Blush yes- sputter no. Zevran blinks a bit at the odd angle of Alistair's smile, trying to place what has changed, for something must have changed. Was it the threatening to leave? Wishing to be rid of his hand? The argument he never really apologized for? Reason after reason click through his mind as he stands and peers after him, trying to make sense of this.

"Of course. At least we've extra furs, yes?" There are perks to being the Inquisitor, apparently. And they all involve keeping him warm. Zevran tugs a few of them over to the bedroll, tossing them on top before nudging Alistair with his elbow to slide in. There is the usual shifting and nosing along his shoulder before he is comfortable, arms looped about Alistair's middle, hands slightly chilled from the air resting against the small of his back.