Hearing Mufasa's plan, Jon Snow was plunged into even greater shock.
"It can actually be done like that? No way?" His face looked as if he'd seen a demon.
"As the saying goes, a wife is not as good as a concubine, a concubine is not as good as a stolen one. Tyrion told me that," Mufasa said.
"Bride-stealing is a wildling ritual; if you succeed in stealing the bride, it proves you're capable. We can call Robb, Joffrey, Theon—have them all help you brainstorm." Mufasa said.
"Them! Mufasa, did you know? Prince Joffrey seems to have been fooling around with Theon in Winterfell's Brothel lately," Jon Snow said.
"Really? How come I didn't know? How dare he?" Mufasa exclaimed. He had indeed seen Joffrey less often these days; many times the prince hadn't shown up at the table.
"Which beauty has bewitched our prince?" Mufasa asked.
"Ros! Theon goes to her all the time."
"Ros—I think I've heard Tyrion mention her! Come on, let's go take a look."
Mufasa and Jon Snow arrived at the Brothel. This one couldn't compare to King's Landing; there was a madam and many attendants.
They all worked for themselves.
Outside, Mufasa spotted Joffrey's Hound: Sandor Clegane.
"Hound, where's Joffrey?" Mufasa asked.
"Ser Mufasa, His Highness is here, but which room he's moved to, I've no idea—I'd gone for a piss. His Highness may have shifted positions!"
At The Hound's words Mufasa's face darkened; surely Joffrey wasn't as ridiculous as Podrick Payne.
Speaking of Podrick, he'd lately been learning to fight from Aggo, yet always ended up bruised and swollen.
The wildling youth, unfamiliar with knightly combat, could still out-fight nobly-trained knights; raised Beyond the Wall, he was far tougher.
Without armor or weapons, Aggo could use fists, knees, legs, teeth, head, shoulders—every part of his body was a weapon.
"Let's just wait for him to come out. Jon, if you want to see the world, go on in! I was born in a Brothel; I've seen everything already." Mufasa said.
Only then did Jon Snow recall that Mufasa, like himself, had once been a bastard—yet had reclaimed a surname and been knighted by the king, bathed in glory.
"Perhaps I too should do something to rise. The name Snow can't stay with me forever!" Jon Snow said.
An hour later several women stepped out of the rooms; seeing people still outside, they giggled foolishly.
"It's after hours now. If you've needs, come back tomorrow!"
A rather pretty prostitute, still young, brushed past Mufasa and deliberately scratched his stomach with a fingernail.
At last Mufasa caught sight of Joffrey—he really was coming out.
"Mufasa!" Joffrey gawked, then slid over as if making a sliding tackle and knelt at Mufasa's side.
"Please, Mufasa, don't tell my mother—Father doesn't matter, but absolutely don't tell Mother."
Joffrey clasped his hands, kneeling without dignity, begging Mufasa to keep his secret.
"Ahem, Little Joff! Losing your virginity in Winterfell—thrilling, eh? Do the girls here suit you better?" Mufasa asked.
"I heard it from Theon, and Tyrion said Winterfell women are all thorny roses—Winter-roses."
Joffrey's face looked nostalgic; he licked his lips.
"Mufasa, I know you grew up in Brothels and know everything, but Winterfell's different from King's Landing—let's come again tomorrow! That Ros is… so supple…"
Mufasa shook his head.
"A young man needs no other abstinence—only abstinence from lust."
"Right now we've something more important: helping Jon Snow hold his head high!"
Mufasa told Joffrey his plan to secretly help Jon Snow steal Ygritte away from Winterfell.
"How exciting! But where will they consummate it?"
"Wildlings want heaven and earth to witness everything. Woods, grassland, snowdrifts—anywhere they won't freeze." Mufasa said.
Hearing this, Jon Snow felt a surge of fire within; if he didn't release it, he'd burst.
At nightfall Ygritte left Catelyn Tully's room and entered the one she shared with Jon Snow.
The room was dark, no candle lit, but Ygritte was long used to darkness.
She meant to climb into bed, but stepped on something soft that tripped her.
Ygritte's hand found something warm.
"Ghost, is that you? Why are you here—where's Jon Snow?" Ygritte asked.
Ghost nudged Ygritte gently, then trotted away.
Puzzled, Ygritte suddenly found herself stuffed into a sack.
She wanted to cry out, but seemed to think better of it and held her tongue.
She felt someone carry her out of Winterfell. When she was finally freed from the sack, Jon Snow was staring straight at her.
"Ygritte, you can't run anymore!"
he said.
"Is that so, Jon? Seems you don't know us wildlings!"
Ygritte laughed softly, slipped out of the sack, and fled deeper away from Winterfell.
Jon Snow raced after her.
They chased and fled, hunter and prey, though at any instant the roles could reverse.
Jon Snow knew the terrain around Winterfell far better than Ygritte.
He took a shortcut and got ahead of her.
When Ygritte saw her path blocked, she switched direction, yet no matter where she turned Jon Snow was there before her.
"Looks like I'm caught, Jon! But do you really understand wildlings?"
Ygritte stripped off her clothes and swung at Jon Snow; distracted by the sight of her, Jon was caught by her scissor-leg around his throat.
"Cough-cough!" He struggled for breath, the air thinning.
Just as Ygritte thought she'd won, Jon Snow pulled out all his tricks, making her tremble; her body melted like water.
In the end Jon Snow carried Ygritte into a tree hollow he'd prepared in advance—there was a bed, quilts, even wine to drink.
Deep in the night, joyful gasps and heavy breathing drifted from the hollow, the sounds lingering long.
In the sky the moon was bright, stars sparse; crows flew south, circling the trees three times.
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