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Alistair took a look around camp. Majin was off with Leliana, Morrigan and Sten, trying to find some sword. Wynne was in her tent, to escape, as she put it, "the stench of dwarf and dog."
Shale was glaring at the trees nearby, supposedly on watch but probably plotting how to kill birds as efficiently as possible. Oghren was in a drunken stupor, muttering in his sleep by his tent. Of course, Khasta was off doing Maker knew what, probably rolling in something dead.
And Zevran was by the fire, stirring some concoction together. Alistair felt an instant distrust, and considered ways he could beg off eating. The loud growl coming from his stomach made that impossible, so with a sigh he sat, near enough to the fire without getting too close to the assassin.
Surreptitiously, he regarded Zevran. He was tasting a creamy sauce, eyes closed, then reached into his belt pouch and added a few herbs in before tasting it once more. At least, since he was eating it himself, it probably wasn't poisoned, Alistair reasoned.
Majin wanted them to get to know each other. He didn't know if it would really be worth it, in the long run, but he loved her. For her, he'd do almost anything.
Including make nice with an assassin.
A plate was shoved in front of him, startling him out of contemplating his love. It smelled... delicious, actually. Nothing at all like the stew Alistair usually made. He looked up, following the proffered arm, to see Zevran standing close.
Zev gave a quick smile and a small bow, saying, "Here is a peace offering."
Alistair narrowed his eyes. "No thanks, I'm good," he said automatically. Another complaint rose from his stomach, and he felt his ears burn. "Fine," he muttered, taking the plate. He stared at it. "What is it?"
"Ah, I was not sure if you'd have ever tried this. It was a gamble. This," Zevran gestured with a flourish, "is chicken cordon bleu."
"Chicken what now?"
"It is an Orlesian dish, made with cheese, which is wrapped with bacon into the chicken." Zev continued for a minute, describing his process, but Alistair tuned him out; as soon as Zevran said cheese, Alistair knew he had to try it. If it was poisoned, well, at least he'd die happy. He took a bite, savoring the rich flavors.
"I see you like it." Zevran sounded amused. "Majin's advice was well worth the effort, then."
Alistair swallowed hard. "Majin... told you to make this?" He wasn't sure if he was touched or annoyed.
"Not this in particular, but she mentioned your love of cheese and suggested using it as a way to break the ice. It took me some time to find all the spices required; most Fereldans seem to think 'spice' is a naughty word."
Alistair didn't respond, opting to fill his mouth with more of the chicken thing. He didn't care what it was called, he wanted to eat all of it.
Zevran shifted slightly, as if nervous, then took a seat by Alistair. "May I be frank?" he asked.
"You can be Frank, George, or Calvin if you like," Alistair deflected.
Zevran hummed, his lips lifting slightly at the joke. "We need to have a discussion, you and I." He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his chin in his palm. "I was hoping that preparing a meal you would enjoy might help facilitate that."
"Right." Alistair put the plate down beside him. "Okay then. Talk."
There was silence for a long time. Alistair almost thought that Zevran had given up. He reached for the plate- no point in letting good cheese get cold- but the assassin's low voice finally broke the quiet of the night.
"I love her." Zevran was watching the flames, hands in front of him, dangling between his knees.
Alistair frowned. "How do you know?" he challenged. "Since I doubt you've ever loved anyone, it seems like it would be a foriegn concept to you."
Zev pursed his lips. "You know everything about me, then? My whole life's story?"
Alistair flushed. "Well, no," he admitted. "But you kill people for a living. Not much opportunity there for romance, I'd think."
"I loved two people, in my time with the Crows." Zevran looked distant, remembering. "And when the one I called brother told me my lover had betrayed us, I killed her without mercy."
Alistair gaped. "And that's supposed to make me trust you?" He jumped up and began pacing. He looked uneasily at the plate; what if it had been poisoned after all?
"I made a terrible mistake," was the soft answer. Alistair looked back, to see Zevran with his head bowed. "It was a lie, set up by our masters, designed to test my loyalty." When he looked up, his face was bleak. "It was why I accepted the contract against two Wardens."
"You didn't expect to survive, did you?" Alistair sank back down onto his seat.
"No. I didn't."
After a moment, Alistair gave a wry laugh. "That's our Majin. She turns everything topsy turvy, doesn't she?"
Some of the bleakness drained from Zevran. "'Our' Majin?" he asked.
Alistair rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "I mean... maybe?" he hedged, then sighed. "I suppose, if you wanted her all to yourself, it would be easy for you to kill me and make it look like an accident," he admitted.
"Oh extremely." Zevran laughed. "But that is the purpose of this discussion, is it not? To ensure that such action is not necessary for either of us."
Alistair found himself grinning. He couldn't help it, something about Zevran's ready smile was infectious. "Alright," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Yes, I admit it, Majin was right, and I was wrong about you. At least a little."
"Thank you, my friend." Zev's face was open, friendly, and he seemed surprisingly relaxed. Alistair could, maybe, see what Majin was attracted to.
Zevran's smile grew wider. "If you continue watching me in such a way, Alistair, I'd almost think you'd wish to sample my not inconsiderable talents for yourself." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Alistair sputtered, feeling his face getting red again. "N-no!" he said hastily, almost falling out of his seat trying to scoot backwards. Zevran burst out laughing, throwing his head back.
"Your face was priceless," he said, wiping his eyes with one hand. "Never worry. Unless you decide to broach it, I will not press for anything more intimate than a meal between us," he assured Alistair.
Alistair coughed, trying to cover his embarrassment as he righted himself in his seat. "Right. Good. I'll, uh, keep that in mind."