It goes well, all told. He sweeps out, he dances, saves Cullen, vanishes into the shadows and only has to endure a few quiet cracks about 'teasing the poor fellow, honestly' from Dorian before the usual excuse is offered. They are not like that, Alistair prefers women, there is nothing of the sort about. Espionage is difficult enough without someone commenting on his lovelife, especially from someone that is somewhat a part of the same.

Somewhere between the blackmail and the grand reveal, the terribly unfortunate loss of Gaspard's life (It was self defense, you see) and a quiet confirmation that Celene will get her shit together or there would be consequences far, far worse than death should she fail to do so. It is gratifying to see that tense fear, that awareness that no. Birala is in his pocket, not hers. As though he'd ever hand someone back to the loving arms of a toxic woman.

The Inquisition saves Orlais and triumphs, hurrah! Go team! And there is, in fact, time for one last dance after everything, speaking with Morrigan, watching The Bull and Dorian settle in close and crackling with sentiment on the dance floor. At the quiet balcony he's claimed for himself he waits for a short while. To catch his breath. To peel off the mask and set it aside and consider all the risks he'd taken. The payout had been marvelous, yes, but-

It weighs upon him after the fact