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I just rewatched the last few episodes. I have just spent a couple of hours crying all over again as well. So. I wanted something cathartic and comforting. Might be slightly out of character, I just really wanted these four to be able to cry and hug and grieve together after that scene in the Lin ancestral shrine in Episode 54. Um. Spoilers?
Title: Watershed
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Lang Ya Bang/Nirvana in Fire
Characters/Pairings: Jingyan|Prince Jing, Lin Shu|Mei Changsu|Su Zhe, Mu Nihuang, Meng Zhi. Friendship/love on all sides
Summary: With his duty now finally completed, Lin Shu at last gives free rein to his grief. Jingyan, Nihuang and Meng Zhi are there to let him break, and then put him back together again. Missing scene from Episode 54
Wordcount: 2463
Warnings/Notes: Set during the series finale, so SPOILERS. Grief/mourning, catharsis, hurt/comfort, relief, completed missions, friendship/love
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: Watershed
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Lang Ya Bang/Nirvana in Fire
Characters/Pairings: Jingyan|Prince Jing, Lin Shu|Mei Changsu|Su Zhe, Mu Nihuang, Meng Zhi. Friendship/love on all sides
Summary: With his duty now finally completed, Lin Shu at last gives free rein to his grief. Jingyan, Nihuang and Meng Zhi are there to let him break, and then put him back together again. Missing scene from Episode 54
Wordcount: 2463
Warnings/Notes: Set during the series finale, so SPOILERS. Grief/mourning, catharsis, hurt/comfort, relief, completed missions, friendship/love
Disclaimer: Not mine
Watershed
In his life, having lost so many, Jingyan had thought that he had experienced every pain there was to know. Or a great many, at the very least. They were nothing, though. He realised now. All those pains were less than nothing. No pain he had every felt before could equal what he felt now, watching Lin Shu weep before the restored Lin ancestral shrine. He could do nothing. He couldn't help. No-one could. All he could do, all any of them could do, was stand there and bear witness, as before them their brother at last gave voice to his grief.
Thirteen years. Thirteen years in which seventy thousand precious souls had wandered, lost, unregarded and unavenged. Thirteen years in which their loved ones were forbidden to honour them, to mourn. Thirteen years of suffering and emptiness and lies. Thirteen years ... for one man to face down an empire and an emperor, and through sacrifice without end restore those betrayed souls to their rightful place. Thirteen years, to come to this. So many. So long.
And now, at last, they were safe. Now, at last, the man who had fought for those thirteen years could kneel before his ancestors and honour them as had so long been denied. He wept. Of course he wept. He had that right, and who could not? His tears were a victory. More than anything else they had done, this moment, this righteous mourning, was their victory.
That did not help Jingyan bear it. It should, but it didn't. Every muffled sob, every hitch of breath in the body before him, tore at him for its injustice. Lin Shu. It should not have been Lin Shu. None of it. He had borne all there was to bear, and he should have had to bear none of it. This grief should never have been born. This pain should never have been endured. If only ... If only. A thousand times, if only. But if only had never come. Even justice, finally won, could not wipe out the sin from which it sprang.
No one could take back those thirteen years. No one could take back their cost. And of all of them, it was Lin Shu that had borne it.
He looked hollowed, when he finally stood and turned to face them. That was what Jingyan thought. Lin Shu looked hollowed and yet ... not quite at peace. There was pain still in his face and eyes, thoughts for the future yet. Peace was not the right word. A burden had been lifted, though. A weight had been taken from him. Seventy thousand souls. How much they must have weighed. He looked lighter now. They had given him that much at least.
"... He told me to live," Lin Shu said, when he came abreast of them. He didn't look at them, didn't meet their eyes. He looked down at his hands instead, knotted together in front of him. Behind him, the eyes of the honoured dead looked out at them. "F-Father. As he was ... At the end. He wanted me to live. For the Lin family. For the Chiyan army. He wanted me to--"
He stopped, his grief strangling him, and threw his head back to stare blindly towards the heavens. They moved to him almost as one. Jingyan. Nihuang. Even Meng Zhi. They moved to encircle him, to shelter him between them. He didn't acknowledge it. Jingyan thought he could not. The grief, given rein at last, was too raw to allow it. Lin Shu was only barely holding on.
"... You did it," Nihuang whispered fiercely, around the tears in her own eyes. She hesitated, only a moment, and then reached out to take Lin Shu's hand in hers. He looked at her, startled, bewildered, and she gripped his hand with proud ferocity. "Lin Shu. You did it. Everything he asked. Everything he could have wanted. You've done it. It's done."
She stared at him, as if to press the knowledge of it inside him by force of will, and he stared back, the tears standing in his eyes and willfully, willfully not falling. Held back, even now. Thirteen years of defiance, of indomitable strength of purpose, present even now.
And then ... then he turned his head. Then he looked at Jingyan instead of Nihuang, a gaping, hollow thing in his expression, and slowly, silently, against his will, the tears began to fall.
"Not me," he said, with something that might have been an attempted smile. He lifted his other hand, held it shaking towards Jingyan. "It wasn't me. Jingyan. Jingyan, I ..."
"It was you," Jingyan near-snarled, seizing that trembling hand and stepping forcefully close. Lin Shu did not flinch. He blinked, the tiniest shutter of confusion, but he did not flinch. He would not flinch from anyone. Jingyan near hated him for it. He loved him beyond measure, and in that moment he nearly hated him. "Xiao Shu. Lin Shu. If you thank me for this, for all you have suffered to make this happen, I swear before your father that I will kill you here and now. It was you. Not me. Not anyone. For thirteen years, it was you. Don't you dare deny that now!"
Lin Shu stared at him. There was that look on his face. The one that had never been there before Meiling. The one that only Mei Changsu wore. That pale, half-shielded confusion, that came only when he was honoured, and never when he was reviled. That thing that did not remember how to be thanked. Jingyan knew that look. Knew it better than most, from having watched Su Zhe give endlessly and without expectation. He hated it more than anything.
It softened, at last. Or crumpled, perhaps, was a better word. The facade of Mei Changsu broke, and it was only Lin Shu who looked at him, and blindly grieved.
"... Not alone, then," he said, very softly, and with the smallest of smiles. "I didn't do it alone. May I thank you for that?"
Jingyan closed his eyes. His heart broke. It had broken long ago, it had broken the first time he'd thought Lin Shu dead, and it broke now again. Quietly and cleanly. He nodded. He opened his eyes, Lin Shu's thin, pale hand in his own, and he nodded.
"I don't think I can stop you," he said, and laughed a little, a strange sound amidst their tears. "All these years, Xiao Shu, and you have the nerve to call me stubborn."
Lin Shu blinked, and then he laughed, small and startled, like a sun between the clouds. Jingyan echoed him, and then Nihuang, as if she couldn't help herself, and then Meng Zhi, reaching out to grip Lin Shu's shoulder with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. They laughed, blindly and foolishly, gathered about each other like children in a sudden spell of sunshine. It felt ... it felt like happiness. Like joy. The dead looked proudly down at them. They must, Jingyan thought. Surely, surely the dead must be proud. Surely they must be joyous, to see their children laughing together at last, after all the pain and suffering of these thirteen years. Was that not victory also? As much as tears, as much as mourning, was that life not a victory as well?
"... He is proud of you," he heard himself saying. The laughter died, a strange terror in Lin Shu's eyes as he looked at him, and Jingyan nodded quietly to himself. He changed his grip on Lin Shu's hand, held it warm and tight against his chest. He felt ... certainty. For the first time in thirteen years, he felt calm and sure. He let Lin Shu see that, when he looked at him. He made sure that Lin Shu knew. "Your father is proud of you, Xiao Shu. I know it. When the time comes, when we stand before them ... I know Lin Xie will say so too. You cannot be ashamed. Not for Su Zhe, not for Mei Changsu, not for anything. He has been watching us. When you show him your face ... you must know that you will not have to be ashamed."
A wildness passed across Lin Shu's face, something stark and ravaged, and he bowed before them as if struck. He hunched as though wounded, and the smallest, strangled sound left his throat. Nihuang gasped, and Jingyan gripped Lin Shu's hand near tight enough to bruise. He was sorry, he was so sorry, but he could not regret saying it. He did not regret his words.
"Jingyan," Lin Shu whispered, shattered, and Jingyan shook his head. He stepped forward without answer, while Lin Shu watched him with blind, desperate eyes, and gathered him roughly to his chest. His arms shook as he did so. Lin Shu was thin and trembling and fragile in the shelter of his arm, against his chest. Lin Shu was hollowed by thirteen years of pain and illness and suffering. Jingyan had wanted to embrace him from the moment he had realised who his friend was. He had denied himself, denied them both, because Lin Shu had wanted it so. Because seventy thousand souls had yet to be brought home, and all Jingyan's grief could never be allowed to stand in the way of that.
Those souls were satisfied now, though. They were laid to rest, the burden at last laid down. He could hold his brother now. He could let himself, if Lin Shu would only let them both.
And after a moment ... After a moment, Lin Shu did. His body curved in acquiescence, his head coming to rest fearfully and exhaustedly on Jingyan's shoulder, and Jingyan cast his eyes to heaven, curling blindly around his friend. Nihuang, her anguished hitch of breath just audible, pressed against their sides, Lin Shu's hand still held in hers, and Meng Zhi moved to stand solidly at Lin Shu's back, a shield and a wall against the world. Protecting them, standing guard. Jingyan didn't know when he had last felt such gratitude.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, while Lin Shu trembled silently in his arms. "Xiao Shu. I'm so sorry. I have hurt you so many times with my suspicions, and I'm sorry for it. I didn't know. I should have, and I didn't, and I will always be sorry for that. But the dead are not like me. You know that. You have to. For so many years, I thought of how I would face you when it was done. I have judged my actions and hoped I would not have to be ashamed. You cannot think, you cannot think, that our dead would judge you harshly. You have given everything. Blood, and bone, and thirteen years. You cannot think they would not know."
Lin Shu breathed, a ragged gasp of grief into Jingyan's shoulder. He shuddered, his body stiff and angry still, denying himself relief. He curled his face into Jingyan's neck, tears slipping silently past Jingyan's collar.
"I had to bring them home," he said, low and ragged. "I didn't die. I survived when they had died. I couldn't waste my life. He asked me to ... I had to. I'm sorry. I had to bring them home."
They looked at each other, the three of them gathered around him. Jingyan looked at Nihuang, Meng Zhi, saw his helplessness reflected in theirs. They knew pieces of it, he thought. All of them. They knew fragments of what Lin Shu had lived, what he had endured and sacrificed. None of them knew all of it. Only Lin Shu. Only he knew how many things he had given up to bring them here today. Without that knowledge, they were helpless against his pain.
Or perhaps not. Not all of them. Meng Zhi reached out, gripped Lin Shu's shoulders carefully in both his hands. A gentle brace, to hold a man up against the world.
"Don't be sorry," the general said quietly. "I told you once. Loyalty is in the heart, not the reputation. You ... You gave away your reputation, but not your loyalty. Your heart was always true. I know that. We all know that. And your ... your dead will know it too."
He flushed, after that. He ducked his head, uncomfortable while Jingyan and Nihuang both stared at him. Meng Zhi was not normally so eloquent. He knew it, and shuffled uncomfortably because of it. But Lin Shu ... Lin Shu went still in Jingyan's arms. He breathed, slow and thoughtful against Jingyan's throat, and then went lax. He slumped, some nameless, hideous tension leeching at last out of his ravaged body, and let Jingyan instinctively gather him closer. He let them hold him up, the three of them. For just this moment, he let himself have relief.
"I never deserved you, you know," he said softly. Almost sleepily, closing his eyes against Jingyan's shoulder. "None of you. I never deserved such loyalty."
Jingyan exhaled, a disbelieving sort of a huff, and reached up to rest his hand against Lin Shu's nape and cradle his head. Meng Zhi snorted, squeezing the man's shoulders gently in his hands. Nihuang only shook her head, thirteen years of exasperated grief in her eyes, smoothing his fingers gently between hers. They were in agreement, Jingyan could see. All three of them. They knew exactly what to say to that.
"I think you'll find that's up to us," he said, lightly enough. "It was our choice, Xiao Shu. We chose you, and I don't think any of us have regretted it."
"Never," Meng Zhi said instantly.
"Not for a moment," Nihuang agreed.
Lin Shu chuckled, then. He raised his head, straightened himself back up. He looked at them, his face tearstained but composed, calm as only Mei Changsu's face could be. He looked from face to face, his expression smooth and inscrutable, and then he smiled. Lin Shu, not Mei Changsu. He gave them a smile, small and soft and grateful, and untangled himself carefully from their embrace. They let him go. Reluctantly, Jingyan thought. None of them wished to release him. He was inexorable, though. He always had been. He stepped away from the shelter of their arms, and offered them a gentle bow.
"... Then I shall not either," he said, hollowed and smiling and firm. "I will not regret. And I will not be ashamed. Not before anyone." He paused, and then ducked his head, an odd little smile on his face. "Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you. I ... Thank you."
They could not answer that. None of them, Jingyan thought. They could not answer that, so they did the only thing there was left to do.
They bowed back, and gave their brother their heartfelt thanks in return.
In his life, having lost so many, Jingyan had thought that he had experienced every pain there was to know. Or a great many, at the very least. They were nothing, though. He realised now. All those pains were less than nothing. No pain he had every felt before could equal what he felt now, watching Lin Shu weep before the restored Lin ancestral shrine. He could do nothing. He couldn't help. No-one could. All he could do, all any of them could do, was stand there and bear witness, as before them their brother at last gave voice to his grief.
Thirteen years. Thirteen years in which seventy thousand precious souls had wandered, lost, unregarded and unavenged. Thirteen years in which their loved ones were forbidden to honour them, to mourn. Thirteen years of suffering and emptiness and lies. Thirteen years ... for one man to face down an empire and an emperor, and through sacrifice without end restore those betrayed souls to their rightful place. Thirteen years, to come to this. So many. So long.
And now, at last, they were safe. Now, at last, the man who had fought for those thirteen years could kneel before his ancestors and honour them as had so long been denied. He wept. Of course he wept. He had that right, and who could not? His tears were a victory. More than anything else they had done, this moment, this righteous mourning, was their victory.
That did not help Jingyan bear it. It should, but it didn't. Every muffled sob, every hitch of breath in the body before him, tore at him for its injustice. Lin Shu. It should not have been Lin Shu. None of it. He had borne all there was to bear, and he should have had to bear none of it. This grief should never have been born. This pain should never have been endured. If only ... If only. A thousand times, if only. But if only had never come. Even justice, finally won, could not wipe out the sin from which it sprang.
No one could take back those thirteen years. No one could take back their cost. And of all of them, it was Lin Shu that had borne it.
He looked hollowed, when he finally stood and turned to face them. That was what Jingyan thought. Lin Shu looked hollowed and yet ... not quite at peace. There was pain still in his face and eyes, thoughts for the future yet. Peace was not the right word. A burden had been lifted, though. A weight had been taken from him. Seventy thousand souls. How much they must have weighed. He looked lighter now. They had given him that much at least.
"... He told me to live," Lin Shu said, when he came abreast of them. He didn't look at them, didn't meet their eyes. He looked down at his hands instead, knotted together in front of him. Behind him, the eyes of the honoured dead looked out at them. "F-Father. As he was ... At the end. He wanted me to live. For the Lin family. For the Chiyan army. He wanted me to--"
He stopped, his grief strangling him, and threw his head back to stare blindly towards the heavens. They moved to him almost as one. Jingyan. Nihuang. Even Meng Zhi. They moved to encircle him, to shelter him between them. He didn't acknowledge it. Jingyan thought he could not. The grief, given rein at last, was too raw to allow it. Lin Shu was only barely holding on.
"... You did it," Nihuang whispered fiercely, around the tears in her own eyes. She hesitated, only a moment, and then reached out to take Lin Shu's hand in hers. He looked at her, startled, bewildered, and she gripped his hand with proud ferocity. "Lin Shu. You did it. Everything he asked. Everything he could have wanted. You've done it. It's done."
She stared at him, as if to press the knowledge of it inside him by force of will, and he stared back, the tears standing in his eyes and willfully, willfully not falling. Held back, even now. Thirteen years of defiance, of indomitable strength of purpose, present even now.
And then ... then he turned his head. Then he looked at Jingyan instead of Nihuang, a gaping, hollow thing in his expression, and slowly, silently, against his will, the tears began to fall.
"Not me," he said, with something that might have been an attempted smile. He lifted his other hand, held it shaking towards Jingyan. "It wasn't me. Jingyan. Jingyan, I ..."
"It was you," Jingyan near-snarled, seizing that trembling hand and stepping forcefully close. Lin Shu did not flinch. He blinked, the tiniest shutter of confusion, but he did not flinch. He would not flinch from anyone. Jingyan near hated him for it. He loved him beyond measure, and in that moment he nearly hated him. "Xiao Shu. Lin Shu. If you thank me for this, for all you have suffered to make this happen, I swear before your father that I will kill you here and now. It was you. Not me. Not anyone. For thirteen years, it was you. Don't you dare deny that now!"
Lin Shu stared at him. There was that look on his face. The one that had never been there before Meiling. The one that only Mei Changsu wore. That pale, half-shielded confusion, that came only when he was honoured, and never when he was reviled. That thing that did not remember how to be thanked. Jingyan knew that look. Knew it better than most, from having watched Su Zhe give endlessly and without expectation. He hated it more than anything.
It softened, at last. Or crumpled, perhaps, was a better word. The facade of Mei Changsu broke, and it was only Lin Shu who looked at him, and blindly grieved.
"... Not alone, then," he said, very softly, and with the smallest of smiles. "I didn't do it alone. May I thank you for that?"
Jingyan closed his eyes. His heart broke. It had broken long ago, it had broken the first time he'd thought Lin Shu dead, and it broke now again. Quietly and cleanly. He nodded. He opened his eyes, Lin Shu's thin, pale hand in his own, and he nodded.
"I don't think I can stop you," he said, and laughed a little, a strange sound amidst their tears. "All these years, Xiao Shu, and you have the nerve to call me stubborn."
Lin Shu blinked, and then he laughed, small and startled, like a sun between the clouds. Jingyan echoed him, and then Nihuang, as if she couldn't help herself, and then Meng Zhi, reaching out to grip Lin Shu's shoulder with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. They laughed, blindly and foolishly, gathered about each other like children in a sudden spell of sunshine. It felt ... it felt like happiness. Like joy. The dead looked proudly down at them. They must, Jingyan thought. Surely, surely the dead must be proud. Surely they must be joyous, to see their children laughing together at last, after all the pain and suffering of these thirteen years. Was that not victory also? As much as tears, as much as mourning, was that life not a victory as well?
"... He is proud of you," he heard himself saying. The laughter died, a strange terror in Lin Shu's eyes as he looked at him, and Jingyan nodded quietly to himself. He changed his grip on Lin Shu's hand, held it warm and tight against his chest. He felt ... certainty. For the first time in thirteen years, he felt calm and sure. He let Lin Shu see that, when he looked at him. He made sure that Lin Shu knew. "Your father is proud of you, Xiao Shu. I know it. When the time comes, when we stand before them ... I know Lin Xie will say so too. You cannot be ashamed. Not for Su Zhe, not for Mei Changsu, not for anything. He has been watching us. When you show him your face ... you must know that you will not have to be ashamed."
A wildness passed across Lin Shu's face, something stark and ravaged, and he bowed before them as if struck. He hunched as though wounded, and the smallest, strangled sound left his throat. Nihuang gasped, and Jingyan gripped Lin Shu's hand near tight enough to bruise. He was sorry, he was so sorry, but he could not regret saying it. He did not regret his words.
"Jingyan," Lin Shu whispered, shattered, and Jingyan shook his head. He stepped forward without answer, while Lin Shu watched him with blind, desperate eyes, and gathered him roughly to his chest. His arms shook as he did so. Lin Shu was thin and trembling and fragile in the shelter of his arm, against his chest. Lin Shu was hollowed by thirteen years of pain and illness and suffering. Jingyan had wanted to embrace him from the moment he had realised who his friend was. He had denied himself, denied them both, because Lin Shu had wanted it so. Because seventy thousand souls had yet to be brought home, and all Jingyan's grief could never be allowed to stand in the way of that.
Those souls were satisfied now, though. They were laid to rest, the burden at last laid down. He could hold his brother now. He could let himself, if Lin Shu would only let them both.
And after a moment ... After a moment, Lin Shu did. His body curved in acquiescence, his head coming to rest fearfully and exhaustedly on Jingyan's shoulder, and Jingyan cast his eyes to heaven, curling blindly around his friend. Nihuang, her anguished hitch of breath just audible, pressed against their sides, Lin Shu's hand still held in hers, and Meng Zhi moved to stand solidly at Lin Shu's back, a shield and a wall against the world. Protecting them, standing guard. Jingyan didn't know when he had last felt such gratitude.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, while Lin Shu trembled silently in his arms. "Xiao Shu. I'm so sorry. I have hurt you so many times with my suspicions, and I'm sorry for it. I didn't know. I should have, and I didn't, and I will always be sorry for that. But the dead are not like me. You know that. You have to. For so many years, I thought of how I would face you when it was done. I have judged my actions and hoped I would not have to be ashamed. You cannot think, you cannot think, that our dead would judge you harshly. You have given everything. Blood, and bone, and thirteen years. You cannot think they would not know."
Lin Shu breathed, a ragged gasp of grief into Jingyan's shoulder. He shuddered, his body stiff and angry still, denying himself relief. He curled his face into Jingyan's neck, tears slipping silently past Jingyan's collar.
"I had to bring them home," he said, low and ragged. "I didn't die. I survived when they had died. I couldn't waste my life. He asked me to ... I had to. I'm sorry. I had to bring them home."
They looked at each other, the three of them gathered around him. Jingyan looked at Nihuang, Meng Zhi, saw his helplessness reflected in theirs. They knew pieces of it, he thought. All of them. They knew fragments of what Lin Shu had lived, what he had endured and sacrificed. None of them knew all of it. Only Lin Shu. Only he knew how many things he had given up to bring them here today. Without that knowledge, they were helpless against his pain.
Or perhaps not. Not all of them. Meng Zhi reached out, gripped Lin Shu's shoulders carefully in both his hands. A gentle brace, to hold a man up against the world.
"Don't be sorry," the general said quietly. "I told you once. Loyalty is in the heart, not the reputation. You ... You gave away your reputation, but not your loyalty. Your heart was always true. I know that. We all know that. And your ... your dead will know it too."
He flushed, after that. He ducked his head, uncomfortable while Jingyan and Nihuang both stared at him. Meng Zhi was not normally so eloquent. He knew it, and shuffled uncomfortably because of it. But Lin Shu ... Lin Shu went still in Jingyan's arms. He breathed, slow and thoughtful against Jingyan's throat, and then went lax. He slumped, some nameless, hideous tension leeching at last out of his ravaged body, and let Jingyan instinctively gather him closer. He let them hold him up, the three of them. For just this moment, he let himself have relief.
"I never deserved you, you know," he said softly. Almost sleepily, closing his eyes against Jingyan's shoulder. "None of you. I never deserved such loyalty."
Jingyan exhaled, a disbelieving sort of a huff, and reached up to rest his hand against Lin Shu's nape and cradle his head. Meng Zhi snorted, squeezing the man's shoulders gently in his hands. Nihuang only shook her head, thirteen years of exasperated grief in her eyes, smoothing his fingers gently between hers. They were in agreement, Jingyan could see. All three of them. They knew exactly what to say to that.
"I think you'll find that's up to us," he said, lightly enough. "It was our choice, Xiao Shu. We chose you, and I don't think any of us have regretted it."
"Never," Meng Zhi said instantly.
"Not for a moment," Nihuang agreed.
Lin Shu chuckled, then. He raised his head, straightened himself back up. He looked at them, his face tearstained but composed, calm as only Mei Changsu's face could be. He looked from face to face, his expression smooth and inscrutable, and then he smiled. Lin Shu, not Mei Changsu. He gave them a smile, small and soft and grateful, and untangled himself carefully from their embrace. They let him go. Reluctantly, Jingyan thought. None of them wished to release him. He was inexorable, though. He always had been. He stepped away from the shelter of their arms, and offered them a gentle bow.
"... Then I shall not either," he said, hollowed and smiling and firm. "I will not regret. And I will not be ashamed. Not before anyone." He paused, and then ducked his head, an odd little smile on his face. "Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you. I ... Thank you."
They could not answer that. None of them, Jingyan thought. They could not answer that, so they did the only thing there was left to do.
They bowed back, and gave their brother their heartfelt thanks in return.
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