Lan Wangji (蓝忘机) (
lightbearinglord) wrote2024-09-29 03:32 am
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With Claudius married and Aornis at last a permanent memory, the days seem to open up in front of Lan Wangji, like rounding a bend and finding a mountain path opening finally onto a vast and lush valley. He has never struggled to fill his time; there are always topics to pursue in the library, dishes to cook for his husband and for the handful of people he has taken to feeding with regularity, corrections to issue unto Galahad, who listens with the same earnest solemnity as ever. There is a sudden sense of freedom to it all, though, with the end of fear. He told Tally that he had set aside the pursuit of escape in favor of the pursuit of Aornis, and he believed that to be true, but he has yet to pick it up again in her wake. Every day, he yearns for the Cloud Recesses. He misses the quiet, the cleansing mist, and the view of Gusu from atop its walls. He misses the sight of the junior disciples, his brother, anyone but himself sporting the forehead ribbon. He misses Sizhui with the constancy of the waves that now push and pull over and over at the shore of their newfound beach. And yet he is not trying to find his way home.
In the absence of Sizhui, in the troubling void of purpose where once he would have been certain he would never give up the hope of return, he thinks often of Magnus. Their conversation in the kitchen seemed to release something between them, something he had not known to monitor until it was already coming loose. Magnus loves him, and Magnus kept something from him for months, and Lan Wangji is not angry, but he has continued to turn it over and over in his mind, a stone growing smoother and smoother in the relentless current. Magnus trusted someone else with his training. Lan Wangji would be lying to himself if he said he felt no envy at all.
Long familiarity with this place and its people, and his habit of assessing the mansion from overhead, have given Lan Wangji a good idea of Lancelot's routine. Typically, he is at the training yard only to work with Galahad. Today, he returns later on, at a time when he calculates that Lancelot's presence is likely. Bichen is at his side. It always is, naturally, but perhaps if nothing else, the two of them can cross blades. He has wanted to do so again ever since that first and only sparring session between the two of them, before he knew anything about Lancelot at all beyond his skill with a sword.
In the absence of Sizhui, in the troubling void of purpose where once he would have been certain he would never give up the hope of return, he thinks often of Magnus. Their conversation in the kitchen seemed to release something between them, something he had not known to monitor until it was already coming loose. Magnus loves him, and Magnus kept something from him for months, and Lan Wangji is not angry, but he has continued to turn it over and over in his mind, a stone growing smoother and smoother in the relentless current. Magnus trusted someone else with his training. Lan Wangji would be lying to himself if he said he felt no envy at all.
Long familiarity with this place and its people, and his habit of assessing the mansion from overhead, have given Lan Wangji a good idea of Lancelot's routine. Typically, he is at the training yard only to work with Galahad. Today, he returns later on, at a time when he calculates that Lancelot's presence is likely. Bichen is at his side. It always is, naturally, but perhaps if nothing else, the two of them can cross blades. He has wanted to do so again ever since that first and only sparring session between the two of them, before he knew anything about Lancelot at all beyond his skill with a sword.
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He crosses the yard to sit on the bench, removing his swordbelt and setting it aside and then reaching for the bottle of water he has brought along. "Forgive me," he says in tones of apology that suggest that this is somehow rude, "it is warm today."
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He says, "He mentioned to me that he did not wish to fight. But as I told him: training, sparring, these are not fighting. They may prepare one for fighting, but on their own they may be sport. They are practice, keeping up one's strength. I had not realized how different his experiences were from my own."
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Lancelot pauses, as if determining whether to ask the question that's looming before him, but then decides he must. "I have not offended, in taking him on, I hope?"
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