I adore this idea. I’ve seen a few fics where Fen’harel and Lavellan meet through some wibbly wobbly time travel accident (though, won’t lie, they all ended in smut), so I might as well throw in my one-shot of Isii encountering Fen’harel as he once was.

This is my take on Fen’harel before he begins his rebellion. He holds some of the values that will later fuel his insubordination, but he is far too frivolous to act on it yet.

Minor detail edits made on 4/25.

***

Facing the Wolf

The portal spat her out, closing behind her with a crackling snap. Isii barely caught herself as she fell, her body slamming into the floor. Her hands and knees ached from the impact, but at least she saved her face from the blow. She froze for a moment, getting her bearings as she slowly lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. The room was large – unlike any she had seen before. Moonlight danced on every surface, prisms of color on every curved line of the iridescent glass walls that enclosed the room. Beyond them she could see the expanse of a dense forest, trees stretching out for miles in each direction. She could see lights in the distance - golden spires and arched domes peeking out from behind a massive wall. A city - a glimmering gem chasing back the inky shadows of night.

She rose, stepping closer to the wall in order to peer out, her lips parting in awe. It was completely foreign. The silhouette of the architecture was unlike anything she’d seen, buildings seemingly lifting up towards the heavens, barely tethered to the ground below. Her eyes worked over the unfamiliar shape of the city quickly, trying to take it in, to understand where the portal had sent her. This couldn’t be anywhere in the Southlands. The construction was distinctly unlike any she had seen in Ferelden, Orlais, or the Free Marches. She spotted faint hints of light shifting through the surrounding forest, vaporous glowing forms obscured by the trees and yet unmistakable for what they were - spirits, drifting freely through the waking world.

Where am I?

She startled when she heard the familiar voice behind her but quickly settled as she turned, eased by the realization that Solas was there. At least she wasn’t alone. Perhaps he had been thrown into the portal with her?

That notion quickly left when her eyes found him.

It was Solas – but it wasn’t. Not as she had known him. The face was the same, though the scar upon his brow was missing. He had hair – lots of hair – a long and matted mane of dark strands falling from the crest of his skull, tied back loosely with black cording. The sides were shaved short, leaving nothing but a hint of dark stubble. His clothing was far from the simple rustic garb that Dorian mocked him for. A long and elegant robe hung loosely at his shoulders, unfastened and open as if caught dressing quickly. He wore little else, bare-chested with a pair of slim breeches.

He was approaching her, his irritation increasing the longer she stayed silent. He repeated himself and she realized the words were unfamiliar. Something in Elvish. She knew that much.

“Solas?”

He peered at her, halfway between a scowl and confusion before speaking again. He was demanding something of her, she could tell by his tone, but she had no concept of what it could be.

“Solas, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

He paused his approach, tilting his head slightly as his eyes narrowed. He looked her over slowly, evaluating her before stepping closer. His gait was familiar – the way his hips shifted, the way he placed his feet, subtly crossing each step before the other. But the way he moved had a languid quality to it now and the way he looked at her made her suddenly feel apprehensive. Exposed. Something she’d never felt around Solas before.

He spoke again and she caught a few of the words. Dirtha. To speak. To know? Hard to tell without better context. Elvhen. Isala na… something. He was in need of something from her?

She took a nervous step back, stopped by the press of the glass wall behind her as he closed the distance. He grinned, a smirk, a slanted un-Solas-like smile, lifting her chin with his fingertips. “Solas?” He moved closer, close enough for his lips to barely brush against hers as he spoke again, murmured words she couldn’t make out. She felt a sudden tension in her throat, the sensation of something sliding up into her mouth, a tingling heat as it passed over her tongue and between his lips. He pulled back, a curious look on his face as if pondering an unfamiliar flavor before his eyes met hers.

“Aren’t you a curious little thing?” He said, grinning, his fingers still propping up her chin.

The familiarity of his words brought some small relief, though little else about him did. “Solas, where are we? Where are the others?”

He peered at her again, amused curiosity in his eyes. “Is that the only word you know, little rabbit? You do not speak the tongue of the People, yet you repeatedly proclaim Pride? Stand tall? An odd phrase for a slave to pick up.”

A slave? She frowned, opening her lips to speak. “Tell me, then.” He continued, his fingers turning her head, his eyes looking over the curves of her face. “Why do I wake to find one of June’s pets in my home?” His eyes slid lower, the fingers of his other hand peeling back the edge of her jacket that obscured his view of her body. “You do seem in rather good condition to be one of his. Did he send you to me as a peace offering?” When his eyes met hers again there was something wicked there, something mischievous in his smirk. “I did not think our spat warranted such a thing. Though if this is his idea of a gesture of goodwill, he knows me even less than I suspected.” He curled his fingers around her wrist, inspecting the back of her hand. “Clearly you are not one of his craftsmen. Your skills are of a more intimate nature, I take it?”

He looked surprised when she ripped her hand away, jerking her jaw from his grip. Her stomach felt sick, twisting low over his words. He thought she was some sort of slave? A slave belonging to June, the God of Craft? The one whose vallaslin I wear? He spoke of him as if he knew him, as if he would owe Solas a favor. It made no sense.

He arched his eyebrow, his smile softening. “There is no need to worry, pet. I do not take my pleasures from slaves.”

“I’m not a slave.” She said quickly.

He stilled, looking at her as if she were mad. “Is that so?” He brushed a finger along her cheek, tracing the line of her vallaslin before she flinched away from his touch. “Then you bear his brand for what purpose? Mere decoration?”

She stammered, her words uncertain as she spoke them. “The… the vallaslin honor the gods of my people.”

He roll of his laughter made her stomach sink. “Truly? Do you consider your subjugation an honor?” He gripped her wrist again, leaning in closer until she was pressed flush against the glass. “Is it an honor to have someone use your body how they see fit?” He asked, his tone hardening. “To decide by purely economic reasoning whether or not it is worth even feeding you? Tell me, is it blind faith or pure ignorance that allows you to believe that when your master forces himself on you?”

“No one will ever force themselves on me.” She snarled. She wrenched her wrist from his grip once more, slamming her hand into his chest, pushing him back. The mark flared and snapped as she made contact with his skin, startling them both with its intensity. He stared at her, wide-eyed, before grabbing her arm, twisting her palm up into view. “Solas, let go of me.” She snapped, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. He was looking intently at the mark.

His eyes slowly drifted back to her face, his expression unreadable. He stepped back, his hold on her loosening as he gently led her away from the wall. “My apologies.” He murmured, though it felt more like a placation. “I meant no insult.” She recognized his look as his eyes moved over her. She had seen it before as Solas pondered over something unfamiliar, a puzzle he needed to solve, as if the pieces were gradually coming together. He released her arm, stepping around her now, slowly circling.

“You are quite the mystery, aren’t you?” She watched him until he passed behind her, tense under his gaze. “Your pretty little tongue doesn’t know the language of the People. You clearly don’t know your place as a slave. And you speak to me as if you know me, when we have never met.” His circling paused and she felt the brush of his body behind hers, close enough to feel his breath on her neck. “A curious prospect, certainly.” His hand slipped down against her hip, pressing her gently against him so his mouth could rest close to her ear. He breathed his words out slowly, his voice low and rumbling. “Tell me, little rabbit. Who do you know me as?”

This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. He did not know who she was, so she had either slipped into the past or fallen into some other world where they had never met. So much of his behavior was foreign to her and yet she could see the man she knew there – in gestures, in his tone, in the movement of his body. “You’re Solas.” She said, her confidence in that statement rapidly slipping away from her. “A mage. A somniari. You’re a companion of mine.”

“What sort of companion?” He murmured.

She hesitated. He was her lover, but she wasn’t about to tell this version of him that. “You fight at my side.” She said. “Advise me when I ask it of you. You follow me as your leader.”

She heard his soft laughter as he stepped in front of her again. “I take orders from you?”

She nodded. “When I give them. More often than not you do as I ask without me having to command you.”

“And the scar upon your hand,” he said smoothly, “I gave that to you, I presume?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “No. Of course not.”

He let out a short hum, a flash of curious recognition in his face. “Tell me, pet. How did you come to find yourself here?”

“We were exploring an ancient ruin, north of Lake Calenhad. A Temple dedicated to Fen’harel.”

She noticed the subtle pull of the corner of his lip – a private look Solas often got when quietly amused by something he would not comment on. “Is that so?”

“There was an altar there that housed an artifact. An old weapon of some sort. You… he… Solas told me not to touch it and I didn’t listen. Then the portal opened and…” His stillness unnerved her, along with the grin that he wore.

He wasn’t Solas. He wore his face, spoke with his voice, but he wasn’t him.

She had no idea who this man was.

***

Fen’harel watched her intently, unable to hide his amusement.

Wolf, what have you been up to?

When he felt the sting of his own magic on his skin, he began to piece together that she was connected to him somehow. The rest was easy to figure out. She called him by a different name, seemed completely out of time and place. Whatever world the future held, it had certainly birthed a delightful little creature. Someone he would one day take the pleasure in thoroughly deceiving, by the sound of it. By how timid and nervous she was to look upon him, he supposed this “Solas” he pretended to be must be quite the change in character. What was it, he wondered, that would make him so dedicated to the lie to go to all this trouble?

He hoped he was getting something pleasurable out of it. By the look of the woman who stood before him, he could think of a few ways his efforts could be repaid.

He pulled closer to her, tantalizingly close, enjoying the way she nervously leaned back, even as her breaths hitched. “Would you like to know a secret, little rabbit?” he asked, bringing his lips close to her ear. “It is an awfully big secret.”

He could hear her hesitation, feel her wary look. “What is it?”

“This is just a dream.” He whispered slowly before pulling away, smiling at her through a heavy-lidded stare. He could see her confusion followed swiftly by consideration. “Think on it, pet.” He said smoothly. “What part of this makes sense? That you are in a place you do not recognize with a Solas who is not Solas?” He shrugged. “Which is more believable? That the artifact you touched sent you to a different time and place, or that it left you trapped in a dream, unable to wake yourself?”

Her gaze shifted downward, her brow furrowing. He could see doubt start to creep into her features.

Good.

He took her hand gently, bringing it to his lips. “Luckily for you, I am here to help.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Why else would I wear the face of a trusted friend?” He said, flashing her a bright smile. “I know what needs to be done to wake you up, little rabbit. Do as I say and all of this will fade away like just another bad dream.”

He could see she was starting to believe him. As silly as the lie was, it was easier to mask confusion within the realm of a dream than accept a reality in which very little made sense. “Do we have a deal?” He purred.

She looked uncertain but nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“Simply follow me.” He whispered, her hand still in his as he stepped slowly backward, leading her across the study. “We should move quickly. I’m certain your Solas is very worried about you, pet. I would hate to keep him waiting.”

Fen’harel would take her to his temple, once he’d gotten her to describe it’s whereabouts in terms he could understand, and undo the process she had begun. It would be simple enough. He understood what had gone wrong to send her to him. He would tuck her back into her own time, send her back to his own waiting arms.

He wouldn’t reveal his identity to her – not when he had gone to all this trouble to deceive her. Not when he didn’t know what the trick was.

He wouldn’t want to spoil his own fun.

***

Due to requests (and a helpfully inspirational dream), there will be a continuation to this one-shot. Stay tuned for updates.

PART 2 IS NOW AVAILABLE HERE.

Want more Solasmance? Check out my other Solas x Lavellan fics.