A shorter chapter this time. It took me a few weeks to work out how I was going to start it. I was afraid it was going to be boring.

Thanks to Raiseth (on SV) and Volossya (on AO3) for beta-reading this chapter for me. Much obliged!

The Lost

That morning, Keith was distracted by lessons he had to attend and duties he had to perform, but he did not fail to notice when Katarina and Anne failed to return from their shopping trip. As time dragged onwards, he grew increasingly worried.

He knew better to disturb his adoptive father, Duke Luigi Claes, who was busy with his work and therefore unavailable. The Duchess Miridiana's responsibilities were rather less pressing, so he went to her instead. He would never think of her as his mother, but he felt sure that she would listen to him and treat him fairly; despite the furious arguments that had greeted his arrival in the Claes household, he had reached an accord with her.

"If Katarina isn't back soon, she'll be late for lunch," he remarked, putting on a smile as if he was joking.

"That would be most unlike her," the Duchess agreed. "Perhaps we should send someone out to look for her."

"I could go," said Keith, trying not to sound too eager.

The Duchess looked at him for a moment and seemed to be considering his suggestion, but then shook her head. "No, I'd prefer not to lose you as well." A frown spread across her face. "Anne Sherry went with her, didn't she?"

"Yes." Keith nodded.

"Anne is a very responsible young woman," said the Duchess. "I can only imagine that she must have a good reason for being late."

Then, smoothing her face until it was an impassive mask, she marched upstairs and informed her husband that their daughter had yet to come back from her shopping trip, even though she'd been expected back more than an hour ago.

"Perhaps there has been an accident," said the Duke. "One of their horses could have thrown a shoe, one of them could have fallen and been injured, or…" He shook his head. "I suppose there's no use in speculating. We'd better ride out to meet them."

"I'll come with you," said Keith.

"I think I'd better stay here, just in case they come home by a different route," said the Duchess. "There should be someone here to welcome them back."

And so, it was decided: Duke Claes and Keith would ride out in the company of four house guards, including a man who was skilled in first aid, as well as the Claes family stablemaster. It would be his job to tend to any injured horses if they weren't beyond saving. Meanwhile, the Duchess would stay behind, in the Claes Manor. She would be ready to greet Katarina and her companions if they somehow evaded the search party that was being sent out to look for them, or to give comfort and explain the situation to Sienna if she suddenly awoke from her deathly slumber, or to tackle any problem that might interfere with the household's smooth running in her husband's absence.

Because it took so long to saddle and bridle the horses and get everything ready for what should have been a short journey, Keith half-expected Katarina and the others to have returned by the time they were finished. He felt sick to the stomach, worried that something terrible might have happened to the girl he loved – even if she didn't love him – even if she refused to see him as anything other than her adopted brother. He was jittery and impatient, his head was filled with fearful imaginings, and it seemed as if time was passing with agonizing slowness.

He was relieved when they set off down the road to Hartshorne, which was the town where Katarina had gone to 'buy a gift for Sienna', but not for long. Along the way, they came across a frightened horse, fully tacked up but missing its rider, which the stablemaster recognized as one of his.

"Sunrise," he said, indicating the distinctive star-like marking between the horse's eyes. "I lent him to one of your guards this morning."

"Which guard?" asked the Duke.

"Er… Puddingfoot, I think," said the stablemaster.

The Duke nodded. "It would appear that some misfortune has befallen my daughter and her retinue," he said in cold, clipped tones. "We must be wary."

After a slight delay, the stablemaster managed to soothe 'Sunrise' enough that the horse was willing to follow his lead. They continued onwards, even more apprehensive than before.

The road ahead was blocked by a fallen tree, which was ancient and rotten, covered in mold and with a lush growth of different funguses sprouting from it. Next to it, on the ground, there were two dead bodies lying in a messy smear of dried blood. One of them was wearing grimy leathers, looked like a hard-bitten ruffian, and had a ghastly wound in his throat. The other was wearing the uniform of one of the Claes family's house guards; his face was so badly brutalized that it was almost unrecognizable. Nevertheless, when he'd dismounted his horse and examined the available evidence, the Duke deduced that this must be the body of Puddingfoot.

Keith gazed at one dead man and then the other, horrified. He'd seen dead animals before, killed some of them himself, but this was the first time he'd seen the corpse of a human being. Puddingfoot was a name he was familiar with; he hadn't known the man well, but he'd been vaguely aware that he was one of the house guards. And now he was dead. Killed in such a savage and brutal fashion that even the colleagues he'd seen earlier in the day were unable to recognize him. Dread crept up from the pit of Keith's stomach as he wondered what had happened to Katarina during the skirmish that had claimed Puddingfoot's life. Past the fallen tree, would he see her broken body lying in the mud, just a little further on?

"Clear the road," the Duke instructed. Two of his house guards hastened to obey, dirtying their hands by rolling the tree trunk to one side and out of the way.

Now that a space had been cleared, another corpse could be seen. It was Dray, the other house guard who had gone with Katarina on her shopping trip. He had been shot through the chest. His horse was nowhere to be seen.

A short distance away, a fast-moving horse had tumbled over an unexpected mound of earth, mangling itself and its rider, the consequence being that someone with a pistol had decided to put them both out of their misery.

"Katarina's handiwork," said Keith, indicating the small mound of earth that the horse had tripped over, a note of vicious satisfaction in his voice. The possibility that she might have escaped filled him with a surge of hope and relief that completely overwhelmed his surprise and horror at the thought that Katarina had intentionally used her magical powers to hurt or kill someone.

"I'm inclined to agree," said the Duke, bending to examine the corpse of the rider, a rough-looking man who'd been crushed by his fallen horse and then shot through the head. "But what happened to her after that? Was she captured by this man's associates? Or did she manage to escape?" He gazed at the faint impressions of hoofprints on the dusty road as if hoping to find answers there.

"Do you think she might have fled to Hartshorne and taken refuge there?" asked Keith.

"It's possible." The Duke remounted his horse. "Let's find out."

"What shall we do with the dead bodies?" asked one of the house guards.

"Leave them. They're not going anywhere," said the Duke. "The living must be our priority."

The house guard nodded. "As you say, your grace."

"We'll come back for them later," the Duke promised. "Now, come on!"

They rode on until they reached Hartshorne. Almost as soon as they entered the town, they were hailed by one of the townsfolk: an old man with a white beard and a bald head that shone as if it had been polished. He waved a hand in the air and cried, "Over here!"

When they followed his directive, he looked intimidated to be surrounded by so many armed men, but smiled ingratiatingly and said, "You must be Duke Claes. I'd recognize you anywhere!"

The Duke didn't ask how he had been recognized; there were plenty of good reasons why a commoner might think it prudent to know the local ruler by sight. Instead, he said, "You have me at a disadvantage, my friend. You know me, but I don't know you. Nevertheless, what can I do for you?"

"I'm Pate. They call me 'Bald Pate'. But that doesn't matter," said the old man. "I expect you're looking for the young Lady Katarina?"

"I take it you've seen her? What can you tell us?" asked the Duke.

"She came here this morning with her maid and a couple of bodyguards," said Pate. "Didn't go around shouting that she was the daughter of a duke, but it was obvious that she was of noble birth. Well, that is to say, we worked it out afterwards, when we came to discuss it amongst ourselves, me and the other townsfolk."

"Yes, go on," said the Duke, in a tone of strained patience.

"She spent some time browsing the shops and market stalls, bought a fur coat, had an argument with her maid – no idea what that was about, sorry – and then she and the others set off home." Pate pointed in the direction that Duke Claes and his retinue had come from. "But then she came back a short while later, on her own. Her maid and her bodyguards were gone, her pony was stumbling along as if it was exhausted, and she was clearly in some distress."

"So you offered to help her, took her to a safe place, and settled her down to wait until I came looking for her?" the Duke suggested. He was not an emotionally demonstrative man, but Keith could hear the hope in his voice.

"I wasn't there," Pate admitted. "I didn't see what happened. Honest Jon did. He's a bartender, runs a pub over there." He gestured vaguely down the street. "He was out doing some shopping when he saw Lady Katarina riding through the town, muttering to herself and looking like she was about to fall off her pony. When he approached and asked if he was alright, she said she was fine, thanked him for his concern, and hurried away as quickly as she could. Of course, he didn't want to get in trouble for bothering a noble lady, so he didn't follow her or insist on helping her or anything like that."

The Duke gave him a flat look. "But you and the other townsfolk have been gossiping about her ever since."

"I… um, I wouldn't say that." Pate winced. "Any of us would've helped her if we'd known. If we'd realized sooner."

"Where did she go from here?" asked the Duke. "In which direction?"

Mutely, Pate pointed to the north road. It was a long and winding road that, after joining with many other roads as if they were all tributaries of a great river, would eventually lead to Duskendale. Keith doubted that Katarina would have got that far. If her pony was already exhausted, it would soon need to stop. Besides, she could only have been traveling for a couple of hours at most: not enough time to get very far.

"I would like to speak to Honest John. Please take me to him," said the Duke.

Pate led them to a nearby tavern, where the man he called Honest John confirmed that the story he'd told them was true. The Duke gave each of them a silver stag, thanked them for the information, and said, "I will give a gold dragon to anyone who helps to bring back my daughter safe and unharmed. Spread the word."

"Will do," said John and Pate, almost in the same instant.

As they walked away, back to where they'd left their horses with two of the guards, the Duke appeared deep in thought. "What shall we do now?" asked Keith, conscious of the fact that Katarina might be getting further and further away even as they spoke. He was relieved that she'd escaped the clutches of her would-be kidnappers, but at the same time he felt frustrated and anxious because she wasn't where he would have expected her to be. Where had she gone and what had happened to her?

"We'll go back to the manor and organize a proper search party, assemble a large group to comb the area between here and there," the Duke decided. "I'm sure Katarina's intent was to go north only for a little while, turn right at the earliest opportunity, and then swing around until she found her way home. It may be that she's lost in the forest, or her horse was lamed, or those bandits caught up with her and she's been kidnapped…" He sighed and shook his head. "If she can be found, we'll find her."

Keith nodded. He felt overcome, unable to speak, and he wasn't sure what he would have said even if he wasn't spending all his energy trying to put on a brave face.

The Duke gave instructions to two of his guards: "You should stay here, in this town, in case my daughter comes back this way. Speak to some of the other townsfolk, find out if there are any discrepancies in the story we've been told and if anyone can tell us anything else that might help us find Katarina."

"What about the bandits?" asked Keith.

"What do you mean by that?" asked the Duke.

"Some of the townsfolk may know who they are and where we might find them," said Keith. "It seems they've kidnapped Anne – and may have taken Katarina as well – so we need to track them down."

"It's worth a try." The Duke nodded. Then, a thought occurred to him. He turned to the guards he'd told to stay behind and asked them, "Do you have any money on you?"

"A little," said one of them, raising a curious eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

The Duke reached into his pouch, fished out a few coins and handed them to the man who'd replied. "It's possible that tongues will be loosened if you're able to buy a few drinks for the locals. And you should get yourselves some lunch while you're here."

"Much obliged, your grace," said the guard, pocketing the money he'd been given. "We'll get on with that."

"I don't like to go home while Katarina is still out there and we can't be sure what has happened to her," said the Duke, almost as if he was talking to himself. "But blindly stumbling around without a plan won't help her. To have the best chance of finding her, we must be careful and methodical."

"That's if she hasn't found her way home while we've been out," said Keith, though his words lacked conviction.

"We can only hope," said the Duke.

It was evening. Dinner was a silent and cheerless affair. At the head of the table, Duke Claes was slumped in his seat, gazing into the distance as if he could see through walls. Next to him, his wife's eyes were red-rimmed and her face was blotchy with the many tears she had shed.

"I suppose I should expect to receive a ransom demand. Maybe tomorrow," muttered the Duke.

Earlier that day, he and his companions had retraced their steps and returned home, collecting the bodies of Puddingfoot and Dray along the way. There, he had explained the situation to his increasingly distraught wife, eaten a hasty meal and called upon the majority of the manor's occupants to join the search for Katarina, leaving behind only a skeleton staff. He and his helper had combed the surrounding area for miles around, until finally they were forced to admit defeat. Hours later, fretful and footsore, they had trudged back to the manor again.

Keith had gone with them and searched as hard as anyone, but to no avail. Now, he was so sunken in misery that he had no appetite. The meal he'd been served largely consisted of stewed meat and vegetables, which he listlessly stirred and pushed around his plate, turning it into a congealed, sludgy morass.

Despite the fact that he was in a room filled with people, he felt alone and friendless. Katarina was missing, presumed to have been kidnapped. Sienna was unconscious and on the verge of death. They were his dearest friends, who had welcomed him into the Claes Manor and his new life, without whom he had no idea what he would do or how he would find the strength to go on.

As soon as he reasonably could, he set aside his plate and left the table, heading upstairs to where Sienna's comatose body lay in one of the bedrooms that wasn't normally in use, which was devoid of decorations or anything else that would have given it personality. It had a bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, both of which were empty, and precious little else. Still, the view from the window was rather pleasant.

Keith stood there for some time, gazing out over the driveway, framed on both sides by rows of trees, up to the main gate and the woodland beyond, as well as the rolling vista of hills that could be seen in the distance. But as much as he tried to forget his worries and lose himself in appreciating the scenery, he found that he couldn't. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned towards the bed, dreading what he would see.

He was relieved to find that Sienna was still breathing, though each breath seemed labored and there were long pauses in between. Only her head and shoulders were visible, as the rest of her was covered by a thick white blanket, which he hoped was the reason why she appeared smaller, more fragile and more childlike than he had ever seen her before. It was as if everything that made her a person – all of the passion, sly wit and cleverness he had so admired – had gone out of her and left only a porcelain doll.

"Everything will be alright," he said, though his eyes overflowed with tears. "We'll find Katarina, I know we will. And you… you'll wake up and you'll be fine." He didn't know who he was trying to reassure. In her current state, it wasn't as if Sienna was capable of listening to him. Was he talking to himself, desperately trying to assuage his fears and relieve his misery?

He was tempted to stretch out a hand to touch Sienna's face or run his fingers through her hair, in the hope that it might rouse her from her deathly sleep, but he decided against it. It seemed too much like a breach of trust. He wouldn't do it while she was awake, certainly not without permission, so he wouldn't do it while she was asleep. Besides, if Katarina, Duke Claes and Pycelle had all failed to wake Sienna by poking and prodding her, it seemed unlikely that he'd have any more success.

And so, as the tears dried on his face and the sun faded on the horizon, Keith leaned against the window sill, daydreaming of happier times.

Sienna languished in darkness. There was no light and nothing to see. Only darkness. She had no idea how much time passed while she was trapped there.

At last, she heard a voice, deep and resonant. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman's voice.

"Who are you?" it asked.

"Sienna Nelson," she replied, automatically.

"That is the name you were given, but is it all you are? Does it encompass the whole of your being, all that you've become, everything you want to be?"

There was a pause. Silence and stillness.

"I ask again: who are you?"

"I'm… the only daughter of an impoverished baron. I'm twelve years old. I… uh, I'm Katarina's friend." She hesitated. "I wish I was more, but… I haven't had a chance to grow into anything yet."

"Is that how you define yourself? By your childish infatuation with another girl? Is that the full extent of your ambition?"

Another pause. More silence.

"I ask again: who are you?"

"What do you want from me?" Sienna snapped. "I'm me, myself, my own person. That's who I am. What else can I say?"

"You are no one and nothing," the voice corrected her. "But you could be more. You could be better than you are."

Sienna's temper flared. She felt angrier and more defiant that she could remember ever having been before. "What about you?" she demanded to know. "Who are you?"

"I have many names. I am many things to many people all over the world. I am death, the sharp dividing line between one life and the next. I am God."

"One of many gods," said Sienna, unimpressed.

"No."

During the next stretch of silence, Sienna had plenty of time to think and wonder. "What happens next?" she asked. "Where do I go from here?"

"That's up to you. It's always been up to you," said the voice. "What do you want?"

Sienna was tempted to say 'Katarina', but she suspected that wouldn't be well-received; once again, she would be chided for her lack of ambition. Instead, faltering at first but growing more confident as she spoke, she said, "I want to live. I want to be strong and bold enough to overcome all obstacles in my path. I want… There are many things I want. Most of all, I don't want to live in fear anymore, afraid to go anywhere or do anything for fear that it might kill me. I want to be free."

"Very well," said the voice. "You'll get your wish."

After that, there was nothing more.

Author's Notes:
In ASoIaF, Pate is a very common name among the smallfolk of Westeros. For men, at least. I don't know if there is a female equivalent.

Also in ASoIaF, 'your grace' is how the King on the Iron Throne is addressed – and historically it was how the kings of England were addressed until King Henry VIII's break from the Roman Catholic church, when he started insisting that he should be addressed as 'your majesty' – but 'your grace' is also a term of address for a duke. Therefore, I've decided that, in this merged setting, dukes are addressed as 'your grace' whereas kings are addressed as 'your majesty' or 'your highness'.

I'm depicting the gods of this merged setting rather differently from how the gods of ASoIaF are depicted in the novels (in which they act so subtly that it is somewhat debatable as to whether or not they exist at all). I hope that my readers will be intrigued rather than annoyed by that.