The worst probably won't come to pass, but there's still a chance. Even if the best comes to pass -- well. Considering the best is we get out of Orlais and settle into a nice quiet life in the Fereldan countryside, it behooves Alistair to get their packs ready anyway.

He gathers their things. Tidies the house. Ducks into the kitchen to grab some provisions. (One of those is a small jar of jam; creature comforts won't hurt if things angle toward the 'worse' side.) Not much to do but wait once all that's done: Alistair goes onto the balcony, rests his elbows on the rail, and watches the sunlight spread over the horizon.

The stables aren't too far. Three minutes at a sprint with a heavy pack, he figures. Alistair closes his eyes, mentally plotting a course in his head.