Alistair's jaw tightens. He looks down at the bag.

"Duncan -- my mentor -- he spoke highly of Blackwall," he says. "The real Blackwall. He was a respected Warden-Constable who did a lot of good for his men. Apparently he even spoke up in favor of the Orlesian Wardens sending aid to Ferelden during the Blight."

He's not going to be able to stay dispassionate about this.

"Duncan died at Ostagar along with nearly every other Warden in Ferelden, and that man you've got sitting in a prison cell pretended to know him." Alistair tears the edge of the bag with his thumbnail. "Pretended to be a Warden. To make that sacrifice we all make even though he sacrificed nothing. And -- "

You're a soldier. With effort, Alistair wrests his thoughts onto a new track.

"He put all of you at risk, do you realize that? Every time you faced darkspawn and sent him in thinking he was immune, every time you had to rely on him to tell you if you were about to walk into a nest around the corner up ahead -- " The rip in the bag grows longer; he lets out a brittle laugh. "I had to be the one to say Corypheus's dragon wasn't an archdemon, even though Blackwall was there, too. And I wondered after why he never told you that, because it's obvious if you're a Warden, it didn't feel anything like an archdemon."

Finally, he looks up at Lavellan. "And now we know, don't we."