A quick scrubdown commences; enough to get the worst of the grime off him. Alistair dampens his hands and runs his fingers through his hair. Anything more can wait until the springs.

He slides into bed with a quiet sigh of relief. Familiar blankets, familiar smell, his familiar person next to him: all of it combines to scrub away the psychic grime of the road. He hooks his arm around Cullen's chest without delay and nestles close.