Chapter 3 – Hawke's Favour

I had encountered no trouble on my hurried walk back to The Hanged Man from Darktown. I had been thankful for that much, at the time anyway. Now, standing before the tavern I frequented, I find that I almost hope this conversation had actually been postponed.

It would have given me more time to sorts through my conflicting emotions and thoughts more thoroughly. I had gone quickly from all intent, to angry, to just plain confused.

Sighing, I seize up the entrance. The Hanged Man was still busy, the lights and sounds that come from beneath the battered old door evidence enough of this.

I frown, suddenly very frustrated with myself. Damned if I was going to go weak in the knees and addle brained just because Fenris had shown an interest in somebody else.

It's been years, I tell myself as if this excuses him.

"This is just what I need to move on," I lie.

Decided, I offer a small resolute nod to myself. Growling, I storm towards the small door, pushing it open roughly and storming into the all too bright room. I raise a hand to my irritated eyes, squinting. Laughter and conversation bombarded me, and it takes a moment to regain my composure, the alcohol still very much in my system. Sneering, I survey the room as well as I can, searching for any recognizable faces.

When I see her, I don't know if I am relieved or apprehensive that she is available for a few choice words.

I decide to play it by ear, not knowing how I'll respond to her. Or her to me, for that matter. Everything is much easier that way. My steps are quick, but the previous anger has faded from them. I make my way towards the long length of the bar. I force myself to casually sit upon the empty stool beside her.

She knows I am back. I can tell from the sudden tightening of her grip on her drink.

"Isabela," I greet her curtly.

"He's already gone," she offers.

Her response is casually, offering me a dismissive wave of her hand, hinting at nothing that she might be thinking or feeling.

I can't help the thoughts that flash through my head at that, and bitterness creeps upon me. That sounds like Fenris; gets the job done, and then gets out of there.

A fine match; the free-living pirate and the ex-slave. Bitterness lines this thought, so strong I can almost taste it on my tongue.

Isabela has not looked up from the contents of her mug, so it is hard to gauge the sly rogue's reaction to my presence. I do, however, notice that the side of her mouth is curved upwards ever so slightly.

"So, what can I do you for, Hawke?" she queries nonchalantly.

Now she deems to look me in the eye. The glint in her eyes tells me that she's baiting me. That is not all I see, however. I am met with resolve, and I suddenly realise that she does not think she has done anything wrong.

True, she knew that I would be angry, she knows me well, and I think I too understand her well enough to see that she did not bed Fenris purely with the intent of hurting me. My reaction was merely a consequence that she had evaluated, and carried on in spite of. She did not view her actions as unforgivingly reprehensible.

"Typical Isabela," I find I am smiling despite myself.

This response, however, does surprise her. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and the small smile fades from her lips for the barest of moment.

"Now, that is not what I was expecting," she admits through a bout of laughter.

She takes another mouthful of whatever brown liquid sloshes in her mug, watching me intently over the rim as she drinks.

I had not expected to respond to her like this, either. I knew that she would not fall before my feet begging for forgiveness. But she had known that I had still harbored feelings for Fenris. She had known that I had hoped that he would some day be ready for something more, anything more. By the Fade, everyone knew. Even I knew it was obvious, yet she had still sought out his intimate company.

"What were you expecting, Isabela?" I press, raising a brow.

Despite myself, I feel my anger towards the pirate dissipating with my every word.

Isabela shrugs, smirking as she thuds the mug roughly upon the bar top. She motions towards the barkeep, her hand raised above her head, and two more drinks quickly slide across the table in our direction.

"Honestly?" she smiles, "I thought you would come in here, staff a-swinging, demanding my head. Okay, maybe not that extreme. But I did not expect to see you for quiet some time." She pauses, as if deeply considering her next words. "I am glad to see that I was wrong."

We drink in silence for some time. Isabela casually leaning against the bar, observing a group of guards men that are laughing wildly as they play a friendly game of cards a table over from us. It is only when she finishes the next drink, well before me, that she speaks again. She continues to watch the game unfold as the words spill from her mouth.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," she states suddenly, point-blank.

My grip on the mug tightens. Momentarily, I feel the raw anger from before rise up within me. I might have forgiven her for this, but that didn't mean that I had to like it. At all.

Besides, she was supposed to be my friend. She knew how I felt. How dare she not feel sorry for having caused me pain? Almost as fast as it comes, though, the anger passes once more. This is my friend. She has never lied about who and what she is. Could I really fault her for doing what made her happy? And who was I to talk down at her? I certainly wasn't perfect. Why should I expect others to be?

I huff in amusement at that last thought, and I notice Isabela look at me curiously from the corner of her eye. I hide my smirk in my mug of ale for a moment, finishing the last of the bitter liquid.

"I didn't expect you to say you are," I finally manage, surprised to find it is the truth.

She smiles wholeheartedly at me then, before raising a hand. "Another round for myself and the merciful Lady Hawke. On me," she calls to the bar keep.

I laugh at the wink she sends me, and based off the warm feeling in my cheeks I know I should decline.

I know I should. But I don't.

"Why not?" I say through an easy laugh. "One more won't hurt."

She snorts. "Famous last words, Hawke?"

"I certainly hope not. I have an elf that needs a good talking to." I overbalance slightly and almost slip from the stool. "An elf that I need to speak to tomorrow. That last drink seems to have gone straight to my head."

The barkeep tops up our mugs with an ill suppressed sigh. I frown at that, but Isabela dismisses his dissatisfaction effortlessly.

"To Hawke," she calls, raising her mug high above her head with a chuckle, "for not gutting me. Thank the Maker for small favours, and all that."

"Here, here," I clink her mug with my own, liquid sloshing over the rim.

Isabela passes the barkeep a bulging drawstring purse. One, I note, that looks suspiciously like my own. "Keep 'em coming, till we drop," she orders.

Shaking my head, I admit a small chuckle.

I'd intended to be mad with her, I really had. Regardless, there were some sleeping bears that I refused to let lay, no matter what. Especially when that bear had lain with someone that they hadn't been wearing the favour of for almost three years now.

I still felt the fool after having waited so long for something that apparently wasn't going to happen, and I intended to let Fenris know that I was done. I was finished with waiting, and I was finished with him. Only then would I be able to move beyond this. Otherwise this all felt far too inconclusive. I needed it all to end so I could move on to significantly less glow-y things.

At the moment, however, the room was swimming wonderfully before my eyes, and the sound of Isabela's carefree laughter was ringing in my ears.

Tomorrow I can find the closure I need.

Tonight, though? Tonight, I will enjoy the alcohol that I suspect I was unwittingly paying for, and then sleep wherever I fall, all the whilst knowing that the first words out of my mouth when I wake up will be 'I'm never drinking again'.

And then, tomorrow, I will rip that damn favour from Fenris' arm.