"And it will still not be enough." He mutters, the bitter flare of anger curtailed for the moment. His arm released, Leliana leaving, and him here with a dagger still in hand.

He did not want this. He did not even wish to be drunk tonight, simply numb. And now he does not even have that any longer with Alistair's hands coaxing sensation back into being along his bruised skin. There is a thought, there and gone, that he might have enough spite left in him to kill himself rather than be used in such a way.

It leaves, he leans against Alistair instead, infinitely weary.