The band of heroes rested at Redcliffe for a time after saving the Circle of Magi and delivering the Arl's son from a demon's embrace.
And Zevran had time to reflect on Alistair's peculiar behavior since that night when he'd said "more than just friends."
It had started with cheese. A particularly rare and pricey cheese, a slice wrapped in wax paper and slipped into his hand late at night. And when he'd looked up at the large Templar, the only explanation he'd gotten was one of those dazzling smiles.
And when it was late and he huddled in the rising Ferelden cold, more than once Alistair had removed his cloak and draped it around Zevran's shoulders.
And one night he had emerged from the woods where he had been gathering firewood to see Alistair polishing his weapons…literally. His Crow daggers and the longsword Neria had given him gleamed in the falling light. Alistair had just given him another stunning smile and said "your weapons should be as fine as you are."
And it dawned on him that Alistair was courting him, and the thought of someone courting Zevran Aranai, assassin and son of a whore, was so absurd and so tender he did not know whether to laugh or to cry.
"Do you know what this is?" said Alistair, sitting beside him and shaking him from his thoughts.
The Templar was holding a red flower Zevran recognized, though it took him a moment to think of what it was.
"A rose," he said. "We have them in Antiva, but they are quite rare and hard to grow. Only the richest nobles can grow them."
"Well, in Ferelden they grow much easier," said Alistair. "I found this one behind Lothering's chantry, before we met you. In the middle of all that squabble and devastation, it was so beautiful. I couldn't leave it behind to be destroyed by the darkspawn. It was like a reminder that no matter how horrible things get, there is still something worth saving."
"A lovely sentiment."
"I…I thought I might give the rose to you. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."
Something stirred in Zevran's heart, something unruly and dangerous. I must put a stop to this foolishness before it ruins us both, he thought.
"If you wish to bed me, Alistair, you only have to say so," he said. "I grew up in a whorehouse, I know the dance of romance well, but we do not need to play such games."
Alistair frowned, and Zevran wondered why he felt as though he had just been punched in the gut.
"I…I don't. I mean, I do want to sleep with you…but…" Alistair sighed. "I want to bed you, but that's not why I'm doing this. I know I could just say the word and you'd hop into my tent. I may be dense but not that dense."
The Templar gave Zevran a long look, his eyes impossible to read.
"I was just thinking, here I am complaining about stomping across half Ferelden and fighting all the disgusting darkspawn and you haven't exactly had the best time of it either. I mean, so much of what we're doing right now is to save what family I have, and you are so far away from home and everything familiar."
Alistair bit his lip again and thumbed the rose.
"I just wanted to tell you—and not because I'm trying to get you into bed but just because I want to—I wanted to tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness."
Words failed Zevran, and so he spoke a language in which he was a master, laying his lips across Alistair's and letting his tongue seek out the wet and warm cave of Alistair's mouth, putting all of his passion into the movement of lips on lips and tongues entwined.
Alistair pulled away first, breathing hard.
"I know you want to skip all this mushy stuff and get right to the steamy bits," he began, and Zevran smiled. "But I want it to be different between us. I don't want to be a notch on your bedpost, or tentpole, or whatever it is you're using to keep score now. I want more than that, Zev."
And as Zevran let his eyes brush the handsome contours of Alistair's face, the callouses on his hands, the strength in his sword and shield arms, he realized he wanted the same.
Zevran Aranai never knew when to retreat. And it would someday be the death of him—but he found that in the sunshine of Alistair's smile, he did not particularly care.