The Warden-Commander was unprepared to have anyone tumble their way into his arms, but at least -- and there was some guilt in this thought, because it was almost disrepectful -- it had been someone so small as Falina to fall toward him. The chalice, now drained save for maybe a single drop, fell to the floor out of her small hands (and it was remarkable that she could even hold it, it was practically the same size as her head) and rang out clearly like a bell as it clattered against the stone. He winced at the noise, but managed to catch Falina by her shoulders (at the perfect height for him to reach without any effort) before she could crash into his armor. As gently as he could without either dropping her or hurting her, Alistair held her and bent slightly so that he could pick her up.
She was tiny and fragile, and again he began to think of her as a child, maybe the one he never had, until he remembered what she was now. Falina Bjyr had survived, and had become a Grey Warden. Because of that drink, because of the darkspawn, because of the order, because of him. And soon enough he would be sending her out into a cold and dangerous world, even though she might have deserved better than that. But she was strong, and clever, and he knew that as good as it was to have people who were hardened and experienced warriors on their side, it was also good to have people who saw the world differently and had the nerve to withstand it. She wasn't as sweet and innocent as she seemed -- her own life was brief, but violent -- though she had a perspective that was unique and valuable.
And, perhaps most importantly, she believed in her purpose. For all the reasons in the world, she could have turned her back on the cause (and maybe she should have; didn't the world owe her a break this time?) -- but she didn't. She believed in him. Believed in helping others, in spite of where she came from, what she had been through, and what was yet to come. Falina Bjyr was one of the bravest people he'd ever met and he respected her for it.
He gathered her up and set her down next to Rhocanth, also still lost to dreams that he was too familiar with himself. Alistair returned to pick up the chalice, but found that Mona was already holding it, staring at it pensively. Already, she had begun to calculate their next move, even as some of those prone bodies still held warmth in them. Ruddy and Aedan moved to the doors to unlock them and Allan stepped outside to continue preparations for the final part of this event. There would be a funeral under the stars tonight, high up on the cliff behind the Keep, the grand pyre blazing brightly like a beacon to any wayward sailors off the coast of the Amaranthine Ocean.
Alistair glanced around to see who had woken up by then. Not all of them, but enough left to make a brief speech that would impact at least a few. He swallowed and began slowly, "You are Grey Wardens now. Be proud of yourselves, because you have faced something that others could not, and you have beaten the odds. What has happened in here, our process, must never be spoken about to anyone outside of our order. But you will honor those who have fallen in the process by maintaining this secret -- not by forgetting them, never that, but by knowing that they made their sacrifice here tonight, not for glory or for violence, but because they had to. Because it was right.
"The world cannot thank them, thank you, enough for what it is that you are giving up. Your lives...they may have been shortened, but in that sacrifice, you have increased the longevity of others. You are sparing them the suffering you have taken upon yourselves. You are heroes, not for exaltation nor for renown, but because you are good people, and I am incredibly honored to have all of you join our ranks and to serve beside you in this war," he finished, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing deeply to them.