[ open post: Lan Wangji and guests ]

[lightbearinglord]

In the wake of his disorienting and unpleasant stint in Gu Xiang's body, Lan Wangji has done his utmost to resume and enjoy all of his usual pursuits. He has, he believes, thoroughly made up for his lapse in his promise to Wei Ying. He has wielded kitchen knives, his ink brush, and Bichen with precision and enthusiasm. He has sunk into long, restorative shichen of meditation. He has, at Claudius' behest, thoroughly perused Emily Post's instructions regarding how to conduct oneself as the best man at a wedding.

There is the matter of his qin, too. The discovery of the spirit in Gideon's sword struck Lan Wangji with greater surprise than he might have expected. Such things were once commonplace for him; he hardly went two weeks, before he came to this place, without finding himself called to some night-hunt. He does not like to believe that he could become complacent, and he has always practiced diligently, but still.

The tableau is a familiar one: a certain parlor near the entryway of the mansion, one that often houses this particular cultivator along with his spiritual instrument. Wangji is balanced on a table at the center of the room, polished black wood gleaming and strings freshly tuned, and Lan Wangji sits cross-legged before it. He is not actually playing it at this precise moment, however, because he currently has guests. A small white rabbit sits next to the qin, munching his way through a piece of lettuce. An equally small brown rabbit is perched in the crook of Lan Wangji's elbow, eyeing his brother with some envy. Ostensibly, the rabbits are in trouble, because they have recently laid waste to Lan Wangji's copy of Emma. It is impossible to tell, because Lan Wangji is petting Danding's head with exactly as much solemn focus as always.

Comments

[lightbearinglord]

"His first was destroyed," Lan Wangji says, a confirmation.

[onthewillowsthere]

"Is it hard? Or does it not matter, because it's him?"

[lightbearinglord]

The question almost strikes him as ridiculous, because the idea of Wei Ying returning and Lan Wangji meeting him with anything but desire seems incomprehensible -- but it is a fair one. The physicality of his feelings for Wei Ying was one of the first aspects of their acquaintance that truly unraveled him. He remembers every detail of the gleam in Wei Ying's eyes, the nimbleness of his body along the Cloud Recesses walls, the flick of his ponytail like something beckoning to Lan Wangji, daring him to take hold of it and pull until Wei Ying could no longer escape him.

Then came his cleverness, his generosity to others, his wit and his insatiable curiosity. Lan Wangji must have known he had sealed his own demise the first time he sat down at his qin, able to think of nothing but Wei Ying flirting with the women of Gusu and effortlessly outsmarting water spirits, and began to compose a song with no spiritual trappings but those of his overburdened adolescent heart.

"Once I recognized him," he says, "it no longer mattered."

[onthewillowsthere]

Hearing Lan Wangji say so makes him think of Claudius in Aziraphale's body -- how he could almost immediately recognize Claudius' physicality in that body's movements, Claudius' inflections in that body's voice. He thinks of watching Claudius spread out those huge white wings and how it made heat tremble through him from his face to his groin. If Claudius were confined to that body forever, Galahad wouldn't love or want him any less. Lan Wangji is right: it would no longer matter.

[lightbearinglord]

Lan Wangji glances back up, then. He thinks he sees understanding in Galahad's still face. He expected no less. He remembers the first night with Wei Ying in the jingshi, carrying on about his captivity at Hanguang-jun's cruel behest, the heat of his hands as he tried to steal the jade token and the flash of his wide-eyed expression in the dark as Lan Wangji blew out the candles and the incense. It all came back to him then, cleaving him through with love and desire that had been growing slowly tame with grief for over a decade.

He's quiet, hands light at the rabbits' backs, waiting in the event that Galahad has further questions.

[onthewillowsthere]

In truth he's done with questions for the moment: Lan Wangji's answers have only solidified his feelings of similarity, and as he flips the sketchbook to a new page and begins to draw just the rabbits this time he lets that sameness rest in him.

[lightbearinglord]

Very well, then. Lan Wangji is used to answering questions from curious young men, but those questions usually keep to the topic of cultivation and meditation rather than straying into personal matters. The silence is welcome enough. With care not to dislodge the rabbits, who are mostly asleep now, he angles his body back toward the qin. The song that drifts from his hands and out from the strings is hardly a surprise.

[onthewillowsthere]

It's at least twenty minutes before he looks up again. "Did Claudius tell you about Sir Lancelot?"

[lightbearinglord]

By this time, the song he wrote for Wei Ying has ended, and Lan Wangji is simply experimenting with some of his newer ideas. There are echoes of some of the pieces he heard at Sagramore and Laertes' wedding dance. He looks up. About Sir Lancelot could mean several things, including the drink he and Claudius shared at the feast, but he thinks that is not what Galahad means. "Magnus did."

[onthewillowsthere]

"It's all right between us," he says, picking his words carefully -- he remembers how Laertes reacted when he'd said he'd apologized to Lancelot. "He asked for my forgiveness and I gave it to him. He's choosing to be someone different."

[lightbearinglord]

Lan Wangji takes this in with a little skepticism, but some understanding as well. Another second chance. That matters, and so does forgiveness granted with open eyes. So he asks only about the most pertinent component of the issue: "He will not harm you again?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"No."

[lightbearinglord]

After another, shorter pause to consider, Lan Wangji nods in acceptance of this new information. He has visited no cruelty upon Lancelot and has merely avoided him to the best of his abilities. Perhaps he can relax that standard.

[onthewillowsthere]

He's glad -- as long as anyone dislikes Lancelot on his account, he feels some sense of responsibility towards him, and a little of that eases. He returns to his drawing.

[lightbearinglord]

Hands hovering over Wangji's strings, Lan Wangji watches Galahad for just a breath or two longer. He is peaceful company, and admirably focused on his sketching. It reminds Lan Wangji that he still needs to teach both painting and calligraphy to Magnus. Perhaps Galahad would like to join them for one or both of those pursuits. For now, however, he resumes his music.