Alistair did not envy the elven assassin, laying helpless on the ground at Neria Surana's feet. She was scowling at him as though her glance could kill him. And perhaps it could, she was a mage, after all. A mage and a scary one at that, which made for a total of two scary mages in their ragtag party. Alistair shook his head and wondered, not for the first or last time, how it had come to this.

Two months ago he had been living in the Warden's camp at Ostagar, a happy member of a larger family, bound together by blood and duty, but happy nevertheless.

And now he was here, beside two scary mages and a nutty Chantry sister, of all things, and at their feet an assassin. An assassin hired to kill him, no less.

And then Neria reached down and helped the assassin to his feet.

I suppose that's what I get for not paying attention, thought Alistair, as the elf managed to give each of the women in the party a lewd glance.

He sputtered a few words of protest and Neria scowled. She did not like him questioning her authority.

"If you're so concerned," she said, "you can watch him."

"Don't think I won't," he shot back.

Morrigan muttered something only Neria could hear, and they both laughed. At him. He was certain of it. He glared at the swamp witch, and then at the elf, and then at the assassin.

They made camp a few hours later. The assassin sat on the edge of camp, golden eyes glinting in the firelight, watching every interaction. Alistair watched him watch Neria, as she made her nightly rounds, speaking briefly to Sten, giggling with Leliana, scratching her mabari's belly, and finally ending up next to Morrigan, who sat away from the others in her own little camp.

She spent way too much time there, learning scary witch tricks from the swamp ice queen, Alistair was certain. While he was glaring at Morrigan—and realizing he'd spent the better part of this day glaring at someone, the assassin approached him.

"A curious woman, our leader," said Zevran, his voice soft, meant for Alistair alone.

Alistair turned his glare back to the assassin.

"Good luck," he said, scowling. "She's over there learning witchy spells. She'll turn you into a toad if you so much as look at her wrong."

"Perhaps I like a little danger," said Zevran.

"And perhaps I wouldn't mind too much if you were a frog."

Zevran shook his head, slowly. "Such hostility. What have I done to deserve such a cold reception?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the whole incident this afternoon where you tried to kill us."

"That was hours ago," said Zevran , waving his hands. "And besides, that was only business. Nothing personal."

"Right," said Alistair, drawing out the 'i' to emphasize his sarcasm.

Neria intended to make good on her threat, and so she assigned Alistair to watch Zevran while Zevran took watch. Alistair probably would have done so anyway, but since she'd assigned it, he could better resent it.

He spent the first few nights ignoring Zevran, who made poisons or sharpened his daggers by the dim light of the fire, but late night watch is boring, and eventually he plunked himself down next to the strange elf and asked a question.

"What is Antiva like?" he asked, hoping it was a neutral enough question.

"Ah, it is lovely, my friend," said Zevran. "But of all the wonders of Antiva, I think I miss the leather the most."

Alistair blushed. "You don't need to say any more," he said. "I don't want to know."

"I mean it literally, Alistair. When I lived in Antiva, my apartment was just above a tannery. The smell of leather is what reminds me most of home."

"Oh," said Alistair. "Do you miss it?"

"The leather? Or Antiva? I miss both, to be sure. This Ferelden smells of wet dog, even before I had one sleeping beside my tent."

"I've never been away from Ferelden," said Alistair.

"I'll admit, it has its charms. As do you, my friend."

"Charms? Me? I think you're mistaken. At best, I'm adorably clumsy. Or at least that's what I shoot for. But the women here…well…"

"They fancy the company of other women, it seems. A pity for us, no?"

"They do, that much is obvious. But what about you, Zevran? You seem to fancy none and all of them at the same time. You flirt and you swoon, but none of it seems sincere. What do you fancy?"

Zevran leaned close, and Alistair could see the fine lashes around his golden eyes.

"I fancy things that are beautiful, and things that are strong. I fancy things that are brilliant and things that are deadly. Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?"

Alistair bit his lower lip and blushed.

"No," he said, when he found his voice again.

"You are not used to the attentions of other men?" said Zevran, surprise in his voice.

"Well, I'm not really used to attention from anyone. I was raised in the Chantry, you know."

"And the people in the Chantry are usually blind?"

Alistair laughed. "You don't have to flatter me, Zevran."

"Is it flattery if it is true?"

"You play this game with everyone," Alistair said, suddenly aware of just how close they were sitting. "I've been watching you ever since you got here. You flatter and you smile and you stand around looking so damn pretty, so that none of us will ever think of harming you, or worse, getting close to you. I may be a virgin, but I'm no fool."

Zevran set his chin, his features tighter than usual.

"So you do think I am pretty?" he said, his tone light and jovial, but with an undercurrent Alistair had never heard before. "It so happens I need my beauty rest to keep this way." He made his way to his tent, sending a dark glance at Alistair before ducking inside.

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps Zevran is the way he is because of what he's endured?" said a female voice from the shadows.

"Neria?" said Alistair.

A small crow landed on the bench beside him and morphed suddenly into his fellow Warden.

"Morrigan has been teaching me to shapeshift," she said. "And you," she said. "Be nice to Zevran. He's one of us now, and Maker knows we all have our issues."

"What do you mean by 'what he's endured'?" said Alistair.

"Ask him sometime," said Neria. "Perhaps he may even tell you."

"Quit talking like Morrigan and just tell me," groaned Alistair, but by then the crow was gone, back over to Morrigan's corner of the camp.