Bear Island

294 AC - Four Moons Earlier

The early morning mist had steamed eerily off the bay that lay between Deepwood Motte and Bear Island, making the white sheen almost unbearable to the boatman.

Mormont hadn't a care in the world. He knew they were still on course for Bear Island. He just wished the man would shut up and leave him to his thoughts.

"Gods, this fog…" The grizzled boatman griped again. "Apologies, milord."

That's the seventh time he's said that…

Starag absolutely detested complaining from grown men. It was acceptable from women or children, there wasn't much either could do on their own. But a man, even one as young as six-and-ten, could easily solve whatever problem he had.

Or even better; he could shut his mouth and get on with it.

Sure enough, the fog cleared just a moment later. The first thing Mormont spotted was a tall pine sitting on the shoreline of the island.

My island now… He didn't quite know how to feel about his impending lordship of House Mormont. He always figured he'd be lost in the history books, and that Jorah would bring the family into a new age of innovation and prosperity.

Or something like that.

No, that hadn't happened in the least. Instead, headstrong and disciplined Jorah had gone soft… because of a woman.

Father must've wanted to come down from the Wall himself… Starag sighed deeply as the ferry approached the small village on the shoreline. He reached into his coat and took out his pipe, lighting it with a single match. Jorah would've benefitted from a good smack upside the head.

The rest of the fog gave way, as if there was a sort of force pushing it away from the island. Now, Starag clearly saw the dockside of the village. Fisher's Ridge, it was called.

There was the main dock that was usually reserved for visits from other lords, though those occasions were always few and far between. Almost always it was a Stark who would visit Bear Island on the odd moon. Not many other northern lords wanted much to do with House Mormont.

Starag couldn't really blame them. What was there to do on Bear Island? Fish? Hunt? Mormont had always been a fan of the cold climate, but there was fuck all to do in his ancestral home.

No wonder the Hightower girl had gone mad with boredom. And it was boredom, not because of the cold. Any girl would gladly suffer living in the Lands of Always Winter if she thought it would please the man she loved.

How had his brother not known that? Wasn't he supposed to be the wise one out of the two of them?

They were inseparable as children; the best of friends as brothers always should be. Yet the years they were torn from one another had clearly changed both men. Jorah grew rigid and annoyingly self-righteous. Not a single fun bone had developed in his body.

While Starag had fostered with the Starks of Winterfell and had grown up around Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf…

Jorah and Brandon certainly didn't get along...

He'd laughed bitterly when he first heard the news of Jorah's self-imposed exile. His brother had blown what little gold his family had just to please his southern wife.

Mormont would always compare his brother's marriage to that of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne. Not once had he heard of Ned spending a single gold dragon just to please the Dornishwoman. Not. Once.

I'll have to stop by Winterfell soon. It's been a few years since I've seen them both.

As the ferry drew closer to the dock, Starag could clearly make out what was his household guard, along with the short, stocky figure of his aunt. The look on her face was that of all Mormont women: stone-cold.

The ferry stopped at the large reinforced stairway attached to the dockside. As annoying as the man was, Starag tossed him a gold dragon for his trouble and led his horse off the boat.

"Thank you, milord!"

Mormont ignored him and marched up to the escort waiting for him. There were four guards, all of them wearing helmets that completely covered their faces. Standing in front of them, with her mace hanging off her belt was Maege Mormont.

"Nephew." Maege greeted curtly. She was in a good mood today. "How are you?"

Starag gave the stocky woman a warm smile. "I'm well, aunt." he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She accepted the embrace.

When they separated, Maege's demeanor was now warmer. Starag blew a puff of smoke towards the village. "Where's Dacey? Alysane? Lyra? Jorelle?" He asked after his cousins. "Lyanna?"

"All waiting up in the keep." His aunt answered with a wry smile. "It's… good to see you again, Starag. We haven't had you in a while, you know."

Mormont grinned. "You'll all grow sick of me soon enough, I'm sure." he chuckled. Glancing at the guards waiting for him. "Well? Let's get on."

Bear Keep was quite possibly the warmest place on the entire island.

It was more or less a small fortress about halfway up the mountain. The long winding road up to the White Gate; while annoying to most northern lords who'd come visit, only served to amuse Starag.

The rocky ledge that showed the rest of island from up high was an entrancing sight. Bear Island may look small on a map, but it certainly looked larger when one was standing on it.

Crystal valley streams filled with glistening water and trout and salmon jumping upstream. Tall pines had dominated the landscape, filling Mormont's vision with a deep faded green. Topped of course, with lots and lots of snow.

His escort had arrived at the White Gate, a thick net of polished white steel. With a shout from his aunt, the gate began opening.

In the courtyard, waiting for him all in a neat line from oldest to youngest were his five cousins.

Mormont trotted inside first, his aunt behind him on her own horse. Much like their mother, his cousins each wore that same stony expression that all Mormont women seem to like.

He dismounted his horse, letting the stablehand take Bear's reins from him. "Wait." he ordered.

The young boy stopped in his tracks, watching Starag with nervous blue eyes. Mormont only reached into his satchel and procured an apple. He stuck it in his horse's open mouth. "Now you can go."

Maege came up behind him. "Kept up with spoiling your horses, hmm?"

"If they do their job right." Mormont answered dryly, looking to his cousins. His eyes landed last on the small girl standing at the end of the line. Lyanna.

He'd heard about her existence from a letter. But to see the girl now… he supposed there was an early resemblance to her namesake.

All the tales told about Lyanna Stark's wild beauty were more than true. Mormont had grown up with the girl, and he could see his cousin grow into the same willful, and oftentimes arrogant young woman that the Stark girl had been.

Mormont approached the oldest and also the tallest of his aunt's cubs. Dacey was as elegant as she was tall. About six feet by Starag's estimation. "Dacey." he smiled at his cousin, and she smiled back. "How long has it been?"

"Six years." Dacey answered, a smile flickering across her lips. "You'll have to do a lot more than going south to get rid of me, Starag."

He smirked. "I've been set up for life, apparently." She was far more of a sister than a cousin. His early childhood had consisted of him, Dacey, and Jorah mucking about Bear Keep. Always annoying his father, his mother, and his aunt with their antics.

Those were the days…

Mormont moved on to the next of his cousins. Alysane watched him with emotionless eyes. She had the same short and stocky build as her mother. Though as he towered over her, his cousin's mouth opened in a crooked grin. "Starag." she said simply.

Starag had smiled warmly, and tousled the She-Bear's hair. Before Alysane could get angry, he was already moving on to the next cousin.

Lyra Mormont was by far the absolute picture of a northern lady. She wore her hair braided down past her neck, and dark green dress with silver accents and a bears pelt for a coat. She curtsied as Starag stood in front of her. "It's good to see you again, cousin."

"As beautiful as ever, Lyra." Mormont meant his compliment, and his cousin took it gladly, along with a slight blush in her cheeks. She'd catch many a lord's eyes the next time they all went to Winterfell.

Jorelle was much taller than the last time he'd seen her. Her build was similar to that of Dacey's, though her face was much smaller. Her lips didn't move, but her sparkling blue eyes had grinned at him.

"Jorelle… you've got to stop growing, or you'll get as tall as me."

The young girl gave a hearty laugh, her face lighting with a beaming smile that would make any man fall in love. "It's out of my hands, cousin."

Starag smirked, but he moved onto the last of his cousins. Waiting expectantly for him was the little girl of four years. She was as tall as his shins, but the defiant, fierce look in her eyes told a different story. Lyanna Mormont apparently, was not afraid of anything.

Mormont knelt down onto one knee. He felt the eyes of everyone else in the courtyard rest on him alone.

Slowly, he held a hand to young girl. Presenting her with his rough, open palm. She stared hard into his eyes, but he didn't look away. He knew that would be something she'd look for.

Sure enough, after a few moments, the little Mormont had slipped her tiny hand into his palm. Lyanna gave him the cheerful toothy smile of a four-year-old. "Hi…" she greeted, her voice betraying her shyness.

"Hi." he greeted back. "My name is Starag. I'm your cousin."

"Starag." Lyanna tried the name. "Like… a star?"

Mormont's voice rumbled deep in his chest as he let out a chuckle. "Heh… not exactly, but close enough." Starag glanced at the front entrance of the keep, then back at his youngest cousin. "Would you like to give me a tour, Lyanna? I haven't been here in a long time, and I need somebody who knows what they're doing to show me around."

Naturally, he knew every single nook and cranny of this keep. He and Jorah used to explore it when they were younger, always hunting for dragons…

The Little Bear grinned wickedly at him. Just like a Stark… "Okay, but I get to sit on your shoulders!"

Mormont heard the stifled giggles coming from his right. The rest of his cousins and his aunt were watching the pair with laughing eyes and hands covering their smiling mouths.

Starag ignored them, and let out a deep sigh, pretending to be frustrated. "You drive a hard bargain…" he lightly shook Lyanna's hand. "Deal."

Starag led the way to his solar, lighting his pipe again as his aunt followed silently behind him. He knew the way by heart.

He remembered the old days; he, Jorah, and Dacey would run in these halls brandishing sticks and fighting to the death. He felt the twinge in his heart as he recalled how they'd break into his father's solar, sliding Longclaw out of its sheath and waving it about…

Too bad everyone has to grow up…

He opened the door to his office, holding it while his aunt stepped inside.

The large wooden desk seemed more like a war table. Papers and documents were littered about over the thick map of Westeros. There were only two chairs by the fire, which Starag figured was his aunt's doing.

The fireplace was already crackling warm and filling the room with the fresh and quite satisfying scent of burning wood. The mantlepiece was dusted and clean. Above it was a mantled bear's head sticking firmly out of the stone brick wall.

Starag then saw the lone bundle laying on the table. It was a long parcel wrapped in thick cloth and furs.

His instincts told him to unwrap it. His curiosity burned brightly as he guessed at what it might be.

As he stood over it, his aunt had answered his unasked question. "Longclaw."

Mormont flipped open the coat of furs. The ancestral bastard sword of House Mormont lay plainly on the table as if it was a simple ornament. A paperweight. You don't treat a sword like this…

He picked up the blade in his hands. It was well in its scabbard but past it, he could imagine seeing the dark ripples of the Valyrian steel blade.

"Jorah… left it behind." Maege answered his next question. "I think he knew Jeor wouldn't forgive him if he stole the blade, too."

Mormont met her eyes firmly. "Why didn't you send it to Father?"

"It's not mine to give." She answered plainly. Maege leaned back against the stone pillar next to the fireplace. "It's yours, Starag."

He shouldn't have been surprised. As much as Mormont had always wanted to take the Valyrian steel bastard sword into battle, he never once expected to have his wish granted.

The hilt fit his right hand like no other blade he'd wielded before. Not even the sword Arthur had given him was comparable to Longclaw's sheer excellence.

Starag Mormont realized he was born to wield this sword. Though for what exactly, he wasn't sure. Not yet.

It took him only a moment to strap the scabbard to his belt. "And what about the debt?" he asked.

"Well… yeah, that too." Maege rubbed her temples, parting the long strands of salt and pepper hair. "It hasn't been easy trying to stave off these moneylenders-"

"I wouldn't expect it to be." Starag cut her off, clearing the table of letters and furs until he could see the whole of Westeros on the map. Then he went and sat on the chair by the fire, gesturing for his aunt to sit across from him.

Maege complied and sat down, taking off her gloves. Now Mormont had realized just how much she'd aged in the last few moons. Even running a House as small as House Mormont would put that kind of stress on anyone. Especially a woman.

He felt the familiar twinge of guilt at what he'd have to put his aunt through again. "I'll be leaving at first light tomorrow."

"To where?" she asked.

"The Wall."

His aunt nodded. "I'm sure Jeor would want to see you again…" she trailed off, her eyes flickering back and forth between his gaze and the fire. "He thinks the world of you… you know that right?"

Starag had never felt that same kinship he saw between Jorah and their father. Jeor Mormont was a gruff and hard man, and it showed in Jorah's character. Neither of them had the patience for Starag's devil-may-care attitude for life.

Less fun for them, I suppose. He thought.

"I'm only going to tell him what I'm about to tell you." Mormont banished that train of thought from his mind. He needed to be ice-cold for what he was about to say. "After the Wall, I'm heading to Winterfell. Then south."

Maege's bushy eyebrows had furrowed. "South?" she nearly growled. "You'll just disappear again?"

Starag wasn't in the business of drama. While he may have been the outsider in their family, he at least knew how to control his emotions. Which is why he held a face of stone as he continued. "No. The family is in debt, I know that all too well. And as small as our population is, they need a lord."

"That being said," he let out another puff of smoke. "I'm not exactly keen on taking up this responsibility. It was literally thrust upon me, after all."

Maege had realized her outburst, her expression softening as she blushed in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Starag…" she paused, letting out a deep exhausted sigh. "It's just been-"

"It's alright, aunt." Starag waved his hand as if tossing the matter away. She was stressed from having been thrown into the chaos left behind by Jorah. "Unfortunately, you'll have to keep it up for the next few moons or so. What I'm going to do may just be what we need."

Now he had his aunt's full attention. Gone was the exhaustion and the years that had left their mark on her face. "How?" she asked hesitantly.

Starag grinned wickedly at his aunt. He took the pipe out of his mouth and sat back in his chair.

"How many tourneys have you been to?"

Mormont looked down into the delicately wrapped bundle in his hands. He always found himself glancing back at it every few minutes. It was difficult to tear his eyes away from the sky-blue winter roses in his palm.

Clip, clop. Clip, clop. Clip, clop.

Bear had strutted idly on the rough dirt path leading to Last Hearth. Not once did either of the Mormont guards speak up. Neither of them chatted, not even about the weather.

Maybe I've been spending too much time down south… Not that he had any regrets from his time in the South.

Well, there was that blonde barmaid with the big tits who turned out to be Lord Charlton's wife… That was a night to remember. Especially when he'd climbed out of the tavern window half-naked, his cock still wet from Lady Charlton's cunt and trying to escape from her husband and his guards. Too bad we didn't have more time. I would've given her a strong son.

Last Hearth soon came into view through the trees. The huge snow-covered longhouse surrounded by thick stone walls had stuck out of the tundra-like a Dothraki horde in a poolhouse.

Appearing on the walls was his esteemed host. Greatjon Umber. "Hold!" the Lord of Last Hearth had ordered.

Starag held up his closed fist, halting his own horse. He heard both his guards stop behind him.

The Greatjon squinted down at him, and soon enough, Mormont picked out the grin that spread on his face. "By my beard! That's Starag Mormont, isn't it?"

"In the flesh," Mormont answered, grinning back at the large man. "I'm heading to the Wall. Mind if I stay for the night?"

The Lord of Umber nodded his head. "I'd stay for the next few nights. Maester says there's a bad blizzard coming soon." he waved his hand. "Come on in!"

The crypt beneath Last Hearth was much like the one at Winterfell. It was obviously cold and damp in the wide stone cellar, though it certainly was not as expansive as Winterfell's.

Starag stood before a long stone box, holding a torch in one hand, and the bundle of wild winter roses in the other.

All was silent in the crypt as he laid the carefully bundled roses on top of the grave. The name carved into the stone was intricate and detailed. Even a blind man could read it if he felt his fingers along with each letter.

Ingrid Umber

266 - 282

Mormont hadn't counted how many years it had been since he was last standing here. Though by his estimation, it must've been a decade at the least.

"You wouldn't like what I've become, Ingrid." He said out loud, eyes directed down at the name etched into the box. "Almost everyone I used to know thinks I've become just another southern knight…"

"Not me."

Mormont turned to see the Greatjon standing just a few feet away. Both he and the Umber Lord were roughly the same height, with Starag just peaking with a few extra inches. "You've just gotten taller." The Umber Lord snickered.

Starag only let out a throaty chuckle at the Greatjon's observation. "There's that, I guess."

Umber came up beside him now. "She'd like these." He nodded to the roses. "Thank you… for spending time with her."

Starag only returned a grim smile and resumed his stare at the grave of the red-headed girl he used to bounce in his arms. Gods, was she a lively one… big tits, big ass, and a big heart…

How Ingrid had spun when they first met at Winterfell! That feast was perhaps the best night of his life. Her braided hair had come undone, giving her that wild and frisky glow that usually adorned a woman's face after a good fuck.

Mormont had taken her maidenhead at Harrenhal. As stunning as she was, he found it absolutely adorable that she hadn't known a single thing about pleasing a man in bed.

With those pearly yellow eyes grinning back at him, Starag would've fucked her until she figured it out.

"Best get on." Mormont put his cold mask back on. The Greatjon nodded, silent as the grave, and lead the way back to the cold tundra above.

There never was a point to thinking about what might've been.

Father… why?

Once upon a time, Starag was enchanted with the stories his father told him of the Night's Watch; the brave men who stood facing the icy darkness in the lands beyond…

Of course, those stories had stopped the moment he'd gone to Winterfell to live with the Starks.

Brandon Stark had laid out the truth to him: The Night's Watch was nothing more than a gang of thieves and criminals. The rejects of the Seven Kingdoms. Men who were more or less good for nothing.

Mormont understood why it was needed. The plain fact was that the men of the Night's Watch today, definitely did not know why it was needed.

Which was all too plain to see when he arrived at Castle Black.

The ramshackle collection of buildings was leaning towards the massive wall of ice. Small bits of wood and stone was rolling off the rooves. The place was actually falling apart-albeit at a snail's pace.

The men in black who had opened the gate for him only sneered as he trotted inside the castle grounds with his horse. The men-at-arms behind him had even rested their hands on their weapons.

As he dismounted, the men-at-arms with him had done the same. He quickly handed off the reins to a young boy dressed in black. Shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes avoided Starag's hard gaze.

"Make sure my men's horses are well-fed, too." He ordered the boy. Must be four-and-ten. Poor bastard. "Understand?"

The boy nodded and led Bear to the stable, the large warhorse glanced back at him with a knowing look. What is this tiny thing? He seemed to ask.

Mormont shook his head, and simply watched as an older-looking man had strode up to his party. His jawline was square and his body was slim and lithe. There were flecks of grey in his long black hair.

"Welcome to Castle Black, Lord Mormont." the voice was cold and there was even a hint of bitterness. "I am Ser Alliser Thorne. Master-at-arms of Castle Black."

A knight, that makes much more sense now… It wasn't often that knights were sent to the Wall. No wonder this one couldn't stomach it.

Starag returned a polite smile nonetheless. "Greetings, Ser Alliser." he glanced back at his party, who no doubt, were hungry. "I trust you'll see that my men get fed. They deserve some good food and rest."

Alliser Thorne looked past the Lord of Bear Island and saw the men behind him. His dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course. Shall I show you to the Lord Commander's Tower?"

"No. I know the way." Mormont shook his head. Truthfully, he just didn't want to sully himself with this bitter knight's presence. "Thank you."

Before Ser Alliser could reply, Mormont had already begun making his way towards the Lord Commander's Keep, past the smithy and the new recruits' training in the yard.

He glanced at the trainees. One older man had swung his blade too far forward, arching his back like a spooked cat's spine. Sloppy. It only made him question why his father had placed Alliser Thorne as the master-at-arms. If Arthur had caught me doing that, he'd have me whipped.

Mormont tried to focus his attention away from the awful swordplay. It was unbearable to witness. How could any grown man see that and not curl his lip in distaste?

Soon enough he stood before the entrance to the Lord Commander's Tower. Mormont could imagine his father sitting at his desk, gruffly shuffling papers and likely wanting to hit something in the face.

Too bad you're not here Jorah.

…

Starag sat stiffly in the chair on the opposite side of the Lord Commander's desk. His father's desk.

He couldn't find me a bigger chair?

Jeor Mormont sat reading a letter, his old grey eyes squinting as he read the tiny cursive letters on the clean page. His beard had gotten much longer. It wasn't tame and trimmed like Starag's.

"So," his father finally put the letter down. Hard, grey eyes matched his gaze. "Why are you here?"

Starag couldn't blame the old man. Northerners were usually brisk and to the point. "My good and honorable brother Jorah had put the family in debt for his southern bride, AND sold poachers to a Tyroshi slaver; sullying the family's honor."

His father's eye twitched. The Old Bear wasn't keen on being reminded of family matters by his troublemaker of a son. "And…"

"And…" The Young Bear continued. "I came all this way from Bear Island to tell you how I plan to get the family out of debt and possibly regain our honor in the process."

Truthfully, the whole motivation for the idea was purely selfish, but Starag figured it would be better to sell the idea in a much more elegant light.

Jeor nodded. Though a second later his eyes narrowed dangerously. "And this plan is…"

Mormont knew his father wouldn't approve. Much more, his father had likely already figured out the main reason behind his plan.

But Starag was a grown man, and if his father didn't like it, there wasn't much the Old Bear could do about it. "I'll be going back south after I visit Winterfell. There'll be a string of tourneys going on-"

"You and your damned tourneys…" The Old Bear growled, shaking his head. "How much gold have you lost betting the wrong way, hmm? Probably more than our family has ever owned in a hundred years…"

The same thought had once occurred to him. House Mormont was piss poor, yet Starag, in his youthful brilliance, had played with more gold dragons than any patriarch of his house before him.

"I wasn't finished." Starag said coldly, a tone which his father was certainly new to judging by how quickly his hard stare had softened. "I'll be entering in these tourneys myself."

That one statement had singlehandedly changed the air of the room. Starag was pleased to see the color drain from his father's face in realization.

"But…" Jeor finally found his voice. "What about Bear Island? You can't just abandon your people and family to play 'knights & dames' in the south!"

"I do it for the same reason a dog licks his balls. It's because I can."

His father was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, not the Lord of Bear Island. "You gave me Jorah's mess, and I'll clean it up as I damn well please!" Starag growled at the Old Bear. "And don't presume on how to be a lord to me. Your recruits can barely swing a fucking sword as it is."

Jeor Mormont only sat back in his chair with a look that told Starag he knew he was beaten. The Old Bear sat silently at his desk, eyes looking over the papers and ink-stained quill.

In a way, Starag was leaving behind his way of life; complete freedom from any kind of responsibility. Seducing the wives and daughters of some southern lord, or betting thousands of gold dragons one way on the final tilt of a joust and waiting in the sheer totality of fear and greed, hoping that he'd win it all… Only to lose horribly.

There were few men in Westeros who could stand against him. Mormont was a terror with the blade, and not even groups of armed knights could withstand him. He missed the nervous tension a man feels when he knows he could die if he makes even a single mistake…

He'd killed countless men and nights later found the women of those same men in his bed, eagerly waiting for Mormont to fuck them till dawn, to spill his seed inside of them, all to breed more bastard bears. Even better, those same girls would bring their sisters and their cousins and he'd ruin them as well.

The excitement of his lifestyle had completely ruined him, and there wasn't a single woman or drop of gold that could fill his ravenous desire for more. There was nothing left in the world that could melt his heart of stone...

Perhaps I've been alone too long… Mormont chuckled to himself. One last spin of the wheel was all he wanted before he sat on his throne on Bear Island. Alone.

Starag softened his face into a warm smile. His father had spent too much time worrying about the rest of Westeros, much like Starag had gone too far off the deep end. "Father, I'm telling you this because you deserve to know."

The Old Bear locked eyes with him again. Those grey eyes had softened, too. They were understanding. His father knew. Knew of the kind of Man his youngest son had become. Jeor Mormont nodded his head slowly and resignedly.

Mormont continued. "You know how bored out of my fucking mind I'll be on that island." he let out a loose chuckle. "Isn't that the same reason you left?"

Surprisingly, his father had reciprocated with a dry laugh. "Bah! Of course. Listenin' to your aunt's suggestions every fucking day got on my nerves…" He paused, his grey eyes relaxing. "Jorah always loved the place, though... Thought I'd… kill two birds with one stone."

Starag nodded in understanding. "Then you know why I've got to do this…" he sat forward, biting his lip. "This last round is for me… And a whole lot of good can come from it. Not just for the family, but also for our people."

Jeor smiled sadly. "Your people." he chuckled, flashing his perfect white teeth. "You reminded me… I'm not your Lord anymore…"

"No." Mormont smiled. His hands moved to the strapped blade on his belt, undoing the bindings in a matter of seconds. A moment later, Starag brought Longclaw up and rested it on the table. "But you are my father."

The Old Bear inspected the blade warily, occasionally looking back at Starag with a taught raised eyebrow.

As much as Starag wanted the family sword, he had no qualms about giving it back to his father. Longclaw shouldn't be held in the hands of a killer, a predator of man who masqueraded as a knight and lord. A monster who stalked the lands looking for the next thrill, the next grand conquest to take, the next willing woman to conquer…

His father was a just and honorable man. No doubt he'd continue to bring honor to the family with this blade. Jeor would fix Jorah's stain on the family with this blade in hand, even from afar, he'd do more good with it than Starag would.

"No." Jeor pushed the blade back into Starag's hands. Mormont's eyes widened as he realized his father's gesture. "It belongs to you, son. Always has…"

"Always will."