This chapter's rather uncharitable to Zevran, in my opinion - but, well, it is Alistair's POV.
Honesty
Alistair
His nerves are frayed already after seeing her cast to the point of utter loss of mana, and it's the disrespectful stare, the lascivious comment even while she's pale and exhausted, that makes him grit his teeth and clench his fists.
It, too, is the way the elf is always there, laughing with her but with that horrible glint in his eye; she's walking right into it, and laughing with all the innocence of... He doesn't know. A faun, maybe. He knows, somewhere inside him, that she can't be just another notch on the Crow's bedpost, the Antivan treating her like a toy. Surely she's better than that?
They're halfway up the mountain when he finally loses his patience with Zevran, and, when they make camp, he asks through gritted teeth for "a word, please?"
Zevran is annoyingly calm, walking with him to a spot a distance away from the others.
He glares at the assassin, arms folded, slowly trying to unclench his fists. Oh, he's seen the way Zevran looks at her - like a tasty snack. Something to consume and toss aside.
To his credit, the elf doesn't step back or even flinch, just keeps obstinately staring at him - but, he notes with some satisfaction, the elf has to look up to do so.
"She's come out of a Tower. She's already been let down by a man once."
The assassin cocks his head, obviously unaware of what happened with Jowan.
"What she needs - " He swallows, the words fading, then drags them back. "What she needs is honesty, not... not someone who'll have a tongue down her throat one minute and a dagger in her back the next!"
Zevran cocks his head, raising an eyebrow, and... oh, he's smirking.
Inhale. Exhale. Don't punch the smarmy assassin. Instead of the shout he'd expected, his voice comes out as an odd, quiet half-plea, and he realises the truth of the words as he says them. "For Maker's sake, the stars are still new to her."
Zevran looks at him in silence, then, slowly, he smiles, finally taking a few steps backwards. "Ah. I see she is already... taken." The elf turns and begins to walk away, and Alistair's heart sinks as he understands what he meant.
"No... Not like that! She's my friend, I'm just protecting her..."
The elf laughs softly, still walking away. "But how long will you tell yourself that, I wonder?"
Alistair watches him go, throat suddenly dry, and looks back at camp; she's laughing with Leliana, a blush on her cheeks, and it lights her up in the most beautiful way...
Oh Maker, what is he thinking? Why doesn't he think this about Leliana, or... or... even Morrigan, Andraste forbid? They're both beautiful women, he can't deny it, and he can appreciate that. So why isn't it just that - a casual appreciation, one where he can look away afterwards, one that doesn't leave an ache at her absence and presence?
He glares at the snow, as if it can give him an answer, but, unsurprisingly, it isn't forthcoming.