As the description says, this is AU. And kind of not AU at the same time. It's AU in that obviously Lavellan wasn't around in the times of Arlathan, but I'm thinking to eventually tie it in with the actual Inquisition storyline... (but I won't be writing the entire Inquisition story, just briefly tying it in!)

Just a few notes:

- Thank you to the original OP on the kinkmeme for prompting this!

- There will very likely be mature content in this fic at some point, but there will not be non-con. As in there will not be non-con involving Solas/Fen'Harel and Lavellan, and there will also not be explicit non-con. There may be hinted non-con in the past, but it won't be explicit.

- I'm just going to refer to Solas/Fen'Harel as Fen'Harel for the most part of this story so it doesn't get confusing, lol

- I'm taking some liberties on Arlathan and what we know about the other elven god's given that Inquisition basically told us 'Hurr hurr, everything you know is wrong!', so if some of it seems weird or out of character, well... I'm just going to put it down to the fact that we don't really *know* what the hell happened during the days of Arlathan...

- I tagged Flemeth in this because there wasn't a tag for Mythal

Crystal White

Chapter One

Theirs was a glorious empire, one that spanned the breadth of the world and dominated everything in its wake. But it was carried on the backs of the unwilling, run on the blood and sweat of slaves who didn't know any better than to accept their lives as they were. It made him sick to think of it, made his blood boil that morning when he walked through the market. A marketplace for the trading of lives, not food or crafts.

He was one of the few who did not own others, and he was the only one who did not even keep servants. He lived alone in a foreign world that should have been familiar, the pariah and rebel in everything, even in his name. Fen'Harel, the rebel wolf. It was a feral, angry beast that stirred inside him. It had always been there, rivalling the fury of Elgar'nan's himself. And each year, each decade and century that passed, it became harder for him to control it. Every injustice that played out before his eyes, every wasted slave's life, it fed and nurtured the rage, made it a festering, uncontrolled mess that boiled inside him and clawed for a way out.

Today was the day when he lost the fight, when he completely and wholly submitted to the beast and showed the world that what had once been a gift he could control at will, what he had once used to sprint across plains and nations, had now become a liability.

She was only a girl, barely old enough to leave her mother's side, but she was the one that started it. He saw her in the marketplace, collapsed on the ground at the feet of her master and cowering. Her master, dressed in robes that marked him as one of Elgar'nan's most faithful and loved, spouted angrily at the girl for failing her duties, for failing him. She was terrified of him, her eyes brimming with tears that glinted in the bright morning sun. The master's hand glowed a warm red and she screamed, her skin blistered and burning as her punishment for being a poor slave.

It was that act that broke the tenuous remains of Fen'Harel's control. How many times had he watched a slave beg and scream under the hands of their master, how many times had he watched them die, their lives irrelevant to their owners who would simply replace them with another. He couldn't stand by this time; she couldn't even have been ten.

"Leave her," he demanded and the master stared at him as the girl continued to burn. He could not truly command respect out of this man who served another god, but the simple fact that Fen'Harel was a deity in himself, it would give the man reason to pause. And he did, the magic flowing from his hand halted and he stepped away, seething at Fen'Harel as he glowered and knelt beside the girl who had started sobbing.

She flinched away from him, which spoke volumes of what she'd experienced at the hands of those with bare-faces, but she stilled when he placed a hand against her thin, malnourished arm and allowed magic to flow into her and heal her wounds. She gazed up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, her face branded with Elgar'nan's symbols, and he read in her eyes the shock of someone who had never been shown mercy from someone with an unadorned face before. He healed her wounds as best he could and stepped back as she scrambled to her feet.

She ran towards her master out of habit, and even if it pained him, he knew he couldn't free her without invoking Elgar'nan's wrath. And every god and their favoured knew how many times he'd done that recently. Every conversation turned to an argument and clashing of wills until Mythal eventually interceded.

The same goddess that kept them from killing each other stared at him from across the marketplace, curiosity and the faintest hint of understanding playing across her features. She did not keep slaves like the others. She kept servants, and it put them on a level of understanding that Fen'Harel had never achieved with any of the other deities. Beside her was her most faithful, a serious, almost pensive looking man who devoted his life to protecting her and wore her marks on his face as a voluntary sign of his service, and not because it was forced upon him.

A scream ripped through the air and Fen'Harel jerked to follow it, his eyes landing on the slave girl and her master. She was laying on the ground motionless, dead, her master sneering at her in disgust.

The beast inside him welled up in fury and he was shifting into a white, foreboding wolf before he could try and stop it. He lunged at the master, pinned him to the ground and sank his teeth into the man's neck. Blinded by rage he did not hear Mythal shout, pleading with him as he ripped at the veins in the master's neck, severed them and mauled his throat. His mouth was filled with blood, his fur stained red with it when he managed to wrench back control. He staggered backwards as he slipped into his elven form, the metallic taste of blood saturating his tongue and the fluid staining his lips and teeth.

Horrified, he raised a hand to his mouth and when he pulled it back, it was warm and sticky. Mythal's hand laid on his shoulder and he stared at her, read the disappointment and sadness in her eyes as she softly whispered his name. They both knew not even her words would spare him Elgar'nan's wrath this time.

All they did was bicker and argue amongst themselves, trying to prove they where the better or to win a pointless, irrelevant disagreement. Andruil was the worst of them all, so blinded by her bloodlust and rage that she would undo their empire with a flick of her wrist if it meant proving a point. The twin god's, who's relationship surpassed any kind of conventional description, rarely involved themselves, and their indifference was as damaging as Andruil's temper. The rest did not help with their varying degrees of apathy and fervour that changed and stayed as fleetingly as the wind. He'd long ago given up trying to argue with them, now he simply watched from his throne as the women festered and spat at each other in the centre of the room, and the twins watched carefully from their own seats that were dotted around the circular room.

But Fen'Harel did not sit properly and regally as they did. He lounged on it sideways, his head on one arm rest and his legs swung over the other. It was a petty, stupid thing to do, but even defiling what should have been a sacred room with his poor behaviour satiated his need for rebellion, if only slightly. Even the way he wore his dark hair, in long, thick, messy dreadlocks was a deliberate scoff at the elves uncanny beauty and their obsession with it.

Then the furious, livid footsteps started to fall and the room fell silent and he pushed himself from his throne, because he knew what was coming.

"Wolf," Elgar'nan hissed as the god entered the room, Mythal hurrying after him and begging reason from one who would never see it while he was blinded by vengeance. Fen'Harel sneered at him for using the pet name he loathed so much. "You're nothing better than a savage beast."

Magic flashed from Elgar'nan's fingertips but he countered it with a flick of his wrist. They were evenly matched in talent, and it was to the detriment of the throne room they stood in as wild magic sparked from each of their hands and clashed and fought for dominance. It culminated in a furious whirlwind of power in the centre of the room that made the walls rumble and shake, pieces of rock falling from the ceiling as they tore the room apart in their pointless battle for dominance.

"Enough!" It was Mythal that interceded. It was always her. She raised her hands, drew on all the power she had and dispelled the volatile mess of magic they'd summoned. The force as it dissipated sent all of them flying and Fen'Harel grunted as his back smashed into a wall. He picked himself up, poised to defend himself if he needed to, because he didn't put it past Elgar'nan to defy his lover. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"This fighting solves nothing," she continued and Elgar'nan scoffed and glowered at Fen'Harel.

"A blade to his throat would solve him." Elgar'nan emphasized the word as if he didn't even deserve to be named. "That is what you do with feral beasts that do not learn, is it not, Andruil?"

"It is," Andruil murmured and he saw the flash of desire in her eyes at the thought of slitting his throat.

"He has lost control to the beast," Elgar'nan addressed Mythal. "Do not pretend it is otherwise, his display in the marketplace is proof irrefutable."

"Then I will show him how to control it," Mythal responded with a determined stare.

"You cannot teach a wolf to defy its nature." Even before he'd finished his sentence Elgar'nan would have known he would bend to her. He shook his head, jabbed a finger at Fen'Harel and added, "Tame that thing that rages inside you, or I will have your head. We are done here."

Then, Elgar'nan turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Silence stretched between the rest of them for minutes until Mythal quietly spoke to Fen'Harel.

"You will meet me in my temple tomorrow morning." It was not an offer, it was not a suggestion, it was a blatant command. Even if he respected her, the fact she was instructing him clashed against his very nature and he flinched. But he would obey, because he was surely dead if he didn't.