⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝟎𝟎𝟎.
[???]'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯
⎯⎯ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲.

a distant memory of sanora and her mother, and a grim prophecy...

⎯⎯⎯⎯
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝟏𝟐𝟑 𝐀𝐂

Nestled on the coast of the legendary Blazewater Bay proudly stood the great city of Esteport, known for its bustling and active atmosphere—so much so that legend states that the buildings have their own souls. No building, regardless of its stature, held a candle to the aura of the legendary castle that rested within the city walls, Esteroazul. It stood on the apex of a hill, towering way above the city. Its defensive walls were taller than any building in the city, and its tallest tower almost grazed the clouds. The castle's dark gray bricks and stained glass panes have seen countless years of love, war, struggle, and triumph, yet it remained untouched, except by the forces of nature.

Inside the castle's ancient bricks rested the seat of one of the great ancient houses of the realm, House Nalor, the Wardens of the lands between the Cape of Eagles, Blazewater Bay, and the Swamplands extending to the south of Moat Cailin, called the Tierra. A house whose blood is not of the First Men, the Andals, or Old Valyria or its freehold but from lands farther than any man in the three continents has ever seen.

Despite the castle's grandeur and reputation, what took place inside its walls was less than exciting. The castle was always relatively quiet; the only noises to be heard were the stifled footsteps of the servants tending to their daily duties or the bickering of the children of the house.

The day was indistinguishable from the rest; the same quiet overtook the castle. The afternoon sun spilled through the castle windows, leaving a kaleidoscope of colors on the stone. In the eastmost tower of the castle, a teenage girl quietly ascended the steps. Her deep auburn and white coils glistened in the afternoon sun, reminiscent of the albedo of fire and snow. Her deep dragon-like amber eyes reflected the sunlight, brimming with excitement as she approached a door at the end of the staircase. She clutched a thick dusty book in her arms that looked like it hadn't been touched for centuries.

When she reached the chamber door, she made her hands available and gently knocked. There was a brief moment of silence before a booming, accented voice called out from the other side, "Come in!"

Without hesitation, the girl opened the heavy door and entered the chambers. On the canopy bed at the center of the room, the figure of a woman resting was clear as day; it was her mother. Her long, kinky dark brown hair was plastered over the pillows, and her once rich caramel skin lacked its original warmth and color, yet her brown eyes remained vibrant and attentive.

"Ah! Sanora, my dear," the mother exclaimed as Sanora rushed to her bedside, dropping the dusty book at the edge of the bed to envelop her mother in a deep embrace. "Mother," she longingly hummed her arms lightly, squeezing her mother's body. They held each other, reveling in their warmth before her mother let go and kissed her forehead. It was such a gentle yet meaningful show of affection for Sanora.

"Where have you been, my love? It feels like centuries since I saw you last," her mother asked as Sanora sat beside her, chuckling.

"I've been consumed with work," she huffed tiredly. "The maesters and the septas have been driving me mad with their trivial lessons." Her mother hummed in response to her grievances and placed her hand on Sanora's.

"They aren't as trivial as you think, my dear. You might find them useful later on in life," her mother said, offering some wisdom to her daughter. Sanora loudly scoffed in disagreement, "Embroidery work is sure to help me become a painter."

Sanora had always been exceptionally gifted with a paintbrush. Since early childhood, she spent her time drawing, taking inspiration from her imagination and real-life references. When she turned seven, she had already begun to paint elaborate scenes, impressing many of those in Westeros who had seen her talents. Painting grounded her and made her feel connected to the people and things around her. Despite her art skills, she was awful with a needle and found absolutely no enjoyment in embroidery.

Her mother sighed and lightly shook her head. "You look at things from a narrow perspective. Embroidery teaches discipline and persistence—two traits you will very well need to pursue your talents," her mother retorted. She rolled her eyes in response. It was futile for her to ever rant to her mother; she was always quick to humble Sanora and offer a more optimistic perspective. It was a blessing and a curse.

"You're right. As you always are," she uttered in defeat, Sanora's head hanging low. She was inclined to rant on about the treacherous week she had endured without her dear mother, but that was not the reason she was here. Her mother had fallen victim to a violent fever a month prior that she had only been rid of last week. The Maester's still encouraged her to remain bedridden until she fully recovered, much to her mother's dismay.

"How have you been feeling as of late?" She inquired, tilting her head to look into her mother's eyes, a soft, rich brown the color of tree roots. They held a luster as the afternoon sun shone on them. They had a natural depth and warmth, evoking kindness and gentleness wherever she went. Her brown eyes were framed by wispy eyelashes, adding to her gentle appeal.

Her mother weakly smiled. "Much better, although I still have a bit of a cough. But my ailments should be better soon," she reassured her daughter, still maintaining her quaint smile. Characteristic of her mother, she always smiled; her full pink lips never seemed to drop, allowing smile lines to form. A testament to her optimistic nature despite her circumstances.

"A relief," Sanora sighed, a burden lifted off her shoulders. She was grateful for her mother's recovery.

"Your sisters? How have they been?" her mother asked, concerned. At the mere mention of them, Sanora could not contain her laughter. Memories of the week's incidents flooded her mind, including her sister's disobedience with the maesters and septas. "Mother, they are absolutely mad!"

Sanora adored her sisters despite their quirky and unruly natures. Still, as the eldest, she reluctantly had the obligation to attend to their care, including duties she was reluctant to do. She helped them with their lessons, played with them, and even found herself reprimanding and consoling them. With their mother sick and unable to care for them, she found herself assuming this role more often, to the point where she felt like a second mother.

Sanora got up from bed and began pacing around, detailing the story of her sisters and how they had been faring without their mother. She started with Solenn, the second oldest, the most obedient and dutiful child of her house, who spent her week studying and doing whatever the maesters and septas instructed. Then she moved on to Sinead and Shyllis, the middle and youngest child, who tormented the maesters and septas to the point where their toys were confiscated for the week, creating a sobbing blowout that Sanora had to settle. Lastly was the second youngest, Silera, her sister, who was mute. Despite this, her sister still got into trouble by evading lessons and disappearing within the castle's walls.

Her mother was delighted to know her daughters were still their usual selves even after their mother's absence. She voiced her hope she would soon be able to be with them again and participate in their daily activities and shenanigans.

After the long conversation about her sisters, she remembered the book she brought that she wanted to show her mother. She reached for the massive gray book, dusting off the cover off the bed. Her mother curiously inquired about the book and its contents. She tilted the book to show her mom the cover; a drawing of an eye rested on it.

"Maester Leonardo helped me find it. It's about the history of where our faith originated in The One Who Sees All. It's written entirely in our house's native tongue," Sanora detailed, her voice brimming with interest and excitement to share with her mother. "It's so fascinating." She flipped to a page whose corner she folded and translated it to her mother.

The story details the firsthand account of a prophet named Andrés, a teenage boy who lived in a quaint village in the lands west of Westeros and was said to have visions. They came to the boy in dreams, where he would see the future. He was seen as mad until he saved his village by his predictions of raiders burning his town. When questioned about these visions and their origin, he said that his sight was given to him by a god called 'El que lo ve todo,' or The all-seeing. For his belief in this god, as opposed to the gods his village worshiped, he was killed. It wouldn't be till centuries later that more people had these visions, and The all-seeing god was taken more seriously.

Her mother took a rather unusual interest in the story, paying close attention to the details and asking Sanora many questions about the prophet and the deity. Sanora was not religious by any means, but through her extensive study and interest in divination and theology, she could quickly answer her mother's burning questions and even rant about the other stories of prophets.

As Sanora excitedly flipped through the book to find the following story to read, her mother gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Sanora looked up into her mother's eyes, which held an unwavering smile. "Would you like to hear the story of how I named you?" Her question was random and unrelated to the topic, stopping Sanora from flipping her pages and retelling the stories.

Sanora closed the large book and set it aside. She was perplexed by her mother's sudden change in topic but curious to know what she would say next. She pensively nodded her head, and her mother instructed her to sit closer to her; Sanora's body was just inches away from her mother, and she could feel her raging body heat. Her mother looked deeply into her eyes before she began.

"A week before you came, I had no names in mind, despite your father giving me the privilege to name you. I looked through books and any records I could find that would be a name suitable for my firstborn, but I found none. Though, one night, on the day of a violent storm, I had a dream," her mother started, her voice trailing off, and she placed a hand on her daughter's plump cheek.

"In the dream, I was in the castle watching a group of children play idly with their toys, but only the child in the center playing alone caught my eye. It was a little girl with a stark resemblance to me, only she had fiery auburn, snow-white hair, and yellow amber eyes. Then one of the children called out to her. Sanora... Sanora, the child playfully called, and then all I remember was I suddenly awoke to thunder."

Sanora was beginning to see that the question was not random after all and had connections to her previous topic of conversation, likely reminding her of the vision she believed she had. She didn't think her mom was any prophet or apostle of the All-seeing God; her naming could've been coincidental.

Sanora decided to press further to gain more clarity. "Maybe you heard the name when you lived in Volantis?"

"I wouldn't have. My village was quite quaint. I could count my neighbors on one hand," she quickly retorted, extinguishing any doubt she had in her mother's vision. Sanora knew her mother was not one to lie to her daughter, even to try and prove she was right. Despite her reluctance, she believed her mother.

"Did the vision ever happen?" Her mother quickly cut off Sanora as if waiting for that question to be answered. "Yes. I saw the children of the other noble houses playing with you that day, the week of our annual festivities." Sanora could faintly recall that day she spent with the children of the lords within her kingdom's lands. They played relentlessly with their wooden trinkets while the adults drank and talked business.

With her vision confirmed, Sanora became curious about her mother's newfound ability. Her mind wandered, and she thought about her mother possibly being a prophet or a priestess, unknown to her this whole time.

"Have you had other visions," Sanora gently inquired, her childlike curiosity burning inside her. "Quite frequently."

"What do you dream about," she pressed further, leaning closer to her mother. She was aware she was entering her mother's personal territory.

Her mother's gentle smiling expression dropped slightly to a straight face. She stood quiet for a moment, pursing her lips. Her eyes darted around the room, refusing to make eye contact with her daughter. This behavior was unusual for her mother, causing Sanora to wonder if she had said something inappropriate to offend her mother or if it was a question her mother couldn't answer.

Her mother's gaze returned to Sanora; this time, she looked deeper into Sanora's eyes, her gaze piercing like a million tiny needles. A chill erupted down Sanora's spine, rattling her body. She didn't know why her mother's gaze felt threatening; perhaps it was the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere. A conversation full of excitement and wonder; Sanora believed she pushed it to a deep, more ominous conversation.

"You, my dear," she murmured, surprising Sanora. She wondered why her mother seemed so distant and was unsure if it was about her. The air in the room seemed to go still as Sanora pondered whether or not she should keep asking her mother about her visions. It felt wrong to press further, but her curiosity burned throughout her body, and she couldn't fight back.

"What do you see?" she asked hesitantly. Her mother was quiet, seemingly weighing the consequences of telling her daughter about her future. Knowing one's fate can ease expectations for the future but can also loom heavily on the mind and make one paranoid. After what felt like an eternity of her mother's silence and apprehension, she began to regret asking her, feeling as if she overstepped a boundary.

Breaking the silence, her mother spoke, her sturdy voice contrasting her previous statement. "There's greatness in your future, my dear," she stated vaguely, smiling faintly at Sanora. This answer wasn't nearly satisfying to Sanora; it answered nothing; all mothers tend to say this to their children.

Despite her building regret, Sanora did not find that answer satisfying enough; she desired more concrete details, even if they were undesirable. "What kind of greatness?"

Her mother cupped her daughter's hands on her own; Sanora could feel the sweat pooling in her mother's hands, which indicated her nervousness. Her mother started to speak, but her words got caught in her throat, and she sighed, trying to regain her composure.

"I believe you're old enough for this," her mother's whispers were foreboding, causing a knot to form in Sanora's throat that no amount of swallowing could dissipate. She wanted to turn back and pretend this whole conversation never existed, but her mother's words were entrancing; no matter how much she tried to move, she remained glued to her spot, paralyzed. Her subconscious curiosity overpowered her rationality.

Her mother took in air and spoke, her tone light but resonant. "You are to set a precedent; a greatness that no one in our house has achieved before. A strong and compassionate leader, venerated by your people. You are destined for the history books."

An overwhelming sense of pride crept into Sanora's heart; a small smile tugged on her lips. Her mother was less amused, holding a stoic expression that tilted into bitterness. Upon seeing her mother's unmoving grimace, worry festered in her heart about the rest of what would unfold in her future.

"A war will soon befall Westeros... a war you must fight to prove your capacity to lead. Alliances, allies, friends, and enemies you will make, but you must remain steadfastly loyal to your house and your people, or you will watch it crumble by your hand," her mother declared; Sanora's face twisted with confusion.

War was a daunting prospect foreign to women, especially those of her status. Sanora had learned to wield a blade, but only for her protection if she was ever in imminent danger, not to fight in a war. The idea of her shedding blood and taking a life amongst the clanging swords and the clash of shields on a battlefield formed a churning pit in her stomach.

Despite her tendency to be combative and aggressive, she wasn't sure she had the heart to slay a man. Her talents were better suited to creating life through art, not taking one. She hoped her mother's words were figurative and not literal.

"Do not fret, my child. You will prevail," her mother added, lifting some uneasiness off Sanora's shoulders. But her fear still resided in the prospect of battle.

"That doesn't sound too bad," Sanora nervously laughed to lighten the atmosphere. Her mother deeply frowned at her feigned amusement. Her mother tightened her grip around her daughter's hands, causing her to wince, and leaned in closer, her voice shaking as she spoke, "But it is."

Her mother's frightened demeanor sent a deep chill down Sanora's spine. She had never seen her mother behave in this manner before. The weight of this prophecy had shattered her once smiling and optimistic nature. For Sanora, it was a truly horrific sight.

"Nothing comes without a price. I see great sorrow in your future—unrelenting grief. The time will come when you will suffer a significant loss, and your perception of the world will wither. You must shed the identity of the girl you once were to become the woman you are meant to be. Let the pain shape and mold you, transform it into passion, but do not let it consume," her mother's quivering voice shuddered in her best attempt to remain composed in front of her daughter.

Sanora's mind was in unrest. Every word her mother spoke raced through her mind, trying to paint a picture of her mother's grim prediction. Grief? Who or what would she lose? What woman would she become? Endless possibilities bounced around in her head, building a pressure she thought would make it explode.

"What will I lose?" Before she could finish her question, her mother relinquished her hands and tightly cupped her face in her warm, sweaty, and trembling hands. She pulled Sanora closer, their noses almost touching. Her mother's ragged breaths danced across her skin.

"Tough decisions will be made, and you must betray people dear to you. Blood will be on your hands, but do not become bloodthirsty. I beg of you, don't become bloodthirsty," Tears welled in her mother's eyes as she fervently begged her daughter. The sight of tears from her mother was a rare sight that sent a chill down her spine and made her heart sink deep into her stomach.

The mention of blood and betrayal was nauseating and overwhelming, not helped by the fact that her mother was becoming a bundle of nerves. Betraying people was a concept that conflicted with her character. She considered herself devoted to the ones she loved; there was nothing she wouldn't do for them.

As her mother's tears continued to well in her eyes, she feared for her mother's sanity. With the same intensity, she feared for her own; she'd instead jump off the castle's highest tower than experience her mother's prediction.

"Sanora, listen to this part carefully," she began, letting a tear fall from her eye. Do not seek to control the things you cannot, or you will control nothing. You will always prevail if you heed this." Her mother's warning was poetic yet unnerving.

Sanora, in a state of shock, could only mutter the words, "I won't." Her mother feigned a smile despite her tears, softened the grip on her daughter's face, and pulled her closer to plant a delicate kiss on her forehead. She withdrew her hands and wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her nightgown, nervously chucking at her display of tears.

"I... I'm sorry," her mother stammered. Sanora shook her head and touched her mother's shoulder. "You shouldn't be. I needed to know." The room was filled with awkward silence as the mother and daughter sat, both taking in the deep conversation that occurred, unsure of what to say next.

Sanora broke the silence. "You've known this for a long time. Why now?"

A flash of worry and sadness appeared on her mother's face again. Her once warm and kind features melted and transformed into something deeply unrecognizable. Her mother expressed another sense of apprehension before she spoke.

"Our time is fleeting, my dear...," her voice trailed off. Sanora's face contorted into confusion, "What do you mean?" Her mother's eyes wandered from her daughter, lost in thought.

"We are both getting older. Soon you will belong to another," she stated, and Sanora laughed wholeheartedly. The thought of marriage genuinely disgusted her and made her feel uneasy. She lacked the traits to make a good wife and hated the prospect of children. Dealing with her sisters was already a handful; she didn't need more monsters running around.

"Please be jesting," she groaned, and her mother smirked. "You'll see. I'm he'll be a great and honorable man," her mother reassured. Sanora rolled her eyes.

Shattering the depth of the conversation, the chamber door burst open, and a man stumbled in with a boisterous, drunken laugh. It was her father, clearly intoxicated as he staggered into the room, his disheveled auburn and white hair adding to his disreputable appearance.

"Iorva, my dear wife," he cooed in a drunken slur. Her mother stifled her chuckle. It was a sight she had gotten used to, her husband inebriated after spending his mornings and afternoons in the tavern, but it remained amusing.

Sanora did not share the same amusement. She scoffed at his disheveled appearance. She, too, was used to his drinking habits, but she didn't find them amusing; she found them repulsive and disgusting, a testament to his shameful character.

"Husband," her mother's feathery voice acknowledged as her father climbed onto the bed. As her father neared closer. She could smell the pungent smell of alcohol mixed with sweat.

"I want to bed you right here, right now," he asserted savagely, not paying Sanora's presence any mind. Sanora looked at her father with a face of pure disdain and irritation.

"Silas, your daughter is in the room," she reminded him, clearly embarrassed by his reckless mouth. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, swatting his hand, "Leave us, girl."

Sanora looked at her mother, clearly upset and irritated. Her father did not care to notice her presence and swatted her away as if she was merely a servant girl. He had managed to interrupt a raw moment between Sanora and her mom so he could indulge in his lust. It deeply pained her to be ignored and neglected by her father, kindling the rage that burned within her.

Her mother noticed her daughter's pained expression and weakly smiled. "You can come back tomorrow, my dear," she whispered. Feeling cast aside, Sanora swiftly rose from the bed, snatched up the book she had brought, and stomped to the door to make her exit.

Before she could leave, her mother called her name. Sanora turned to face her, observing her father already making his advances on her mother.

"Kesan va moriot sagon lēda ao... se mōris hen jēda," her mother spoke in Valyrian, her mother tongue. Her mother had spent years teaching her the intricacies of the language, making Sanora fluent. They often used it as code whenever they couldn't talk freely, or it was words meant for only their ears.

I will always be with you... till the end of time.