Wicked Graces

Chapter Twelve

"Explain this to me again." Hawke pressed her shoulders into the back of the chair behind her and ground her teeth together against the faint nausea that should have passed well after losing her breakfast on the way to the very meeting she was enduring now. Thank the Maker for Varric, and the pouch of little mint candies he produced, promising they would settle her stomach a little, and help get the bad taste out of her mouth. She drew in breath through her nose, both nostrils flaring slightly, and then exhaled as she turned eyes around the table at all three Grey Wardens before them.

Varric sat beside her, absently rolling small shreds of parchment from his notebook into obscure little balls and lining them up in front of him. Definitely one of his nervous quirks, though she guessed it was better than that thing he did with his knuckles from time to time. She didn't think she could stand the sound of them cracking as he stretched each finger back and popped it one by aggravating one.

Despite the Warden-Commander's presence, Warden Stroud did most of the talking, explaining far more about archdemons and darkspawn than Hawke ever would have guessed there was to tell. She killed her fair share over the years: during the blight, fleeing the blight, later on in Kirkwall, but to say she knew much about them would be comical. She stuck her blades in and pulled them out again when the body stopped twitching. She made sure her daggers were thoroughly cleaned after any such encounters because of all she'd learned during that trying time escaping the Primeval Thaig. Blight sickness killed her sister. It was a hard lesson.

Kyleah stretched her neck and let loose a long breath. "It is a little known fact that only a Grey Warden can kill an archdemon. It is one of the reasons we, and only we, can fight the blight. Do you understand what an archdemon is?"

"A big ass dragon I hope to never see in my lifetime." Varric dropped another ball of paper into his formation then went about arranging it in perfect sequence with the others.

"Archdemons are the corrupted souls of the old gods. Tainted by blight, and, as some have suggested throughout the years, quite mad because of that taint," Nathaniel explained. "Because darkspawn themselves are soulless, when an archdemon dies the corrupted soul seeks out the nearest blighted vessel, beginning the cycle again unless we stop it."

"So... what does all that have to do with Grey Wardens? Or me, for that matter?" She knew she shouldn't be thinking about anything but the conversation at hand, but she was getting hungry again. Thanks a lot, breakfast, for not staying down. Didn't her body know food was very serious business? She didn't have time for second breakfast just because the first one didn't know its place, and there was an entire other body depending on her sustenance for survival. At the rate this conversation seemed to be going, she wasn't going to get to eat again until she met up with Sebastian, who'd summoned her to dinner in his apartment promptly at seven. He'd actually written that into the note: promptly. It was like he didn't even know her. Regardless, seven (though it would be more like twenty after, knowing her,) was so very far away.

"Grey Wardens have the taint," Kyleah said, "sort of. When a Warden kills the archdemon the soul is drawn to our taint. That soul enters the Warden's body and is destroyed by the presence of a pure soul already inhabiting the vessel."

Lifting a curious head from his concentrated effort to align the perfect rows of paper balls, Varric bobbed back and forth. "If that's true, why aren't you dead? Didn't you kill an archdemon?"

"I did," she nodded, her gaze dropping dismally to her hands resting atop the table. Nathaniel reached over and laid a hand atop hers, fingers curling around to offer her strength as he squeezed.

"It's all right, Ky," he whispered. "You don't have to explain yourself to anyone."

"I know I don't, but we are asking for their help. The least we can do is be forthright with them." Drawing in a breath to steady herself, she didn't raise her head or make eye contact as she spoke. "During the Blight, King Alistair and I traveled with a witch of the wilds. She performed a ritual that redirected that old god's soul into a new vessel, a child conceived on the eve battle." Hawke didn't have to look over at Varric to know his eyebrow cocked with intrigue. "By all rights, I should have died that day, but her ritual worked. The archdemon was slain, Alistair and I both survived, and for a short time we believed the darkspawn would return to ground and leave us in peace as they wandered in search of another old god. I shouldn't even be telling you any of this, and if it's ever discovered I shared precious secrets all three of us could be brought up on charges. Master Tethras, I know it is in your nature to spin stories, but the promises you made to us when we sat down at the table... you must honor them. What has been spoken in this room today cannot leave these walls."