"..." There's a moment, here. A way to turn the knife away from either of them instead of continuing to cut. He is stuck here. This thing in his hand will kill him. He can continue to resent Alistair for choosing the wardens first, continue to punish him for being the sort of man to buy into that greater purpose-

When it is the fact he is that sort of man that makes Alistair so dear.

He considers the wound for a moment, stopping in his dousing to squint. "...No. I am not, I suppose, human enough to enjoy such trickery. Or perhaps I am not Orlesian enough. Next time I have an opportunity to pull it on Cassandra I might find it more gratifying."

He daubs at his cut, squints again. Turns to show Alistair. "...See? Not tainted."