A/N: Edited to fix the godawful humungo typo that I only found when reading it again today. DERP! (why didn't someone tell me *sadface*)
.
.
It was cold on the path up the mountain. The Lady Elissa flexed her right hand, hissing silently as her joints complained, and removed her gauntlet to check. The scars were an angry purplish-red in the chill, cutting across her fingers and through a knuckle, fingers slightly twisted and askew. She'd been lucky to keep her hand intact. She stared into the falling snow and remembered...
It was dark in the Deep Roads, and the air was oppressive with stone and fire. Rounding a corner they'd come across a large band of darkspawn. They'd set up an ambush and had been waiting for them. She'd felt no twinges of warning, no calling of taint to taint. They stepped into action as the horde had charged them. Oghran roared a battlecry and charged into the fray. She'd unlimbered her family sword and dagger and flanked Alistair who was rounding on the Alpha. Her mabari Rollo growed deeply as he tore out a genlock's throat, then leapt over the body, barreling down another. They'd been winning when, out of nowhere, a darkspawn axe had sheared through the pommel of her family sword, nearly severing her fingers... she remembered the twisted, evil face of the hurlock wielding it, dark glittering eyes avidly fastened upon her, feasting upon her shock and pain, sinister laughter echoing through the cave over the sounds of battle, and then drowned out as she had shrieked. It had stiffened, then, spraying blood into her face, and gurgled as it slid off the point of Alistair's sword, dying messily at her feet. Darkspawn blood had sprayed inside her mouth, and she swallowed absently between screams, feeling its dark burn as it trickled down her throat and joined the taint churning in her belly. She clutched her wounded hand to her chest and looked at mangled flesh and exposed bone in horror...
Alistair was no healer, and Wynne had not yet joined them, so they had patched it up the best they could with an injury kit, applied some healing poultices, and had gone on their way.
Some weeks later, after Wynne had been liberated from the Tower, Elissa had approached her to ask for healing, to no avail. It was too late, Wynne had told her, and had given her an ointment to minimise the scarring. Elissa had never used it, just tossed it into her pack; where it drifted to the bottom amidst the other odds and ends she had picked up along their journey.
Elissa made a fist, wincing as the scars pulled tight and the knuckle protested, and brought it to her lips, hoping her breath would warm and loosen it. Some Lady I am, she thought scornfully, scarred and horrible... if mother could only see me now...
As always, the thought brought pain, more distant and yet more wrenching than the pain of her scars. She stopped briefly, checking the path, allowing herself time for the ache in her chest to settle, letting Morrigan and Rollo clamber past her and continue up the trail. She heard steps behind her and half turned as Alistair paused. His warm hand covered her cold one as he brought her scarred knuckle to his lips and kissed it, honeyed eyes meeting hers as the tip of his tongue flicked out and caressed her skin ever so briefly. She felt her insides contract as he smiled at her.
He winked and they continued up the path, her scars, and her hand, remaining tucked inside his.