Jorah and his entourage entered Winterfell through the bustling northern gate. Outside the castle walls, a formidable army of armed men patrolled diligently.

Once inside the gate, one's attention was immediately drawn to the impressive glass gardens, which provided sustenance to the castle during the harsh northern winters. Considering the cost of glass, these expansive gardens must have required a fortune.

Jorah couldn't help but lament his circumstances. Just building a few hundred boats broke the treasury of Bear Islands and things like glass gardens were simply out of his reach.

"Bear Island is truly too small. Winterfell could easily accommodate my entire castle and still have ample space," Jorah mused to himself.

Before arriving here, he had envisioned Winterfell as a backward castle, unfit for the seat of the Warden of the North. However, he now keenly felt the limitations of being a lord from a small island.

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"They have a glass garden overflowing with fruits and flowers. Then, there's even a forest within the castle walls. Furthermore, the liveliest town in the north lies just beyond their northern door. Why would they even think of progress when they have everything here?"

These thoughts churned within Jorah's mind like turbulent waves, but he maintained a composed countenance, silently cursing the fate of his house.

"The North doesn't require modern advancements. In these times, it simply needs food and weapons. And Winterfell possesses both," Jorah pondered repeatedly during the brief journey to the Great Hall.

"My lord, you may bring five riders with you into the Great Hall," Jory Cassel reminded Jorah as they arrived at their destination. The wide doors made of oak and iron swung open, and Jory entered first, allowing some space and time for the visitors.

Jorah and his men swiftly dismounted, with only the five riders at the forefront accompanying him. The rest of the soldiers were directed to the soldiers' quarters, while the horses were led to the stables.

Adjusting his armour, Jorah nodded to his men, who followed closely behind as they entered the Great Hall.

The Great Hall, where guests were received, housed the ancient high seat of the Kings in the North. The seat's cold stone had been polished by the many lords who had sat upon it, while its massive arms were adorned with intricately carved snarling direwolf heads.

Ned Stark, seated upon the high seat, exuded a commanding presence befitting a king. Jorah and his men immediately kneeled, bowing their heads before Lord Stark as a show of respect.

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"I, Jorah Mormont, the Lord of Bear Island, offer my apologies for the delay of my arrival, my lord," Jorah spoke with sincerity.

Ned Stark observed the Bear Lord and was taken aback by two things. Firstly, his armour was not the customary leather armour of the north but gleaming, solid metal that held value.

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Secondly, the discipline displayed by Jorah's men was striking. Most northern lords' riders would falter or stand awkwardly upon entering the main hall, either out of fear or due to the seat's intimidating power. But not these men.

"No delays, Lord Mormont. I am glad to see you here," Ned responded, waving his hand as an invitation for Lord Mormont to take his seat on the raised platform reserved for noble guests.

"It was never in question, milord," Jorah replied promptly, eliciting a sense of relief within Ned's heart. Ever since assuming the role of Lord Stark, Ned had always felt an invisible pressure weighing upon him—pressure to prove himself, to demonstrate the enduring strength of House Stark, and to survive the bloody war.

Amidst all the rapid changes, the unwavering loyalty of his bannermen. Bannerman as Bear Islands which will always be home to the fiercest warriors as his father would say.

Jorah gestured with his hand, and his five riders swiftly positioned themselves alongside the Stark soldiers in a symbolic show of unity. Their swords had been taken away by Jory before their entrance, leaving only Jorah with his ancestral blade.

Ned once again found himself surprised by the riders' swift and silent movements, as well as the efficiency of their unspoken commands. He exchanged a knowing glance with the servant who had been waiting with drinks for the lords, prompting the hurried arrival of the serving girl at Lord Mormont's seat.

After Jorah took his seat, Ned posed a symbolic question, "I haven't received any raven from Bear Island, if my knowledge is correct. Lord Jorah must have something important to discuss. Please, enlighten me."

"Aye, the war is over, milord, but certain customs must be observed. Our ancestors swore loyalty to House Stark, and for generations, we have proven it on the battlefield. Today, I too must take the same oath," Jorah explained.

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"Why must we burden ourselves with such formalities? Everyone pledged their oaths before we marched to war," Ned replied with sincerity.

"Milord, if I may interject," Maester Luwin spoke up, diverting their thoughts. "As Lord Mormont mentioned, certain customs must be honoured. For generations, the oath has always been sworn in the Godswood, beneath the heart tree."

The timely interruption from Maester Luwin redirected the two lords' attention, and Ned Stark nodded as if he had reluctantly conceded to this 'tedious' idea. Similar scenes had played out a dozen times over the past weeks, and both Ned and Maester Luwin delivered their lines fluently.

"Aye! Lord Jorah, I don't believe you've had the opportunity to visit the Godswood," Ned remarked.

"I'm afraid not, milord," Jorah responded with a flat yet respectful tone.

"Then let us do so tomorrow morning. You and your riders must be weary after the long journey, and I believe some rest and nourishment will work wonders."

"I thank you for your graciousness, milord." Jorah rose from his seat and saluted before Jory arrived, respectfully leading their party out. Jorah was assigned a room in the guest house, while his men were lodged with the soldiers of Winterfell.

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