**UPDATE: Mar. 23/11: It only took me a week to realize that I had misspelled Isabela's name in this story and yes, I have been hitting my head against a wall ever since that lightbulb turned on. Here's the corrected version with my sincerest apologies to you, the reader, and thanks for still being so positive about the story despite the glaring error **

A/N: I'm a bit rusty at this fanfiction thing but for some reason, I couldn't let this idea go. It was pretty much inspired by an attempt to flirt with Anders in DA2, getting shut down almost instantly and then discovering three years later that he could finally resign himself to the idea of a romance. Three years? Really? I suspect Hawke might not have dealt with that idea so well and hence came this story. It is my first fic for Dragon Age, so let me know what you think!

**Spoilers for Dragon Age 2 with a bit of creative license thrown in.**

Perseverance

It was a busy night at the Hanged Man, which suited Hawke just fine. She had managed to snag the last unoccupied space at the bar, a seat far off to the side and well hidden by the crowds of people from most prying eyes. It allowed her some privacy to do the two things she needed most right now: drink alone and sulk.

Not that she was sulking. Not really. A member of the Hawke clan never sulked, especially not the eldest child of Leandra and Malcolm. She had usually been too busy trying to keep the peace between her younger siblings or helping the family escape the Blight—or adjusting to the strange new city of Kirkwall for that matter—to indulge in something so childish as sulking.

She preferred to think of it as alcohol-fuelled contemplation. And if her pout and furrowed brow said otherwise, well then who was here to judge her for a little self-pity? None of her usual companions seemed to be hanging around the bar tonight and the one person she certainly did not want to see was far away in a dark, dirty little room of a medical clinic, probably wallowing in some self-pity of his own.

Serves him right if he is, she thought, not without a touch of bitterness as she downed the dregs of her mug. Just as long he wasn't wallowing in the company of some pretty barmaid who needed a hang nail fixed.

Even with the haze of alcohol obscuring the rational part of her brain, she still snorted at the thought. Anders was so mired down in the "Stay Away From Me, I'm Dangerous" concept that he barely let anyone through the walls he had built. The thought of him indulging in a flirtation with some random girl seemed ludicrous.

Then again, she couldn't imagine a grown man not indulging in some sort of relationship—even a simple physical one—for three years unless he was bound to a vow of celibacy. And Anders was a grown man with no such vows holding him back, so who was she to say what he did in his spare time? Or, for that matter, who?

Groaning inwardly at her over-active imagination—and the pathetic feelings of jealousy that were beginning to stir—Hawke burrowed her head into her hands. She was in the middle of debating whether she should continue her little pity party back home in the privacy of her spacious, lonely bedroom when a familiar voice cut through the internal war.

"Of all the people to find moping at the bar, you would be the last one I would expect." Hawke felt the extra body squeeze in beside her, felt the delicate hand rest on her shoulder in a gesture or either comfort or enticement—one could never be sure with Isabela—and groaned again. "Having fun?"

Bringing her head up out of her hands, Hawke met the curious gaze of the pirate queen with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Isabela raised a brow. "I'm always here, Hawke. How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough," Hawke muttered, eyeing the empty mugs scattered around her. "And I knew you were here—at least somewhere in here. I was just thought you might be...otherwise occupied. Preferably too occupied to notice me."

A quick grin spread across Isabela's lips. "I have been occupied, as you so politely put it, for most of the night. But all good things need to come to an end, otherwise those pesky little things called 'complications' come up and destroy all the fun." She gave a little shove to the burly man sitting at the next stool over, who took one look at the deadly daggers strapped to her back and promptly vacated his seat.

"That's better," Isabela sighed as she settled into the stool. "Now why don't we order another round and you can tell me why you're here all alone and not indulging in some fun of your own?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Hawke said darkly, shrugging off Isabela's hand as she hunched over the bar.

"Fine, we can talk about something else for now," Isabela countered cheerfully, apparently undeterred by Hawke's mood. She gestured to the barman for two more pints before turning pointedly in her seat to face her companion. "How was your latest foray along the Wounded Coast?"

Hawke scowled. "Uneventful."

"Really?" Isabela batted her eyes innocently—a little too innocently, Hawke thought. "Anders would beg to differ. He seemed to think that your latest trip was a bit of a disaster actually."

At the mention of his name, Hawke's scowl deepened. "Of course he'd say something like that," she grumbled. Shaking her head, she caught Isabela's shrewd gaze studying her face and straightened in her seat. She couldn't let Isabela figure out the real reason as to why she was so bitter about her latest adventure. The pirate would never let her live it down or worse—she might offer to help. If there was one person she didn't want to hear relationship advice from, it was the woman who's very dress was likely to get her arrested for indecent exposure at any minute."It wasn't exactly the smoothest herb gathering operation I've ever led. It rained from the minute we stepped out of Kirkwall until we got home, we ran into not one, but two bandit camps on our trek, and Anders was nearly swept off a cliff by a landslide we triggered trying to retrieve some of the herb he needed so desperately. So yes," Hawke concluded, "you could say it was a 'bit of a disaster'."

During Hawke's rant, the barman had delivered the ale and Isabela promptly put one mug squarely into her companion's hands as soon as she finished talking. "Drink up, Hawke. I think you need it."

"You're telling me." Hawke took a long swig and let the ale soothe some of the frustration away. It worked—sort of. She suspected she'd need more to rid herself of the frustration completely but was happy enough to have a temporary solution. "But other than all of that, it was uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another jaunt along the coast with one of my usual companions." Hawke didn't notice the sarcasm she laced around the word 'companion', but judging by the devilish glint in Isabela's eyes, it seemed her pirate friend had. Feeling a sudden urge to backtrack over the last few rants, Hawke tried to pass her mood off as a direct result of weariness. "Sorry, it was just a long day. We only got back a little while ago."

"It must have been quite the day, if it drove you down to the Hanged Man to sit here and drink yourself into a stupor" Isabela pointed out as her grin faded. Clearly, she was not going to settle for the 'I've had a long day' excuse that easily. "You do realize you could have dragged me along too? I certainly wasn't doing anything particularly illegal at the time and I could have helped you with those bandits. I may not enjoy useless jaunts for plants but I really don't mind the occasional trip outside of this city." She raised an eyebrow, her gaze hardened and Hawke realized too late that she was no longer conversing with a friend, but about to be subjected to an interrogation that would put the Templars to shame. "Unless you didn't want anyone else along on this adventure. Anyone, of course, except a certain healer..."

If she hadn't had so much to drink, Hawke would have done a better job if hiding the blush that was slowly creeping across her ale-reddened cheeks. She turned away from Isabela's traitorous eyes but not before the pirate queen had seen the tell tale sign and understood exactly what it meant.

Much to Hawke's chagrin, Isabela started laughing, clapping her hands together in what could only be delight. "So it's Anders is it? I was wondering who it was."

"What do you mean by that?"

Isabela was still chuckling as she sipped at her own drink. "What that means is that I've been wondering what would drive a beautiful woman like you to lock herself up in her big mansion and to ignore all of the handsome men who would die to have a chance at getting into her bed."

The very thought of a line of men standing outside her door in Hightown was so outlandish that Hawke could only laugh. "You have a talent for flattery, Isabela. Remind me to take you along when I need to charm the ground out from under someone."

"You laugh, but it's true. There are plenty of men who would love to court a pretty woman who also happens to have a large pile of gold sitting in that large house of hers. If there's one thing I have discovered, it's that men are just as shallow as women."

"And the ones that aren't shallow are either taken or emotionally unavailable," Hawke added irritably. "Or not interested in women."

"Judging by the way Anders looks at you, you can scratch that last one."

Hawke snorted in disbelief, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be on the defensive. "The only time he looks at me is when he needs more bandages or when he needs me to protect him while he gallivants around looking for obscure herbs on equally obscure mountain cliffs. The rest of the time he buries himself in that clinic of his, healing the poor and hugging babies and saving puppies from being kicked and single handedly trying to make this city a better place."

Hawke glanced back at Isabela, realizing belatedly that she was not doing a very good job of keeping things to herself. Much to her embarrassment, the pirate queen was not only laughing, but looked as though she was thoroughly delighted in every word that spilled out from her companion's mouth. Hawke pursed her lips and fought unsuccessfully to cool the burning in her cheeks. "It doesn't matter any way. Even if he does look at me, he doesn't seem to want to do much more than that."

"What would you know?" Isabela countered. "Have you even tried to get him to notice you?"

Hawke felt the safest route would be to keep quiet and focus on her nearly empty mug and pretend that her conversation with the man nearly three years ago had not happened, but apparently her silence was answer enough because Isabela was suddenly leaning in closer, chin on one hand, and looking more delighted than ever. "Oh my, Hawke, if I had known your little infatuation with Anders was this bad, I would have intervened sooner."

"You knew?"

"Sort of," Isabela admitted. "You certainly didn't seem to be panting after Fenris, despite his sexy, dark persona and that lovely voice of his. You weren't making eyes at Varric either, even though he's pretty impressed with you. And since you ever so politely rebuffed the advances of yours truly nor made any attempt to flirt with any women, it was easy enough to figure out who was the last one standing."

Wonderful. Now she felt foolish and miserable. This day was not ending on the happy, drunken note she had hoped for. "Well then, it seems to me that since you have it all figured out after all, you don't need me around any more." Hawke finished her drink and started to make a rapid getaway from the humiliation of it all when Isabela reached over and shoved her back down.

"Don't you walk away from me, Lady Hawke," Isabela drawled, keeping a firm hand on her friend's shoulder. "I've known you for three years now. I know this isn't like you. Whatever Anders has done—or hasn't done—is getting to you. The best way to cure that fire in your body is to rant and rave and throw something or seduce the unwilling mage, push him against a wall and have your dirty way with him. Either way, the first thing you need to do is actually talk to someone about this instead of trying to drown it out with ale."

Sensing she really had no real choice in the matter—thanks in part to the claw-like hand that was keeping her from moving any further—Hawke sunk back onto the stool. Despite the fuzziness that was enveloping her usually careful mind, she knew that Isabela was right. She had been left alone to her own thoughts and recriminations for too long. There had been times she had debated going to one of her fellow companions, but the time had never seemed right. Merrill was sweet but she could barely buy a loaf of bread at the market without wondering if she did something wrong and Bethany was behind the bars of the Circle, surrounded by people who probably read every letter that was sent. Aveline was a decent friend, but she was busy with the guard and besides, she was too practical. Hawke could only imagine Aveline's expression if she found out her friend was interested in a possessed apostate mage.

Her mother certainly wasn't an option and Isabela had usually been too busy with her own conquests to offer up much more than a friendly chat about the weather. Now though, things had changed and Hawke found she was grateful for the other woman's offer of help, in spite of Isabela's less than stellar history of meaningful relationships. At least she would have decent advice—she certainly didn't seem the type to berate another woman on her choice in men.

Isabela, as if sensing her companion's change in attitude, released Hawke's shoulder with a decisive nod. "Good girl. Now tell Aunty Isabela everything and don't spare me the sordid details."

So Hawke, with the alcohol in her bloodstream loosening her tongue, began to talk and found that once she had started, it was difficult to stop. "You see, it all started after we went off to save his friend Karl, which turned out to be a lost cause, but that's beside the point..."

Over two more pints, she told Isabela about the many adventures and journeys and odd jobs that she had dragged the reluctant mage on. She told the pirate queen about her attempts over the last few years to build a strong friendship in hopes of starting something more, of Anders' hesitation at even the slightest flirtatious inclination on her part and of his declaration that he could never be with her as she wished, thanks in part to the ever present Justice. She even brought up her latest attempt to help Anders, of him finding the mage that was going to be turned Tranquil and of the appearance of Justice at a most inopportune time.

"You see, that was why I so readily agreed to take him out to get some bloody herb he needed. I thought that after everything with the Templar and mage and the appearance of his demon friend, he might be willing to finally talk. But that certainly wasn't the case—we traversed half of the ruddy Wounded Coast and the longest sentence he said to me was 'We seem to be having bad luck with the weather'." Hawke rolled her eyes. "I might as well have stripped down and danced around him in all my glory and he probablywould have asked me to put my clothes back on because I might catch cold. If I didn't like him so much, I probably would've given up years ago. Believe me, I've tried to put an end to my foolishness. But every time I see those brown eyes and that rare smile he sometimes lets out, I fall into the trap all over again." Running a hand through her hair, Hawke could only sigh. "So there you have it, the sordid truth about yours truly: I. Am. Pathetic."

Isabela—who had remained oddly silent during her friend's tirade—slapped her mug down on the counter and wrapped a comforting arm around Hawke's shoulders. "My, but that man is a complete idiot."

For the first time since she had sat down at the bar, Hawke managed a small smile. "Yes, I believe he is."

"You know what you have to do, right?"

Despondently, Hawke shook her head. "Try flirting with Varric?"

"No, you silly girl, next chance you get, you need to back that man into a corner and make him realize how lucky he is to have caught your attention!" Isabela exclaimed, loudly enough for half the bar to hear. Thankfully, a cheerful group of dockhands had started serenading the bar with a racy ballad about an Orlesian sailor and kept the attention away from Isabela's lecture. "If he pulls some sort of 'I'm not worthy of you' trick, just put him on the spot. Demand to know why he won't jump you. Question his masculinity, his bravery, anything really—just make sure he knows that you've wasted three long years pining for him. Make sure," Isabela continued, her voice dropping as she leaned in closer to a very tipsy Hawke, "that if he makes a move on you, you won't let him go. I'm sure you've got a few tricks up your sleeve."

"I do," Hawke agreed with a drunken smirk, "although it has been a while."

"It's been just as long for him—maybe even longer. This self-imposed chastity of his can't last much longer in any case. I suspect that once you get your hands on him, he won't be so self-sacrificing. And," Isabela added with a wink, "he won't be so willing to keep his distance from you either."

"Isabela, you are so right!" Hawke declared. "I will give him one more chance and this time, I won't back down from a challenge!" To emphasize her point, Hawke slapped a determined hand onto the bar and tried to stand up, only to find the ground was a touch less solid than she remembered and seemed to have a distinct wavelike motion to it. "Funny...when did we end up on a ship?"

"Annnd...I think it's time for the nice lady to go home now and sleep this off." Keeping an arm around her companion to steady her, Isabela helped Hawke to stand properly then began to guide her through the throngs of people and out of the Hanged Man. "You're lucky I like you so much, Hawke. I don't usually help the ones I've drunk under the table home."

"I owe you one then," Hawke murmured as they stumbled out through the door and into the cool night air that was drifting about Lowtown. "Thank you, really, for everything."

"You won't be saying that in the morning," Isabela mused as they began navigating the treacherous climb up to Hightown. "Now grab onto the wall and let's try these steps one at time."

The morning sun dawned brightly. A little too brightly, especially for the current occupant of the room. Shielding her aching eyes from the glow, Hawke sat up in her bed and waited for the mattress to stop rolling.

Maker, how much did I drink last night? She wondered, rubbing at her gritty eyes. Fuzzy memories of clambering up stone steps on all fours came to mind, as did images of a laughing Isabela all but shoving her through the front door of her home.

For a brief moment, Hawke wondered why—despite the hangover—she felt as though a large weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Then, as she felt the bed settle back onto solid ground, her mind began to replay the conversations at the Hanged Man with surprising clarity. Conversations concerning her infatuation with a certain mage. Conversations she had promised herself she would never have. Conversations that had most certainly been caused by the very same ale that had given her the beginnings of an awful hangover this very morning.

Her first instinct was to bury her head in her pillows and try to forget everything about last night, but the rational part of her brain had returned in full force and was currently reminding her of the list of duties she couldn't ignore. There were people to see and things to do and she certainly couldn't spend a day simply moping about the house, no matter how appealing the idea might be.

With a sigh, she extricated herself from the cozy confines of her bed and managed to wash away most of the stink of the bar, before dressing and staggering down to the kitchen. As she was blearily contemplating a piece of dry toast and sipping at the black tea the cook had deposited in front of her, Bodahn came strolling through. He stopped when he saw her, a small quirk of his lips the only sign that he knew exactly what state Hawke was in. "There you are! I'm glad I found you. I have a message for you."

Add it to the towering, never-ending pile, she thought irritably as she fought the beginnings of a headache. "Who's it from?"

"That mage fellow, Anders. He stopped by a short while ago. Said he needed to talk to you and that it was important."

"Why? Does he need more herbs or something?" She grumbled, feeling the headache intensify at the mere mention of his name.

Bodahn cheerfully shook his head. "Not that I know of. He only said he owes you a thank you and that he really needed to talk to you at his clinic as soon as you were available."

"I'll bet he does," Hawke muttered under her breath. Then, turning to Bodahn, she tried to give him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for taking the message. Do you want some toast?"

"I think you need it more than I do," the dwarf replied. "Here, try this—it's an old dwarven remedy for your...ailments." He deposited a small pouch on the table by her elbow as he continued towards the hall. "Just mix it in with the tea and it will do wonders."

Hawke managed to send him a passing look of gratitude as she deposited the smelly contents of the pouch into her tea. Though it tasted positively awful, the pounding in her head began to recede almost instantly.

With every sip, her mind began to clear and with it came the steely determination that today was going to be the day she resolved the issue of Anders. Isabela was right—she needed to do something about the fact she had lost her heart to a man who didn't seem willing to accept it. And,at this point, if it meant putting Anders into an awkward situation, she was more than willing to do it.

It had been three years since she had first confronted him, three years of trying to pretend that she could be his friend without wanting something more. Three years too many of nights spent wanting and waiting and wishing for something she was certain that, despite all of his refusals, he wanted too. After three very long years of dancing around their attraction, Hawke was going to get some answers.

She smiled to herself, feeling better than she had in ages. Let's see how he handles it this time...

end