Zevran carefully leaned across the sleeping mage, and nudged Alistair's shoulder. "Alistair," he whispered, very quietly, hoping to wake the warrior without disturbing the mage.

His battle-trained reflexes made it easy; he woke immediately, eyes snapping open and body tensing momentarily while he evaluated what had woken him. He relaxed slightly when he realized there was no threat present.

"Alistair... go back to your own room now," Zevran said, the words barely audible.

Alistair frowned, and looked down at the mage still sleeping between the two of them. "Why?" he asked, voice equally quiet.

"Better he wake, and miss you, then wake and feel scared to find you here, yes?" Zevran explained.

Alistair's lips twisted in a slight smile. "Right. Sneaky bastard."

Zevran grinned in acknowledgement, and carefully helped Alistair to extricate himself from the cuddle without waking Jowan. The warrior silently gathered his discarded clothing, and slipped out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. Zevran curled up against the mage again, and let himself drift back to sleep.

Jowan muttered as he woke. Maker, another hangover... he sat up, pressing his hands to his throbbing temples, and only once he'd cured it realized that he was alone in the bed.

"Zevran?" he called tremulously. "Alistair?"

There was a splashing sound from the direction of the bathing chamber, then Zevran appeared in the doorway, a towel clutched around his narrow hips. "Ah, you're awake, good. How are you feeling this morning?"

Jowan ignored the question, more interested in learning the answer to a different one. "Where's Alistair?" he asked plaintively.

"I believe he went back to his own room," Zevran said.

"Oh," Jowan said, slumping in disappointment. "I wish... I thought he'd still be here," he said, feeling and sounding miserable.

"Do you want to see him, then?" Zevran asked gently.

Jowan knotted his hands in the bedclothes, considering the question. "Yes," he finally said, voice barely more then a whisper.

"Then go see him," Zevran said, voice kind and warm and encouraging. "Do you want me to come along as well, or do you feel up to going alone?"

Jowan hesitated. "I'm... not sure," he said, voice small and just a little scared.

"Then give me a moment to dry off and dress, and I will come with you," Zevran said, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

Jowan lay back down. The scent of Alistair rose from the pillow as he put his head down, and he remembered falling asleep the night before, in both men's arms. He sat back up again. "I think I'll just go," he called out. "I... I think I'll be fine."

Zevran came back to the door, dressed in his smallclothes, the towel hanging around his neck. "All right. Be well, poco mago."

Jowan nodded and rose, and hurried out of the room, and down the hall to his and Alistair's room. He put his hand on the door handle, took a single deep breath, then opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of banked coals from the fireplace. It smelled of metal and armour polish and spicy soap – it smelled of Alistair. It smelled safe. He hurried across the cold stone floor, and crawled up onto the bed. Alistair was sprawled on his stomach, sheets scrunched up around his waist, his feet poking out from under them at the foot of the bed. He woke at the movement of the bed, turning his head, and smiled when he saw who it was.

"Welcome home, Jowan," he said, and rolled onto his side, arm lifting so that Jowan could scoot up against him, then drew him close, burying his nose in Jowan's hair and breathing in deeply. Jowan smiled, and buried his face against Alistair's neck.

Home. Yes, with Alistair, where he belonged. He wouldn't forget again, he promised himself.