The encounter with the bandits was just a minor incident for Jorah and his Bear Army, but they still had a considerable distance to cover. The challenge lay in traversing the uneven terrain, scattered with sharp rocks and hidden pits. This made the horses skittish and posed difficulties for the carriages to navigate.
However, as they ventured deeper into the forest, they found the land gradually becoming smoother. This was due to Winterfell's proximity, with its soldiers and scouts diligently maintaining these areas. Consequently, the journey became more manageable.
Jorah, riding at the forefront, grew exceedingly bored with the monotony of the expedition. He grumbled and cursed the northern lords and their foolish behaviour.
* They neglected matters of trade, considering counting coppers beneath them.
* They failed to educate the serfs and local populace, believing these people should earn their bread as soon as possible.
* Even the roads connecting their lands went unmaintained, as they feared it would provide easy access for wildlings, bandits, or ironmen.
Content to dwell within their own castles, on their own lands, the northern lords led blissful lives.
"This road seems never-ending!" Jorah muttered to himself. Elros, who wished to say something, held his tongue upon seeing his lord sighing incessantly.
In Elros's mind, they were already halfway to Winterfell. How could the road still be long?
"My lord! The carriages require repair once again," Elros informed Jorah, interrupting his musings and complaints.
"The fourth time, isn't it? Just do what needs to be done. We can't avoid it," Jorah grumbled, his mood sour. The wooden carriages were notoriously unreliable, but there was no alternative. Converting the wheels to metal was not feasible, as it would burden the horses if the carriages grew too heavy.
There was no easy solution to this problem. They could only mend the wheels, axles, and other components as needed and press on. Three days later, Elros brought good news.
"My lord, scouts have sighted riders up ahead. They bear the Stark sigil."
"Thank the Old Gods! Raise our banners and let us meet them. It is always easier to journey when guided by others," Jorah spoke joyfully to Elros.
Indeed, Jorah's spirits lifted, for the presence of riders indicated their proximity to Stark's lands, and riders always possessed knowledge of the swiftest and safest routes to their lord's castle.
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"Halt! Who goes there?"
Three riders, having spotted the approaching army, called out loudly from a distance. This distance provided them the opportunity to assess the army's intentions and retreat with news if anything seemed amiss.
"You stand in the presence of Lord Jorah, the ruler of Bear Islands," Elros introduced Jorah and their army.
The riders quickly noticed the raised banners, their tense nerves relaxing upon recognizing the green flag adorned with a black bear.
"I beg your pardon, my lord. There have been reports of bandits lurking in the forest in recent weeks, hence our caution," one of the riders in the front quickly apologized.
"No trouble at all. Now, can you lead us back to Winterfell? We have been delayed in these woods for far too long," Jorah declared, mounting his horse and addressing the riders calmly.
"It would be our honour, Lord Mormont," the rider replied respectfully, and they became the guides for the remainder of the journey.
As Jorah, accompanied by a select group of skilled soldiers, moved swiftly, the gift carriages lagged behind, safeguarded by the remaining soldiers under Elros's command.
As they drew closer to Winterfell, Jorah couldn't help but feel a sense of wonderment in this world. Castles like Winterfell had been constructed thousands of years ago, yet they still stood tall today.
However, the same could not be said for the roads. Winterfell was no ordinary wooden or mud castle like those owned by most northern lords. It was a sprawling fortress spanning numerous acres, encircled by two massive granite walls. The largest village in the north thrived just outside the castle's protective embrace.
Jorah and his entourage made their way straight to the main entrance. After a routine inspection, they were granted permission to enter Winterfell. Jorah couldn't help but observe the prosperity that thrived beyond Winterfell's walls. It was as if the war had never touched this region. People diligently worked, children ran about, and merchants and even pleasure girls plied their trade.
While Bear Island had also flourished, it still required time for its prosperity to fully blossom. Winterfell, on the other hand, was decades ahead in this regard.
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"My lord, Lord Jorah and his retinue have just arrived in Winterfell. They comprise a hundred soldiers, as reported by the riders. They also have a few carriages with them," Jory Cassel, the captain of the guards, informed Lord Stark. Ned Stark, who was inspecting the newly constructed stables, was not surprised by the arrival of the party.
Many lords had already visited Winterfell since the war's end to pledge their allegiance. The Mormonts were merely a bit delayed.
"Better late than never. Hopefully, the young bear has tamed his wild spirit!" Ned contemplated. He vividly recalled how, on the battlefield, the new Lord of Bear Island would lead his troops and even challenge his superiors' orders.
His eyes were different from other Lords when Ned met him for the first time. There was clear disobedience and cunning that he never liked. Still, it’s good that they are here.
"Jory, gather the guards and escort the entourage here. Ensure their soldiers remain outside, allowing no more than five men to enter the main hall," Ned commanded, and Jory promptly saluted before rushing off.
Ned Stark informed Maester Luwin, who, in turn, relayed the message to the maids and castle guards, while also instructing the cooks to prepare a feast. Courtesy must be maintained when lords convene, especially when paying respects and demonstrating loyalty.