Alistair's broken oath to Weisshaupt is two years behind him, now. He can think of no better oath to swear in its place.

I swear unto the Maker and to the Holy Andraste to love this man for the rest of my days.

He can't help a brief turn toward the soppy, at one point. Softly: You are my light, my love, my shelter. I am so glad to call you husband.

And maybe he gets a smidge teary as he says it. Maybe.