“My Father,

I hope this missive finds you in good health and high spirits amidst the trials and tribulations of your noble duty of the Night's Watch. It has been far too long since my last letter, and I write to you now with tidings from Bear Island and beyond.

First and foremost, I am going to be a father and you, a grandpa. My wife, Lady Annara from House Farring of Crownlands, brought me joy I cannot express in words. And worry not, our friendship with House Glover stands strong. We stand together as friends and allies.

My health remains robust, and the people of Bear Island thrive under my stewardship. I have also conquered a couple of wildling tribes from the Frozen Shore and they have settled among our people peacefully.

The winds blow cold, but the spirits of our folk burn bright. As for the Wall, I am eager to know its current state. Are the supplies ample? Are there any new raids?

As I pen these words, my thoughts drift to you, standing steadfast upon the Wall, bearing the weight of silence and loneliness upon your weary shoulders. I marvel at the irony of our situations, Father.

Here we stand, both sworn to our respective duties, our paths diverging yet forever bound by blood and honour. I hold you in the highest regard and offer my unwavering support from afar.

By the time you have received this letter, I shall have marched for the journey to the Winterfell and then to you. We shall meet soon Father.

May the Old Gods watch over you and guide your steps in the days to come. I eagerly await your response, eager for news of your health and the state of the night’s watch.

Jorah Mormont

Your Son & Lord of Bear Island.

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The flickering flames in the hearth cast a warm glow across the chamber, illuminating the worn face of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Yes, in the three years, since Jeor Mormont came here, his ranks rose from a mere master-at-arms to the Lord Commander.

His once-piercing eyes, welled up with a few tears as he finished reading the letter from his son. The weight of the words and the pride they evoked swelled within him, threatening to spill forth in a torrent of emotions.

Maester Aemon, his withered form hunched with age, observed the Lord Commander's reaction and approached him gently. "My Lord, what news of the boy? I heard your tears, faint echoes of a father's love. Share with me the tidings that have moved you so."

Jeor Mormont, his voice choked with both sorrow and pride, replied, "Ah, Maester Aemon, you have to forgive this old man as the letter made me emotional. My son is going to be a father now.

Moments like these can truly shake a man’s resolve.”

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“They do. Don’t they? Our oaths bind us to a life of solitary and force us to give up on the past. But the joy and sorrows can still shake our hearts.”

Maester Aemon couldn’t speak about the sorrows he felt when he heard of the rebellion and the killings of his own family but cry alone. Now, he is not anyone else but Maester Aemon.

As they conversed, their voices carried through the chamber, and Ser Alliser Thorne, eating his own hot meal, overheard their discussion. With a sneer, he interjected, "A lordship bestowed upon a mere boy of nineteen nameday? This doesn’t suit the words honour or pride, Lord Commander."

Jeor Mormont's grief transformed into a thunderous resolve, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. "Careful, Ser Alliser, you know nothing of my son. From the tender age of five, he displayed the makings of a true warrior.

With the true spirit, he grasped a sword and shield of his own volition. By his tenth nameday, he was a masterful rider, adept at wielding his spear with deadly precision.

And by his fifteenth nameday, he possessed not only the skills of a warrior but the wisdom to hear the morning court, to train tirelessly in the evening, and to beat the ass of even the mightiest warriors of Bear Island."

Jeor Mormont's voice swelled with a mix of fierce pride and bittersweet longing. "In the night, he patrolled our island with the guards, protecting our people from the encroaching darkness. He earned the respect of our kin and the trust of our subjects, and they, of their own accord, began calling him 'Lord' by his seventeenth nameday."

His voice softened, tinged with a poignant nostalgia. "It was then, Maester Aemon, that I made the decision to leave my home, my responsibilities as a father, behind.

For I believed, with every fibre of my being, that Jorah was ready to take up the mantle of Lord. It was a duty that he embraced with fervour, honourably and dutifully. And thus far, he has not shamed me."

Maester Aemon's white eyes remain dry but his face had a bright smile.

"Your heart, burdened with both pride and longing, beats for your son, my Lord. His path is one forged by his own mettle, not simply by the name he bears. The people of Bear Island chose him, and he, in turn, chose to carry their hopes and dreams upon his shoulders.

It is a testament to his character, his strength, and the trust he inspires. You are…truly lucky My lord and truly blessed."

At that moment, the chamber fell silent, the weight of their words echoing in the air. Jeor Mormont, the proud father, and steadfast Lord Commander found solace in the knowledge that Mormonts name would be carried further with a new child. His son even managed to force those wild animals to bend their knee.

Something, no one had ever done so in the north before.

“I heard earlier about the reports of him, buying wood from the Deepwood Motte, Lord Commander?” Ser Alliser who was silent spoke.

“Aye, what of it, Alliser?”

“Why not ask them to cut down the trees outside our walls? As per our duty, we are supposed to cut down every tree a mile from the wall but look at our numbers.

We can hardly do it before the wildlings would drag us inside and butcher us. Since they need the wood, they can have it as long as they can come and cut down the trees. A large number of trained warriors would also keep those wildings guessing about our actions and keep them beyond the wall.

Plus, our brother might be able to hunt and bring some meat. Even I know that our supplies are always short.”

Ser Alliser out of his respect and politeness or maybe out of his greed for good supper, spoke about his idea.

“A good idea, Ser Alliser. A truly good one. Killing many birds with a stone. Display of power, Collection of wood and stocking of our supplies.” Even the old Maester Aemon could see the benefit of such a simple plan.

“Aye, the idea is truly not bad even if it is coming from Alliser’s mouth. I will write to him. I don’t think he will let such an opportunity pass. Copper is never important, but it is always in short supply when you need it.” Controlling his emotions, Jeor Mormont replied and went to collect ink and paper to reply to his son.

That night, a raven left the wall for the Winterfell and brought a good opportunity for Lord Mormont.