Lancelot decided it was best to kill Brynden Rivers first and ask questions later. As long as Bloodraven was dead, there might still be a chance to survive.
With a final, sickening crunch, Lancelot brought the rock down. Brynden Rivers' skull shattered. The Three-Eyed Raven was dead.
The moment he died, the weirwood roots burrowing into Lancelot's wrists withered instantly. With a sharp tug, Lancelot ripped them free.
When he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with one of the Raven's Teeth.
Through the mask, Lancelot stared into the guard's cold, black eyes.
"Brynden Rivers is dead. Do you intend to avenge him?"
The Raven's Tooth did not react. He simply froze, then, like a phantom, he and the others drifted backward into the shadows.
Lancelot let out a long breath of relief.
He sat on the ground, his fingers brushing against a stray nut.
Suddenly, the Children of the Forest emerged from the gloom, surrounding him on all sides—front, back, left, and right.
"You killed Brynden Rivers?" asked one of the Children, whose hair looked like a bird's nest.
"What of it?" Lancelot replied.
"The Greenseer has lost his vessel. He will now randomly possess another."
"That's impossible," Lancelot argued. "Isn't it said that only Starks or Dragonlords can become Greenseers?"
"That was a lie," the Child with the bird's nest hair said flatly.
"Without the protection of the Greenseer, this place is no longer safe. We intend to migrate south, to the Isle of Faces on the God's Eye. It is the last sanctuary for the Children of the Forest."
"How will you get there?" Lancelot asked. "Over the Wall, or by ship?"
"Long ago, we learned powerful water magic from the Rhoynar. We can sail small boats through the Bay of Seals, down the Narrow Sea, into the Blackwater Rush, and all the way to the God's Eye."
"Can you... give me a lift?" Lancelot asked hopefully.
"No. Our boats are too small. They cannot hold a human."
With that, the Children of the Forest turned and vanished, leaving him alone.
Lancelot searched the tree hollow thoroughly. Finally, wedged in a crevice between the roots, he found it: the Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister.
He had lost his own sword, Rose, somewhere out in the wastes—likely picked up by a White Walker. He swore he'd find a way to get it back eventually.
"Until then, this will have to do," Lancelot muttered, weighing the legendary blade in his hand.
---
When he found Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall looked at him with genuine fear.
"You're Lancelot! You're alive! Wasn't Brynden Rivers supposed to bind you to the tree?"
"It seems you had ulterior motives for saving me before, Mance," Lancelot said, eyeing him. "But he's dead, and I walked out alive. That proves one thing: I'm stronger than him. Instead of following a dead man, why not follow me?"
Mance Rayder fell silent for a moment.
"Do you know the deal I made with him?"
"No. He didn't mention it before he died," Lancelot replied.
"He promised to cede half of the North to the Free Folk. If you can honor that promise, I will work with you."
"Half the North..." Lancelot fell silent.
Brynden Rivers was no longer a highborn bastard, nor the Hand of the King, nor the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. His promise was likely just empty words to trick Mance.
However, Lancelot suspected Bloodraven might have had leverage to make the Northern lords agree.
To convince the North, you first had to convince the Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.
Bloodraven, having spent years watching through the weirwoods, surely focused heavily on the Starks. He must have known the secret Eddard was keeping about Jon Snow's parentage.
If he blackmailed Ned with that, Ned might have caved and agreed to give land to the wildlings. But doing so would likely alienate his bannermen and ruin his honor.
"I can't promise you that," Lancelot said finally. "I don't have that kind of authority." He wasn't Eddard Stark, after all.
"In that case, we owe each other nothing. Leave," Mance said coldly. "Without our help, you'll never make it back to the Wall alive."
"You..." Lancelot glared at Mance, realizing he should have been more diplomatic. Now he had talked himself into a corner.
"Mance, come on. We're old acquaintances. Surely you can spare a few guides?" Lancelot tried again.
He was lost in the lands beyond the Wall. He didn't know where he was, only that he needed to go south. Everything else was a blank.
"You help me, I help you. Since you can't help me, I won't help you. Mutual benefit is the only way," Mance said, waving his hand. Several wildlings stepped forward to escort Lancelot out of the camp.
---
Standing outside the camp, watching the Free Folk pitch tents, cook food, and chop wood, Lancelot felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned to see a woman with honey-colored hair smiling at him.
"I've heard of you. You're the one the southerners call the Golden Lion King, Lancelot, right?" she asked.
"And you are?"
"I'm Val. Dalla's sister. She's Mance's wife—though we Free Folk don't use words like 'wife'."
"What do you want?" Lancelot asked warily.
This woman didn't look like a typical wildling; she had an air of royalty about her. But Lancelot knew a universal truth: the more beautiful the woman, the better the liar.
"I heard Mance kicked you out. But you could stay in my tent for a while," Val said, her smile turning playful, bordering on possessive. "How about it? As long as you agree to be my thrall?"
She looked at him as if he were a rare, interesting toy.
"Hah. Who do you think you are? The Maiden herself? Do you think every man in the world exists just to be your plaything?" Lancelot scoffed.
"Pretty much," she grinned, her expression growing sharper. "And every toy I've ever wanted, I've kept."
"Jarl, take him," she commanded.
A lean, muscular man in his early twenties leaped forward, blocking Lancelot's path with a spear in hand.
"You think you can stop me?" Lancelot sneered, drawing Dark Sister.
The fight lasted less than three exchanges. Lancelot sidestepped a thrust and took Jarl's head off clean with the Valyrian steel blade.
The commotion drew the attention of the other wildlings, who quickly gathered around.
"He killed Jarl. The lad's strong, isn't he?" one man remarked.
"Burn the body, quick!" another shouted. "Even without a head, it's not safe. Ashes are the only thing that won't come back to kill you."