Been a while since I revisited these two, but I was inspired by "Thriller" {Michael Jackson, of course} to do this scene, and it seemed appropriate for the season. This takes place during their first night together, sometime after Chapter 1 of "No Armor Against Fate". I hope all those who were in the path of Hurricane Sandy are safe and warm!

He stood on a hill, looking down across the fields. They were blackened with taint, the trees stunted and twisted and that sickly rotten stench floating up to him. The darkspawn moved across the field, coming toward him, their steps slow and deliberate. The knowledge that they were in no hurry chilled Alistair's heart more than a screaming onrush would have done. They knew he wasn't going anywhere—he was waiting for them, after all, and he knew that once they reached him he would have to join their ranks.

As they came closer, he could begin making out faces he recognized. There was Duncan, his beard clinging patchily to the tainted flesh of his face, the skirt of his armor dragging on the ground. Behind him was Mother Petrona, her eyes glassy and clouded, her mouth open and blackened. The words that came from her mouth were gibberish, but he could almost make out their meaning. He didn't want to know what she was saying, but he couldn't move. Soon she would reach him and he would hear her and once he understood, it would all be over. Desperately, he tried to move his feet, but they were stuck to the ground, sinking slowly into the mushy black gunk.

Arlessa Isolde was in the front, her blonde hair straggling over her shoulders in taint-streaked clumps. Her hands were out, reaching for him, and Alistair felt the dread of her that he had always felt, increased almost beyond endurance by the skeletal claws her well-tended hands had become.

He didn't want to open his mouth; it seemed the very air was tainted, and the darkness of it would rush inside him if he opened his mouth to speak. But he couldn't help himself; the urge to cry out for help was too strong. He took a deep breath, prepared to shout the word. What came out instead was one of their sounds. The taint was coming from inside his body. He had a sickening sensation that he knew what he was saying, that he was communicating with the creatures coming toward him, and that they were calling his name. "Alistair! Alistair!"

"Alistair?"

He came awake abruptly, sitting bolt upright. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He was covered in sweat and panting as though he had run a tremendous distance. It was a familiar feeling; he couldn't count the number of times he'd awakened this way since his Joining.

But something was new. Never before had he wakened from a nightmare to the feeling of strong small hands on his shoulders; a firm little body climbing onto his lap and pressing against his heaving chest; soft lips laying sweet kisses along his face. His arms went around Thora in surprise and relief and gratitude, letting her presence, her quiet murmurs, anchor him in the real world.

"It's inside me. The taint. I can't get it out."

"I know."

"And they're talking to me ... everyone, they're ... tainted, and they're coming for me." He looked at her in the dim light of the tent. "What if one night I can understand them? What then?"

"You won't." Her voice was sure, and he took comfort in her stated certainty.

"If I did ... If something went wrong and I turned ... would you?" He couldn't put it any more plainly than that, the horror he felt at the idea of turning into one of them, of losing everything that made him Alistair and becoming something else.

She didn't hesitate, not for a moment. "I would. Just as you would for me."

Alistair nodded against her bare shoulder. His heartrate had slowed and the sweat had dried, leaving him shivering.

Thora touched the side of his face with one gentle hand. "Let's get you back under the blankets."

He went willingly as she tugged him back down into the bedroll. Her body curled into his, the weight warm and comforting against him. She was asleep again in no time, but Alistair lay awake, marveling at the peace he felt. He had imagined what it would be like to be her lover many times, but it had never occurred to him that this reassurance, this feeling of being loved and cared for, would be part of it. He'd never had it before ... but he thought it was something he could get quite used to.

Alistair pulled her closer against him, resting his cheek against her hair. He didn't sleep again that night—he didn't need to. He had all he could dream of there in his arms.