After her wishes was granted by a random deity named R.O.B, the young lady who had once lived an peaceful life in the modern world, was sent across the world into a land of snow, frozen wasteland, full of mysteries and supernatural old magic, and a place where she called it her new – 'HOME'. She arrived not with blinding light pillar from the sky or causing massive destruction on a terrain, but the way she appeared in more graceful with the power of Dimensional Travel.
The female reincarnator's new name is Olivia Morningstar, the first Dark Angel of Westeros.
And the place where she appeared right now was the heart of the North called Winterfell, the ancient stronghold of House Stark. The Winterfell rose beyond the trees within gray stone walls built by First Men's Ancestors and Giants, yet she didn't arrive outside of its walls. Instead, she arrived in beneath the silent branches of the Godswood, where the old gods were said to watch their followers through the carved face with solemn eyes of pale wood.
Surprisingly, no man didn't even noticed her arrival. Not even the slightest thing to tell about her arrival to Lord Stark personally.
No Stark guards or Knights upon the walls glimpsed the faint shimmer that gathered among the trees before fading into stillness. Not even the smallfolk or the House keepers dared to cross the yards of the castle to look toward the peaceful forest where snow lay undisturbed.
So, she had come here earlier than she expected. Or perhaps, R.O.B's assistant - The Fate itself has favored her presence.
Now, Olivia stood alone on the Weirwood tree. She observed it quietly, as she silently prayed to the Old Gods, even if she was a Dark Angel. The air itself was colder than anything she had known in her former life, sharp enough that each breathe heavily, carrying a hint of discomfort. However, the cold didn't bothered her, its cold breeze of wind settled against her skin like a distant sensation, mixed with a hint of warmth in it.
It's trunk rose in pale and smooth white tree bark from the snow-covered earth, vast roots twisting outward like the fingers of something buried beneath the ground. As the leaves that clung to its branches were deep red, quite perfect against the muted colors of winter. They stirred faintly in the wind, though the surrounding trees remained still.
Its carved face watched her. Their deep-cut eyes stared from the white bark, both solemn and unmoving. And its mouth curved in an expression that might have been sorrow or patience or something older than either.
Olivia regarded it in silence. She did not kneel.
Because there was a strange sensation in standing before the tree, something she couldn't easily name it. It was not out of fear, though the place carried a weight that pressed quietly on her thoughts.
It wasn't about devotion. To her, it felt like recognition. Although, something unseen had turned its attention toward her.
The idea might once have seemed foolish to the Dark Angel, but this world was not the one she had left behind. Here in the North, men swore that gods listened through the carved face in both wood and flowing water. But she herself had crossed death to stand in their faintly, divine presence.
It would have been arrogance to assume no one watched. However, the winds have shifted as the handful of red leaves loosened from the branches and drifted slowly downward. Olivia followed its descent with her eyes.
For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe without a thought. Everything around her, it was all real. Not a dream, nor an illusion granted in the instant before death.
The ground beneath her feet was solid, covered in snow. The air carried the scent of frost and bark. Somewhere beyond the trees, with the power of super-hearing abilities as Dark Angel, she could hear from the distant - a faint sounds of Winterfell beginning its day – men switched their spots for guarding both Noble family and smallfolks, and the muted clatter of work from the housekeepers already underway.
All life continued, as she stood apart from it. Truly a Fallen Angel walks among humans.
After that, her gaze returned to the carved face. If the old gods truly watched through these eyes, then they would see what she was.
She wasn't born of this world, she was sent to be reborn in this world as another being. Not wholly human, but as a real Angel who fell from grace, a pretender that betrayed New Gods in favor of the Old Gods.
A stranger granted form and purpose by powers beyond their knowing. Olivia wondered what kind of judgment they might pass.
These thought didn't trouble her as much as she might have expected. Instead, she felt a quiet steadiness settle within her.
"By Old Gods, I will keep my oath. I swear it by your name. " Olivia said softly. As her voice sounded different to her own ears, her enchanting voice sounded more like melodious yet dark, cold and composed, and sometimes very commanding yet regal than before. It carried so easily through the still air, though she hadn't meant to speak loudly.
With that, her words faded among the trees. No answer came, yet their silence didn't feel empty.
She remained there for some time, neither praying nor turning away from the Old Gods, instead she sensed something or someone is coming to her direction or the Old Gods in Weirwood tree.
The sound of a footsteps came first, as quiet as a Wolf travel in snow. It didn't seem like walking in fast paced, it was measured through step by step. It wasn't the heavy clad of armored knights, nor the careless movement of little children or smallfolk at play or work.
No, it's someone else who walked the familiar paths of the Godswood. Olivia turned her head slightly, listening as it comes before her.
The rhythmic steps suggested a single person, completely alone – isolated from the pack.
A young person, perhaps, though confident and holds no fear like a wolf, as it moves into the path of the Weirwood Tree without hesitation.
The Dark Angel didn't hide herself, as she remained still before the Old Gods of Weirwood Tree. There's no point of that, because sooner or later, the people of Winterfell or the North would know her existence. Better that the first meeting would come perfect without any signs of deception.
As the footsteps drew nearer, a person appeared between the trunks of the ancient trees. It was an adolescent boy, perhaps fourteen years of age or in the Westorosi's custom - 4 and 10 name days.
He has perfectly long face of a Stark, he also has a dark, brown hair with grey eyes, however unlike all people (exception of Lord Stark and Howland Reed) – Olivia noticed a small tinted color of purple in his irises, and a slight dragon-like pupils disguised as a human eyes. He is graceful and quick, and has a perfectly balanced body that handled both swordsmanship and noble bloodline, even though he's born as a Bastard son. His leather clothing was plain black but well-made, suited for the northern climate. A wolf cape hung on his shoulders, as its edges marked with traces of melting snow.
There was something solemn in his bearing that seemed older than his years. He walked toward the heart tree with quiet purpose, his gaze lowered in thought, not knowing that Olivia was there.
And for the first time that Olivia Morningstar herself, met with her favorite character from the book – "A Song of Ice and Fire", a True Promised Prince and hidden heir of the Iron Throne.
This was no ordinary adolescent boy, he is Jon Snow – a so-called bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark and hidden heir to the Iron Throne, a Future King of the North after Robb Stark's death and a Future King of Westeros.
Seeing him personally, was a strangest thing than she had ever imagined. Both her memory and expectation had shaped a good image in her mind, yet the boy before her was neither hero nor legend. He was simply a young man walking alone through the winter trees, carrying whatever burdens belonged to his life. However, she'll change his fate, she will make him an Honorable Knight and a King. She isn't a Kingmaker, she is a Dark Angel who will guide the purest soul to achieve its purpose.
Luckily, Jon didn't noticed her because his attention remained fixed on the snowy path as he approached to the Weirwood tree. Although, she noticed his usual mood seemed he is brooding over something, perhaps he was quite disappointed that Lord Stark didn't told him about his mother, but that secret will reveal soon.
As the bastard son of Stark lost his thoughts, he focused his gaze on what he was walking through, and by the time he looked up… he stopped himself before he looked at her. He was deeply captivated by her beautiful face, a shining yellow hair fading into fiery orange, and a mesmerizing red ruby colored eyes. Although, he has no clue what kind of clothes she's wearing.
Unbeknownst to him, Olivia knows what kind of clothes she was wearing: she wears a dark ornate breastplate over a white, eyelet-designed or lacy top, black pleated skirt, a red belt with gold accents, and a bronze-golden thigh-high boots with shading.
After Jon observed her, he saw something at her head, it was a pair of horns like she's some kind of a demon in a human flesh. Which it made him looked cautious and on-guard, his sword arm reached the hilt of his sheathed sword that was attached on his waist. And that's when he asked her.
"Who are you?" He spoke with cold, threatening voice. That's where the Dark Angel revealed her 'true' form before him.
"Who am I? My name is Olivia, Olivia Morningstar – A Dark Angel. A former Angel who decided to betray her 'creators', the Seven who are One, and sided with the Old Gods. The Will of Freedom and Justice. The Fallen One. The Defender of the North. And the Protector of the Promised Prince. I've come here to serve you and your family, and to become your Guardian of the House Stark. It's an honor to meet you, White wolf of Winterfell." She introduced herself to Jon Snow, before she unfurled something on her back – it was a pair of huge and majestic deep black and dark purple Wings, with a faint golden feather tips.
This is the first time that a Bastard son of Lord Stark gazed upon the most beautiful woman in Westeros, unrivaled by both High-born status (Royalty, major or minor nobility) and low-born women, and an otherworldly being who's closer to the goddess of love and beauty.
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Before the Dark Angel's arrival, the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark – Jon Snow woke up before dawn, as he often did when sleep refused to hold him.
And the chamber he stays was quite dim and cold, as the embers in the hearth long since faded into dull red shapes beneath gray ash. And a thin light pressed faintly against the wooden shutters, not yet strong enough to be called morning. Even the winter lingered in the stone walls, and the air carried the quiet chill that never truly left the North.
While he lay still for a time, staring upward into darkness.
His sleep was disturbed by something else during night time, and whatever rest he had found left him uneasy. His so-called wolf dreams had followed him into waking, both vague and unsettled, and completely dissolved whenever he tried to grasp them clearly.
He barely remember something: not the light fall that sometimes drifted across the Winterfell's yards, but a deeper snow that swallowed sound and shape alike. He had walked through it alone, though he couldn't say where the path had led him.
And there had been something else along the way: it is a presence. Not any kind of threatening, yet it is impossible to ignore. He couldn't recall its face or the voice, only the sense of being watched by the eyes he could not see.
Shaking off his thoughts, he shifted beneath the blankets and let out a slow breathing as he try to sleep again.
In his perspective, his dreams meant nothing more than the illusion. As Old Nan said, there are signs which is given by the Old Gods themselves, but Maester Luwin claimed they were only the wandering thoughts of a sleeping mind. Jon did not know which of it was true.
He only knew that dreams would not return.
But at least, he decided to wake up early before preparing himself.
The floor was so cold beneath his feet as he dressed, fastening the plain dark garments he preferred. They were simple enough not to draw notice, sturdy enough for training in the yard.
Black really suited him, as he is a Bastard - Snow, not a legitimize son of Lord Stark.
That name lingered in his thoughts as it often did when he woke alone. It was a small difference in sound, yet it marked a greater one in truth.
Unlike him, his other half-brothers – Robb as an heir would inherit Winterfell and become the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, while Bran and little Rickon would grow into their places as sons of the lord. As for his half-sisters – Sansa and/or maybe Arya would wed into noble houses. The Ward – Theon Greyjoy, nevermind of the squid who loves his archery and fucking random whore in a brothel. For the bastard, he has nothing more than becoming a Ranger of the Night's Watch in the future.
Jon tightened the clasp of his cloak on his hand. As bastards might be acknowledged, or even welcomed, but they did not belong in the same way.
That was the truth of it, no matter how kindly Lord Stark treated him, the castle stirred faintly as he stepped into the corridor. Few servants passed carrying a basket of kindling, nodding respectfully before continuing on.
Somewhere below, voices echoed distantly from the kitchens. The sun rises as the morning had begun.
Jon walked without clear purpose at first, following familiar passages worn smooth by generations of use. He had known these halls since childhood, yet sometimes they felt less like home and more like a prison in his lifetime.
But there's one thought that always returned again and again. He only thought of his mother.
It had come to him in dreams before, and each time it left him restless. Other boys spoke easily of their mothers, even those who had lost them young. They had names to remember, faces to imagine.
But Jon had nothing. There's only a silence. Because Lord Stark rarely spoke of her in the past, and never mentioned of her.
Jon had once accepted that silence without a question. He had been younger then, content with what answers he had. Now, the absence felt heavier. He paused for a moment at a turning in the corridor, staring towards the stairway that led upward to the solar where Lord Stark often worked.
The decision formed slowly in his mind. If he did not ask now, he never would. So then, Jon climbed the steps and walk to the halls until he came at last to the heavy wooden door guarded by few of Lord Stark's men. The guards posted there knew him well enough to admit him without question, as they let him enter Lord Stark's solar.
As Jon enters Lord Stark's solar, the solar stood much as it always did. A narrow window admitted what little light the morning offered. A table stood near it, strewn with parchments and sealed letters. The air carried the faint scent of wax and old paper.
Lord Eddard Stark sat on his chair, reading the letters from Bear Islands. He looked up as Jon entered.
"Jon." Ned's voice held its usual calm, as Jon stepped forward before greeting him.
"Father." Jon greeted his Father. Although, Ned studied him briefly.
"You woke up so early." Ned said to his 'Bastard Son', but Jon answers him with half-truths.
"I could not sleep, Lord Stark." Jon answered, but he couldn't just call him 'Father', not yet.
"That comes to many at your age." Ned commented, as he set aside the letter before looking at his son.
While Lord Stark is waiting, Jon felt hesitated. The words seemed harder to shape now that the moment had come. Still, he pressed with a question in his mind.
"There is something I wish to ask." He said, as Lord Stark raises his eyebrows in confusion.
"If I may answer, I will." Lord Stark gave his son some time to ask him with a question. Thus, the reply was measured, neither welcoming nor refusing. Jon took a deep breath before he ask him about–
"It is about my mother." That question change in Lord Stark's expression, tensed but certain.
"You have asked that question before, Jon. I can't answer that question anymore." Lord Stark couldn't give him the right answer.
"And you did not answer." Jon countered his words, because he knew that it would be the same. Silence settled between them, as the Bastard son of Stark forced himself to continue.
"I am no longer a child. I should know." Jon pleaded to his father to tell him about his mother. But Lord Stark regarded him steadily.
"There are truths that bring more burden than comfort." Ned said with honesty, because if he said it earlier, his 'son' couldn't possibly handle the truth.
"She is no burden to me." Jon denied the fact that he's burden to his deceased mother.
"You cannot know that, son. At least, not yet." Ned tried his best, not to reveal his 'sonʼs' mother. However, Jon felt his frustration rising, and his wolf's blood flows deeply in his veins like the Winter Kings.
"I do not even know her name." Jon's eyes narrowed, because he never heard of of his mother's name.
"Names are not always gifts." Eddard Stark's voice remained peaceful. That answer struck on Jon's mind as an evasion.
"Other men know their mothers." Jon told him that every boys knows of their mothers, yet Ned literally counter his words as he said: "You are not like other men."
These words came without harshness, yet they stung all the same. Jon's hands tightened.
"I am your son." Jon said it to his father, yet Ned replied to him as he said—
"You are my 'son', but not truly." The moment the words from his father left him, he felt their weight. Ned's gaze hardened slightly before he said to his son– "You are my blood."
"Then why can you not tell me?" Jon asked him again, but silence followed. It took longer than he expected when Lord Stark spoke.
"You have a place here, in Winterfell. You are at home now. That is what matters for me." Ned told his son, before he whispered to himself where Jon couldn't hear his words; "For your safety."
Unfortunately for Jon, it wasn't not enough while he lowered his head.
"I only wished to know who she was." He only hoped or wished for his mother's identity from his Lord Father.
"(Sigh) I'm sorry, Jon. But I have told you what I will." The Lord of Winterfell ended their conversation, leaving Jon who bowed his head stiffly.
"A… as you say, Lord Stark. I'll take my leave." Jon turned toward the door before more words could come. The corridor beyond felt colder than before.
And his anger lingered through his head, though he regret followed close behind it. He had spoken too sharply, yet the questions remained unanswered.
And so, the only place that could cool off his anger or any signs of Wolf's Blood is the Godswood. He made his way across the yard, ignoring the presence of smallfolk and guards, and through the familiar gate leading into the trees. The snow lay quiet beneath his steps, as the noise of the castle faded behind him.
Among the trees, the air seemed fresh and older somehow, quite still and a bit more peaceful. Jon followed the path toward the heart of a Tree called a Weirwood tree.
As always, he meant to pray for the Old Gods. And perhaps to find a measure of peace before returning to duties that awaited him.
As he walked with his gaze lowered, thoughts turned inward, yet fully unaware that someone waited before the weirwood.
'What did I do wrong? I've always want to know who's my mother, nothing more. I have a father who raised me as his, but never mentioned of my mother, I have my half-brothers and sister who supported me, save for Sansa and Lady Stark who is very distant or hated me. Now, I have no mother who would shower me with love, yet I haven't received any of it.' Jon thought to himself, for he longed for his mother's love. He was indeed raised by his father under his care, his half-brothers: Robb, Bran and little Rickon as well as his little she-wolf Arya supported him, and for Lady Catelyn Stark and Sansa Stark – he received nothing more than coldness, hatred and pain because they viewed him as a Bastard who will usurp the heir of Winterfell in the future. However, he remember something about his strange 'Wolf Dreams' came out of his mind.
'Speaking of it, who is that girl in my dreams? Is she a stranger to me, or is she a person who is supposedly to be my… soulmate.' He thought about the girl who he dreamed of. But when he looked up… he stopped only to see her.
What he saw is a beautiful girl-, no… THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN that he'd ever seen!! Her body is so beautiful, slim but curvy build that balances her nobility status and swordswoman, her face is the most attractive part: her face has divine beauty, her beautiful long yellow hair which is fading into fiery orange, and her red-ruby colored eyes are so mesmerizing, that could make other men fall before her. Her clothing were so different from the woman with holds nobility or royal status, he couldn't distinguish what kind of clothes she's wearing, but it also charmed him just by looking at her. But what surprises him was a pair of horns that were sticking out of her head, like she's some kind of a demon in a human flesh.
'Wait, horns? Is she a human or a demon of Seven Hells that were mentioned by Old Nan's tale? I shouldn't let my guard down!' Jon suddenly tensed up, because he realized that the girl in front of him wasn't a human at all. He didn't know what kind of being she is, but Jon acted quickly as he put his hand on the sheathed blade' s hilt… ready to draw the blade if needed.
"Who are you?" Jon spoke coldly, with a hint of threatening voice. That's where the mysterious woman said before revealed her 'true' form in front of his eyes.
"Who am I? My name is Olivia, Olivia Morningstar – A Dark Angel. A former Angel who decided to betray her 'creators', the Seven who are One, and sided with the Old Gods. The Will of Freedom and Justice. The Fallen One. The Defender of the North. And the Protector of the Promised Prince. I've come here to serve you and your family, and to become your Guardian of the House Stark. It's an honor to meet you, White wolf of Winterfell." The girl named Olivia Morningstar had finally introduced herself to him, before she unfurled something on her back – it was a pair of huge and majestic deep black and dark purple Wings, with a faint golden feather tips.
'Impossible, to think that the most beautiful woman of both Westeros and Essos like her… happens to be a part of a new, unknown race that shouldn't exist in First Men and Andal's histories. Closer to any Gods or Goddesses, and more than a mythical creatures like Dragons, Giants, Children of the Forest and White Walkers. And on top of that, she is… my soulmate, my light, my equal and my future wife.' Jon thought before he declares that "Olivia" as his only equal, his soulmate and his only light that could shower him with love.
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