"I can't believe you decided to bring the assassin." Alistair frowned. He had dragged her out to help gather wood for the fire, while the rest of the group set up camp. ""How do we know he's not plotting to poison us?"
"You eat Morrigan's cooking," she pointed out, "I didn't think you were that worried about poison." Alistair made a face. "I know you don't trust him. But beggars can't be choosers," she continued. "We need all the help we can get. Zevran is just a mercenary like any other."
"He's an assassin." Alistair broke a particularly long stick over his knee into firepit-sized chunks. "An assassin who was specifically hired to murder the two of us, in case you've forgotten."
"He's a mercenary that specializes in murder, then." She shrugged. "That's not so different from a regular mercenary, is it? Zevran's loyalty is to the highest bidder. Right now, we've promised not to kill him, which makes us the highest bidder." She poked around at the bushes, halfheartedly looking for twigs.
"But you don't know that," Alistair protested. "We only have his word for it. Is this an elf thing, or do you just have some kind of death wish?"
Kallian froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him brace himself for her retort. She sighed, ran a hand over her face, and decided she didn't have enough energy to be angry. The truth was - while she would never have admitted it, Alistair wasn't entirely wrong. Hired to kill her or not, Zevran was another elf; one who carried weapons as openly as she did, and wasn't a servant afraid to lift his eyes from the ground. Maker help her, he made her feel more normal. But that wasn't the reason she'd spared him, or at least... not the only reason. He'd provided them with useful information. He obviously knew how to use the daggers strapped to his back, given how close he'd come to hamstringing Sten before they'd brought him down. Apparently he was useless when it came to planning an ambush, but he was no coward. If he was as good at stealth and observation as he claimed, Zevran would be quite useful.
"Look, Alistair," she said finally. "We're not letting all these people join us for companionship, right? We're Gray Wardens. Ultimately our responsibility is to end the blight, through any means necessary. I know it sounds… rude, but think of them as tools for a moment."
Alistair dropped his branch on top of the others and looked at her, eyebrows slightly raised
"We don't bring along just anyone, right? They have to have a skill, a function. Sten is the easiest example. He's huge and he's good with a sword; he'll be able to take down darkspawn in a direct fight. We don't really know anything else about him. All we can do is make an assumption that he means what he says about wanting to atone for his actions and that he's not planning to have another psychotic murder episode."
"This is supposed to convince me of something?" Alistair muttered, stooping for another branch.
"We decided to bring Sten along for his fighting skills. You didn't argue when we rescued him from that cage in Lothering, remember?" She held up a hand to stop him breaking in again. "You have a kind heart, Alistair. It's… nice. It's not something I ever expected to see in a human. But it means that you're more ready to accept that Sten murdered and feels regret than you are that Zevran murders for a living and takes pride in his work."
Alistair straightened up from his growing woodpile. "Well, that's true, anyway."
She smiled. "I know it is." She stooped to pick up a scrawny stick and added it to the pile. Alistair was still looking dubious. She sighed. "Look. You don't know what it's like to live as an elf among humans any more than I know what it's like to live as a Qunari. I chose to help Sten out of need – but also out of compassion, in spite of the fact that I don't understand him. I'm asking you to accept Zevran on the same terms. You've heard a little about his past, and I got some more from him today. He was bought by the Crows when he was 7 years old. He never had a choice; he was little more than a slave." What elf wasn't? she added to herself. But she couldn't expect Alistair to understand that.
She had traveled with him long enough, though, to know that the best way to win an argument was by appealing to his better nature. "I know you've been through your own trials, and you have an idea of what it's like to be an outsider. Far more than I gave you credit for when we met."
He looked pleased and a bit embarrassed. She turned away to find another stick.
"Look at this with your head, not your heart," she said over her shoulder. "Zevran's chances of killing us with the whole group watching him are small; his chances of dying alongside us fighting darkspawn and bandits and who-knows-what-else is not." She picked up a likely-looking branch and came back towards Alistair's woodpile. "I'm not suggesting you let him share your bedroll, just that you give him a chance."
"No danger there! All right, I suppose. I'm going to keep my eye on him, though."
"Staying watchful is probably smart where all our companions are concerned. Except Rabbit," she added with a smile. "I'd trust that dog with anything, so long as I didn't mind it being slobbered on." She added her branch to the pile.
"Uh, actually," Alistair said.
"What?"
"That's not a good branch," he said, picking it up to show her. "The wood's still too green. It will do a smokey smouldery sort of thing instead of catching fire."
Kaillian made a face. "Have I ever mentioned that I hate nature? Give me the good wood and I'll take it back to camp. I'm useless at woodcraft but at least I make a decent pack animal."
"Right," he said, stacking logs onto her outstretched arms, "next we'll be strapping a saddle on your back so Rabbit can ride you into battle. There you are. I'll bring in some larger logs in a bit; I have some chopping to do first."
She lugged her armful of wood back to where the rest were setting up. Sten was digging out the firepit, with some help from the dog. Leliana was softly humming to herself while clearing the stones and twigs out of the flattest area of camp, prior to setting out the bedrolls. With everyone fleeing the blight, there had been no tents to be had in Lothering. Kallian hoped they'd have better luck in Redcliffe; sleeping in the open made her nervous. Tents were no protection against darkspawn, she knew, but even if you weren't uncomfortable about the wildlife watching you while you slept, there were insects to consider. And it would be nice to have at least the illusion of privacy.
Zevran and Morrigan were crouched together over her collection of dried herbs and arguing about flavors, of all things. Kallian half-set, half-dropped her load of wood next to Sten and watched them for a moment. Morrigan was treating Zevran to her usual mixture of disdain and cutting remarks, and he was reacting with the same unflappable cheerfulness he'd exhibited almost without intermission from the moment he'd regained consciousness. Finally the witch subsided with a shrug, evidently deciding she was not going to get a rise out of him. After a short pause, Zevran filled the silence with some description of Antivan cooking, and Morrigan actually seemed to be listening.
That was an impressive skill, Kaillian realized, and one she wished she possessed. Oh, she got along with Morrigan for the most part. But Zevran seemed to let everything – suspicion, snide remarks, debates over whether to kill him or not – slide right over him. She wondered suddenly what was really going on in his head. Maybe Alistair was right, and she had made a mistake. If the assassin had that much control… who knew how dangerous he really was?
