During his last few days in Winterfell, Mufasa had forged a deep friendship with the children of House Stark.
Even Theon had to admit that Mufasa was the most outstanding youth they had ever met.
One early morning, Mufasa was quietly summoned by Jojen Reed.
"Jojen, why are you being so sneaky?" Mufasa asked curiously.
Jojen Reed pointed at his Greensight.
"Today King Robert and Eddard Stark went hunting; Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime stayed in the castle."
"Bran's fated day is today—what happens now will decide whether he can become a Greenseer. He may be the last one!" Jojen said, somewhat sadly.
He seemed to be mourning the departure of the previous Greenseer.
Hearing this, Mufasa's heart tightened. So it had finally arrived!
Cersei and Jaime meeting in the broken tower, seen by Bran—then Jaime, "for love," pushes Bran off.
"No, I have to stop them!" Mufasa said to himself.
But how could he stop it?
He couldn't just barge in and expose the siblings' incest.
Something bumped into Mufasa, nearly sending him sprawling.
He turned—it was Heraka.
The sight of Heraka sparked an idea.
Mufasa decided to push Brandon Stark off early, letting Heraka cushion the fall.
He set off at once, climbing the broken tower floor by floor until he reached a gargoyle along Bran's inevitable route.
There he waited.
In less than half an incense stick's time Brandon Stark arrived, scaling the ruin with nimble ease.
Hard to believe a seven-year-old could climb like that—had his ancient ape blood awakened?
As Bran clung there, a hand shot from the gargoyle and shoved him off. Before he could cry out, Heraka caught him.
Bran landed amid Heraka's fluffy mane, touching down safely.
He stood frozen for a long moment before realizing he had fallen from such a height.
"I'm not dead—I'm fine! I'm alive! Haha! I'm the luckiest boy alive!"
Bran burst into laughter.
Then he spotted Mufasa and Jojen Reed nearby.
"Hey, when did you two get here? I didn't see you!" Bran asked.
"We didn't see you either, Bran. Suddenly you dropped from the sky—luckily Mufasa's Heraka caught you," Jojen said.
"Heraka!"
Bran turned to see a huge White Lion with two ox-like horns lying on the ground.
His wolf pup Summer, beside it, looked like a toy.
"Bran, that was too dangerous. To keep Catelyn Tully from finding out, let's play somewhere else," Mufasa said.
"Okay—let's go to the Godswood!"
The three reached the Godswood where the heart tree bore fresh claw marks from Heraka, as if declaring the place her territory.
On every forked branch of the heart tree perched black ravens.
They formed a dark canopy, shading the ground beneath like night.
"So many crows today—I don't have enough corn. Hope it's enough."
Bran pulled handfuls of golden corn from his pocket and scattered it; the ravens swooped to feed.
"Caw! Caw!" Their black wings beat like a dark net.
Mufasa felt something odd—one raven gave off a peculiar aura.
Following the feeling, he spotted a Three-Eyed Crow.
A single glance made his head feel ready to burst.
His mind saw a world of ice and snow—colder than the North, surely Beyond the Wall.
There stood a sky-piercing weirwood tree, taller than Winterfell's heart tree.
At its base yawned a hollow large enough for a man to enter.
Inside, the passage twisted and forked endlessly.
At last he saw an ancient man half-buried in roots, as if parasitized—or become the tree itself.
"Mufasa!"
The old man opened violet eyes that held a century of sorrow.
Hearing his name, Mufasa shuddered; his mind snapped back to his body.
Looking up, every raven had vanished.
Bran and Jojen stood frozen; Mufasa called to them.
"Bran! Jojen!"
Only then did they come back to life.
"Hey, where are the crows? I had corn to feed them—my corn's gone!" Bran searched his pockets but found none.
"You already fed them; they flew off full," Mufasa said.
"Really? I don't remember!" Bran slapped his cheeks.
They left the Godswood. After they departed, one last raven remained on the heart tree, watching them with its third eye.
When Mufasa and the others reached Winterfell's hall, Jon Snow ran out, face flushed.
Mufasa caught him.
"Jon, what's wrong?"
"N-nothing!" Jon Snow tried to pull free but couldn't.
"Let me go—I need to be alone!" he said.
"Maybe you need someone to talk to. How about me?" Mufasa volunteered.
"All right—come with me, Mufasa."
Jon led him to a quiet corner of Winterfell where no one passed—perfect for a talk.
"So, what happened?" Mufasa asked, leaning against the wall.
"Just now I met Ygritte. She told Sansa and the others she'd bed me tonight. I got scared and ran," Jon whispered when sure no one was near.
"What? She hasn't bedded you yet? All these days!" Mufasa exclaimed, surprised.
Wildlings were usually quick, yet Ygritte had been oddly slow.
"What should I do, Mufasa? If she finds out I'm a virgin, will she laugh? I hear wildlings are very open!" Jon asked.
"Wildlings are open and primal. If you want to win Ygritte, do this…" Mufasa began advising him.
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