Hello again everyone. After reading a few reviews from a few angry critics, I decided to edit out a few pieces of content in earlier chapters that really didn't go along with the character of Joran Mormont. The chapters I changed are number four and five, feel free to give those a reread if you have the time, hopefully they turned out better than their predecessors and please, feel free to give me critique anytime. Plus, I would kindly request that everyone please, when you are reviewing, keep any feelings about the eighth season of Game of Thrones out of your reviews. This fanfiction is just for fun, I'm not trying to give anyone a better, or worse, ending than what we were given in the tv series. I'm just giving my own take on the matter. Enjoy this next chapter. I OWN NOTHING! Except Joran.
Book 1: Blood in the South
Chapter 6: The Old-Bear
Joran
Riding towards Castle Black, the small company, rather than being stopped by an outlying wall that most castles would have, found themselves in the company of the buildings and soldiers of the Night's Watch. Like most castles that lined The Wall, there were no walls facing the west, east, or southern directions. Unfazed by the wall-less fortress, Joran, remembering what his grandfather Jeor had told him years ago about why there were no walls, rode on into the courtyard.
The group halting their horses in the yard, they began to dismount. After helping Osha down from her place on their horse, Joran, keeping an arm on the woman, began to lead his horse after Benjen and Yorin to where the stables were located. Depositing his mount into the hands of a few of the young Night's Watch recruits, the young Mormont soon came face to face with another who had been sent to fetch him personally and take him to his rooms.
Bidding a fond farewell to Benjen and Jon, and a terse one to Tyrion, Joran with Osha in tow followed the recruit to where he would be staying. Soon enough, the young Mormont and his wildling arrived to their room. It was one that Joran recognized, the one he had stayed in when he was last at Castle Black. Despite the fact that small space was far from what any normal highborn would be used to, with only a fireplace that already held a healthy flame, a lone chair placed against a wall that at one point had a desk to match, and a bed of straw in a corner, the room held a story to it that was more than capable of filling what empty space there was available.
The minute he and Osha were left alone, Joran started to get settled in. Placing his pack down near the fireplace, he turned to the wildling and said through his scarf, "you understand what I expect from you while we are here."
It wasn't so much a question as it was a general expectation. Both of them knew that if Osha left the room for any reason at all, Joran wouldn't be able to protect her from any of the Night's Watchmen who still held their own, unsavory tendencies towards women. And, while half of the black brothers would want to take a pound of flesh from the wildling, the other half would more than likely want to just take her head. So, in order to keep the peace in Castle Black and keep Osha safe until her moment of judgement with him, Joran planned on bringing up the subject about her with his grandfather as soon as possible.
"Aye," Osha answered all the same. The way she looked to Joran then, the woman reminded him of a caged animal that was about to be slaughtered. Which wouldn't be too far from the truth if Osha left the room without him.
"Good."
Remaining with Osha for a time to rest after their long journey, Joran, his whetstone and axe in hand, sat in the chair at the door to make sure no one barged in unannounced. As he sharpened the dual smiles of his double bitted weapon, the wildling, after gaining his permission, took to the bed and slept with her chains on. When he started to nod off in his seat, Joran felt a knock on the door behind him that shook him fully awake.
"Lord Mormont."
"Aye," Joran answered.
"The Lord Commander requests your presence, sir."
"I know my way," Joran called back. After the visitor's footsteps faded back down the hallway, the northman looked to find Osha's eyes wide open looking towards the door. Rising from his seat, Joran tossed his whetstone onto his pack and began to tie his sword and knife onto his belt. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Osha a weapon that she could use to both defend herself and kill him unsuspectingly when he returned. Shouldering his axe, Joran looked back to the wildling woman and ordered, "shove the chair against the door after I leave. When I come back, I'll knock and say something to let you know it's me."
Not waiting for a confirmation from Osha, Joran turned his back to her and left to meet his grandfather.
…
Standing outside of the quarters of Jeor Mormont, Joran thought back to the first time he had stood before the wooden door. It had been after he had arrived to Castle Black with a mind to join the Night's Watch. Although the Watch was notorious for accepting any strays that came their way, the grandson of the Lord Commander had brought pause to all who thought to just let the child into the organization. Eventually, it had been a younger Benjen Stark that had made the decision to bring Joran to Jeor, to have words with the older Mormont and obtain his decision on the matter. That decision had inevitably sent the foolish boy back home on the next tide from the Shadow Tower.
A small smile forming beneath his beard at the memory of how cold he had been just waiting for his grandfather to allow him entrance to the room and a place by the fire inside, Joran lifted a closed fist and rapped his knuckles against the door three times.
"Come in," a voice of gravel answered from within.
Unhitching the latch and pushing the door to the room open, its hinges creaking loudly, Joran stepped in. Taking the scene before him, he noticed that not much had changed, and if he wasn't mistaken, the room was exactly the same as before when he was last there. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, two chairs and a bear pelt rug next to it. Further into the abode, sat a heavy desk of oak that was adorned with stacks of parchment, lit candles atop stands of twisted black iron, and a tall inkwell that held a long feather quill within it. Three out of the four walls of the room were adorned with armaments said to have belonged to former Lord Commanders. Shields, swords, warhammers, and axes wrapped around the room to the fourth wall, which only held a lone window. Before that window, stood a tall figure with a raven perched on one of his shoulders.
"Corn!" The creature cawed when it spotted Joran.
"Close the door before you let the heat out, lad," Jeor said, his eyes never leaving the window.
Doing as he was told by his grandsire; Joran pushed the entrance to the room closed. Then, moving further into the room, the younger man spoke. "Hello, Grandfather."
Finally turning from the window, Jeor Mormont looked fully at Joran. An imposing figure, the older man was dressed head to toe in thick black clothing that no doubt protected him from the harsh cold of The Wall. Though the top of his head was lacking in hair, Jeor sported a grey white beard that hung just below his chest, giving him a look that didn't lack wisdom. His beard swaying from side to side as he moved, the older man approached Joran.
When he came to stand before his grandson, who stood a single head taller than him, Jeor gave Joran a hard look and asked, "is that all you have to say? After all this time?"
Though he was the taller one between them, in that moment, Joran felt like he had become as small as Tyrion Lannister before the eyes of Jeor. And he hadn't felt that small in years.
Feeling nervous, Joran didn't say anything in response to his grandfather.
Luckily, he didn't have to.
Jeor, without another word, wrapped his arms around Joran and gave him a mighty hug, the action causing the raven atop his shoulder to caw indignantly and remove itself to the rafters of the ceiling before it was crushed in the embrace.
Chuckling into Joran's chest, Jeor looked up to his grandson and said, "I'm just messing with you lad."
When the two parted, Joran watched as Jeor looked him up and down with a fond smile and a twinkle in his eye.
"Gods boy. You got big."
"Four years is a long time, Grandfather," Joran said in response.
"I'll say." Jeor said before giving Joran a fond slap on the arm and gesturing towards one of the two chairs before the hearth. "Let's sit awhile and talk before supper. And put that damned scarf down so I can hear you better."
Doing as he was told without question, Joran followed Jeor towards the two seats before the hearth while the older man stated plainly, "I've heard from Benjen that you have a few things to talk to me about."
"Aye," Joran admitted as he took a seat across from Jeor. "And then some."
"Well, best to get the grim business out of the way then," Jeor said before his pet raven screamed from above, "corn!"
Holding back a fond smile at the fact that his grandfather, as usual, wanted to get to the heart of work before taking a moment to relax and talk about other things, Joran began. "I heard from an informant-."
"A wildling informant," Jeor said sternly. "Don't try and leave out the details, son."
"From a wildling woman," Joran corrected, "about some grim tidings that are occurring north of The Wall. She tells me that her people have a new King?"
"Aye, that they do," Jeor said, his tone and stare going hard before his grandson. "Mance Rayder."
"What do you know about him?"
"He was my brother once," Jeor answered. "As well as the brother of every man who is serving in the Night's Watch. Raised and stationed at the Shadow Tower, he had perhaps one of the strongest ties to the Watch than any man who is serving today."
"If that's the case. Why did he defect?"
"From what I heard from the commander of the Shadow Tower, Denys Mallister, it was over a cloak."
His eye brows shooting up in surprise, Joran asked in shock, "a cloak?"
"Aye," Jeor said while adding a shrug of his shoulders for emphasis. "Way it went, Mance went out ranging, weeks later he came back to the Tower with his cloak patched up with red cloth. Seeing the state of the cloak and the fact that the Ranger hadn't replaced it yet, Denys ordered him to do so. The next day, Mance was gone without a word."
"Heh. Strange? Never knew a cloak could mean so much to a man." Then again, Joran could understand the sentiment for clothing, considering he valued the scarfs he wore to hide his facial features.
"Well, he valued it enough to bring various tribes together into an army and now he's the King Beyond the Wall. Strange as it is."
"Has he made any attempt to move on The Wall?" Joran asked.
"Not yet," Jeor answered. "But, considering he's a learned man, I think he's just waiting for the right moment to try. Don't know why though. The state of the Watch as it is today, he'd have little contest in an assault."
Though he didn't want to admit it, Joran had to agree with Jeor. Of the multiple fortresses that blanketed the southern border of The Wall, there were only three that were still manned. The others were abandoned due to a lack in numbers to occupy them. And, considering what few men Joran had seen in Castle Black itself; the Night's Watch's numbers were still dwindling.
"You'd still give him a run for his money though," Joran said, replacing reality with positivity.
"With a fortification as big as the one we man, sure, our numbers could hold out. Give any foe that tries adequate numbers and a will to use them though, and it's another story. And with our recent decline of disciplined and experienced men, we'll soon be lacking swords to meet such numbers." Jeor's grim words were the blatant truth of it, and considering he was the one who would be leading any defense there would be when an army did come from north of The Wall, it hurt Joran to think about losing the Old Bear.
"Decline? You mean the men who've been going missing?"
"Aye. I take it Benjen told you such information."
"He did. The First Ranger wanted to save me a trip up here by answering the questions I had for you."
"Well, I'm glad you still came, despite getting told what you wanted to know already."
"That's the thing, he only eluded to the other reason for my visit. One that is potentially connected to these uncanny occurrences."
"Let's have that other reason then," Jeor said, his eyes hinting he may already know.
"The Wildling informed me about an eight-thousand-year-old enemy coming back. Of White Walkers and dead men rising."
Turning his eyes away from his grandson, Jeor gazed into the fire and there was silence in the room for a moment. Allowing the Old Bear to take his time in answering, Joran turned his eyes up to the rafters to look at the raven. The creature was black as night, but not as quiet. Ever since his last visit to The Wall, Joran new the bird to be a constant companion to Jeor, and it seemed even though it was an obnoxious thing that had been funny in his youth, the old man still enjoyed its company. Scrutinizing the raven though, made the young Mormont think back to his dreams of late. Of a black creature flying to him through a snowstorm.
"Corn!" The raven cawed when it caught Joran looking at him, forcing the younger man from his thoughts.
"I can't say for certain," Jeor said, his eyes never moving from the fire. "All I know is that besides Rangers missing, there have been reports of wildling tribes making mass migrations. Almost as if they were running."
"Maybe to this Mance Rayder, to join him?" Joran asked, returning his eyes to his grandfather.
Turning his eyes away from the fire then, Jeor then said, "or away from something. Few things as there are that would make groups of wildlings flee.
"What is certain though, is that winter is coming. And we might not be ready for it."
Considering Jeor's words, Joran came to the conclusion that as far as Walkers, his grandfather didn't know if such monsters had returned. He perhaps had a feeling in his gut about them, but he wouldn't truly know until he saw them. And, like his grandsire, Joran wouldn't know either.
Jeor, setting all grim talk aside, asked Joran, "how is everyone?"
"They're well," Joran answered. "Maege is keeping everything together well enough."
"With your help I take?"
"Aye. But she'd be able to without me around."
"And how are her daughters?"
"Alysane and her cubs are well. Lyra, Jorelle, and Lyanna are growing like weeds. Dacey, eh…"
"Is well?"
"Aye," Joran answered plainly.
"Still holding grudges?"
"Aye."
"Just like her mother. There was never a time when Maege and I had our own grudges against one thing or another."
"I doubt your disagreements were as, violent, as mine was towards Dacey back then grandfather."
"Family never stays angry with each other forever. Dacey will come around; she just needs more time."
"Another four years couldn't hurt, I suppose."
Smiling briefly at Joran's quip, Jeor asked, "and, has there been any word from your father?"
His own mirth leaving him at the mention of Jorah, Joran looked away from Jeor and into the flames of the hearth before he answered, "no. There has been no word from that craven since he left. Why do you ask?"
"Optimism mostly," Jeor said, his eyes falling to the floor boards in thought.
"Optimism for what? That he'll magically change his cowardly ways and take responsibility for his crimes. Make his way back and put his head on the block?"
"Or take the Black." Jeor's eyes shot up from the boards to look at his grandson to accentuate his point.
Looking to his grandfather, Joran then realistically stated, "you have too much faith in him. Expecting a man like Jorah to ever come back and take that route? It's a fantasy."
"A father should have some faith in his children, and expect them to do the right thing in the end, regardless of what they've done," Jeor said.
"Pity he didn't share your sentiment when he could. I might have hated the bastard a little less if he did," Joran said.
Joran's birth hadn't been an easy one for Jorah and his wife, Maria Glover. From what he had learned from Maester Lowther, the two had been trying to get an heir for years, with every earlier attempt turning into a stillborn. The last time they tried, Joran had been born. When he took his first breath however, his mother Maria took her last.
The moment his wife died and he saw what the infant looked like; Jorah immediately had distanced himself from Joran. As the early years went on, the Lord of Bear Island's neglect had evolved into open hatred towards the boy. Whenever Joran had tried to connect with Jorah, the older man either blatantly ignored him or violently beat him out of spite. The only times the child had ever found some semblance of peace was when his father went off to war and he was left in the care of Maege and her daughters.
After the last war that Jorah went on however, he wedded another woman, Lynesse Hightower, and when they came to Bear Island, Joran became acquainted with a new world of abuse.
If Jorah or his bitch wife ever came back to Westeros, Joran would have more than words with both of them.
"Time has a way of changing men for the better, Joran." Jeor said these words with a tiny hint of enthusiasm.
"Or worse," Joran countered.
"Lad, you need to find it in your heart-."
"To forgive my father? Is that what you were about to say?" Joran growled angrily before gripping the arms of his chair, while his inner demon writhed at the idea of such a proposal.
Sensing that Joran may be close to exploding, Jeor lifted a steady hand and said softly, "easy, Joran. Easy."
Breathing in deeply and exhaling, Joran slowly released his grip on the chair and reined The Berserker back.
"How can you expect Dacey to forgive you, if you can't forgive your father, Joran?" Jeor asked sensibly.
Taking a moment to dwell on his answer, Joran spoke when he was able to find the words. "I don't expect Dacey to forgive me. Part of me wishes that I could go back and stop myself from doing what I did. But then I wake up Jeor, and remember that I can't change the past, much as I want to. I know Dacey won't forgive me, despite the scores of apologies I've given her, and when the day comes that she gets her chance to get even, I'll be half inclined to let her have her due.
"As for Jorah, if he ever comes back, he'll find his reckoning waiting for him. Just like I know mine will be waiting for me back on Bear Island."
"All men have a reckoning, Joran. But we as men have a chance to change when or how that reckoning comes if we better ourselves now rather than later. Dacey, if she's anything like her mother, will forgive you. You will then learn to forgive yourself. And, maybe if time permits, your father as well."
Looking away from his grandfather and into the fire, Joran simply kept his silence. For the remainder of their time together before dinner, the two Mormonts simply enjoyed each other's silence.
…
During the first few days of his stay at The Wall, Joran spent his time there in many different ways and eventually came up with his own schedule. At the start of each day, he would break his fast with his grandfather, Maester Aemon, Benjen Stark, and the other officers of Castle Black.
Then, Joran would deliver a portion of the morning meal to Osha, as well as lunch and dinner later on. When he had returned to his lodgings after his talk with Jeor, the young Mormont had removed Osha's chains from her wrists and had told her that her words to him had been confirmed to be true. She then had asked him what would happen to her from then on, Joran had told her that he'd know after they left The Wall and advised her to remain scarce until that time came.
After breakfast, Joran would spend most of the early hours of the days with Jeor. The two Mormonts would wander the grounds of Castle Black, talking in depth about the state of the Night's Watch. On the second day of Joran's stay, Jeor recounted the fact that the order's number continued to dwindle with each season, regardless of if men went missing during ranging missions. Some men would either desert or commit a deadly crime, such as rape or murder, away from the fortress that would force a deadly reprisal from the Lord Commander if and when they returned. To which Joran responded that it was a sad situation either way for any man of the Watch, if they were foolish enough to try such actions and believe they could escape punishment.
The morning after the depressing talk of brothers committing to their own executions, Joran would recommend the construction of actual walls around the castle to deny desertion or freedom of crime away from the fortress. Jeor could commit guards to timed watches to keep the Black Brothers at home and, perhaps their numbers could grow if given enough time. The Old Bear had scoffed and said that the minute he tried to lock his charges in, they'd go mad or turn suicidal, considering the only reason there weren't more desertions was because of the certain, services, provided to the brothers at the nearby village of Mole's Town. Disgruntled at the fact that his idea was dismissed so easily by his grandfather, Joran was not surprised at the fact that an order that was known for its members fabled celibacy was anything but.
On the third morning, Joran had been allowed to stand beside Jeor and watch as the new recruits trained with one another under the direction of Alliser Thorne. The majority of them were unimpressive. Most of the recruits were from poor backgrounds with little to no knowledge in fighting or self-defense, and the few who did have a little of such experience stood out as brawlers more than warriors. But then again, even brawlers had the potential for fast improvement, many cases of such occurrences were found by Joran in members of the Oathbound. When the session was over, Jeor had asked his grandson his opinion on his charges. Joran merely put his thoughts to words and even went on to state that, given what he knew was coming, he was worried. Figuring the younger man would, Jeor let the young Mormont know then that he had a plan that had the potential to fix the problem. With the help of Tyrion Lannister. Inquiring as to how the smaller man could fix any problem, besides a full bottle of spirits, Joran was let in on Jeor's plan to have the southerner plead the Night's Watch's case to his sister the Queen, who could then bring it to the King's attention. Though he had little interaction with the Queen, the young Mormont had had plenty with the King to know that whatever help that the older Mormont desperately needed would be far from speedy, if there was any at all. But, not having the heart to crush what little hope Jeor had for assistance against the oncoming Wildling threat, Joran merely told his grandsire that he hoped Tyrion could be able to open the door to them for speedy reinforcements.
While his mornings were spent primarily with his grandfather, Joran's afternoons were spent with either Maester Aemon or Benjen Stark. During his time with the maester, the younger man would aid the older in feeding the Watch's ravens. As the two men would walk beside the cages holding the birds, Joran would gain some incite from Aemon on his own thoughts as to the threat to the Wall that would be coming from the lands beyond. The old man told the younger that with any luck from the Gods or help from the south, the Watch would be able to properly prepare for any onslaught that would come their way, be it from wildlings or worse, from beyond The Wall. But Aemon also noted that, with the oncoming winter predicted to be the longest in living memory, the grim times approaching have the potential to be worse. Brooding on the maester's words of realism in his private moments, Joran could only hope that what grim times were coming were not enough to overcome The Wall and the men holding it.
Benjen's opinion was one of a more defiant nature. Spending his days walking The Wall with the First Ranger, Joran would ask him how he saw the oncoming fight playing out. Benjen simply put that if the wildlings wanted to get past The Wall, then they would pay a heavy price in blood if he had anything to say about it when they came. When Joran inquired how he believed the younger and untried brothers would fair in such a fight, the older ranger grimly put that when it was over, he could only see the lucky ones surviving. After this was said, on the fourth afternoon of his stay, the young Mormont was asked a favor from the First Ranger.
"I'll be going on a ranging here soon," Benjen said as the two made their way to the Cage, a box of wood and metal that the men of the Night's Watch used to raise or lower men from The Wall's top.
"How soon," Joran asked as he stepped into the contraption with Benjen.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow." Benjen answered before closing the doors to the Cage and giving a signal to the brothers to start lowering them down.
"Hm, not afforded a lot of time to rest I take it?" Joran asked as the machine cranked and moaned in their descent.
"With what's been happening, no one really is," Benjen said in a huff, his breath forming steam from his mouth as he spoke into the cold air. "And I'm the First Ranger, my place is out beyond The Wall, doing what I can to figure out where that bugger Mance is before he has a chance to hit us."
"Does your nephew know," Joran inquired.
"Aye, and he isn't too happy about it," Benjen said. "Lad wanted to come with me. I told him he wasn't ready, he thought he was and I told him that he was no better than any other recruit there."
"Sounds just like any other boy trying to prove he's a man," Joran said.
"Aye, and that's the problem. We have too many boys, not enough men nowadays."
The two becoming silent and enabling the constant cranking and groaning of the Cage to fill the quiet, it wasn't until halfway down that Benjen spoke up again.
"Joran, I have a favor to ask you."
Surprised, Joran looked to Benjen and asked, "favor?"
"Aye. Before you head back south to home, I would appreciate it if you could look out for Jon, keep him out of trouble while I'm away."
"Don't you have brothers who could keep an eye on your nephew?"
"Not enough that I trust to not try and take advantage of the boy, and not enough that I do who would actually give a damn to do so."
Taking a moment to consider his answer, Joran said, "that's a pity to hear, about not being able to trust your own men."
"If I had a say, many wouldn't be alive to actually be my men. Considering what a lot of them have done in their past lives."
"At least you and Jeor are able to stomach it and let the past remain in the past. I remember the last time a criminal tried to join my Oathbound. When authorities came for him, I dealt out the justice personally."
"So, will you?" Benjen asked looking to Joran.
"I think I can keep one eye open for the boy, make sure he's still kicking before I head home." Joran said.
"I appreciate it," Benjen said, offering his hand to Joran.
Taking it and giving the other man's hand a firm shake, Joran parted ways with Benjen after the cage made landfall until the evening when he would sup with the brothers of the Night's Watch in their Common Hall. After dinner, the young Mormont would return to his rooms for the evening, and when the morning came, he would go to see the First Ranger off alongside his grandfather.
Walking alongside Jeor and Benjen, who led a black horse packed for his northward journey towards a gate that led to a tunnel that had been carved out at the base of The Wall, Joran listened as his grandfather said to the First Ranger, "good luck in your hunting, Benjen. I'll pray that you aren't kept out in the wilds and cold of the north for too long."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Jeor. But we both know that prayers don't amount to much up here," Benjen said before turning to the Lord Commander. "I'll do my best to find out what I can. Hopefully I can return with information that could be of use to ward off this oncoming storm."
"Just return, Benjen. We've lost enough good men already, don't even think of making me add your name to that list," Jeor said in a commanding tone.
Saying nothing else to the Old Bear, Benjen offered up a gloved hand to Jeor and said "I wouldn't dream of it."
After the two men had shaken hands, Joran moved closer to Benjen and offered his own hand to the First Ranger, saying, "good luck, Benjen. Try and stay warm while your out there. Last thing anyone needs is an icicle manning The Wall."
"Don't have to tell me twice, Joran," Benjen said before taking the young Mormont's hand. "Look after Jon."
"I will."
After releasing Joran's hand, Benjen climbed onto the saddle of his steed and looking down at the younger man, said, "I'll be seeing you, lad. If not before you leave, then perhaps next time you come up here to help us when the storm comes south."
"Either way, make sure you take care, Benjen."
Receiving an affirmative nod from the First Ranger, Joran watched as Benjen turned his horse toward the gate way and headed into the icy tunnel that would shoot him out north of The Wall. After the ranger disappeared into the darkness of the underway, there came a bad feeling in the young Mormont's gut that he couldn't describe. Like he knew that a dead man was riding out instead of a friend alive and well.
"Don't think too much on it, lad," Jeor said beside Joran, as though sensing his grandson's angst. "Out of all the Rangers under my command, Benjen is the most capable among them. He'll be back before you know it."
"Aye, hopefully I can bid him a proper farewell when I embark home," Joran said. But, despite the confident words from Jeor, the young Mormont's gut feeling never left him. And, despite Benjen's words, the boy offered up a silent prayer to the Old Gods to watch over the man, who he considered a friend.
…
Almost two months had passed, and there had been no sign or word of Benjen Stark's whereabouts. Guessing that ranging missions could take anywhere from days to weeks, Joran didn't pay any attention to the passing of time until Jon Snow brought it to his attention. Having been approached in private, the boy had asked the young Mormont if he had any word about his uncle. When Joran had truthfully told Jon that he hadn't, the lad expressed his concern for Benjen's safety when he revealed that the older man had told him that he would be back by his name day. The day that Jon had approached Joran about the matter had been five days after.
Assuring Jon that Benjen was alright, Joran advised the boy that he shouldn't dwell too long on it, noting to him that his uncle was an experienced warrior and he could handle himself. Taking the faith in his uncle into consideration, the boy left the matter alone for a time, whereas Mormont on the other hand decided to ask after the situation to his grandfather. But, despite his higher standing in the Watch, Jeor hadn't received any information on Benjen from any of the other castles along The Wall. When Joran heard these words from his grandfather, he felt a cold feeling in his gut that the First Ranger had ran into something he couldn't handle. Wildlings…or worse.
Keeping his thoughts of realism to himself, Joran went about his days on The Wall as usual, with the inclusion of asking after Benjen to Jeor in the mornings and making it a point to check up on Jon Snow as he had promised. With this change though, the young Mormont soon began to learn more about his charge as he continued to watch over him.
Jon Snow was, to say the least, a quiet boy who kept to himself mostly, save for when chores were tasked out and he was around his fellow recruits. While acting as the younger man's silent guardian, Joran would occasionally find him wandering about Castle Black with his direwolf Ghost, which appeared to be the only friend the lad had there. This statement went beyond personal incite and was plainly visible to Mormont.
Although Jon was right down there with the rest of the Night's Watch recruits in status, he seemed to shine when it came to the physical aspect of the order: fighting. Everyday since Benjen's departure, Joran watched the bastard boy train with his peers, and beat each and every one of them, regardless of how much older or bigger they were. With each fight that was won though, there seemed to be another grudge bearer against Jon.
It was after one particular training session, when Jon had injured one recruit, Grenn if memory served, that Joran noticed him and three others with scores to settle, follow the bastard boy in the direction of his sleeping cell.
Quick and silent, Joran followed the group through Castle Black until they came upon Jon in the hallway that lay before the door to the cell. The four older boys had surrounded the younger, and the one called Grenn had begun to throw insults at the bastard. His presence unnoticed by the recruits, Joran steadily made his way down the hall and intentionally allowed his footfalls to land heavily upon the stone floor in order to make enough noise to warn the lot of them that they weren't alone.
The first to notice Joran was Jon, and after they realized that their prey was looking elsewhere, the other boys turned to find the giant Mormont steadily creeping towards them.
"Is there a problem here, lads," Joran asked, his voice hard in the passageway despite his mouth being covered by a scarf.
"No, Lord," the one called Grenn spoke up first. "We were just talking with Lord Snow."
'Lord Snow' was a nickname given to Jon by Castle Black's master-at-arms Ser Alliser Thorne as a means to make fun of the fact the boy was a bastard.
Coming to a halt before the group, Joran, standing taller than all of them, looked directly at Grenn and asked him, "do you think me a fool, boy?"
"No, Lord," Grenn said, his tone and demeanor becoming that of a frightened child before Joran's eyes.
"Do you know who I am?" Joran asked. When Grenn nodded, he growled, "That's good, because I wouldn't want to think someone like me a fool either. Now tell me, what business do you have with Jon? And don't leave anything out."
"We…" Grenn hesitated before the larger man.
Giving the boy all the time that he needed to answer, Joran eventually received one.
"We were intending to do harm to Lord Snow, Lord."
"Why?" Joran asked.
"Because he's a prick," Grenn said, spitting the words out through his teeth.
"And?" Joran plainly asked, ignoring the outburst.
"Lord?"
"And you think that gives you reason and rite to harm him. A boy just like you who is soon to swear the oath to join the Night's Watch. To become a brother to each of you here."
When Grenn just looked dumbly at Joran, he continued. "Brothers aren't supposed to hurt each other. Regardless of if one of them is a prick, brothers are supposed to watch each other's backs. Protect one another. None of you here may be related by blood, but when the time comes and you have to stand shoulder to shoulder to each other, you'll all be family regardless of where you've been or what you've done."
Taking one step closer to Grenn, so that the shorter boy had to crane his neck back to look up at him, Joran said, "now, I suggest you and your other brothers leave and think on what I've said to you. And if I find that you lot have ignored my words of wisdom; I'll be sure to personally knock said wisdom into each of your skulls until you understand. You get it?"
Nodding, Grenn and his fellows answered, "yes Lord," before leaving Joran and Jon alone in the hallway.
Watching the other boys leave, Joran heard Jon say to his back after they were out of earshot, "I didn't need your help. I could've handled it."
Turning back to Jon, Joran disagreed, "you may know how to fight one on one, but those boys had both size and the numbers. You're lucky I have a nose for grudges, otherwise they would've had your skull caved in by now."
Huffing angrily at Joran's words, Jon said flatly, "luckily you were here then. Thank you. Now, if there's nothing else." The younger man started to turn away from Joran.
"You know those words I said to your future brothers weren't just for them," Joran said angrily, causing Jon to stop in his tracks and turn back around. "And from what I can see, you'd be wise to heed them."
"Those words are better said than done, especially with that lot," Jon said.
Shaking his head, Joran said, "perhaps they'd be a hell of a lot easier if you didn't make it easy for others to hate you."
"Everyone hates me because I'm better than them," Jon said in defense of his position while pointing an angry finger at his chest.
"You only think your better than everyone else," Joran said, his voice getting louder and harsher. "And that's only because you've been trained. No one else has had the pleasure of being taught by an anointed knight like Rodrik Cassel, or raised in the house of a prominent family.
"As far as I've seen, you've humiliated and shamed each and every one of your fellow recruits over and over again since you've been here. How is anyone else supposed to compete with you without a background like yours?"
Met with only silence from Jon, Joran then knocked his point home and said, "to everyone else here, you are a bastard, sure, but you're also a bully. Do you prefer it to be that way, with men who are going to stand shoulder to shoulder to you when standing in whatever blood and shit comes your way?"
Shaking his head, Jon answered with a quiet, "no."
Moving closer to Jon, Joran put a hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "if that's the case, then you'd better find a better way to interact with your future brothers, or else get used to sleeping with a dagger under your pillow and taking Ghost with you everywhere you go."
Relinquishing his hold on Jon, Joran left him to think on his words in private, cause in the end, he had to make the choice to change, the choice couldn't be made for him.
…
Cooling off after his interaction with Jon and the recruits, Joran took his supper with Jeor. The mystery dish served was a thick porridge, littered with meat and vegetables in a bowl for each man. Eating in silence, the only sound that was made in the Lord Commander's office was the crackle of the fire and the occasion annoyingly loud caw for corn that came from Jeor's pet raven.
After the two had finished their supper and set aside their bowls, Jeor spoke, "I've received word from Winterfell. The Stark boy you befriended down there; Bran is awake."
His eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the news, Joran, having only thought of Bran sparingly during his time at The Wall, "I'm glad to hear it. The Stark family must be overjoyed."
"Aye, they probably are," Jeor stood up from his seat by the fire and moving over to his desk, he retrieved the letter. Returning to the hearth, he then offered the message to Joran. "Here, take it."
Accepting the letter, Joran asked, "why?"
"I know how you've been watching over Benjen's nephew, this Jon Snow," Jeor said as he sat back down in his chair near the fire. "From what I can tell, you're probably the only friend he has here, and I think it would be more appropriate if you gave him the good news."
"It would probably cheer him up after the events of the day," Joran said while flipping the message around in his hands.
"What happened?"
After Joran had explained what had happened earlier between himself, Jon, and the other recruits to his grandfather, as well as his words to the boys, Jeor then said, "hard truths and words are necessary up here. I'm glad that you were able to stop anything from happening. Last thing the watch needs is its recruits killing each other."
"Aye," Joran said in agreement. "You know, I got the idea of talking them down from you."
"Did you now?"
"Yeah. I used to knock sense into the men and women who serve under me with violent actions rather than words. But, over the years I learned that violence isn't always a good way to go about things, making others leave more often than stay, and I started to think about how I could be a better leader to my men. I talked to Maege about how you used to be when it came to the men who served under you. She said that you treated each man as though they were your own sons, you gave them respect when it was due and punishment when it was necessary. So, I took after your example and started treating the others who chose to follow me like they were my brothers and sisters. Pat them on the back when they do well and knock their heads together when they do wrong."
"I'm glad," Jeor said with a small smile on his face. "Pity that Jorah couldn't hold to those teachings while I was there. Perhaps if he had, he might not have done the things he did, or, at least have had enough honor to take the black."
"He wasn't the man you thought he was, and he still isn't," Joran said.
Becoming silent for a moment, Jeor spoke up again by saying, "you'd best get down to the Common Hall and give that to the Snow boy. Brighten up his day a bit."
Standing up from his chair, Joran, before he moved past Jeor to leave, stopped beside his grandfather and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It isn't your fault, grandfather. You did all you could for him while he was around, and it's his own fault for not learning after your own example. Don't blame yourself."
Patting Joran's hand where it lay, Jeor looked up to his grandson and said, "I won't. Good night Joran."
"Goodnight," Joran responded before leaving to deliver the news to Jon.
…
Whew, my goodness. Sorry for the long wait everyone. I've been bouncing back and forth between this story and my own personal novel for the past two months and its been a tough time trying to do both at the same time and not mix anything up. Now, just to give everyone a heads up, I'm going to be visiting family next week so the next chapter after this one might not be coming out faster. Please forgive me, I'm not bailing on you guys, just needing to visit people I haven't seen in a long time while they're still around. As always, give me any constructive criticism that may help make my writing better, if you just want to say "Joran sucks as a character" I'll be an adult and ignore it cause I am my own worst critic thank you very much and I don't need anyone hating on my character just because GOT Season 8 rubbed them the wrong way. You have my appreciation for your patience and I hope everyone has a good day/night.