"Per l'amor del cazzo-" One job. Alistair had one job in this whole mess and he couldn't even manage that right- now the cleaver is on the other side of the room, he is still tied to the table, and he is tired.

Well.

Sawing it is, then. A good rogue has many daggers upon their person. Zevran recommends to most at least seven. He is carrying nine. Leliana manages to catch his wrist before he can put the blade to skin but that does not stop him from glowering. From hissing, softly- "You have no right to ask more of me. I am not your scouts, I am not your spies, I am not your soldiers."

And this looks...bad. At the moment he is past carrying. "...Get the girl out of here, Alistair."