I'm fine, he wants to insist. He can't manage that, either.

Alistair sits, motionless and silent; the blur returns to his eyes, but he doesn't blink it away. (Of course he's going to start crying again, he thinks as a spark of the earlier fury returns. Of course. Because why not complete the trifecta of behaving like a child scared of the dark.)

At last, he angrily dashes the side of his free hand across his eyes, and pries his fingers loose from the knife so he can set it aside.

The Commander of the Inquisition needs to sleep more than Alistair does. If he won't sleep until Alistair stands down, then he guesses he's standing down.