#Lanil My Precious

[spainkitty]

Shout out to @sillyliterature for tagging me in things!! I love being tagged. Also, I really love and am obsessed with my Lanil (Surana) Lavellan oc. While about 80k of her as the Inquisitor has been written, I've gone down a rabbit hole of "What if Lanil had stayed in the Circles and joined the official Mage Rebellion instead?" so here we go 🤗 My amgry gorl~ living in my head rent free~ I might do this again from my handers/fenhanders fic because I know sillylit loves Anders as much as I do.

So basically this is like Find The Word, but with a phrase instead, or if you don’t have it, something with a similar vibe. The phrase is: This can't be real.

My phase: I don't quite have that in this fic, but I did have "You can't seriously [...]"

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“You can’t seriously be going without me?” Lanil demanded. Fiona’s mouth twitched, her dark eyes amused. Lanil immediately looked away, scowling as heat suffused her cheeks.

“I am more than capable of travelling to Val Royeaux alone, although I will be taking a few mages with me, if that will assuage your concern,” Fiona said at last. “I do not want to seem as if I’m bringing a fight with me. Pardon me for saying so, Lanil, but you walk into a room like you’re walking into a fight.

“Can you blame me after this year?” Lanil muttered. “So, the Herald… are they really a qunari?”

“She is. I suppose the term is Tal-Vashoth, if the reports are true and she is not of the Qun. It may be impertinent to ask in the same breath I ask for aid,” Fiona said dryly.

Lanil smirked and shrugged. “I doubt a real Qun-loving qunari would let themself be called the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’m still not sure if this is a good idea,” Fiona said with a quiet sigh. “We’ve already seen what little the Chantry is able to do for us." She waved in the vague direction of… out there, where, yes, rebels that refused to join Redcliffe tore up the countryside, but also where roving packs of violent Templars wandered and cut down any mage or mage sympathizer, violent or not, they happened to see. “And both the Right and Left Hand of the Divine are heading this Inquisition.”

“The late Divine. But... Connor did say Arl Teagan told him that a former Templar is their Commander, too,” Lanil said with a grimace. Fiona’s lips pursed slightly, eyes narrowing. “A Templar from Kirkwall.”

Fiona pressed fingers to her temples. Lanil, as always, couldn’t help but be impressed by Fiona’s control. She herself would have at least cursed out loud by now. Lanil wondered if Fiona had always been able to do that, or was it something she made herself learn?

“Perhaps Linnea is right,” the Grand Enchanter whispered. Her eyes caught on the warrior statuette and she took it in hand again, rolling it between her palms. “How many more refugees have come this week?”

“About a dozen, and maybe three are actually capable of helping defend the keep. The only mages with any sort of combat skill are out in the fucking hills making it worse for everyone. We need to stick together or we’re all going to be hunted and cut down like nugs at this point,” Lanil snarled, lightning crackling at her fingertips.

“Or perhaps we’ll let you loose on the Templars and apostates alike so you might glower them into submission,” Fiona teased. Her voice was weary, quiet, but her dark eyes gleamed. Lanil glared at the nearest wall and crossed her arms over her chest. Her mouth was twitching, though, and her heart felt lighter. “The general opinion? Any increase in Tevinter sympathies?”

Lanil groaned and rolled her eyes upwards. She knew Fiona bringing up Linnea didn’t bode well. “Yes, all right, there are more people pushing for sending word to Tevinter, but it’s definitely not the majority. Linnea is two seconds away from running for the hills and going staff-happy on the countryside herself, don’t listen to her, Grand Enchanter. We don’t need them. They’re slavers.”

“And so many of us are elves…” Fiona frowned. “Our choices are a heretical Chantry organization and a mage-friendly slave nation. We’re not even sure either would help.”

“You need to get the Arl to contact the King,” Lanil said flatly. Fiona’s eyes flickered towards her and away. “He put us here. He promised us aid.”

“He promised us shelter. He did not promise us soldiers.”

“Then, ask for them! Fuck the Chantry, or Inquisition, whatever, and fuck the Vints, too. Do you think the King and Queen would give us Redcliffe just to let the Templars burst in and slaughter us!? The King obviously cares a little. Wynne was his advisor for years, Orzammar has its own Circle and the King and Queen refused to break the alliance with King Bhelen to support an Exalted March, and Anders…” Fiona raised a hand to stop her, but Lanil barrelled on anyway, “The Warden-Commander, King Alistair’s well-known friend and advisor, made Anders a Grey Warden. She protected him! Not only that, she’s an elf. They appointed an elf a Bann of the Denerim Alienage. They care about mages and elves both. The King is our best bet and you--”

“Surana, be silent.”

Lanil’s mouth snapped shut. It wasn’t often Fiona used that tone of voice, and it never failed to send prickles down Lanil’s spine. Instantaneous obedience. Silence fell hard between them and fire crackled in the fireplace. Fiona’s fingers curled around the statuette she held, enveloping it in her fist.

“Let us see how the Herald responds to my invitation first. I’ll return from Val Royeaux as swiftly as I am able,” Fiona said decisively. There was no arguing with that tone. Lanil inhaled and exhaled roughly through her nose. Fiona smiled and crossed the room. Gently, she cupped Lanil’s face in her hands, dark eyes tracing over Lanil’s features and meeting her stormy grey glare. “Mon petite tempête, you will take care of our people while I am away.”

“Of course,” she grumbled.