Well, this is my first Dragon Age fic, inspired by my second playthrough of DA2. During my second playthrough my mage F!Hawke romanced Isabela. Over the course of this romance, I really grew to like Isabela as a character, and thought she developed really well by the end of the story. Though her progression with Hawke seemed a bit rushed to me, and of course some fill-in-the-blank moments popped into my head. This was the first, inspired by the codex entry that appeared for Isabela in act 3, referencing an intense conversation between her and Hawke after the Qunari debacle. Here's my take on it... I hope you like it : ) If you do, I will certainly be inspired to continue...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, blah, blah, blah (you all know how it goes).

Isabela was a woman who rarely conceded to her own nerves. Furthermore, this begrudging concession would only ever occur in the off chance that she might actually feel nervous – a frazzling emotional state that was rarer still for the pirate captain. Yet on this particular evening, only a few days after she'd watched the newly lauded "Champion" of Kirkwall, Aya Hawke, duel the Arishok for her life, she could do nothing to ward off her nerves.

Sighing, she asked the barman for another glass of whiskey and ran a less than steady hand through her dark hair. All the while, as she drank fervently and brooded over her conflicted emotions, she did all she could to keep her face hidden. The idea of being inconspicuous was not necessarily something she was accustomed to – quite the opposite, actually – as a regular in the Hanged Man she'd made a name for herself. However, noting the paucity of patrons lining the bar and seated across tables, she couldn't help but feel partially responsible and… uncharacteristically guilty.

Since the Qunari insurrection just a few days prior, the city had been in shambles. Homes and businesses had been burned, innocent people slain mercilessly, and in the absence of the precious Viscount, Kirkwall's government had been in an absolute frenzy. At the helm of this political chaos stood the stark-raving Knight-Commander Meredith and her Templar cronies. The streets were full of madness now; and where there wasn't madness, there was grief and desperation, so much so that it made Isabela's skin crawl in an unfortunately empathetic manner.

She knew that all of this destruction, or most of it, could have been averted if she'd only chosen to return the relic to the Qunari in the first place. Why she hadn't was pretty obvious – to her at least. She'd spent years tracking the damned thing, and had muddled through so many death threats to get to it. Maybe in the back of her mind she'd begun to associate the blasted book with her own survival – who knew? Isabela could never be certain what exactly drove her own greed, and had concluded long ago that it was best, for her own sake, not to dwell on it. She knew old habits die hard, and that was a good enough reason for her.

Of course, as the liquor mingled with her subconscious guilt and shame, she couldn't help but wonder if fear had played a part in her running, as well. And not fear for her own life – no, she could take care of herself – but fear for the changes she felt inside of her. Fear for the fact that, in the past three years or so, there was a group of people, or even just one person in particular that she'd grown to care entirely too much about.

First there was Varric, her strikingly handsome dwarven confidante. Almost from the first time they'd met, right here in the Hanged Man, they'd been great friends. In all honesty, Isabela had first been attracted by his appearance; but after several pints of ale and many good laughs, she'd found something of a brother in Varric. Sure, they could talk about sex, drink, and speak all kinds of foul and excitement, but when it came down to it, he was more like a partner in crime than anything else.

There was Merrill, the sweet, misunderstood elf. Isabela knew that many had despised Merrill, or feared her for her blood magic, but even that was used with the purest of intentions. Isabela had developed a soft spot for the woman the first time she'd ever gotten red in the face over one of the pirate's vulgar remarks and asked her sheepishly to explain. Since then she'd taken Merrill under her wing like a helpless kitten.

There was Anders, the aggravatingly self-righteous mage and Fenris, his brooding rival. Isabela loved to watch these two argue endlessly, and loved to fan the flames even more. She herself had a neutral and tacit stance on their argument of choice, but found that by offhandedly throwing in her two cents, it was very easy to get them riled. So she would often pester them, and instigate, and all the while laugh and carry on sarcastically, her amusement sated.

Oddly enough, she could even count Aveline among these people, too. The guard captain was almost her polar opposite, a difference which led to many harsh and amusing arguments. Nonetheless, she'd grown to really enjoy fighting with Aveline, and she knew the fiery red-head felt the same. Aveline's warmth had been affirmed the moment she had protested the Arishok taking Isabela. Of course, she'd claimed it was just because she wanted to be the one to kick Isabela's ass, but the pirate knew otherwise. In some very unorthodox way, they were friends.

Lastly, there was the person who had come to mean the most to Isabela since her arrival in Kirkwall: Hawke. Over the years, she'd realized there were two very different sides to the apostate, both which she thoroughly enjoyed in their own way. First and foremost, there was the Hawke she'd met in the Hanged Man all those years ago, the Hawke whose name seemed to be on the lips of every prominent person in Lowtown – the Champion.

Hawke the Champion was a virtuous and extremely powerful mage, constantly determined to do the right thing, the moral thing. The Champion wasn't exactly the sort of person Isabela would associate with on a regular basis, but for some reason, she accepted the pirate for who she was and respected her as a companion. And Isabela… well, she couldn't help but admire this Hawke despite how their moral compasses differed. After all, the Champion was a strong, independent woman who always chose to defend the underdog. She was humble and never condescending, and Isabela appreciated that.

But then there was the other side of Hawke, the side only those closest to her saw – Aya. Not a champion, or an apostate even – just a woman who wanted to protect the ones she cared for and live a free and peaceful life. Aya was soft and compassionate, and despite her grandiose public persona, she was not without her flaws. Isabela had seen Aya be stubborn, snarky, and uncertain. She could say outlandish things at the entirely wrong time, make light of serious situations, and could hold her liquor about half as well as the pirate – which was far more than most could say. Isabela always knew that when she was with Aya, she'd end the night with a smile on her face.

Aya was the one that always came into the Hanged Man looking for laughter and just a little bit of mischief. Aya was the one that Isabela had spent a few nights with, drunken and careless and blissful in bed. Aya was the one who had shared her feelings with Isabela, and had somehow managed to coax the pirate's past kindly from her. Aya was the one who made Isabela's heart beat in strange ways. But… she was also the one who had caused Isabela to subject herself to danger, to bring the relic to the Arishok, regardless of what her punishment might be.

As the face of her friend, lover… whatever she was floated through her mind, Isabela felt a sudden sinking feeling. Most of her guilt and shame could be derived from Aya's shining emerald eyes, soft dirty blonde hair, and quirky, half-cocked smile. That thought troubled her most of all, and caused her to quickly down the rest of her whiskey in one ravenous gulp.

Deep down, Isabela knew the true source of her nerves and she knew she couldn't ignore that source for much longer. She only hoped that when their confrontation occurred, she would be facing the Champion and not Aya. Because the Champion would argue – she would raise her voice and reprimand the pirate, and Isabela could easily yell right back. But Aya wouldn't argue. She would speak with her emotions, her disappointment and sadness, and Isabela wasn't so sure she'd be able refute those feelings…

She ruminated over these thoughts for many minutes, lost in the dizzying swirl that cascaded through her mind. She kept her head slightly bowed and stared deeply into her glass of liquor, barely noticing as a shadow drew over her.

"Isabela." The pirate lifted her head, her lips pursing instantly. She knew that sweet, lilting voice all too well. The only question was, who would it belong to tonight? The Champion or Aya?

The answer was quite apparent as she turned to gaze not upon cold, hard anger, but stinging disappointment. Shit, she thought, taking a large gulp of her drink.

"Hawke…" Aya took a seat on the stool next to Isabela, resting her hands calmly upon the bar and piercing her friend with an unwavering stare. She felt anger, yes, but not as much as she should have. She was proud of Isabela for doing the right thing in the end, but could not ignore the greedy mistakes she'd made in the first place. Worst of all, she couldn't forget the feeling of complete dejection she'd felt when she'd read the letter of betrayal Isabela had left after she'd run. That was the thing that had hurt most of all.

"Look," Isabela said with a deep sigh, ready to mask her anxiety with aggravated defense. "I suppose you want to talk about what happened – why wouldn't you? I'm not entirely sure what I can say except for 'sorry,' but-" Aya cut her off before she could continue.

"I need you to do something for me right now. You owe it to me."

"What," Isabela asked, closing her eyes for a brief moment, willing this conversation to be over as soon as possible.

"Look at me." Isabela was surprised by the request, though not entirely. Aya had proven recently that she knew Isabela too well. How she'd come to know her – she was unsure. Perhaps it was the way Aya looked at her, so unlike any other. She never simply looked upon her facade, never looked through her – Aya always seemed to look within Isabela. And for some reason the pirate could not fathom, some reason that drove her crazy, she was always inclined to allow Aya to see inside of her.

So, fearful of what she might discover, Isabela complied. When she turned into the penetrating stare of those glittering green eyes, she immediately wished she'd never stopped running to Ostwick. Aya was so disappointed… so hurt, and Isabela absolutely could not stand it.

"I've done a lot of thinking… about what made you run with the relic."

"What have you come up with," Isabela asked, her composure just barely cracked, but cracked enough that Aya would notice, she was sure.

"Different things," Hawke shrugged. "Some reasons I sincerely hope aren't true, some that are too probable to ignore. But I've settled on panic."

"Panic," Isabela scoffed, lifting her glass eagerly to her lips.

"Yeah, panic. Because I asked you to do the right thing, and you led me to believe you would. I think maybe you really wanted to, deep down. And maybe you wanted to do it for yourself, maybe for me," Isabela nearly protested the thought, but Aya continued on anyhow, knowing her pirate too well. "It doesn't really matter who you wanted to do it for, not now anyway. What matters is that when that relic was in your hands, finally, you got scared. Because you knew you should do the right thing, you knew you were supposed to. You knew I was counting on you. But to give that damn book to the Qunari would've been completely against everything you've ever stood for. And you're much too independent to ever be a people pleaser so… you panicked. You panicked at the thought of losing yourself to better intentions, and you ran."

Isabela had to contain a cringe as she listened to Aya voice all the reasons she'd felt on the inside. She couldn't let Hawke know the truth though.

"I ran because that's what I do, Hawke. I'm a liar and a thief and I'm terribly greedy. It's who I am and I bet you it always will be."

"Bullshit," Aya said, just a bit more aggressively than usual. "That's a poor defense, Isabela. A poor excuse. If you were such a wicked liar you'd be able to come up with something a little less transparent than that." Aya's lips curled into a half grin, knowing this argument was already won.

"You think you know me so well-"

"Face it: I do. And now everybody else does, too. Because if any of the claims you'd just made were true, you never would've come back." A stony silence erupted between them, and Isabela truly found herself resenting Hawke. As much as she cared for her, and as happy as she was that she hadn't completely given up on her, Isabela needed to resent her.

"Well then, good for you Champion. You've figured me out!" Isabela quickly bolted out of her seat with a bitter laugh. She would have made her way out the door right then and there, had Hawke not stopped her. As soon as Aya's warm hand touched Isabela's skin, a shiver went down her spine. Her flesh seemed to tingle where it met with the mage's. She couldn't walk away from such a feeling, no matter how much she might try to deny it.

"We're not done, Isabela. I need you to tell me something."

"What," Isabela said forcefully, not daring to turn around and meet Aya's gaze another time.

"What made you turn back?"

"Well, I didn't want to miss all the fun-"

"Please, Isabela," Hawke's voice was laced in dull pain, and for some reason, that truly hurt the pirate. "Tell me the truth."

They both knew the truth, and Isabela was sure of it. The fact that Hawke was so insistent on making her say it out loud rattled her. It made her frustrated beyond belief, to be honest. Why should she admit something to Hawke that she often refused to even admit to herself?

"I know it's not a what… it's a who," Aya whispered. "Was it for the Qunari? The people of Kirkwall?"

As an automatic response, a coping mechanism she'd developed over the years, Isabela's temper rose in an attempt to mask the aching in her heart. She knew anger was easy, but sadness… love would be the hardest thing in the world.

And so, with unwanted venom in her words, she turned on her heel and spat, "I didn't do it for them. I did it for you. It was always about you."

Isabela strode out of the Hanged Man then with a heavy heart, wishing she could stay, wishing she could apologize and simply… swallow her pride like a normal person. Wishing she could tell Aya what she wanted to hear, but knowing she couldn't. Instead she ran again, this time telling herself she should never return.

Comments, please?