leaves eddied over the earth's scars

by Rose Thorne

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the material associated with The Untamed and make no money.

Lan WangJi wakes without knowing what has disrupted his sleep. The jingshi is silent, and Wei Ying's side of the bed is empty and unrumpled. But he has grown used to Wei Ying's late nights; that alone would not disturb his sleep.

The silver light of a barely-waning moon spills into their home, the door slid open and letting the soft, chill breeze of late April pour in. When Lan WangJi sits up, he can barely see the shadow of Wei Ying's figure on the porch.

A sense of unease prickles at his skin as moments tick by and there is no movement, and finally Lan WangJi stands, drawing on his outer robe and bringing Wei Ying's with, padding barefoot to the door.

Wei Ying is curled in on himself, seated at the edge of the porch with his forehead on one knee. In his lap is a rabbit that has of late taken a liking to him, a gentle white doe dappled in brown spots so light they were almost pink. Fallen white petals from the nearby magnolia tree surround him, a few adorning his robes.

The scene would be lovely to behold if not for tears that glimmer on Wei Ying's face in the moonlight.

The scene would be lovely to behold if not for tears that glimmer on Wei Ying's face in the moonlight.

Lan WangJi moves to him immediately, stepping over what appears to be an unopened jar of Emperor's Smile. He drapes the outer robes around his shoulders, then sits behind him and gathers him close, resting his chin on Wei Ying's shoulder. There is a tension in him, as though he is so taut he might snap.

"Wei Ying, I'm here."

"Lan Zhan," he murmurs, shivering as he leans into his embrace. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Lan WangJi wishes he had, wonders if there are other nights that find Wei Ying crying alone. Or, perhaps worse, drinking himself numb. Even if tonight has been the first time, the placement of the moon suggests it is after midnight; he has potentially been out here for hours alone, in quiet pain.

"Tell me?"

He makes it a request, not a demand, something Wei Ying is free to deny if he wishes. Over a minute ticks by in silence, so long he thinks perhaps all he can do was hold him in the moonlight.

But then Wei Ying lets out a long sigh.

"Next week would have been shijie's birthday."

Though it's barely a whisper, Lan WangJi can only describe his tone as lost. He understands; for Wei Ying, it will be the first birthday since her passing.

After Wei Ying's death every anniversary had felt like a fresh lash against his soul—their meeting, the cold spring cave, the battle against the XuanWu of Slaughter… all through the day he'd plummeted to his death. The first year had been the worst.

Lan WangJi wonders how many anniversaries he has quietly grieved alone like this, hiding his pain. He had faced his grief alone, refusing to impose upon his brother, but he doesn't want Wei Ying to face this alone.

"Tell me about her?"

He keeps it as a request, willing to simply sit here and hold him if that is what Wei Ying needs.

"Ah, you met her, Lan Zhan."

Something in the way he says it is hesitant, though, and so Lan WangJi responds gently.

"I do not know her as Wei Ying does."

He purposefully keeps the phrase in the present tense, for Jiang YanLi lives on in the memories of her brothers. He knows Wei Ying has noticed when his breath hitches and he shifts to the side in Lan WangJi's arms to lean his head against his chest, gently repositioning the rabbit as he does.

Comparing Wei Ying's speech to a burst dam, though a common metaphor, is inaccurate; rather, words come slowly, sometimes haltingly.

Lan WangJi learns of Jiang YanLi's dedication to keeping him safe and happy, how she found him up a tree and coaxed him down and home and filled him with warm soup and love. Of her smiles at his antics, and how he sought to keep her smiling through childish behavior. Of how she tried to shield him from Madam Yu's rages.

Far more than a sister; he is grieving the loss of a surrogate mother. He knows of Wei Ying's childhood, of the time spent fighting dogs for food in the streets following the death of his parents before Jiang FengMian had finally found him. Lan WangJi is reminded of his own inconsolable grief at his mother's death. The similarities are incomplete, but pain is not meant to be compared—only acknowledged and eased.

If only he knew how.

Between the lines he hears another fear: that without Jiang YanLi the rift between Wei Ying and Jiang WanYin will never mend, that she was what brought them together, that without her any reconciliation is impossible.

Tears have seeped through the layers he is wearing by the time Wei Ying falls quiet, his breath still hitching irregularly.

"It was my fault she was there. If I hadn't stopped at Koi Tower…"

Lan WangJi knows how these regrets work, having questioned his own actions for years, critiquing everything he could have done differently that might have saved him. After learning from Wen QiongLin of Wei Ying's secret, the loss of his golden core, he knows just how many mistakes he made.

"She would have sought you regardless," he says, and knows it to be true. Just as he had come, Jiang YanLi would have out of love.

A tremor runs through Wei Ying, and Lan WangJi brings one hand up to thread through his hair in a comforting motion.

"She wished to protect you." And she did goes unsaid.

"She shouldn't have," is so soft he barely hears it, and he can't stop himself from clutching Wei Ying tighter against him. The rabbit kicked at them, squirming out from between them to settle on the porch beside them; Lan WangJi barely registers it.

"She sacrificed herself and I just—"

"Wei Ying." He can't bear for him to complete that thought. "That was not you. The Book of Turmoil…"

The sob that rips itself from Wei Ying seems to echo in the still air.

"How can you be so sure?"

There is an air of desperation to his voice, and it pains Lan WangJi that Wei Ying has been so wronged, lost so much, been led to doubt even himself.

"Su MinShan played at Nightless City, just as he did at Qiongpi Path."

A tremor passes through Wei Ying at the mention of that place.

"His target was me," Lan WangJi whispers. "Your death was his weapon."

The events at Guanyin Temple had left him with little doubt: Su MinShan had killed Jiang YanLi to break Wei Ying, to leave him susceptible to the music, knowing he would be too strong to succumb without excessive measures. Just as the other cultivators had given into their worst inclinations, their amplified lust for power leading them to fight each other over the remains of the Stygian Tiger Seal, Wei Ying had succumbed to self-loathing so deep it had led him to...

He can't finish that thought, panic and grief threatening despite the warmth of Wei Ying in his arms.

Lan WangJi suspects Jiang WanYin had been similarly affected, that perhaps some of the rage that the man still holds onto was truly anger at his own actions.

Or perhaps he just hopes this is the case for Wei Ying's sake.

"That was not you," he says again.

Wei Ying's fingers trace one of the discipline scars that peeks above his night robes, as though he recognizes it as a physical symbol of their trauma. Lan WangJi resists the temptation to trace the almost invisible scar at Wei Ying's throat, trying not to remember his attempt to convince him his life was not worth sealing his spiritual energy. Even so, he can't quite contain a shudder at the phantom memory.

"Lan Zhan…" His breath is hot against his collarbone. "Does it ever end, Lan Zhan?"

He knows he is speaking of grief, of trauma and regret and guilt. It had for him, but only because Wei Ying had returned, the notes of their song played by a masked man on a mountain sixteen years into his grief bringing tears to his eyes and hope to his soul.

"I did not wish it to," Lan WangJi admits.

Letting go of it would have felt like letting go of him, and that he couldn't bear.

Fingers come to rest on his cheek, wiping at moisture he didn't realize was there.

"Oh, Lan Zhan."

Wei Ying's voice is grieved, but the apology is implied rather than spoken. They had promised, after all.

"Together," Lan WangJi tells him. "We can try together."

"Together," Wei Ying echoes, but adds nothing more.

Lan WangJi is not good with words; this conversation has required more of them than he can usually manage. But he knows Wei Ying still needs them, needs reassurance, from the way he is pressed close, pliable, drooping against him, the tension eased somewhat but still present under the surface. It would be easy to let action take over and distract, but that will not heal.

"How do you wish to celebrate Jiang YanLi's birth?" he finally manages, uncertain of what else to say; he only hopes these words will help, not harm.

Nearly a minute passes in silence, and he wonders if he failed, but then Wei Ying speaks so softly he almost doesn't understand the words, as though he is speaking to himself.

"I wouldn't be welcome."

Lan WangJi has to quash old anger before he can reply.

"I will write to Jiang WanYin. We will go to Yunmeng, if that is your wish."

Welcome or not, there will be words if Wei Ying is denied, he decides. Perhaps sixteen years' worth.

Wei Ying doesn't reply, doesn't say no, only trembles in his arms, and though he knows it is not, Lan WangJi decides to interpret it as cold, lifts him to his feet and wraps the robe more snugly around him.

He stoops to pick up the rabbit, leaving the untouched jar of Emperor's Smile to put away in the morning. Wei Ying's eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale in the moonlight, as pale as he had been at Nightless City. He looks delicate, like he might break. Again.

He looks exhausted.

Lan WangJi hands him the rabbit, then scoops him into his arms, meeting no resistance as he brings him into the jingshi, tucks him into bed, pulling away only to place the rabbit in a small hutch near the bed usually reserved for ill or injured ones.

He isn't certain whether either of them will truly sleep tonight, but he gathers Wei Ying to him, runs a hand soothingly against his back until his breathing is calm and regular anyway. Even if he isn't asleep, he is at least no longer so tense it feels he could shatter.

Tomorrow he will make arrangements for Uncle to take over his duties during his absence, will write the letter to Jiang WanYin and send it, will visit XiChen in his seclusion so he won't worry at his absence and to explain his intentions in Yunmeng, will begin preparations for the journey.

Most important, he will watch Wei Ying, give him what he needs so they can face their pain together.

Spectre was supposed to be a one-shot, but guess not. The title is a line from the poem "Try to Praise the Mutilated World," which is also the series title. Also, I dumbly initially set this in the fall, but Jiang YanLi's birthday is supposedly May 2. So I fixed it and added the symbolism of the magnolia blossom. For those who don't know, in China magnolia blossoms tend to symbolize womanly beauty and gentleness, which suits YanLi.