Three weeks later, Jorah Mormont and his team finally reached Castle Black. The journey on the frozen ground with strong winds smashing their faces like thin needles was not easy for anyone. Thankfully, all of them were on horses or mules and the journey was not long.

Castle Black, if it can be called a castle at all is a wooden monstrosity placed roughly in the middle of the wall. It is a dark and chilling home to its garrison. Most of it is just wood and they replace it every year or so. Still, with less than a hundred men, they have managed to keep it from falling apart.

When Jorah was standing outside the gate, he was carefully watching it. Thinking of his own castle, the soft bed, the warm food and then about his father.

How can there be such a man who will leave every bit of pleasure and comfort he had in his own castle and willingly come here to eat stale frozen bread with these kinds of people?

What kind? Rapists, murderers, and the abandoned sons of the entire Westeros. Petty thieves that stole chickens for their families to bastards who put a knife through someone's neck in some drunken fights. This place has all kinds of men but rarely it will receive people like his father.

A true lord who had been ruling his land for years and a man who understands war and live with honour. This place was not for him. Jorah felt a huge sense of guilt over his heart thinking all this.

"Honour and duty! Words I will never understand as much as my father it seems," Jorah murmured before the castle's gate opened and a team of men welcomed them inside. In the centre of the main ground, was his father.

Jorah walked straight to him with little moist eyes and hugged him tightly.

"Oye! A lord doesn't shed tears like a little girl. Wipe it off, boy!"

"Ah! Missed your voice, Father!"

On the square frozen face of Jeor Mormont, full of white hair and wrinkles, there was a proud smile. He gave a nod to the soldiers who were still standing behind their lords and maintaining discipline.

"You trained them fine, Lord Mormont!"

"Aye! I did what I had to do to keep them alive," Jorah responded by waving his hands and the men immediately disbanded and became normal. They broke into smaller groups and ran to the nearest fireplace.

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"I would give anything to have these kinds of men here," A voice interrupted the meeting of the two bears.

"Jorah, meet Ser Alliser Thorne. He is the one responsible for the men who are sent here and to turn them into worthy fighters. Master-at-arms and also a good one with a sword." Commander Mormont introduced Alliser and similarly others.

After a short meeting, Jorah came into the meeting hall where all the important men took a seat for discussion.

"So, father how are the supplies here? From what I can see so far, the men barely have any meat to eat."

Jorah asked straightaway the troubling question.

"The food is a problem, yes, but so is everything. We do what we can, and we try to do better," the old Maester Aemon spoke.

"The wall is not what it used to be Jorah. Everyone knows." Commander Mormont spoke in a soft tone.

"And yet, here you stand!"

"Yes, here I stand!"

Jorah felt anger, guilt and pain looking at his old father. The room was silent for a while before Jorah found words again.

"Understood. I brought some supplies that can last for a while. After our trip outside, we will also hunt what we can. We will leave the meat here and take the fur and pelts. If possible, I will capture some animals that can be raised and send them to Winterfell.

Lord Stark can surely put some men in charge of that."

Jorah answered to everyone in the room and Benjen Stark sitting at a table nodded. He knew it wasn't hard for his brother, the warden of the north to put some farm boys on this task.

"Good. That should do for now. Benjen here, will go before you and take a tour to check on the situation outside. Another team will follow Ser Alliser and he will go with you.

A few miles outside the wall, there is a village."

Commander Jeor Mormont started explaining the situation to Jorah before he interrupted.

"A village of wildings? So, close to the wall?" Jorah asked surprised at this revelation. He didn't remember this detail from his memories.

"Aye, we also need to have someplace to rest before going further deep into the wilding territory. After all, there is always some trade between us and the wildings. From here to the Craster's keep, another wilding but he keeps it to himself, there are few villages.

Plus, Craster would allow the crows, as they call us beyond the wall, to rest and have our fill for a dozen of coppers."

Jorah nodded but he kept thinking about this bloody wilding who would loyally donate his sons to the Night King and have him turn these babies into his army's commanders. That asshole must die.

Plus, his daughters-wives. Hell.

Jorah grabbed a drink handed by some boy who came to serve the people sitting there. Drinking the foul drink his face was as ugly as it could be.

"I will bring a better drink on my next trip along with other possible supplies," Jorah spoke after just a taste and put the drinking mug on the table.

"Lord Mormont, how many trips are you planning in your head?" Ser Alliser asked curiously.

"As many as possible. Until I clear every bloody tree out there or I have enough boats ready to sail to the island which is only filled with people worse than wildings." Jorah answered without thinking.