let 'em wonder how we got this far, a dragon age fanfic

Title: let 'em wonder how we got this far
Author: texaswatermelon
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Isabela/Bethany Hawke
Rating: M (for language, violence, and sexual content)
Summary: With an older brother like that, it's understandable that little Bethany Hawke could get lost in the fray—melt right into big brother's shadow and not be glanced at twice.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware/EA. No infringement intended.
Word Count: 10,161
A/N: Decided to sneak this in last minute for Dragon Age FxF week. This kind of loosely follows canon. I've taken a few things from the in-game Isabela romance and repurposed them here. And I'm aware that default Garrett Hawke has brown eyes, but I just thought blue fit him better? This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Title is from Paramore's "Still Into You".

Garrett Hawke has that disarming kind of confidence and swagger, an ease to his smile that could charm the smalls off of the general population of Kirkwall with very little effort on his part. Isabela guesses, as he approaches her right after she's dispatched Lucky and his band of idiots, all gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes so blue it reminds her of the color of the sea in her most vivid dreams, that he's never had much trouble getting whatever (or whomever) he wants.

With an older brother like that, it's understandable that little Bethany Hawke could get lost in the fray—melt right into big brother's shadow and not be glanced at twice. She doesn't seem to mind; seems to even prefer it that way. But Isabela notices her right away. Her eyes skip right over Hawke's too-handsome face almost as soon as he opens his mouth to commend her for taking care of those three fools with such practiced ease, and land directly on the girl (woman, if those curves are anything to go by) standing behind him, looking around the Hanged Man like she's never seen such a place in all her life, let alone been dragged into one.

She notices Isabela's heavy gaze lingering on her, and her eyes (the color of freshly-minted coppers, Isabela notes with pleasure) meet Isabela's for just a moment before they flick away again and she begins to fidget uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Yes, that's definitely the reaction of someone who's used to standing in the background while someone else takes all of the attention.

But why, Isabela wonders. Hawke may be charming, but his sister has a sweetly beautiful face and a body that should garner her just as much, if not more, attention than her brother. Someone like that being overlooked too frequently has to be by choice. Isabela has dealt with many people over the years that spent their time trying to go unnoticed. Almost all of them were either incredibly unsavory or running away from something. Whatever the reason, Isabela is intrigued by this girl.

Hawke finally stops enjoying the sound of his own voice long enough to notice that Isabela is not actually paying attention to him, and turns to figure out what's drawn her gaze. He tenses for a moment when he realizes that she's looking at his sister so intently, as if he's displeased with the fact that someone is paying attention to her over him, but then he beams and puts his arm around the younger Hawke to pull her forward and into his side.

"This is my little sister, Bethany," he says with a note of pride and fierce love that makes Isabela's heart pang for a moment, because no one has ever referred to her in such a way before. She recovers immediately, lets the name mull on her tongue for a moment, and decides that she likes it very much. Those nervous brown eyes find hers again and she grins sharply.

"Hello, Sweetness," she purrs, and delights in the pink blush that stains Bethany's cheeks.

She's glad, when all is said and done, that she asked Hawke and his merry little band of fellows to help her out with Hayder. She probably could have handled it on her own, even with the ambush in the square, but there wasn't any reason to take the unnecessary risk and it gives her a good chance to see what these Hawkes are made of. Hawke himself is a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, commanding attention with the way he brandishes his broadsword and the battle cries that tear their way from his throat as much as he does with anything else.

But there is something to be said about Bethany Hawke—about the way she wields her staff with more confidence than she ever seems to possess in a normal setting, and how she can practically melt the eyeballs out of an enemy's sockets without even breaking a sweat. Isabela notices a few mercenaries sneaking up on her and disappears from Hawke's side in a flash, only to appear at Bethany's a second later, slashing the throat of one would-be assailant and gutting another. Bethany turns to her briefly with a grateful smile, and then refocuses her attentions on obliterating some of the attackers going after her brother.

The way the magefire lights up her face so brilliantly nearly takes Isabela's breath away, and she understands suddenly and sadly that Bethany is the lesser-known Hawke by necessity, not by merit or choice.

If there's anyone who likes to hear himself talk more than Hawke, it's Varric, and when the two of them get a few drinks in and get started talking about their blighted Deep Roads expedition, it takes intervention from the Maker Himself to shut them up.

Normally, Isabela would have left a long time ago to find some fun at the Rose or prowl the streets for any unsuspecting sod who might unknowingly part with his coin purse. But alas, Hawke has drug his baby sister with him this evening, and even Isabela isn't selfish enough to subject Bethany to their incessant blabbering alone, so she reclines on Varric's bed with Bethany's head in her lap and plays with the silky strands of Bethany's curls. Bethany sighs heavily, the weight of her sinking more fully into Isabela's body, and it's not just out of exhaustion or boredom. She's been quiet all night. Even Isabela's carefully chosen jokes and innuendos haven't gotten more of a reaction than a faint blush and a soft snort.

"Come now, Sweetness, what's got you so sullied this evening?" she asks finally, smoothing her thumb across Bethany's forehead.

"I'm sorry, Bela," Bethany sighs again. "I was just thinking about my brother."

"Yes, he does so like to prattle on, doesn't he? It's enough to make even me moody," Isabela grouses. Bethany chuckles softly and busies herself playing with the buckles on one of Isabela's boots.

"I wasn't talking about Garrett," she says quietly after a few moments. "I was thinking about my other brother, Carver. My twin. He—"

By the way Bethany's breath catches, Isabela doesn't need her to finish that sentence to know why she's never met or heard of Carver before now.

"What was he like?" she asks gently, and when Bethany laughs, it's shaky and punctuated with a sniffle.

"He was such a tit, always complaining about everything and thinking he knew better than everyone else. I would give anything to hear him complain about something now."

She's never been good at dealing with other people's emotions, never cared enough about anyone or stuck around long enough to console them. The only family she's ever had is her mother, and she would gladly dance on that woman's grave if she knew where to find it. She has no idea what to say to someone who's lost not only a father, but a twin brother as well, along with her home and her friends and everything she's ever known. She has no idea how to make someone feel better when they're constantly under the threat of being torn away from what little family they have left.

All Isabela knows is physical comfort, and while she would gladly take Bethany back to her room right now and comfort her the best way she knows how, she has a feeling that the eldest Hawke wouldn't be so fond of that idea. Even if he were, Bethany would likely find little comfort in losing her virginity to the Pirate Queen whore in a questionably clean bed at the Hanged Man while she's crying over her dead brother.

So Isabela merely tugs at her until she's shifted up far enough to rest her head on Isabela's shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around Isabela's waist and breath ghosting warm across her neck. They stay like that for a long time, with Isabela stroking Bethany's hair until the girl falls asleep in her arms. Isabela is not far behind.

Hawke comes to her the night before he's due to set off on his Deep Roads expedition. Isabela buys him a mug of the best swill the Hanged Man has to offer since there's a good chance he might be eaten by Darkspawn and she'll never see him again after tonight.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Bela," he says once he's downed the ale.

"Finally decided to swallow your pride and see what I have to offer on your last night in town?" she says with a self-satisfied smirk.

"It's tempting," he chuckles, "but that's not what I wanted to ask."

"No, I suppose you're still too busy trying to get into that broody abomination's pants to recognize a good time when it's right in front of you," Isabela sighs. Hawke rolls his eyes at her, but they both know that it's true. The way he looks at Anders, like some sort of besotted puppy, makes her want to vomit. "Well I hope you're not going to ask me to accompany you on your blighted expedition because I don't do tight spaces."

"That's not what the girls at the Rose say," Hawke teases, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and Isabela laughs.

"Touché."

Hawke looks troubled for a moment while he bites his lip.

"I'm not going to take Bethany with me to the Deep Roads," he says finally, and looks very conflicted about it.

"Ah," Isabela says with sudden understanding. "I take it little sister doesn't know."

"Not yet. I'm going to tell her tomorrow morning. She'll just argue with me otherwise." He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face, and she sees for the first time just how tired he must be with the weight of his family's survival on his shoulders. "It's just too dangerous. I've already lost one sibling to the Darkspawn; I'm not losing the other. It would kill Mother."

It would kill Hawke, too. He adores Bethany—would gladly give his life and anything else for her—and Isabela has heard about how Leandra blamed him for Carver's death and knows that Hawke is inclined to believe her, whether he admits it out loud or not. She decides not to point any of this out, however.

"So where do I come in?" she asks.

"I just need you to look after her while I'm gone," Hawke says. "Aveline will check in, but she'll be busy with the guard. Make sure she doesn't try to do anything stupid and rebellious." Isabela raises an eyebrow at him and wonders if he's forgotten who he's talking to. "If she has to do something stupid and rebellious, make sure she doesn't get killed or captured while she's doing it," he amends.

"Don't worry, Hawke, I'll be sure to keep little sis plenty occupied while you're gone," Isabela says with a lecherous grin. Hawke groans and shakes his head.

"She's going to be angry when I tell her, so she won't listen to anything I say, but just make sure she knows that I'm not doing this because I don't believe in her. I just…"

"I get it, Hawke," she says gently. "I'll take care of it." He smiles gratefully and she takes a good look at those bright blue eyes of his. "Sure you don't want that tumble before you go?"

He laughs, kisses her on the cheek, and then he's gone.

Isabela allows Bethany exactly two days of sulking before she travels to their little hovel and drags her out of it under Leandra's disapproving stare.

"Come on, Sweetness, you've moped enough. Let's go do something fun."

Bethany allows herself to be shepherded to the markets, and after a while of looking around at the different dresses and wares, she begins to perk up a bit. Merrill bumps into them completely by accident; she was trying to get to Hightown and got lost along the way. Her childlike exuberance and curiosity lift Bethany's spirits considerably, and Isabela considers this venture a job well done by the time they make their way back to the Hanged Man.

"I just don't understand why he doesn't trust me," Bethany sighs a few hours later, after a couple hands of Wicked Grace and some drinks.

"He does trust you, Sweetness," Isabela assures her. "It's the rest of the world he doesn't trust. He can't lose you, too."

"I wish I had a protective older brother like yours to look after me," Merrill says wistfully, and Isabela's pretty sure she's a little drunk. "Especially if he looked like yours does." Definitely drunk.

Bethany laughs, a soft, wonderful sound that makes something shift in Isabela's chest.

"Don't worry, Merrill," she says. "You can share mine."

Merrill claps delightedly and Isabela rests her chin on Bethany's shoulder.

"See there, Sweetness. It's not so bad," she says, lips brushing past Bethany's ear.

If Bethany shivers at the contact, Isabela pretends not to notice.

She probably should have thought this out better—two women who look as good as she and Bethany do walking around Darktown at night are bound to attract attention—but one of the guys who hangs out at the Hanged Man sometimes claimed to have information on her relic, and she had to follow it through. It's a trap, of course, and Isabela lets out a string of some of the dirtiest Rivaini profanities she knows as at least ten snarling idiots appear out of the shadows with blades drawn, and a few more drop down from the rooftops.

"Oh, Maker," Bethany whispers with slight panic, and Isabela curses herself for allowing her to tag along.

"Leave 'em alive, boys, and try not to mess up the pretty tits and faces too badly. We'll have some fun with these whores tonight," the guy who led her here, Mercer, says with a rotten smile.

Isabela doesn't know what pisses her off more: the thought of any of these disgusting bastards getting their filthy hands on Bethany, or the fact that they dared call Bethany a whore when nothing could be further from the truth. Isabela is used to being called such things. She takes pride in it so that no one else can try to use it against her. But not Bethany. She'll never let them touch her.

With a flick of her wrist, the dagger soars out of her hand and buries itself in Mercer's neck. He gurgles and staggers, eyes wide with surprise as he tries to pry it out, but Isabela reaches him first and does it for him. After that, all hell breaks loose and she is only aware of the movements of her body, the slice of her daggers through the air, and the hot and cold of Bethany's spells as they fly by her.

They make a good team, the two of them, and before she knows it, they've dispatched all but three of the arseholes. Isabela splits one open from stem to stern while Bethany cracks another's head wide open with her staff. She realizes almost too late that the last bandit is getting ready to stab Bethany in the back. Isabela jumps in the way without thinking, and groans loudly as the blade sinks into her right shoulder. She uses the dagger in her left hand to slash his throat and he falls to the ground while she clutches at her wound.

"Maker's bloody balls, that hurts," she growls through gritted teeth.

"Bela!" Bethany gasps, looking at the knife sticking out of Isabela's flesh with wide eyes. Her hand hovers over the handle as if she might touch it, but then thinks better of it.

"Don't worry, Sweetness, I've had worse penetrations than this before," Isabela jokes weakly.

"Maker's breath, how can you joke at a time like this?" Bethany asks with barely concealed panic. "We need to get you to a healer."

"Aren't you a mage?" Isabela asks, and begins making her way back towards Lowtown.

"I'm no healer, Isabela," Bethany says anxiously, wrapping her arm around Isabela's waist to offer support. Isabela is glad for it. She feels a little lightheaded from the pain.

"Well your brother took his moody healer boyfriend with him to the Deep Roads, so you're going to have to do your best. I trust you not to disfigure me."

Bethany huffs, but the two of them manage to wind their way carefully back to the Hanged Man. By the time they get to Isabela's bedroom, she feels a bit faint, and collapses onto the bed in a heap. Bethany runs off to get some clean rags from downstairs. She comes back and shuts the door behind her, pulling a chair up to the edge of the bed so she can sit.

"I need you to sit up for me," she says gently, and Isabela does so with a great amount of effort and some assistance. Bethany examines the blade still protruding from Isabela's shoulder, bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I'll need to remove this. It's probably going to be very painful." Her eyes flick to Isabela's apologetically.

"It's alright, Sweetness. I'm a big girl. Do what you need to do," Isabela says, managing a weak smile.

Bethany nods and takes a steadying breath, as if she's the one who's about to have a knife wrenched out of her body. She places one hand on Isabela's shoulder and wraps the other around the handle of the knife. Their eyes meet again, just long enough for Isabela to think deliriously that she would trust Bethany Hawke with her life and just about anything else, and then Bethany pulls with all of her might and Isabela lets out a strangled scream as blinding pain explodes through her body.

She must black out for a few minutes. When she comes to, Bethany is hovering over her with those concerned copper eyes, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of Isabela's face.

"Are you okay?" Bethany asks.

"Peachy," Isabela says roughly, though truthfully her whole body hurts worse than the day after shore leave.

"I need to clean and heal your wound," Bethany explains.

"Okay," Isabela replies lethargically. The feeling of Bethany's fingers stroking across her hairline is making her want to fall asleep. It takes her several moments to notice Bethany's hesitation. "What's wrong?"

Bethany blushes furiously and averts her gaze. "I need, um…I need to be able to have access to the…area."

It takes another minute for Isabela to understand what exactly the problem is, but once she does, she can't help a small smile.

"They're just breasts, Sweetness. Surely you won't faint at the sight of them."

"N-no, of course not," Bethany mutters unconvincingly.

She helps Isabela sit up against the pillows and begins undoing the laces at the front of Isabela's bodice with trembling hands. It takes several minutes longer than it should, but Isabela is content to let her go at her own pace. Bethany finally manages to get it lose enough that she can slip the straps from Isabela's shoulders, and her eyes immediately dart away from Isabela's chest to settle on the wall.

"Don't you actually have to look at the wound in order to heal it?" Isabela asks with a hint of teasing.

Bethany's face gets even redder, if that's possible, but she reaches over to wet one of the rags in warm water and begins resolutely cleaning the blood away from the wound. When she's finished, she places her hands just above the open flesh.

"This may feel a bit strange," she warns, and then her hands begin glowing with a soft light.

It does feel odd—kind of like someone is tugging the edges of the wound together, and it's a bit prickly under her skin—but it's not awful. Isabela watches Bethany's face while she works, the way her eyebrows furrow in concentration while her eyes go a bit unfocused and her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth again. As time goes on and her flesh begins to mend, the pain recedes and she feels like she can breathe properly again. She finds it pretty amazing how Bethany can go from blasting people to bits in battle to spreading this careful, healing warmth through Isabela's body. It's scary and wonderful and very attractive, actually, and Isabela's not sure what the Templars are always making such a fuss about. Magic is incredible.

Bethany finally pulls away after some indeterminable amount of time. She looks a bit exhausted for her efforts, but Isabela looks down and sees only a faint scar where the torn, bloody slice used to be.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Bethany says self-consciously. "If I were a better healer, there wouldn't be a scar."

She reaches out to run her fingers along the slightly raised flesh, and she's apparently forgotten all about her earlier embarrassment, which is just fine as far as Isabela is concerned.

"It's not my first scar, Sweetness, and it certainly won't be my last. You did a bang-up job," Isabela assures her.

Bethany meets her eyes with a look that's straight out of some epic romance novel.

"I haven't thanked you for saving my life," she says softly, and that's really all it takes.

Isabela surges forward without warning and swallows Bethany's gasp with her mouth. The sound makes something twist in Isabela's gut. She cups the back of Bethany's neck in one hand and runs the other along the length of Bethany's thigh. Bethany tastes as sweet as Isabela's pet name for her suggests, like ripe peaches and honey on a hot summer day. Isabela snakes her tongue out to taste her lips and Bethany whines in the back of her throat, blunt nails digging into Isabela's bare thigh.

Bethany pulls away suddenly, eyes wide and breathing ragged. She backs off of the bed, fingers grazing her lips almost unconsciously. Isabela sits up, thinking to reach for her, but she's already heading for the door.

"I-I don't," she stammers. "I should go."

And then she's gone. Isabela sighs heavily. It's been a long time since someone's reacted that way to her kiss. The last person to run away from her was a young noble who was trying desperately to convince himself that he didn't lean more towards the male persuasion, and ended up nearly fainting at the sight of Isabela's breasts.

But that isn't Bethany's problem. Isabela knows desire when she sees it, and the youngest Hawke definitely desires her. Bethany is a virgin, though; Isabela wonders if she's ever even been kissed before, though if she hasn't she's an awfully fast learner. Maybe she should have warned Bethany before she kissed her, but Isabela has never been one to ask permission. And now Hawke's little sister is wandering Lowtown by herself at night. It's not too far from the tavern to Gamlen's house. Isabela can only hope that Bethany goes straight home and doesn't take any unnecessary detours.

She doesn't see Bethany for four days, and whenever she turns up at their house to see if she's okay, Leandra claims that Bethany's out and refuses to let Isabela in. She has half a mind to break in some night when Bethany is asleep and will have no choice but to talk to her about this. She made a promise to Hawke that she would look after his little sister, but she supposes there's not much trouble for Bethany to get into if she stays holed up in Gamlen's house with her mother all the time, so she finally lets the situation drop. If Bethany wants to talk, she knows where Isabela will be.

A week later, there's a knock on her door at the Hanged Man, and Isabela opens it to find Bethany standing there with an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Hey there, Sweetness. I was beginning to think—"

The rest of her sentence is cut off by Bethany's lips, and the two of them stumble back into the room. Isabela only barely thinks to shut the door as they pass by.

Bethany's kisses are sloppy, but heated and full of wanting. She can't seem to decide what to do with her hands—they settle over Isabela's shoulders for a moment, and then one slides down to rest tentatively on her hip. Isabela sucks Bethany's full bottom lip into her mouth and the girl groans, clutching tighter at Isabela's hip. She feels the backs of her knees hit the bed and flips them around so that it's Bethany pressed against the edge of the bed instead.

Isabela tears her mouth away, feels Bethany's hot breath sear across her lips, and captures them again for a moment.

"Are you sure about this, Bethany?" she asks, noticing the way that Bethany's cheeks have flushed and her eyes have glazed over a bit with lust.

"Yes," Bethany breathes. "I was caught off guard last time and it scared me, but I want this. I trust you, Bela."

You shouldn't, Isabela thinks. You shouldn't trust me at all.

But her lips are already on Bethany's again, and her hands are working at the laces on Bethany's top. Bethany is exactly as beautiful as Isabela knew she would be under all of that chainmail, all soft, pale skin and dips and swells, rosy nipples and flushed chest. Isabela wants to devour all of her in one fell swoop, and yet she wants to take her time, to really enjoy the fact that she is the first person who has ever been allowed to touch Bethany like this, to kiss the swells of her breasts and envelop them in her mouth and suck until Bethany is gasping sharply and arching up into her.

She places kisses across Bethany's quivering stomach, purring when Bethany tears the scarf from her head and scrapes her nails across Isabela's scalp. Her fingers work the laces of Bethany's pants easily, and then she rises up far enough to tug off the girl's boots and pants and smalls and toss them aside. Bethany lies there panting, eyes round and bright, cheeks and chest stained pink, hands fisting around the sheets, open and wet and wanting, and Andraste's tits she's beautiful like this. She's beautiful all the time, but especially like this, chest heaving and lips parted and evidence of Isabela's mouth all over her body.

"Bela, please," Bethany pleads.

This is why Isabela has always loved sex, for the sheer power it gives her over another person. If it were anyone else, Isabela would smirk and take her time and tease some more until her lover was positively trembling with need, but she is inexplicably compelled to give Bethany anything she asks for. It's a thought that makes her stomach churn with dread, so she pushes it away and leans down to kiss the insides of Bethany's thighs. The smell of her is glorious, like sweat and seawater and a hint of sweet nectar, and Isabela finds herself drawn to Bethany's center to taste her.

Bethany's hands find her head immediately and she bucks like a ship over turbulent water, but Isabela just presses her hips down to the bed and laps her up with that special sort of determination that she brings to everything she does. Bethany's voice has always had a bit of a rough edge to it, a scratchy sort of quality that makes Isabela tingle in all the right places, especially now when it's being drawn out of her in moans and sighs and invocations of the Maker's name, still soft, but gravelly and delicious. Isabela brings a finger up to Bethany's entrance and slides it in carefully, and Maker's balls, she's so tight.

"Bela," Bethany moans loudly, nails digging into Isabela's shoulder.

Isabela kisses Bethany's thigh in acknowledgement and begins pumping into her with long, deep strokes that leave Bethany breathless and gasping at each one. She pulls Bethany closer to her, as close as she possibly can, and continues licking and sucking and thrusting like her life depends on it, until Bethany finally clenches around her, thigh muscles seizing under Isabela's other hand.

Bethany comes with something that sounds like a harsh sob that gets stuck halfway out of her throat, and her whole body shakes like nothing Isabela's ever seen before. Her skin surges with some kind of energy that Isabela can't see, but she can feel it sending tiny shocks through her hands and across her tongue, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She's definitely never experienced that before, but then again, she's never had sex with a virginal apostate either.

She slumps back into the sheets, boneless, eyelids fluttering heavily. Isabela crawls back up beside her, reaching out to brush a piece of hair away from her face. She looks marvelous like this—sweaty and spent, hair tangled and eyes hazy. She looks thoroughly fucked, and the sight of it is enough to remind Isabela of her own arousal, but she holds back for now to allow Bethany time to recover.

"All right, Sweetness?" she asks, and the lazy smile that Bethany gives her is enough to make her chuckle.

"That was amazing," Bethany says reverently, and before Isabela has time to wonder if she's made a terrible mistake, Bethany rolls on top of her and looks down with a mix of determination and worry. "I want to try, but I'm not sure if I'll be any good at it."

Isabela smiles up at her fondly and tucks some of Bethany's hair behind her ear. "It's not too complicated. I'll help you out if you get lost."

Bethany nods and leans down to kiss her, and Isabela quickly finds out that Bethany is a very fast learner.

When it's over and Isabela is sated and Bethany flops down beside her and traces one of the many scars on Isabela's arm, she realizes just how horrible of an idea all of this was. Isabela doesn't do sleepovers or cuddling or feelings or any of that shit, and Bethany is exactly the kind of girl who would want that, who deserves that, especially after her first time.

"Look, Bethany," she begins awkwardly, "that was fantastic, really, but…"

She almost can't bring herself to finish that sentence, to kick Bethany out of her bed the way she's done to so many others before her. Thankfully, Bethany saves her from having to do it.

"It's okay, Bela. I understand," she says softly.

Isabela turns her head to look at Bethany, and quickly wishes she hadn't. Bethany's eyes are sad, disappointed, like Isabela's just dangled something pretty in front of her face and then told her she can't have it. She rolls out of bed and quickly begins dressing herself, and Isabela can do nothing but watch her and quell the voice in her head screaming that it wouldn't kill her to let Bethany stay. Bethany finally gets her clothes back on, ties the scarf back around her neck, and heads for the door. Just before she opens it, she turns back to look at Isabela.

"Thank you," she says, so quietly that Isabela almost can't hear her, and then she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Isabela feels like she's been stabbed in the gut, and after a few minutes of lying in bed trying to make the feeling go away, she finally decides to get dressed and head downstairs to get piss drunk.

If Bethany is upset about the way things ended the other night, she doesn't show it. Everything goes back to normal, and Isabela is relieved. She tells herself that she was just doing Bethany a favor, making sure that her first time was better than what Luis treated Isabela to when she was still just a girl, and that fucking Hawke's little sister on a regular basis would probably be detrimental to her health.

But of course now that she knows what Bethany looks like when she's naked and writhing and how her voice sounds when it's hoarse from begging, it's kind of hard not to think about her that way. It doesn't help that sometimes when Bethany catches her eye, Isabela can clearly see by the blush on her cheeks and the darkening of her eyes that she's thinking about it, too.

And then one day she notices one of the merchants in Hightown flirting with Bethany while she browses his wares, hears Bethany's pleased little laugh at whatever horrible line he uses on her, grits her teeth at Bethany's flirtatious smile, and that's pretty much the end of her resolve. She grabs Bethany by the wrist and pulls her away, shooting a dangerous sneer in the merchant's direction and ignoring Bethany's squawks of protest all the way back to Lowtown.

Bethany barely makes it through the door of her room at the Hanged Man before Isabela shoves her against it, kissing her roughly and biting at her lip hard enough to draw blood. Bethany makes a little sound in the back of her throat, and whether it's of pleasure or protest, Isabela doesn't know, but it matters little once she's undone the laces on Bethany's pants enough to shove her hand down them. Bethany's head tips back against the door and she moans loudly, gripping at Isabela's shoulders with bruising force.

It only takes a few minutes before Bethany is shuddering out her release, and Isabela feels a deep sort of satisfaction from it that she doesn't care to explain. But Bethany gives as good as she gets, and it isn't long before Isabela finds herself being pushed onto the bed.

She decides it's worth it to risk Hawke's wrath if it means she gets to experience this regularly.

"I have something for you," Bethany says one evening, and reaches off the side of Isabela's bed to grab her pack.

"Is it shiny?" Isabela asks playfully, finger tracing up and down Bethany's bare hip.

Bethany smiles and reaches into her bag, carefully pulling something out of it. It's a wooden ship, maybe a foot in length, complete with little canvas sails. It was obviously lovingly crafted by someone who knows ships well; the detail is quite remarkable, really. Bethany holds it out for her and Isabela takes it automatically, staring at it numbly, all the words caught in the back of her throat.

"I found it in one of the stalls in Hightown the other day. I know you lost your ship in a storm, but I thought that maybe this could serve as inspiration until you get a new one," Bethany explains, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Isabela feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. She's gotten plenty of gifts from various admirers over the years, and Luis always gave her whatever she wanted, but no one has ever given her anything so…thoughtful before. Her heart swells uncomfortably in her chest, and her face must be doing something worrisome, because Bethany's brow furrows and she bites her lip. Isabela manages to shake the cobwebs out of her brain and turns to Bethany with a smile.

"It's beautiful, Sweetness. Thank you," she says, and sets the ship gently on the nightstand.

She doesn't know how to say all of the things that she's thinking, how to express just how this gesture has made her lungs collapse and her heart skip and her gut clench and her head buzz simultaneously. She only knows how to show her gratefulness with her body, with the desperate pressure of her lips and fingers, and she hopes Bethany can decipher her language.

She knows she's falling when Bethany reaches for her tunic and Isabela's hand shoots out to stop her, pulls Bethany against her and wraps a tentative arm around her waist like she's not actually sure how to hold someone without fucking them. Bethany stills and looks at Isabela cautiously, like she doesn't quite understand or believe what's happening.

"It's late," Isabela mutters as an explanation, avoiding Bethany's eyes at all costs.

Bethany doesn't move for another couple of seconds, and Isabela resists the urge to squirm under her gaze. Finally, she drops her shirt by the side of the bed and settles against Isabela's side, resting her head on the pillow beside Isabela. Isabela stares at the ceiling, her breathing slightly erratic and her body tense. Bethany reaches out slowly and takes the hand clenched tightly at Isabela's side and eases it open, lacing their fingers together against Isabela's stomach. Isabela finally turns to look at her and Bethany smiles softly.

"It's okay," she promises.

It's not okay at all. The way that Bethany makes her feel is the farthest thing from okay. But Isabela is powerless to do anything about it, and she's quickly losing the will to try.

It's the middle of the day when the Templars ambush them.

They're harassing Aveline while she does her rounds at the docks. (Well, Isabela is harassing Aveline. Bethany is being perfectly amicable, as always.) Knight-Captain Cullen and several other heavily armored chantry puppets approach them with a purpose. Bethany stiffens and grips Isabela's wrist tightly. Isabela's stomach swirls unpleasantly. The Templars come to a halt directly in front of them.

"Serah Hawke," Cullen says grimly. It's not a question.

"Yes," Bethany replies, voice barely a whisper. Her skin is deathly pale. Isabela thinks she may faint.

"We have reason to believe that you possess magical abilities. As such, you are compelled by the Maker to accompany us to the Circle, where you will be unable to pose a threat to yourself or anyone else."

Isabela's daggers are in her hands before she even knows what she's doing, and she steps between Bethany and the Templars with her teeth bared.

"Touch her and I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you," she growls.

The Templars, including Cullen, all reach for their weapons. So does Aveline, though Isabela's not sure if she plans on using it to defend Bethany or the Templars. There are too many of them for her to take on her own, but she'll risk it for Bethany's sake.

"Bela, don't," Bethany pleads softly, her voice shaking. She reaches out to lower Isabela's weapon. Isabela whips her head around to look at her in disbelief.

"You're not going with them," she says adamantly. "I made a promise."

Bethany smiles sadly, and there are tears in her eyes. "I can't hide forever, Bela. Even Garrett knows that, deep down."

She wants to protest, but by the look on Bethany's face, she's already resigned herself to being taken to the Circle. And if she does fight, what will happen? She'll either get them all killed, or they'll be forced to run somewhere that the Templars won't find them. If they're caught, Bethany will either be killed or made Tranquil. It goes against everything that Isabela believes in to surrender, but this is the best choice when considering Bethany's safety. Isabela reluctantly puts her daggers away and the Templars relax, if only slightly.

"It'll be okay," Bethany promises.

Isabela doesn't believe her at all, but she's being so disgustingly brave that Isabela's throat tightens painfully. Bethany reaches behind her head and unties the scarf around her neck. She places it in Isabela's hand and closes her fingers around it tightly.

"Something to remember me by," she says. "I won't need it anymore."

Isabela grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her fiercely, and hopes that Bethany can understand all of the things that she can't say with words. There wasn't enough time. You were better than I deserved. I'll never forget you. I'll never forgive you. Judging by the taste of Bethany's tears on her tongue, she hears it all.

Cullen clears his throat behind them, and Isabela wants to gut him again when Bethany pulls away. She gives Aveline a quick hug.

"Keep Garrett out of trouble for me, will you?"

"Of course," Aveline says. "Good luck, Bethany."

Bethany's eyes flicker to Isabela's face one last time, and then she turns to join Cullen and the others.

"You'll let me say goodbye to my mother, won't you?" she asks him.

"Yes," Cullen nods. "You'll be allowed to bring a few keepsakes from home."

"Okay," Bethany says, and then she's being led away to the Circle, the thing she's always feared more than anything else. She doesn't look back.

Isabela watches them go, her hand clutching at Bethany's scarf like it's some sort of lifeline. She feels Aveline's hand settle on her shoulder and jerks away angrily, stalking off in the opposite direction.

She's already lost count of her drinks by the time the door to the Hanged Man slams open, and Isabela knows without having to turn around who it is. She sets her mug down on the bar and steels herself for a confrontation. A large hand closes around her arm and whirls her around, forcing her to face an infuriated Hawke. His eyes blaze with anger and his mouth is pressed in a thin line.

"You promised you would look after her," he growls. "You were supposed to keep her safe, and instead you let her get taken by the Templars. All the whoring around you do and you couldn't put it to good use and stop them from taking her?"

The slap probably stings her hand more than it does his cheek, but it feels good anyway.

"Don't you dare put this on me!" she yells. "If you'd taken her on that Maker forsaken expedition with you, this never would have happened!"

Hawke looks ready to retort, but then his gaze flicks down to the scarf wrapped tightly around Isabela's hand. He looks back up at the anguish on Isabela's face and his eyes flash with understanding. All of the fight seems to leave him in a rush and he deflates. Isabela notices that he looks older than she remembers—more lines on his face, more exhaustion in his eyes. He sits on the stool next to her and motions to the barmaid.

"We need a round over here," he says tiredly, and that's the end of the discussion.

She writes to Bethany. Isabela has never been the best at speaking about the things that matter, but every day for the next three years, she writes.

At first, it's just joking. She asks Bethany how she's doing and warns her not to get too friendly with the Templars. She tells her about Varric's latest story and whatever stupid thing Hawke's done now and how Merrill has sweetly fumbled her way through human social interaction again and how if she'd known that Aveline was this terrible at flirting, she would have spent less time antagonizing her and more time teaching her how to properly seduce a man.

It doesn't take long for her letters to turn dirty. Her forays into friend fiction give her the idea to recount some of her favorite memories of having Bethany in her bed. She tells Bethany in great detail exactly what they'd be doing if Bethany was here right now, and promises to make it extra good for her the next time they see each other.

Eventually, she exhausts her pornographic creativity until she's left with nothing but her own feelings. She tells Bethany that she misses her, that she's sorry she couldn't stop the Templars from taking her away, that she's been planning ways to break her out of that place. She tells her that she thinks about her all the time, but especially when she's by the docks, looking out over the water at the ships coming into the harbor, at the Gallows looming in the distance behind the fog, and she imagines Bethany on the deck of a giant vessel, wind blowing through her hair and face flecked with sea spray and eyes sparkling with promise.

She tells Bethany that she loves her, and her hand shakes so badly when she writes the words that they're barely legible, but she knows what they mean all the same.

For every day that Bethany is gone, Isabela writes one letter. And each letter ends up as nothing more than ashes at the bottom of a fire grate. And not a single one finds its way to Bethany.

Isabela is already on a ship bound for Ostwick, the Tome of Koslun weighing heavily in her hands, when she suddenly thinks of Bethany and her heart seizes in her chest.

The Qunari will rain hell down on that shithole of a city for what she's done. They will take over every part of it, including the Gallows. And for as horribly as the Chantry treats mages, the Qunari are even worse. Isabela remembers Ketojan—the stitches in his lips, the chains around his neck, and the way that the others demanded his death so resolutely—and imagines them treating Bethany in a similar manner. Because of her. Because she's too selfish to do the right thing.

It takes every sovereign on her person to convince the captain to turn the ship around, and once he does, all Isabela can do is pray to the Maker she doesn't believe in that she isn't too late.

"That was a hell of a thing you did, Rivaini," Varric says after it's all said and done and Hawke is being named Champion for his efforts.

Isabela isn't really paying attention. She's too busy staring at Knight-Commander Meredith and wondering what kind of bribes or threats it would take to convince her to let Bethany go.

"We saw Sunshine, earlier, you know," Varric tries again, and that gets Isabela's attention. "She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was looking for you." Isabela wants to ask about it, wants to know every detail. How is she? Was she hurt? Does she hate me? But she can't bring herself to ask. Varric observes her knowingly. "You know, Rivaini, avoiding her isn't going to make you love her any less."

"What?" Isabela scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Varric. I don't…I mean…"

"Really? Because that scarf tied around your arm says otherwise," he says with a smirk.

Isabela looks down at the red cloth wrapped around her bicep. She doesn't have the energy to make up an excuse.

"She's better off without me," she says instead.

"Maybe. But don't you think that should be her choice to make?"

He pats her on the arm and walks off to congratulate Hawke.

For as heavily guarded and fortified as the Gallows is, it's really not that hard to break into it. All she has to do is find that young Templar that they saved from the blood mages a few years back and bribe him a little. He finally agrees to let her in and give her a set of Circle robes as a disguise, and tells her that if she gets caught, he'll act like he's never seen her before. Once she's dressed, it's only a matter of asking one of the nearby Tranquil where she can find Bethany's room.

It's late, but Bethany is still up, reading by candlelight when Isabela slips in. Isabela's breath catches for a moment at the sight of her. Three years is a long time, but if anything Bethany is only more beautiful since Isabela last saw her. Her hair is longer now, and Isabela briefly wonders if they don't allow the mages to worry about things like the length of their hair in here, or if Bethany has just been so caught up in her studies and her duties that she hasn't taken notice. She's still rosy-cheeked and sweet-faced, and maybe her features are slightly more matured, but she looks good. Content, even.

Bethany must sense that she's not alone because she looks up suddenly and drops her book with a startled gasp.

"Isabela?" she whispers, as if she can hardly believe her own eyes.

"Hey there, Sweetness," Isabela says with a soft smile, and it feels good to have that name tumbling from her lips again.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in here?" Bethany asks incredulously.

"Oh, it wasn't so hard, once I put on this hideous robe. Do they really make you wear these all the time?" Isabela unclasps the robe and lets it drop to the floor, revealing her usual attire. She walks over to Bethany and perches herself on the edge of the desk, reaching out to tuck some of Bethany's hair behind her ear. "Long hair suits you."

Bethany's eyelids flutter for a moment, but then she pulls back and stands up, backing away from the desk.

"Isabela, if anyone finds out you're here…"

"They won't," Isabela assures her. "Have a little faith in my abilities, Sweetness." Bethany frowns and looks at the floor. Isabela stands and walks closer to her. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

She's not expecting the fire in Bethany's eyes, but they're blazing copper when she looks up.

"It's been three years, Isabela," she snaps, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I've heard from Varric and Merrill and Aveline and Sebastian. I've gotten visits from Garrett and Uncle Gamlen. Even Fenris wrote me a letter once. Granted, it was only to say that he was glad that I was finally somewhere that I would no longer pose a threat to myself or anyone else, but still. My mother died, Isabela. She died. And everyone I know sent their condolences. Even Knight-Commander Meredith came to give me her condolences personally. But in all that time, not once did I hear from the one person that I really needed. Maker, how many letters did I write to you hoping to hear something, anything? And you never wrote back."

Bethany is a little breathless now and her face is flushed with anger and her eyes are shining with unshed tears and Isabela feels fucking awful.

"I did write to you, Bethany," she says quietly. "I wrote you every day. I just never sent any of the letters that I wrote."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you took the time to write to me but I didn't mean enough to you to actually send them?"

"It's supposed to tell you that you mean everything to me," Isabela snaps. "That I said things to you in those letters that I was too afraid to actually send because I know you deserve better than me. You know that I had my relic? I was free; I could have cleared my debt with Castillon and found another ship and never looked back. But I didn't. I came back to this pisshole of a city and handed it over to the Qunari. And you know why I did that? For you, Bethany. It's always been about you."

Bethany looks as though she's been slapped, and Isabela suddenly feels so exhausted that she slumps down into Bethany's desk chair. The room is silent for a few moments, and Isabela can hear the sound of the water lapping at the sides of the tower outside and the clanking metal of armor in the hallway as a Templar passes by. Finally, Bethany approaches her. She invades Isabela's space and rests a hand on her cheek until Isabela looks at her.

"Why couldn't you just say that?" Bethany asks softly. "I love you too, Bela. Not everything has to be so difficult."

Isabela snorts, but allows herself to enjoy the warmth of Bethany's hand on her face. "It does with me, Sweetness."

Bethany smiles like she's got a secret to share.

"I know something that's easy with you," she whispers in Isabela's ear, and then her hands are on Isabela's, guiding them to her thighs and gripping the fabric of her robe, sliding it up, up, until her legs are visible and she can straddle Isabela with ease.

"Bethany," Isabela breathes, though she has no idea why she's protesting, or if that's even what she's doing. Maybe because she knows that if she touches Bethany now, there will be nothing stopping her from ripping her out of this tower and running away with her.

"Please, Bela," Bethany sighs, guiding Isabela's hand into her smalls, and she's already slick with need. "It's been so long. Please just fuck me."

She has never, ever, heard that word from Bethany's mouth, and hearing it now in that breathy voice makes her stomach twist violently with arousal. She plunges her fingers inside of Bethany and captures her lips just in time to stifle the sharp moan that tears out of her throat. Bethany's hands grip the back of the chair tightly and she rides Isabela's fingers with three years worth of pent up intensity. It isn't long before she's arching her back in release, biting harshly at Isabela's shoulder in an effort to keep quiet.

"Maker's balls," Isabela huffs, and Bethany chuckles tiredly.

The weight of her against Isabela's body is strangely comforting, and Isabela wraps one arm around her waist and strokes her hair with her other hand.

"I hate to say this," Bethany mumbles, "but you're going to have to get out of here. The Templars do room checks at night and they'll be around soon."

Isabela sighs. "I guess I'll have to finish this myself." Bethany looks apologetic. "Don't worry, Sweetness. After that display, it won't be very hard." Bethany blushes and brushes a kiss to Isabela's lips. She trails her finger down to trace across the fabric of her old scarf wrapped around Isabela's arm. "I haven't taken it off since, you know."

"Who knew you were such a romantic?" Bethany teases.

"Shh, don't tell anyone," Isabela says, and Bethany laughs. It's a sound that Isabela has missed painfully. "I'll come by again as soon as I can." Bethany nods and tries not to look too sad. Isabela kisses her on the forehead and heads for the door. "Sleep well, Sweetness."

Three more years pass by even quicker than the previous ones. They're sweeter, easier. She manages to slip into the Gallows and visit Bethany about once a week. Sometimes they sleep together. Sometimes they don't. Isabela's not sure what it says about her that she enjoys both occasions equally.

When the blood mages take Bethany hostage, Isabela has to pretend that her heart doesn't leap to her throat at the sight of her lying unconscious on the beach, robe wrinkled and hair filled with sand. Hawke, Aveline, and Varric are every bit as furious as she is about it, but it is Isabela who manages to get the final satisfying blow on that ungrateful bitch of a mage. She can't remember feeling so relieved as when the other mage finally lifts the spell and Bethany's eyes blink up at her hazily.

Then Hawke plays the hero again and not only helps her take care of Castillon, but also gets her a new ship. Isabela feels whole again when she sets foot on the deck for the first time, and she thinks briefly back to the wooden model that still sits on the nightstand in her room, and that terrifying feeling of falling when Bethany had given it to her.

She doesn't know how, but one of these days she will figure out a way to free Bethany from the Circle, and then the two of them will set sail for anywhere, as long as it's far away from here.

The opportunity presents itself sooner than she's expecting, and Isabela is sort of dragged into it whether she likes it or not. It seems as though everyone has gone completely insane: Anders blows up the entire Chantry, Orsino resorts to blood magic, and Meredith has a psychotic break as a side effect of exposure to lyrium and declares war on everyone.

There's a point when Isabela wonders if they'll even make it out of this alive, when Meredith is calling holy lightning down on them to animate gigantic bronze statues. But they're fighting side by side—all of them, even Fenris (but not Anders)—and there really isn't any word to describe the feeling she gets knowing that Bethany is fighting at her back, flinging her spells past Isabela once more. The routine comes as easily as breathing, and in the end they are victorious, if victorious is an apt description for the sheer amount of destruction that surrounds them.

They have no choice but to flee. The Chantry will demand blood after everything that's happened here today, and Isabela has no plans to be the one to give it to them. In the end, only Aveline and Sebastian stay behind. Aveline is still the captain of the guard, of course, and Sebastian believes it's his duty to explain everything to the Chantry officials. Aveline promises to tell the Templars that Bethany is dead, and after some persuasion, Sebastian finally agrees not to mention her unless specifically asked. It's the best they can hope for, considering the circumstances.

Everyone else hops aboard Isabela's ship. She promises them all passage for as long as they want it, and when she takes her place at the helm, she feels like she's finally home again.

There are some things that can never be righted. There's a distinct hole at Hawke's side where Anders once was, where he should be still. The haunted look in Hawke's once-bright eyes when he looks down at his hands, as if he can still see the blood on them, gives Isabela chills. Bethany fusses over him, but Isabela knows that there are some wounds that only time can heal, and even then…

She can't figure how it's possible that she's allowed to be happy when Hawke, who has done nothing but good in the time that she's known him, has been forced to lose so much. She thinks it might be best to just be grateful and not question it too much.

Her passengers all leave one by one. Fenris goes to Tevinter, hoping to find answers. To what, Isabela doesn't know. She doesn't ask. Varric has business in Antiva, but he promises Isabela with a wink that they'll meet up again soon. She believes him. Merrill hears about land allocated to the Dalish in Ferelden, and leaves them at Gwaren. She's a bit teary-eyed when she hugs them goodbye, so Isabela promises to write when she can.

Hawke stays with them for several months, and then one day he shows up in Isabela's cabin with his bag packed.

"I'm leaving when we dock at the next port. I don't know where I'll go," he says.

"Brother," Bethany breathes, and she sounds heartbroken. Hawke smiles for the first time since they left Kirkwall, though it doesn't reach his eyes.

"You're all grown now, Bethany. And you're finally free. You don't need me anymore, and I…I can't stay here on this ship with only my thoughts to keep me company any longer. We'll find each other again someday. Until then, you have Isabela to look out for you."

There are tears in Bethany's eyes and she launches herself at him and wraps her arms around his waist.

"Promise me we'll meet again," she cries. "Swear it."

"I promise," Hawke says, and kisses the top of her head.

Isabela catches his eye, and they don't need words for him to know that she'll miss him, or how grateful she is for everything he's done. True to his word, he leaves them as soon as they dock. They don't see him again for many years.

Isabela's not sure how it happens, but they gradually begin picking up passengers at every port—wayward mages running away from the Templars. It's just one to start with, and when Bethany blinks those big puppy dog eyes at her, Isabela can't find it in her to say no. Besides, helping apostates is technically illegal, and pirates are made to do illegal things.

It quickly snowballs from there, and somehow Isabela and Bethany become known across Thedas as underground mage transporters. It's a far cry from raiding and pillaging and stealing, but when she sees Bethany out on the deck, long hair tangled in the wind and cheeks tanned from the sun, face bright and happy as they shepherd mages to safety, she can't really complain. And she has to admit that it is kind of satisfying sticking it to the Chantry and helping people who wouldn't have a chance in hell otherwise.

She has a ship and a good crew. She has the open sea in front of her and a purpose. And best of all, she has Bethany, her sweet little Hawke, to make love with under the stars whenever she wants, to keep her warm at night, and to love her. Isabela doesn't think she can ask for anything more than that.