Work Text:
HOW TO TAME A BIRD:
Prevent any threats from approaching the bird
The room Nie Huaisang is held captive in was deceptively arranged. While the set up is similar to lounge rooms he’s visited in the past, most of the ornamentation is through embroidered fabrics- no hard etchings or sharp metalwork. Save for the supply shelves and work table in the back of the space, the furniture is meant for comfort, soft and relaxing. In some ways, he can’t help but be soothed by the wind chimes and delicate bird cages, all but one presently laying empty.
The space was built as if someone had tried to make a caricature of his tastes.
The young cultivator curses himself for not considering the layout of the Wen palace more previously, now unsure how close or far he is from potential escape. The windows overlook an ornate garden contained by high walls of stone, aside from a small path that appears to go downhill. Even though it more than likely only extended to a larger section of confined space, he cannot access it to be sure. The only way out is past several unmoving Wen guards, who intimidate him into compliance without ever making eye contact. They don’t speak when he asks questions, nor seem inclined to act as though they heard him.
“Be good.” He recalls the warning from the man he had foolishly assumed kind, skin burning where he remembers the soft touch of fingers ghosting over his bound wrists. “They are here to protect my treasure.”
Provide spaces for the bird to hide, to feel safe
They’ve taken his outer robes, his fan.
Nie Huaisang almost wishes the fan had been left more than his robes. He knows the missing robes are a simple reminder that he doesn’t need his past identity, according to his keeper. He’s certain some ornate red atrocity will be made for him to wear instead of the comforting beige and greens he’s used to. But still, he’d wear Wen colors gladly if only he could have his fan. Huaisang can’t hide his expressions as easily, and he craves that barrier now more than ever. When he's frustrated, frightened, his hands flex and clench on empty space where there was once a weight that grounded him.
The one thing that can soothe him is his cheeping companion, Minsheng. His flittering about the room helps relax the hostage, every once in awhile petting the bird's magenta feathers.
Sometimes he’ll step softly about the space, bare feet making no more than a whisper as he tries to keep his ears strained for sound, for approach. It’s been days since first waking up in the arms of The Eternal Sun, and he’s made a point to keep to the far corner, letting his back rest to a wall so he can watch the entry.
The first several nights, he tries to sleep in the corner.
Each morning, he wakes up settled on the lounger, no memory of how he got there.
At one point, a few days after the same pattern, he’s ignored as servants enter. They work carefully to transform the corner, filling the space with potted plants of unique shape and form for Minsheng to perch and sing in.
Warning accepted, he chooses to sleep on the lounge that night.
Somehow, he continues to wake up with the unsettling impression of hands stroking his hair, lips tickling his ear.
Keep feeding time predictable, routine
No one will talk to him. Aside from the first day when his captor helped him to settle in, he appears to be more a piece of moving furniture than human. He tries to engage, to get a reaction, but ultimately fails.
Each morning, they bring in a light breakfast of sweetened congee and tea. The blend is exactly what he would have chosen back home, and he can’t help wondering how they learned that preference, if his sect truly had a traitor in their midst to the Wen, of all clans. But the familiar flavor makes the start of the day more bearable, acceptable.
The lunches, always served a sichen past the half-time gong, will vary but are healthy, nutritious. He’s never heard of a prisoner having such consideration given to their meals, but Huaisang supposes his circumstances are a tad unique.
It’s also very clear, that each carefully crafted meal is drugged. He never knows which part of the food leaves him drowsy and slow to react, but avoiding the food all together is swiftly disciplined with no food at all.
Eventually, he learns to eat quietly without protest, accepting the inevitable.
Gradually integrate yourself, so the bird recognizes you as part of their environment
This is the time his keeper choses to visit- when he’s too clouded with sedatives to react negatively. He'll try to settle by the window, the work desk, kneeling by Minsheng's cage. But as he starts to loose focus, a familiar hand will appear, encouraging words guiding him back to the couch where he lays in a daze, his brother's deadliest enemy keeping Huaisang's head settled in his lap, stroking well-manicured fingers through the loose hair while telling him all the things he admires about his little treasure.
“Sang-er, my clever little bird is settling in nicely. Has everything been to your liking? No, let your head rest against me, that’s it…”
“Perhaps we can bring some paper and ink to build a picture to hang on these walls. My men tell me you’re quite the artist. Would you like that, precious?”
“Little bird, you’re doing so well, staying calm for me. Such beautiful skin… it was truly fate to find you in the garden, that day.”
Nie Huaisang wants to be frightened, he reaches for it, in the back of his mind. But the sensation is always muffled, unattainable. He gradually learns to not struggle against the effects, to stay plaint and agreeable for this predator that toys with him. He doesn’t like how the acceptance gains him praise, approval.
One day, he finishes eating, sitting by the window, then turns to realize the Emperor has come to visit his bird, and he hasn’t fallen into a drugged stupor.
Instead, he’s left sharply aware of the dangerous cultivator, giving him a look that would be gentle, were it not for the ruthless glint in his eyes. Huaisang manages to remain polite, attempting indifference while his hands grasp around the empty space where his fan would have been. The way Wen Ruohan smiles tells the younger Nie his mask did not succeed.
Extend your hand with an offering, let the bird approach you
A week in, two days after the sedatives appear to have been removed from his regime, the Eternal Sun brings a bee eater, wounded on it’s breast and leaving the silk handkerchief the cultivator has it laying on red.
His captor holds it out for Huaisang’s inspection, and the bird enthusiast can’t help instinctively wanting to assuage the pained cries of the colorful creature. For a brief moment, he forgets his circumstances. He's simply Nie Huaisang, focusing on his patient- a critical eye mentally going through hypothesis of what caused the injury, what needed to be done, what supplies would need to be gathered-
He doesn’t recognize the brushing of their hands until after the fact, when he’s holding the trilling creature and moving towards the back table, issuing soft words of comfort while Minsheng flits about them, curious of the new addition. He gets to work right away, hands careful while he works to calm and assure the wounded bird, speaking in warm and sweet tones to help curb it’s fear. He relaxes into the process, working until he’s able to coax the still weak creature into one of the many cages, settling it in for the evening.
It had been such a comforting action, an old habit easily fallen into, he barely registers the soothing hands on his shoulders until he’s turned to face the ruler of the Wen clan.
Don’t chase the bird, or startle it into hurting itself
“It’s incredible to watch how you so easily tame such a weak and wounded creature.” Wen Ruohan reaches out, stroking the pads of his fingers along Huaisang’s clenched cheek, before moving to pull the long, silky hair forward. He rubs the strands appreciatively, pretending not to notice how stiff the younger has become. “Truly, you are far more gifted than you’d let on. The Qinghe Sect hid their treasure well.” He briefly leans in, holds the strands close to smell the jasmine oils that give such a lovely sheen to his pet’s hair. Eyes meet- too close- and Huaisang panics when the Eternal Sun leans in, soft lips kissing against his neck.
Breath staggering, Nie Huaisang forgets what he’s learned. Forgets to be pliant and agreeable. Instead, he stumbles away, shaking as he tries to place distance. “P-please, this behavior is indecent, I-” Behind them, Minsheng trills in alarm, unable to move from his cage.
“Don’t be frightened, my little bird.” Wen Ruohan does not allow for the distance, steadily following the trembling Nie’s attempts to avoid, subtly maneuvering his captive until Huaisang realizes he’s backed against the work table. “Calm yourself, it’s alright.”
“Stay away.” Green eyes are wide in alarm now, breaths coming out shorter as the predator boxes him in.
“Sang-Er…” His captor reaches out, hand resting against his little bird’s frantic heartbeat as he leans in once more.
Nie Huaisang feels his fingers wrap around the scalpel before registering his own intentions. One moment the man is much too close, and the next, the young cultivator has stabbed him through the chest.
He’s attacked Wen Ruohan.
He's dead.
Once it knows you will not harm it, it will learn to accept you
“I…” Nie Huaisang starts to break down, terrified. He’d ensured his death far sooner than expected- and knowing the Wen, it would be a gruesome one. “I-I didn’t- I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I wasn’t thinking, I-” He’s cut off as the hand over his heart settles gently against his throat.
“Hush, Sang-er.” Too frightened to move, he watched as Ruohan pulled the scalpel out as easily as someone removes a splinter. The sect leader examined the reddened blade, faintly amused. Leaning much too close to Nie Huaisang, he sets it further up on the desk, so it wouldn’t be at risk of rolling off.
Huaisang is staring at the small spot of red on the sect leader’s ornate robes, watched the skin knit seamlessly back together. He hears a sigh from the other, and doesn’t fight as his chin is gradually tilted up, meeting the dark eyes of his keeper.
“Oh, how you tremble, little bird.” His other hand comes up, stroking his cheeks, wiping away tears Huaisang hadn’t realized had gathered. “Were you frightened, pet? How cute.” He leans in, ignoring the flinch of his prey as he places a soft kiss against the other’s forehead. Smiling, the expression not at all kind, he carefully walks the still shaking form back to the couch, Huaisang helpless to fight against the chief cultivator. “You never have to be afraid, precious. This is your home now, you are safe here.”
Safe. Of course- the Eternal Sun had directed him there, he'd agitated him into attacking. He'd- he'd wanted to show Huaisang just how useless he was, how there was nothing the weak cultivator could even fathom to do in his own power against his captor.
Yes, the weaker Nie brother is safe. From everything, from everyone. As long as he listens, as long as he obeys.
Nie Huaisang’s steps falter, and Wen Ruohan turns to see him break down, catching him before he can collapse on the floor. Huaisang doesn’t mean to- but in the past, crying has always been his solution. Crying has gotten him out of all sorts of situations. Now, though, he doesn’t loudly wail or bemoan his situation. He stays silent, small sounds like something wounded occasionally escaping, his tears blurring his vision.
His captor takes it in stride, allowing them both to settle towards the ground, holding him possessively. “What a gem you are, my Qinghe pet.” The man settles him close, long nails stroking soothingly through his hair. Shuddering, Huaisang's eyes travel from where his head his resting against the man’s shoulder, looking longingly to the sky outside his cage, wishing for wings to fly away. The predators words rumble against his ear. “I cannot tame my little bird as easily as you do yours, Sang-er. But I am a patient man, and I know in time, like all things under the Eternal Sun, I will succeed.”