan returns with a tray, the teapot already warmed and ready. He mumbles a thank-you and starts to reach for the tray so he can serve them both properly.

"I have it."

He sets the tray down between them where Wei Ying can reach anyway, in case he insists.

"Let me."

Wei Wuxian pulls a face, grumpy enough to object (if only in quiet grumbles), but too off-kilter to actually do anything about it. He lets his eyes close as Lan Zhan busies himself with the tea, and accepts the cup he offers with no further complaint.

It's good, strong tea that tastes of home, and for a terrifying moment he worries his thoughts may unbalance altogether. He breathes in the steam to steady himself, and continues to drink in silence.

He stays quiet at first, sipping his own tea, trying to tell how Wei Ying is doing from how he is holding himself.

"Do you feel better?"

"Yes." A crooked smile. "Though I suppose anything above nearly fainting on the lake shore would be an improvement, wouldn't it?"

He swallows down more tea.

"A headache. And I am still tired, a little. No worse than that."

"Mn."

He will be just as glad if he never sees Wei Ying collapse like that again.

"I can ask Bar-guniang for medicine."

He shakes his head, ignoring how the pain flares a little brighter with the movement. "I'm fine, Lan Zhan," he says. "I only need to rest a little longer. And enjoy my tea."

He lifts the cup in a small toast, with an equally small smile.

"And you? Are you well, after...?"

"I am not ill."

Lying is forbidden. He is not sure he could convince himself it would not be a lie, if he said he was fine.

"Harrow is all right, also."

"She is?" He sags, visibly, with relief. "Good. Good. Then we are all well."

For given values thereof.

"Was she able to finish the ceremony, even though I couldn't...?"

Even though I failed, he wants to say, but cannot move the words further up his throat.

"She did."

He studies the other man's expression as Wei Ying's words trail into nothingness, and is deeply certain that he recognizes what he sees there.

"Wei Ying. Do not."

"She needed help, Lan Zhan, and I could not." Frustration bleeds into his voice. "And I do not know why. Yes, she is powerful, and her necromancy is different, but I should not have been so undone by it. Is it because I am dead? Is it because I cannot use the energy of the body like her? I am helpless, and -- "

He cuts himself off there.

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