No Choice

Notes: m!Aeducan/m!Amell "Not so different"

I discovered the Dragon Age Prompt generator on Tumblr, and it's seriously the best thing ever. I also never imagined writing these two characters together, and now I'm super glad I did!

Reviews/suggestions welcome!

"This is where you lived?"

Lukas nodded. "Though, usually the Circle isn't so… you know. Bloody."

Thorold hesitated, his thick fingers resting on the hilt of his sword, drumming in a heavy, repetitive pattern that was quickly becoming familiar to Lukas. "It's quiet, cut off from the world, and bursting with lyrium. A bit like Orzammar, I suppose."

"The beards, though," Lukas grinned, "are much more impressive in Orzammar, I hear." Twirling his staff, he began making his way down the first corridor, motioning for his companions to follow.

The dwarf's heavy footsteps echoed loudly through the hall, but Morrigan and Zevran followed almost silently. Thorold took great care to step around the corpses; partly out of decency, partly out of disgust. Mages, he thought with wonder. They were such fascinating and unreal creatures – so cut off from the world, and so unlike anything he was used to. "Lukas, tell me," he grunted, picking up the pace to catch up to the mage, "living in a place like this, where the Templars… watch you."

"You know," Lukas interrupted lightly, "I kissed a Templar once. He was not expecting it, but hey, he was too surprised to yell at me for being out after hours."

Ignoring him, Thorold continued, "Besides the Templars, it must be wonderful to live in a place like this. It must be so… simple, without the stress of a regular life."

"Yes! I'm so glad I don't have to worry about being a shopkeeper's apprentice or a farmer's son, because instead, I've been absolutely blessed with Templars and oppression!" Sarcasm dripped from Lukas' every word, and he paused for a moment to face Thorold. "Sure, we don't worry about regular things, but that doesn't mean we don't have our own share of burdens. Getting out of this… this prison has been the best choice I've ever made."

"Ah, Orzammar!" Lukas spread his arms wide, spinning to face the rest of the group. "It smells every bit as putrid as I've been told. I'm far from disappointed."

Thorold shook his head, pushing past the mage and marching down the long row of merchants. "It's only this bad in the lower corridors," he called over his shoulder, mumbling under his breath about the Diamond Quarter.

Sure enough, to all their delights, the air in the upper corridor was somehow fresher, though it was every bit as still. Lukas couldn't take it in fast enough, his eyes darting from the stone ceiling to the floor to the palace and back. "Dwarves," he muttered in fascination. Before meeting Thorold, he hadn't ever actually met a dwarf before, and he was finding himself quickly enamored by their city. "Thorold!" he called, jogging a few paces to catch up with his friend. "Why in the world would anyone ever leave this place? And a prince, especially. I mean, living up in the palace—" Lukas paused, imagining himself adorned in jewels and sprawled out on an unreasonably comfortable throne, "—it can't be anything short of paradise."

"Paradise?" Thorold grunted. "I once spent a week out in the Deep Roads, killing darkspawn alongside the Legion of the Dead. That's as close to paradise as I've ever been."

Lukas felt the smile drop from his face. "But—the palace. Servants and feasts and just being fancy for the hell of it."

"And thieving, deceitful brothers," Thorold seethed. "Royalty in Orzammar is… a game. Who can hold onto their claim for the throne the longest. Lies, betrayal, and assassination are the pieces, and the players are made up of anyone with a decent family name. One step out of line—rather, allowing someone to find out you've stepped out of line—and you lose. You're dead." After a moment, he sighed and admitted, "Or exiled. That's why I joined the Wardens, Lukas."

Lukas stopped abruptly, shocked at this new information. "Exiled. So, you had no choice, either."

If the mage stood at a more convenient height, Thorold would've given him an understanding clap on the back. He didn't, though, and instead let his hands settle on the hilt of his sword, drumming his fingers as he nodded. "Neither of us had much of a choice. Neither of us had much to give up, though, either."