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curiosity-killed · 4 years

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a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

Nerves tumble through him, all delighted energy racing in his veins in place of blood. His robes are new, a surprise from Wen Qing, Granny, and two of the aunties. Ink-dark clouds bloom over rich blue silk the color of the first bruising brush of night, a deep red robe rustling underneath. Running his fingertips down along the neat folds, he bites back a shaking smile. He’s going to meet his nephew. He’s going to see shijie and Jiang Cheng and he’s finally going to meet his first baby nephew. If excitement were an animal, his would be a hundred gilded canaries flocking and whirling behind his ribs. He’s inundated, suffused. Joy is such a vibrant rush that it blots out all else. Under the sun-white glow of it, he can think of little else but the excitement of the day. There is no room for his worries: whether the sects will ever let the Wens go in peace to a new home; how Uncle Four and Granny are going to get through the worst days of winter; what it means that the back of his hip keeps going funny lately, like the threads holding it in place are slowly unraveling. Sliding a small wooden box into his robes over his heart, he steps outside. Wen Qing’s waiting, clearly pretending she’s not by studying the lotus pond like it holds some secret message. By her side, Wen Ning holds a-Yuan on his lap, listening seriously as the boy chatters and waves one of his spinning toys through the air. Wen Qing straightens first. “How do I look?” Wei Wuxian asks with a grin.

Pursing her lips, Wen Qing studies him with a sharp eye and her hands on her hips. “Like a nuisance,” she says and reaches over to tug a strand of hair into place. “Hey!” Wei Wuxian yelps, only a little faked. Wen Qing pulls back to fold her hands at her waist. Her expression goes a little soft, the way it sometimes does when she looks over all of them gathered for dinner in the firelight. Wen Ning has stood and come to stand at her shoulder now, and he manages a tremulous smile. He’s worked hard over this year, to get back his emotions. He can’t blush or cry anymore, but he’s gotten the hang of inflection again, and he can pull up these little smiles. In another year or two, perhaps, he’ll be able to grin and laugh once more. “Behave for your sister,” Wen Qing says and holds out a small pouch of silver, “and pick out something nice for your nephew.” He can’t help the way his smile goes soft and a little sappy. Wen Qing looks skyward as if for patience, but before either can say more, there’s an insistent tug on his skirts. “Xian-gege,” a-Yuan says, frowning like a Yunmeng thunderstorm, “why do you have to go to the baby?” His voice is so petulant, so full of little kid frustration with the wide world. Wei Wuxian fights back a laugh. “Ah, a-Yuan, don’t you want to meet my shijie’s baby?” he asks. “He can be your little cousin a-Ling.” “Don’t want a little cousin,” a-Yuan pouts. “Xian-gege promised older brothers and sisters.” He pauses and tilts his head to look up at Wei Wuxian sideways through his lashes, rubbing his nose with one finger. It is a preposterous expression on a four-year-old face, and Wei Wuxian has to bite his lips to keep in his laughter. “Maybe we can sell him with the radishes?” His voice is so hopeful, the question so absurd — Wei Wuxian lets his laughter peal out of him and swoops down to scoop him up in his arms. His back twinges, briefly, but he ignores it. A-Yuan’s eyes brighten as if he thinks he’s getting his way. “A-Yuan, so cruel!” he scolds, delighted. “How could we sell my very first nephew?” “We could trade him,” a-Yuan suggests solemnly, “and plant a big brother instead.” It’s too cute; too much happiness is flooding him all at once, and Wei Wuxian squeezes him close even as he pinches his cheek. “Ai, truly the son of the dread Yiling laozu,” he teases before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And so cute!” Shaking her head, Wen Qing tries to stifle a smile, but it’s still there in the corners of her mouth as she reaches out and plucks a-Yuan from his arms. He looks briefly disappointed, but he laughs in surprise when Wei Wuxian chucks his chin gently and ruffles his hair. “Go on,” Wen Qing says, nodding toward the path down the mountain. “You don’t want to be late.” Grinning, Wei Wuxian waves an idle goodbye as he starts down the trail with Wen Ning at his side. Granny and Auntie Three tell him to take care when they pass, and Uncle Six wishes them safe travels as he returns from gathering water. Wei Wuxian could nearly skip all the way to Lanling with the way joy bubbles effervescent in his veins, but he settles for spinning Chenqing between his fingers and humming along to a song he half-remembers from childhood. They’ve left with enough time to fly to and from Lanling twice with rest on either end, but then, Wei Wuxian’s not flying anywhere. Suibian sits propped on a shelf in his cave, where it’s lain since they arrived. He cleans the blade as he has to, out of respect to the spirit that still thrums through it and to the bond he once shared with the sword, but otherwise, he pretends he cannot see it lying there. He doesn’t regret it. There is no world in which he could ever wish he’d made another choice, but—

He’d told Wen Qing he understood the consequences. That he knew the risks and the weight of giving up his golden core. He would forever be mediocre, destined to live out a shorter life and to never fulfill the great dreams he’d had in his adolescence. Such broad declarations could not fathom the painful prick of everyday loss. He no longer reaches for spiritual energy that isn’t there, but sometimes he dreams, and he still knows that familiar river-rush song of power at his center. It still feels right, still feels like the song his soul has known since he was twelve and he felt a seed of something strong and glowing deep within him. He wakes bereft, empty-handed, hollowed. It’s not even the dreams he misses most — those grand heroics were always stories, and his home has been in Lotus Pier alongside his duty for most of his remembered life. It’s the little things, the things he had taken for granted: being able to help when someone was ill or injured, being able to soar up on Suibian and see the tumbling world splayed out before him. He will never regret his choice. If anything, he’s been proven right over and over in how Jiang Cheng has led Yunmeng Jiang through the war and into this new reconstruction. Lotus Pier needed its leader, and Jiang Cheng has always been destined for that mantle. So, no, he will never regret his decision. But, sometimes, he grieves. It’s a selfish sorrow, to lie with his hand flat on his chest in the night-quiet and feel the resounding hollowness echo through him. There’s still spiritual energy lingering in him, enough to power a talisman or a weak spell, but it diminishes day by day, eaten away by the resentment hooking claws into his bones. Guilt does its best to drown the grief. He has no right to feel sorrow for a sacrifice willingly made. If he does not regret the decision, what reason is there for hurt? He should just be able to set it aside and move forward, onward. He tries. It works most days. They stop in Yiling to pick up a token with the money Wen Qing sent, and Wei Wuxian eyes the whole supply, running his fingers along the jade, weighing the heft of them in his palm. It’s only adornment, a small trinket to accompany his real gift, but he wants it to be perfect, too. Outside, Wen Ning waits patiently. He’s dressed in his best as well, neat black robes that don’t mark him as any sect but are carefully pleated and tied. Wei Wuxian grins and holds out the tassel for examination. “What do you think?” he asks. “It is very pretty, Master Wei,” Wen Ning affirms. “Is this your gift for young Jin Rulan?” Wei Wuxian scoffs and reaches into the folds of his robe to pull out the lacquered box. As if he would give his nephew something so small as a tassel and say that was sufficient. He passes the box to Wen Ning, who cradles it in his hands like a bird’s egg. Wei Wuxian waits, trying carefully not to preen, as he lifts the lid to examine the gift. “It’s warded,” he blurts out anyway, because he’s never been very good at bottling up excitement. “Low level ghosts and monsters won’t be able to come near him as long as my nephew wears it.” “I can feel it,” Wen Ning says, his hand hovering carefully away from the beads. The bracelet has taken hours of work and planning, the kind of mental challenge that is at once exhilarating and exhausting; he loves the strain of it, the puzzle in how to determine the right characters and imbue it with the proper strength, but it also required more planning and detail work than comes naturally. He can’t count the number of times he checked and re-checked his work to make sure he didn’t miss something tiny and vital. Wen Ning moves to touch the bracelet, and panic flashes through Wei Wuxian as he half-lunges to stop him. “Ah don’t touch it!” he yelps. He manages to reign himself back in as Wen Ning stops short and turns to him with something like alarm. “I’m not sure what it’ll do.” He tries not to wince as he says it; he hadn’t wanted to point it out at all. Despite his placid face, Wen Ning’s shoulders stoop a little, and Wei Wuxian’s heart squeezes painfully. He shouldn’t have to worry about this, shouldn’t have to think about how he’s been made into a monster. It’s not his fault, not something he had any say in, and guilt sours deep in Wei Wuxian’s belly at the way that he still has to carry the burden even when it was forced upon him in the first place. “Come on,” Wei Wuxian says, clapping Wen Ning on the shoulder once the box is stowed once more. He gives a smile of reassurance, apology, and Wen Ning quirks up his lips in his own smile. “Of course, Wei-gongzi,” he says. It’s a long walk to Koi Tower. Wei Wuxian almost wishes they had chosen to split up the trip between two days, but it’s not like they would have been able to afford an inn and a bath if they had. He spends the walk teasing Wen Ning and chattering. Wen Ning’s still a little demure, but he’s gotten better at teasing and understanding when Wei Wuxian is joking over the year. It’s nice in a way few things are anymore; Wen Ning knows, like Wen Qing, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to pretend around him. He cradled Wei Wuxian’s head as his sister pulled out the thrumming golden core at his heart, kept his shoulders pinned to the ground as he screamed. He understands in a way shijie or Jiang Cheng or Lan Zhan never can. They have done terrible violence to each other for the sake of their siblings, and they can laugh and talk and tease in the sunlight. It’s the kind of light that falls through cracks in ancient ruins, that illuminates and softens the ragged edges of history. They plan to pause and rest on the far side of Qiongqi Pass, Wen Ning’s enforcement of his sister’s order. “It would make Lady Jiang upset if you overexerted yourself before the celebrations,” Wen Ning says. That is certainly not how Wen Qing phrased it. Wei Wuxian accepts it with only a little complaining, to keep up appearances. It can’t get out that he can be persuaded so easily after all; his reputation would never survive.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #untamed fic #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #my writing #and the sads being

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