The Moment that Will Never Happen

by Lady_Ganesh

Summary:

There are a lot of things to think about in seclusion, but Lan Xichen's thoughts keep taking the same path.

(CW in the end notes)

Notes:

• For lynndyre.

Lan Xichen hadn't considered himself particularly sheltered, but living on the run had disabused himself of that notion quite quickly. His forehead felt cold and exposed without his ribbon, and alcohol burned down his throat. His golden core saved him from intoxication, but the one time he tried to eat meat he found himself retching in the ditch behind the inn he'd been resting at.

But they would be looking for Lans. Lans didn't eat meat. Lans didn't drink alcohol. Lans didn't take their ribbons from their forehead. He had to try to hide himself, however he could.

He'd never felt so astray. Some small part of him thought that if he could only put his ribbon on again, he could orient himself and make sense of the world.

"Young master," someone said at his side.

Lan Xichen turned to him, startled. He'd been staring at...well, nothing. "My apologies," he said. "This one must seem like a country bumpkin."

The man who'd spoken to him was slight, fine-boned, with soft, clever eyes and carefully arranged hair. Lan Xichen might be naive, but he recognized poverty and pride when he saw it. The man's clothes were simple, but carefully maintained and styled. His face looked kind. "Not at all," the man said, and smiled, gently. 

And that was how simply, how quickly, Lan Xichen had fallen. 

 

---

 

Sometimes, alone in the Hanshi, in the comforting darkness of night, Lan Xichen would look up at the ceiling and remember that; that beautiful, sweet-faced boy, the ink staining his hands. How meticulously his robes had been mended, back in those early days; how zealously Meng Yao had kept his pride, even then.

Should Lan Xichen have remembered that pride when Jin Guangyao volunteered to play for Da-ge?

Should he have thought of it when Jin Guangyao took Nie Huaisang's hand, whispering reassurances, promising to soothe his every worry? If he'd asked himself why San-ge had been so happy to act as a servant again, maybe...

There had to be an answer, didn't there? There'd been something he'd missed, some point at which he could have said A-Yao, this has gone too far. A-Yao, talk to me. A-Yao, there has to be another way.

Some nights he fell asleep like that. Those were the better nights. The worse nights were the ones where he asked those questions at the Temple, in the coffin, all three of them trapped together in endless war.

 

Lan Xichen hadn't considered himself particularly sheltered, but in the cold light of dawn, he could admit to himself that he'd been naive. That he'd told himself he was avoiding his father's mistakes, even as he followed in the man's steps. That the principles carved into the rock of his home didn't spare him from error or pain, or the grinding, painful anger that sometimes flooded him; anger at San-ge, at Nie Huaisang, at himself. At Da-ge for dying, and—when he was at his lowest—at his own brother and Wei Wuxian, for their happiness, for their righteousness. 

Perhaps he should have kept his ribbon on, stayed away from alcohol. Perhaps an honorable death would have been easier.

Perhaps nothing would have made any difference at all.

 

Sometimes, alone in the Hanshi, in the comforting darkness of night, Lan Xichen would look up at the ceiling and wonder if Nie Huaisang had really sealed the coffin as well as the witnesses had claimed. Sometimes, when the night shaded toward morning, he found himself listening, waiting.

There would be, someday, two steps of footsteps on the path, heavy and light, ready to take him to where he belonged.

But he knew that Nie Huaisang had denied him the relief of destruction.

The coffin stayed sealed, and Lan Xichen remained, waiting for a resolution that would not come.

Notes:

Lan Xichen isn't actively suicidal but he does think about his own death in a way that suggests it wouldn't upset him too much.