Ghosts

Rhiannon's breath caught in her throat as a pair of arms encircled her waist, pulling her close. It was only the familiar chuckle that stopped her from going for her daggers, and she sighed with relief.

"Did I scare you?" He said, barley concealing the grin in his voice.

"It's rude to sneak up on a Lady, Alistair." Rhiannon replied, turning to face him, "You're lucky that you don't have a dagger stuck in your gut."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, "yes, I suppose so. Care to tell me why you were wandering off into the woods in the middle of the night, by the way? As good as you are with those blades, I doubt you would be able to take on a darkspawn ambush on your own."

"I couldn't sleep," she said, "bad dreams."

Bad dreams. More like a never-ending nightmare. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still hear the screams, smell the blood and burning corpses, Maker help her.

"Ah, yes. I guess constant meetings with the Archdemon would make anyone an insomniac. You should have woken me, so that I could keep you company."

Oh you foolish, foolish man. Of course he would think that it was the tainted Old God that plagued her time in the Fade. He wouldn't know about how she had to relive the sights and sounds of that night. How all she saw when she closed her eyes were the cold, lifeless bodies of those who she loved. Orianna with dark, finger shaped bruises around her neck, her eyes wide and empty. Oren with his throat slashed so savagely that his head was barely attached to his body. Mother and Father, she prayed that their deaths were swift even if her mind liked to torture her with all the scenarios where that was not the case. Rory…Maker, Rory. Every night on the way to Ostagar, she dared to pray that he had managed to escape. Now, months later, she knew that he was just as dead as the rest.

"Rhiannon?"

Alistair pulled her from her thoughts, concern etched on his features. Alistair, who had been with her since Ostagar. He was here and alive, and she could say that she cared for him. His devotion to her showed in his eyes every time he looked at her, like he was now.

"Yes Alistair?"

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are," he said, pushing her hair behind her ear, " I must be the luckiest man in all of Thedas."

" Well, I wouldn't say all that."

"I could be, if you would let me know what you're thinking so hard on. I know you, Rhiannon Cousland, and you are not one to shy away from a complement, or to vanish from camp without any word. So, copper for your thoughts?"

Maybe I should tell him, maybe…No.

" Don't worry so much. You'll get wrinkles." She teased, "Besides, we have a rather unique opportunity here."

"Err. What are you talking about-Oh! Right, well yes. I suppose we do. But-"

She kissed him, reveling in the taste of him and the way he pulled her close. Alistair lifted her off of the ground and pressed her against a tree, the rough bark slightly uncomfortable through the thin fabric of her tunic, before claiming her lips with his own once more. His kisses trailed down her neck to her collarbone, the stubble on his chin tickling her skin and causing her to shudder against him. She groaned when she tilted her hips, grazing his erection through the fabric of his trousers. He echoed her moans as he instinctively pushed against her, causing her to gasp as jolts of pleasure shot through her body. Unable to take anymore, she squirmed out of his grasp before pulling him down on top of her as she lay back on the grass, before kissing him again, hard. Alistair's hands roamed over her body, slowly, so slowly that she thought she might explode from anticipation. His fingers pulled at the laces of her tunic, the fabric opening to reveal the swell of her breasts.

Smiling, he freed on breast from the shirt, gently massaging while his thumb ran over her nipple. She moaned softly, closing her eyes, only vaguely aware of his other hand moving up her legs until her found her center, pushing inside and curling his finger in the way that she had shown him.

"Oh, Maker, yes," she gasped rolling her hips against his hand, "Alistair, please-"

He silenced her with another kiss, running his thumb over her clit in slow, lazy circles, then faster with added pressure. Her body was aflame as every atom responded to his touch and her orgasm tore washed over her. Once it was over, she had been reduced to a shuddering, sweaty heap.

"Maker's breath," she sighed, "you may be the quickest study I've ever met."

Her words were met with stony silence as Alistair rolled off of her, and even in the darkness she could see the naked hurt on his face.

"Alistair, what's the matter?" She inquired, re-adjusting her clothes.

He turned away from her, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

"Who's Rory?"