THREE

                                    

                                          
117 AC, Runestone 
Unable to fall victim to sleep's clutches, Zareya sat up and gathered some clothes in a knapsack. She had pulled a tunic overhead and trousers tucked into her boots. She braided her hair and pulled another tunic, thick of wool, overhead.
When she made her way to the kitchen, she found the loaf of bread Lady Solas had baked. 'Twas only a day old, and she wrapped the loaf in cloth, placing it along with her bundle of clothes.
She halted at the threshold and glanced over her shoulder, the book of Winterfell's history left unopened on the table. She made quick to grab it, tucking it under her arm.
When she found her mother, she would embrace her and allow her to read her the stories she longed to hear. She was a girl who longed to hear stories of adventure and of old. She found the seven kingdoms fascinating.
Bracing herself for the crisp cool air of the night, she pulled the collar of her wool tunic higher, covering her mouth.
If a Lord was ordered to retrieve her and escort her north... No. She couldn't complete the thought. Not without wanting to cry.
She moved quickly and quietly down through the hills, deciding to stop at the village to drink from the well before going on her way.
She would travel until she could find a place where she wouldn't be sold off to this man of the north that came for her person.
The gravel beneath her feet shifted with each step she took.
She and Rhea lived outside the village in a quiet and isolated hut. 
It was far away from everything to ensure moments of peace and close enough to allow her to wander into the village on the days her mother had been visited by a strange man with long, silver hair who wore a menacing look on his face every time he saw her mother.
Zareya was assured by her mother that although this man was dangerous, he would never hurt Rhea. He was just there to collect intel on the conditions of Runestone and despised children. She did not have to be told twice to join Ser Jonry on his fishing expeditions and a swim in the water. 
Like clockwork, with every visit from the silver-haired man, she had made her way to the edge of the town where Ser Jonry and other villagers lived. Even her uncle Gerold scoured through these parts, choosing to live among the people rather than in isolation.
She quietly hummed to herself, running her fingers along the lengthy grass, the leafy green tickling her fingertips. She had often ventured down to the village center well and had tried fresh loaves of bread and meat pies from Lady Solas' home down the way. 
Rhea had often tried to find ways to shield Zareya from Daemon's wrath. Should he come to know about her, she was sure he'd cut the child down without an ounce of remorse. 
Her daughter was the first thing of hers that she truly cherished since her forced marriage to the rogue prince. And as much as she had loved Varren Stark, she loved Zareya more.
The girl halted at the entrance to the village center, seeing the silhouette of someone lying upon a slab of rock beside the well. She swallowed, the grass beneath her feet blooming in black roses.
The floral growth at her feet went unnoticed as she slowly trailed toward the body, a quaking fear pulsing through her blood, her fingertips tingling at the thought of who could be lain so limply at the center of the village. 
In hand, she held the book her mother had promised to read to her the night she went missing. She gripped the spine tightly, book pressed against her front, stepping forward cautiously as she caught a glimpse of the familiar armor. The body on the rock was woman.  And the woman's body was unmoving. Zareya gulped at the brown hair she saw flayed over this woman's shoulders. 
Her lower lip trembled. "Mother?" She whispered at the limp form, her eyes beginning to well with tears. She placed the book on the side as she moved to climb up onto the rock, laying beside her mother, snuggling into her side. She was cold. The blood no longer pumping through her veins. 
Several moments of silence passed as she shut her eyes and pushed closer to the woman who had raised her. The woman that loved her and taught her the history of the seven kingdoms. Rhea Royce was dead; body paralyzed, and temple bloodied.
Gulping down the pain, she spoke as if Rhea could hear her.
"I caught a fish with Ser Jonry. He said we could have it for dinner." Her fingers traced the patterns on her mother's armor. "I've been praying to the gods every night. They helped me find you." She sniffled, gripping at her mother's armor, trying to pull Rhea as close to her as possible. She held her tightly, falling asleep beside her mother one last time.
When she rose the next morning, the light had gently shone from beyond the clouds, pulling her from slumber.
Wiping her eyes, she glanced up at her mother. She traced her face with her fingertips, committing her to memory as she stared. 
Ignoring the rousing villagers, Zareya moved slowly, pulling a chrysanthemum out from between the rock and the ground. The white flower was tucked between her armor and tunic but would not stay. She reached in between, finding a piece of folded parchment. Zareya pulled it out, sitting up as she glanced at the symbol on the parchment. Jumping off the rock, she slipped what she assumed to be a letter into her book to read later.
Leaning forward and up on her toes, she placed a kiss on her mother's forehead. "Until night, I kiss you goodbye," she whispered, a stray tear slipping down her cheek as she shut her eyes.
━━━━━━━━✧♛✧━━━━━━━━
The following morning when Lord Arryn entered Rhea Royce's home, he found it oddly quiet. 
Zareya was usually up at this time rummaging through with food brought to her, but even she was nowhere to be seen.
Scratching the back of his head, Lord Arryn felt something had gone awry.
"Zareya?"
He moved to step closer to her door, knocking a few times. When there was no answer, he called out to her once more, realizing she may be asleep. He knocked once more before announcing he was opening the door, slowly creaking the wooden slab forward to find her room empty as well.
His eyes widened at the realization that she was not in the house.
"Zareya," he called out again, moving through the space once more in case he missed her and then onto the porch, finding it vacant as well. "Damn."
He saw Lord Stark making his way up the hill.
"Morning, Votros."
Votros nodded in greeting, seeming uneasy. "The girl is gone."
"Gone?" Stark questioned.
"She's not in her quarters. She must have wandered somewhere on the island."
Rickon turned to look over the lush hilly grasslands of The Vale. "You reckon she heard us last night?" He looked over to Votros, who was now beside him. 
"It's possible."
"We may have a runner from her fate. Don't think she'll take too kindly to me now."
"Easy, Stark. She's only a child. She's not even been made aware of her mother's death."
The tall, bearded man raised his brows in surprise. "You kept her in the dark for four days? What were you trying to protect her from?"
"Herself."
Rickon Stark halted and looked at Votros Arryn with wariness.
"These hills have eyes, my lord. If she's not found before nightfall, we may never see her again."
"And pray tell what makes this girl so powerful, Votros?"
The elder man, with sideburns, graying, and brown hair brushed and held back by a leather tie said, "she commands the wild."