It was with crushing realization that Isabela saw Hawke, her Hawke, exit the Hanged Man, arm draped around her sister's waist. It hit like a thunderbolt.

The fact was that the Champion was in love with her younger sister.

When she was supposed to be in love with Isabela.

Though it had taken a while to grasp it, it made perfect sense. Bethany was the reason behind Hawke. She was the reason Hawke had scurried around doing errands and odd jobs to get fifty sovereigns to get into the Deep Roads, to get out of Lowtown. And she was the reason she had fought against the Templars, killing Meredith, waging a war. And she was the reason she had left her lover midst the stench of vomit, piss and cheap booze of the Hanged Man, barely saying departing words, barely a week after sending Kirkwall onto a war against every Templar in the world.

It made sense really.

Isabela took a quick drink, hoping the booze could drive away the thoughts of the two Hawkes in bed. She knew every bit of the older Hawke's body, though her knowledge of her sister was much less. Of course, she didn't doubt that Bethany was every bit as fascinating. She shook her head, apparently trying to shake the bad thoughts off.

It really made sense.

After all, no one knew Hawke better than her own sister. Until recently, Isabela didn't know Hawke had fallen from a tree at age ten, and broken her arm. She knew nothing of the schoolyard bully who Hawke had bested in combat when she had enough of his teasing, age thirteen. At fifteen, she had taken a roll in the hay with the daughter of a visiting Arl who didn't quite know how to shut up, becoming prime gossip material for months and nearly causing poor Leandra Hawke to have a heart attack.

And surely, there were many more things Isabela didn't know.

Bethany, on the other hand, knew. She knew of every single scrapped knee, every single fight at school, every indecent act, every meal, every sickness, every untrue rumor, every true rumor, every friend, foe and acquaintance, every birthday.

Bethany knew her a thousand time better than Isabela could. She couldn't compete at all.

For all the sex and all the evenings spent together gambling and drinking, it could not compare to more than eighteen years of being together.

It burned within Isabela. She knew that Hawke would never confess to it. Because she wouldn't want to hurt her sister or drive her away, of course. But she knew, she just knew.

If she could, Hawke would sleep with her own sister. No, make love. She loved her more than anyone else. And it would mean more than anything she could ever have with Isabela.

It didn't disgust her. It didn't make her angry.

It just hurt.

A/N: Oh yes, incest fic. It's all Bioware's fault for making Bethany so adorable.