Rope bound around his wrist in tight, thick coils, skin gone purple from the lack, fingers tingling with the expected numbness that's doubled by the brandy. It is now or never and not even Leliana's voice is going to stop him from getting a hand on the cleaver and raising it.

As much as to help keep the mess minimal the rope is to keep his arm still. He shall have one shot at this. It would be terrible to miss.

"In a moment, Leliana." Conversational. Like he's not about to bring the cleaver down on his own wrist.