Oath and Loyalty

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"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.

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"You want to attack the Ironborn?" Jeor Mormont asked, seeking confirmation for his son's wild idea.

"Why not? For thousands of years, the Lords of the Iron Islands have raised their sails, attacked our lands, killed our people, and taken women as salt wives and men as thralls. Are they any better than slavers? Are they better than wildlings? No. 

They are just wildlings on boats that our king doesn't care about, and others have grown used to accepting. I refuse to accept that. The North remembers. I remember. When I was seven nameday, they attacked us. Took away Jilly's mother. Burnt down a dozen of our homes. 

Our fishermen didn't return that day. No one ate that day. I remember the cries of the children, no matter where I went on the island. And they all prayed to the Old Gods, to our King, to House Stark, and then cursed us. Their own lords. 

I can't allow that to happen again. When I have my boats, I will return the shame and pain we bears have felt for generations, and I will cut down every man wielding a sword on that bloody island. That is my stand," Jorah roared with anger, letting his emotions spill out into the room.

The others present knew Jorah spoke the truth, but they also understood that war could not be won by rage alone. In strength and numbers, Bear Island was no match for the Iron Islands. The Ironborn were formidable at sea, where they were undefeated most of the time.

"You... are the Lord of Bear Islands. You can make your own decision," Jeor couldn't find anything to say to sway his son's resolve.

The raids of the Ironborn had always caused constant pain, much like the wildling raids. However, the Ironborn were far more powerful and posed a greater threat.

As the discussion grew tense, there was a sudden knock at the door. A middle-aged man, tall and slightly thin, entered the room. Jorah could sense something different about him – an aura of intense observation.

"Jorah, meet Qhorin Halfhand. The man who is a legend for the Wildlings. A nightmare and their greatest fear," Ser Alliser introduced the guest who had barged into their room.

"Hmm..." Jorah nodded at the man, and Qhorin returned the gesture before grabbing a drink and taking a seat.

With Qhorin's sudden entrance, the conversation shifted from the Ironborn to the Wildlings and the dangers lurking beyond the Wall. He shared his knowledge and thoughts on dealing with the Wildlings.

"You can't trust them, and you can't turn your back on them. They may have different tribes and customs, but all outsiders, they have the same attitude. Bend when necessary but keep your swords sharp," Qhorin said in a low, serious tone.

"A few months ago, Lord Mormont subdued two tribes. Why don't you share your thoughts, Lord Mormont?" the old Maester inquired.

"For now, my thoughts are simple. If they can abide by the laws of my land, they can live under my care. They will receive the same treatment as others. I don't need them to bend their knees, as long as they are willing to follow my rules," Jorah spoke, startling everyone in the room.

A lord willing to accept people who refuse to bend their knees was a completely new concept in Westeros. Bending the knee was not just a simple ceremony but also a ritual that forged a bond of trust between the lord and the subjects.

"So, Lord Mormont values the laws of Bear Island more than oaths to the gods?" Qhorin couldn't help but ask.

"Oaths are mere words that anyone can speak when a sword is at their throat. A man is judged fairly by his actions in daily life. If you live with my people, break bread with them, and follow the laws of the land without faltering, then you are already my subject. True subjects," Jorah asserted, prompting everyone to silently ponder his words.

"Well, a man should be judged by his actions. I've never put my faith in words anyway," Qhorin spoke, and the others agreed with a chorus of "aye-aye."

While the men were occupied with their discussions, the soldiers and men of the Night's Watch discussed their dinner plans, and the atmosphere in the Black Castle became more cheerful.

As the night passed with good food and peaceful sleep, the rangers set out on patrol to survey the area beyond the Wall. Jorah made his way to the training hall, where Ser Alliser was instructing new recruits.

Looking up at his father watching from above, Jorah muttered, "The old man will always find a purpose no matter where he goes," a faint smile graced his face. At least, his worries about his father had lessened somewhat. 

The challenges ahead were great, but with the wisdom of the Night's Watch and the strength of Bear Island, Jorah Mormont was determined to face them head-on.