Tristan smiles, slumps, is exhausted at once. He's not failed yet. All up until the last he's had doubts of his ability to execute the concept, so perfect in his head, so hard to translate through hands. But no. This will do. 

Then, a deep breath. A straightening of the shoulders, his back fixes itself straight again. He has not failed yet, and so he can - [i]must[/i] - continue. 

"I don't know what else I can do, now." Tristan admits. "I will take any suggestions. Privacy or escort, presence or absence, by your word." 

Otherwise, he wants to rest. Tonight fragile things will be broken, it is only a question of [i]which[/i], and there will be work tomorrow in the consequences. Putting back together what needs mending, and discarding what needs to be left behind, and sorting which is which. He wants to be prepared to deal with it, and not chance being another thing that will need putting back together in the morning.