A note: Co-written with Gaspode5

Disclaimer: Neither Duncan nor Riordan belongs to us, which is probably just as well.

The Lost

Riordan didn't notice the angry glares or the sturdy bodies that jostled him. Ser Eric's words spun madly through his head and despair followed, heavy and cloying. He desperately needed a drink and something to kill, perhaps Josian. Had Duncan not been there...He shook his head. Try as he might he couldn't shut out the voice of Ser Eric, it had taken on a gleeful tone now, 'Like me! Do you understand? Just like me.' Was that what he would become, a halfwit that fell off the horse all the time and pissed himself? Unseeing Riordan followed where his feet took him and only when the lights dimmed and walls closed in did he look around.

Before him ruined houses casting deep shadows in the faint light from the now distant Orzammar. There were people huddling in the semi darkness and talking in small groups. Skinny children dressed in rags played in the rubble amongst odd creatures that looked like a randy rabbit had gotten lucky with a sow. The faces that turned towards him were full of fear and hatred. It stank of garbage and was a mockery of the idyllic street scene. In the corner of his eye Riordan caught movement and turning he saw three armed dwarves in worn leather armour leaning against the remains of a wall, watching him, their tattooed faces hard. Well, if they wanted to try their luck with him they were welcome. He could see them tensing at his approach. "So, where can you get a drink in this shit hole?" he drawled.

There was a long pause before one of them jerked his thumb in the direction of a building that actually had a roof and growled. "Try there, but if I were you stranger I'd go back the way you came before you have an accident." He smirked.

Riordan smirked back. "Luckily I'm not accident prone." He could feel their eyes boring into his back as he left and thought 'Oh please do!' but to his disappointment nothing happened. In his mind Ser Eric sniggered and whispered 'Just like me.'

The tavern was a tavern in so far that it sold booze. The bar was two planks across a couple of crates and behind that, a small mountain of a dwarf guarding an array of bottles. Dwarves were slumped on benches and on the floor, talking quietly, gambling or simply getting drunk. Riordan ignored their suspicious glances and headed for the makeshift bar.

"Whatever you have that wastes you before killing you."

The barman snorted. "That's the only stuff we carry here stranger."

"A bottle then."

"Ha, a few glasses of this and even a Warden such as yourself will be dancing with the Paragons," the barman leaned forward with a conspiratorial smirk on his face, the planks creaked, "but if you're looking for something a bit extra I have just the thing."

Trying not to seem too interested Riordan shrugged, "Bottle first."

The barman shook his head and ducked down behind one of the crates. A moment later Riordan looked down at a chipped glass bottle that had seen much use and small piece of folded up greasy looking paper. "That's ten coppers for the Stalker's Spit and three silvers for the fun stuff."

"What is it?" Riordan picked up the little sachet.

"We call it Golem's Punch on account of once it hits you all your troubles are over. You rub it on your gums but if you mean business, rub it into a cut. Works a treat. Makes you feel like the arse end of a Nug later but it's nothing another 'Punch' can't cure. Wouldn't mix it with the Spit though." Riordan paid but before he withdrew the barman said, "So stranger, where should we ship your body?" He winked.

"I'm sure you already have somewhere in mind."

He settled on the floor against the wall and took a mouthful of Stalker's Spit. The liquid burned his mouth and made his eyes water. 'Like me', echoed through his head. He cursed the old bastard and drank again. The cold knot of despair wouldn't go away and Riordan had a sudden unwelcome vision of Ser Eric emptying a bottle of his favourite Rivaini whiskey before toppling backwards unconscious as a damp stain spread across the front of his trousers.

Angrily he tugged off his gloves and loosened the bracers before pulling the dagger from his boot. With grim satisfaction he cut a deep nick on the inside of his wrist. He glared at the blood that beaded on the skin, Tainted from the day he was born. After a brief hesitation he made a second cut on the other wrist. He unfolded the paper and sat there staring at the dark slightly oily looking substance that was smeared on the inside.

If Duncan saw him now...It was strange that he, who often saw more clearly than most, seemed to have a blind spot when it came to Riordan. He'd tried to put the man off, but to no avail. One day though, Duncan would see him for what he was and despise him.

Ser Eric sniggered in his head and hot anger flooded him, 'To the Black City with fucking Duncan!' A pair of boots that looked decidedly un-dwarven stepped into his field of vision. He glared at them, then higher up and higher yet again until he met Duncan's eyes that looked black in this light. 'Wonderful!' He thought viciously, the Maker really was crapping on him today. "What!"

Duncan crouched and smoothly handed Riordan the dagger he'd discarded, hilt first. "Next time use mine, I keep them cleaner." He said calmly.

Still bristling Riordan took it, painfully aware of the blood that dripped from his wrist. He might have overdone that one a bit. "Were you spying on me?" He didn't expect the faint smile that appeared on Duncan's face.

"Not exactly, we think the same you and I sometimes. As for the rest, take it whichever way you want but I just used the Taint, who's to stop me, you?" He shrugged. "Anyway, right now there's a small army of Dusters waiting to get their teeth into a couple of Grey Warden's. There are butts that need kicking and possibly money to be won. Now the question is, do I have to do it on my own or will you give me a hand?"

Interested despite himself Riordan said, "Dusters?"

"It's what they call themselves here in Dust Town."

"Seems fitting. Look I..."

Duncan snorted. "I know you're drunk, it wouldn't be the first time." He picked up the bottle, sniffed it and took a mouthful. "Maker's balls!" he wheezed, "more of this and you'll find a new meaning for the expression 'dead drunk'." He carefully put the bottle down and Riordan found himself suppressing a smile. "So, you with me?"

"Can't let you have all the fun now, can I?"

Duncan surprised him by looking away. "Riordan, I..." he sighed and shook his head, "never mind." The sudden smile was wry. "I don't mind sharing this once." With that he stood up and Riordan began to rise. After a brief hesitation he snatched up the Golem's Fist and glanced towards his friend. Duncan had seen it, of course he had. Duncan saw bloody everything but his face was carefully neutral. He wasn't going to judge, he never did.

There was a strange twisting feeling in Riordan's chest as he followed the man out of the tavern. "So what's this fight?"

"They call it Provings and seems to be a bit like a tourney although the Dusters have a less formal version of it and it's open to anybody. Strictly speaking it's not legal." Duncan flashed him a toothy smile. "Seems like there's a lot of dwarves who would like the honour of showing the Grey Wardens how it's done."

Excitement hissed through Riordan and made his heart beat faster. "Let's show them our way then, this should be good."

Duncan grinned wickedly now. "Don't get too cocky, these guys know what they're doing."

"Come on! They are still half our size!"

-o-o-o-

"Andraste's tits!" Riordan groaned as he flopped down with his back against the wall. He was aching in parts he didn't know he had.

"Half our size, remember?"

"Shut the Blight up, but I'll admit that renegade Quiet Sister was bloody fast!"

Duncan shook his head as he handed over a drink the barman at the Tapsters had promised to numb anything. "Silent Sister Riordan, Silent Sister."

"Whatever," Riordan accepted the tankard, "bloody good fighter anyway, punched like an Ogre!"

"She was." Duncan agreed, easing his body down next to him. Riordan realised they must look like a couple of thugs speckled with blood and covered in bruises as they were and the customers of Tapsters gave them a wide berth.

"So, how much did we make?"

Emptying his purse Duncan said, "Quite a lot, I haven't seen this much money in one place for a long time."

Riordan smiled through the caked blood on his face. "You keep it then."

"Fuck no! Half's yours."

"It's all yours but in return I want you to promise me you'll kill me if I ever become like him."

"What?"

"You know what I mean! Nothing fancy, just kill me."

"Sure, if it makes you feel better."

"It does, believe me it really does."

"You don't have to pay me for that promise though, you know that?" Duncan said wryly.

"I just like to be on the safe side."

Outside the Warden lodgings they stopped and leaned against the parapet that surrounded the lava. Riordan stared down into the glowing heat feeling the dry air flow over his face. Quickly, before he had time to change his mind, he dug out the sachet of Golem's Fist and dropped it. There wasn't even a puff of smoke as it vanished. When he looked up Duncan was looking at him, saying nothing. Riordan had to look away from those knowing eyes and found himself staring in the direction of the gate to the Roads. Images of Ser Eric being swallowed up by the darkness were rolling around in his mind and then, uncomfortably, Ser Eric was replaced with Duncan. It was suddenly hard to breathe. "When you go, I go too." He looked at his friend and saw that Duncan knew exactly what he was saying.

The man smiled crookedly. "Fat chance you'll survive that long the way you're going."

Riordan grinned, suddenly feeling a lot lighter. "I might give it a try though."

"That would be appreciated. Duncan answered gravely.