The smell wakes you before the sun does.

Not the comforting scent of Leliana’s herbal tea, not even the more concerning 'Morrigan is brewing something in a pot that might curse us all' aroma. No, this- this was… different.

A kind of burnt, smoky, 'is that alive?' smell.

Undoing the flap of your tent and haphazardly throwing it to the side, you stepped into what could only be described as a culinary crime scene.

“Ah! Good morning...” Alistair greets you, voice far too bright for the chaos around him, although with a bit of an uncertain warble to it. His hair stood in wild tufts from the remnants of sleep, and he held a wooden spoon, probably Leliana's, like it might bite him. Behind him, a pan sizzled ominously. "I'm uh, making breakfast.”

A small explosion popped from the pan.

“—attempting to make breakfast,” he amended.

Morrigan stood several feet away, arms folded, face twisted as if she’d just witnessed a demon tearing through the veil before her very eyes.

“The fool seeks to poison us all,” she muttered. “Not even darkspawn smell this foul.”

Zevran chimes in, flipping a coin between his lithe fingers. “I have ten silvers that it grows legs and flees the pan.”

“Ridiculous,” Sten rumbled from where he sat sharpening his sword. “It does not have legs.”

Everyone looked at the pan. It… bubbled ominously.

Leliana stifles a giggle before adding, “Yet.”