Zevran closed the door quietly behind him. The door to Alistair's room was open, and he was standing in it before Zevran had taken more than a couple of steps toward Wynne's door.

"How is he?" he called softly.

Zevran sighed. "I'm not sure yet. Better than he was. He only just woke up – I need to get a healing potion for his throat, and then food. He's taking a bath right now."

"Oh. I have some potions – one moment," Alistair said, and disappeared back into his room.

Zevran walked over to the door. The room had been completely cleaned, not a trace remaining of the mess it had been in earlier. Alistair had vanished out of sight somewhere. The bathing chamber, at a guess, since Zevran could see pretty much all of the rest of the place. He re-emerged a moment later, carrying a small vial and... a bar of soap! Zevran gave him a questioning look as he accepted the items.

"He... bought that yesterday. For us. We used it last night, before... before."

Zevran nodded in sudden comprehension, and smiled, holding up the bar to sniff at it appreciatively. A nice scent, spicy without being overpowering. "A good thought," he said approvingly. "It will reassure him that you are thinking of him."

"Can I go with you when you get food?" Alistair asked hesitantly. "Just sitting here all day, waiting... it's driving me crazy. I've sharpened my sword three times and polished all my armour twice. I even darned all my socks, and you don't want to see what a mess I can make with wool and a needle," he said fervently.

Zevran smiled. "All right. Let me take these to Jowan first. Oh, and give me a change of clothing for him. He can fit in my things, but he'll be more comfortable in his own."

Alistair nodded and went back into the room, picking up Jowan's backpack and sorting through it. He frowned, looked up. "Should I just give you the entire pack...?" he asked hesitantly.

Zevran shook his head. "No. It might feel like you are rejecting him, kicking him out. Keep his things here, with you, so he knows this is still his home."

Alistair smiled and nodded. "You're right," he said, and dug through the pack with renewed vigour, returning with a set of clothing, and a large, well-worn shirt that Zevran vaguely remembered as an old shirt of Alistair's. "He likes to sleep in this," the warrior said, shyly.

Zevran nodded, and accepted the things from him, then led the way down the hallway to his own room. "Wait here," he cautioned Alistair. "Quietly."

Alistair nodded, and moved to one side of the door, leaning back against the wall, his hands behind him. Zevran slipped back into the room.

"Jowan? I have some things for you," he called out as he approached the bathroom, to give the mage warning that he was there and about to enter. He was pleased to find the mage looking reasonably alert and not distraught, sitting in the tub of hot water.

"Here, clothes for you," he said, holding them up for Jowan to see and then piling them on the counter. "Alistair picked them out. And here is a healing potion for your throat," he continued, uncapping the vial and holding it out. Jowan nodded, accepted it, and drank, then handed the empty vial back.

"Alistair sent this for you, as well," Zevran said, and held out the bar of soap.

Jowan looked at it, surprised, and for a moment a delighted smile crossed his face. He picked it up, held it too his nose, and inhaled deeply of the scent. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome, mi amigo. I'll go get food for us now. It should not take me long."

Jowan nodded, and Zevran turned and walked back out to the hallway.

"Well?" Alistair asked softly, straightening up, as he closed the door.

"He is still bathing. He seems all right so far," Zevran said quietly, as they headed toward the stairs down and out of the inn. "I do not think we should leave him on his own for very long, however."

Alistair nodded in agreement.

The two of them walked over to Tapsters, and picked up food for three. Alistair was being unusually quiet, Zevran noticed – quiet even for him, and Alistair was good at being quiet, when he wasn't in a garrulous mood. But even when quiet he was normally much more aware of what was going on around him. Usually he'd be looking around, making occasional little noises of surprise, or interest, or pleasure, or disbelief. He had very expressive grunts, snorts, sniffs and sighs. Today he just walked along beside Zevran with his head down, completely silent, an unusually solemn, almost sad, expression on his face.

He didn't speak at all until they'd returned to the inn and were about to part ways in front of Zevran's door. Then all he did was accept the parcel with his share of the food in it, nod his head, and say "Thanks", before trudging down the hallway to his own room.

Zevran frowned and shook his head, and went into his own room.


Jowan had finished bathing and had changed into the clothes Alistair had supplied. He was sitting on the couch across from the fireplace, arms wrapped around drawn-up legs, staring at the flames. He tensed and raised his head as Zevran walked in, then relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.

"I've brought us some dinner," Zevran said cheerfully, setting the parcel down on the table. "Come, join me, you'll feel better once you've eaten."

Jowan nodded and rose to his feet, and walked over, while Zevran cut the string holding the parcel closed and folded back the layers of paper to reveal what he'd bought for them, deep fried strips of potato and breaded nug, and a bowl of whole grilled mushroom caps stuffed with some kind of cheese. Greasy food, but rich and flavourful. He saw Jowan perk up noticeably at the delicious smells.

"We should have something to drink with this," Zevran said, and frowned. "I should have picked us up some ale. Ah well, I have something even better than ale," he said, and stepped over to his backpack, digging down to the bottom to fetch out a sizable black glass bottle, well-wrapped in spare clothing.

"What's that?" Jowan asked curiously, already seated and digging into the food.

"Antivan brandy. Very hard to find here in Ferelden, but I was lucky enough to come across some a couple months ago. Sadly the bottle is almost finished now. We shall share what is left, yes?"

"Sure," Jowan said.

"I fear I have no glasses, so we will have to drink it from the bottle," Zevran said, and suited actions to words, taking a small sip – though he made it look like a larger one – and then putting the bottle down between them.

Jowan eyed it hesitantly as he nibbled on a strip of breaded nug, then picked it up, sniffed once at the mouth of the bottle, and took a cautious sip. He sputtered and choked. "That's strong," he protested.

Zevran grinned. "It's supposed to be. Try some more, it gets better after the first sip or two."

Jowan looked dubious, but did as told. He licked his lips thoughtfully after taking his third sip. "You're right. It's very pleasant. Almost fruity."

Zevran nodded, and reclaimed the bottle to take another sip himself. A terrible way to treat a fine brandy, of course, but it was in a good cause, he reminded himself. He kept up a flow of innocuous conversation during the meal, keeping to safe topics, and only took a sip of brandy himself for every two or three that Jowan did, just enough so that Jowan wouldn't notice how little he was actually drinking.

By the end of the meal Jowan was looking much more relaxed. Zevran added some wood to the fire, and the two of them retired to the couch with the brandy bottle, passing it back and forth. Zevran told another amusing story about one of his adventures back in Antiva, keeping an eye on the mage. When it reached the point where he was starting to sway and look a little dizzy, Zevran reclaimed the bottle and put it to one side. "So, do you feel like talking about what happened last night yet?" he asked, keeping his voice calm and friendly, the same tone he'd used when telling his own stories.

Jowan blinked, and looked at him owlishly. "I... I don't know..." he stammered.

"It's all right, you don't have to tell me unless you want to. But I promise you that I will tell no one else what you tell me, unless you give me permission to do so first. And that there is likely nothing you can tell me that I have not already heard, or experienced, or regrettably even done in the past. Well, unless you want to tell me about some arcane orgy of the mages in the moonlight on top of your tower, I have been in orgies, and lain with mages, and made love beneath the moon and stars on top of towers, but regretfully not all at once. Not yet, anyway."

Jowan laughed. "No. I wish it was something like that," he said, and bit his lip, looking pensive. "Have you ever seen someone being tortured?" he asked, very quietly.

"Yes," Zevran answered, softly. "And been tortured myself, more than once."

Jowan gave him a startled look. "You? But... why would someone..."

Zevran shrugged. "I am a Crow. Our training involves learning not just how to deal pain to others, but how to deal with pain. Our own pain. And how to keep going, to accomplish our goals, even when in pain. It is not a kind or gentle teaching. And I learned it very well indeed," he said, darkly.

"Oh," Jowan said softly.

Zevran picked up the bottle and handed it to him again.

Jowan took another sip, then handed it back. "I had to watch some men being tortured, once..." he whispered, voice low and hoarse. And then it all came out, in dribs and drabs, not in any particular order, but Zevran sorted out the bits and pieces in his head, and saw the picture they made. He gave Jowan more brandy at intervals, so that he stayed just drunk enough to get past his reticence.

Eventually they ended up on the bed, Zevran sitting up against the headboard, Jowan loosely curled up on his side with his head propped up on Zevran's thigh, his hands knotting together in the bedsheets as he talked. He was very drunk, and tired again, and sometimes he had to stop and just cry for a while. Zevran stayed quiet, making encouraging noises at intervals, giving him physical encouragement – touches to the hair or shoulder, or rubbing his back – when he thought they were needed.

He remembered Howe, of course – the Arl had been the one to arrange for his hiring. He wasn't terribly surprised to learn of the sort of activities the man took pleasure from. He'd met the type before, among the Crows. Those who took pleasure in causing pain to others. He knew the dark allure the idea had, though for him the pleasure had always lain in killing men, not tormenting them, that exquisite moment of power when their life lay in your hand, as you took it... but some, he knew, had darker desires, fouler pleasures, a lust for a more prolonged power over someone helpless to resist. Not surprising, given what Crows had to undergo in the course of their own training. Much rarer among the general population, but... not unknown. As the existence of men like Howe and the templar named Hage that Jowan spoke of all too aptly proved.

Eventually Jowan fell silent. Zevran waited, one hand idly petting the mage's hair.

"I'm scared," the man whispered eventually.

"Of what?" Zevran prompted quietly.

Jowan sat up, turned to look at him. "Of a lot of things. It's... been a lot better, since Arren took me on. Since Alistair. Since my Harrowing, especially... but this, the way I feel now when I think of... of templars, of men like Alistair, how do I get past this?"

"Do you still love him?"

"Of course I still love him!" Jowan exclaimed. "He's... I... I love him, but right now the thought of seeing him, of getting close to him... my stomach starts churning, and the thought of how big and strong he is, how easily he could... hurt me, if he wanted to..." he paused for a moment, panting, eyes large and dark. "It scares me. And it scares me even more that it does scare me. I don't want to be scared of him. I love him so much. Why am I scared of him! I shouldn't be! This makes no sense!"

Zevran smiled reassuringly at him. "Sense and emotion have very little to do with each other, mi amigo. But learning not to be scared of Alistair – that is something we can work on. Tomorrow. Right now, I think we both need to sleep. And then tomorrow morning we'll talk for a while, and then we'll go on from there. All right?"

Jowan nodded, looking miserable. "All right," he agreed, faintly.

They both changed into clothes for sleeping. Zevran normally wore nothing but his smallclothes, but in courtesy to Jowan he dug out a pair of drawstring briefs and an old loose shirt to wear for the night. Jowan pulled on the old shirt of Alistair's, and seemed to take some comfort from it. As drunk as he was, he dropped off to sleep very quickly.

Zevran sat awake a while longer, finishing off the little bit of brandy left in the bottle, before he, too, slept.