"That's what I'm for." He rolls his head to the side and then around to press his nose to Zevran's cheek without knocking him loose. "Make them move their big table and their maps up here, and you won't have to get out of bed except when a rift needs closing." It would never happen, for a lot of reasons. Not least because they'd both go mad. But it's a nice thought, for a moment, in a way that makes Alistair slide his free hand under Zevran's shirt—not too sexily. Checking for a scar where the shriek caught him. Alistair won't lose him if he never leaves the room. "And then you can have the bed carried to Rivain."