[A name to a voice and suddenly Xingchen recognizes it, even though he probably should have before. He raises his own arms in salute, an automatic response, if belated.]
Hanguang-jun.
[If he is affected, too, then that is truly unfortunate. He thinks back to an earlier conversation with Lan Sizhui and how the younger man had spoken so admiringly of the man who raised him. It breaks Xingchen's heart to think of how the disciple would undoubtedly suffer were anything to happen to Lan Wangji.
But what can he do? Wrapping a hand loosely around Shuanghua's hilt, Xingchen feels nothing. There's no comforting thrum deep in his body, no connection to the steel in his hands despite the two of them being partners, maybe even more than he and Song Lan had been, once. The blade is warm where his hands have held it for these long minutes, but still cold with a severed attachment. What can he do? If he were to draw Shuanghua from its sheath, wielding it would exhaust him far too quickly. He's disabled now, more than he has been, and he's sure he'd be more of a hindrance than a help were he to go out and offer his assistance in whatever cures are being hunted.
Lan Wangji speaks again with some difficulty and what he says is right. Someone has to do something and a few years ago Xingchen would have already set out to do it. He envies that version of himself, the man he'll never get to be again. But instead of explaining any of this to Lan Wangji, remembering the last conversation they had back in Sa-Hareth, he just takes his hand off the hilt of his sword and bows his head in acquiescence.]
no subject
Hanguang-jun.
[If he is affected, too, then that is truly unfortunate. He thinks back to an earlier conversation with Lan Sizhui and how the younger man had spoken so admiringly of the man who raised him. It breaks Xingchen's heart to think of how the disciple would undoubtedly suffer were anything to happen to Lan Wangji.
But what can he do? Wrapping a hand loosely around Shuanghua's hilt, Xingchen feels nothing. There's no comforting thrum deep in his body, no connection to the steel in his hands despite the two of them being partners, maybe even more than he and Song Lan had been, once. The blade is warm where his hands have held it for these long minutes, but still cold with a severed attachment. What can he do? If he were to draw Shuanghua from its sheath, wielding it would exhaust him far too quickly. He's disabled now, more than he has been, and he's sure he'd be more of a hindrance than a help were he to go out and offer his assistance in whatever cures are being hunted.
Lan Wangji speaks again with some difficulty and what he says is right. Someone has to do something and a few years ago Xingchen would have already set out to do it. He envies that version of himself, the man he'll never get to be again. But instead of explaining any of this to Lan Wangji, remembering the last conversation they had back in Sa-Hareth, he just takes his hand off the hilt of his sword and bows his head in acquiescence.]