Just as Lancelot was about to leave, someone shouted out.
"Come get some roast pig!"
Lancelot stopped in his tracks, his stomach instantly rumbling in agreement.
Val, seizing the moment, hooked her arm through his and led him to a campfire where seven or eight wildlings were gathered.
They looked Lancelot up and down, scrutinizing him.
"What are you all staring at?" Lancelot asked.
"You killed Jarl, didn't you?" a big, bald man asked.
"If you want to avenge him, go ahead. We're in your territory, after all," Lancelot replied, unbothered.
"No. Your status has changed," the bald man said.
"Did I turn into a ghost or something?" Lancelot quipped.
"You are a Free Folk now! You've joined our ranks," the bald man declared.
"When did I ever say I was joining you?" Lancelot asked, confused.
"Val stole Jarl. You killed Jarl. That means, by rights, you've stolen Val. Unless she slits your throat in your sleep, you are one of us," the bald man explained.
"That is some complicated logic. I'm barely following," Lancelot said, shaking his head.
"Basically, Val is yours now. Unless you die, she belongs to no one else. Assuming you don't get killed by another man, or by Val herself in the night," the bald man continued.
"Slit my throat, slit my throat... you people are obsessed with slitting throats. Why don't you go slaughter a chicken instead?" Lancelot grumbled.
He grabbed a leg of roast pork and started tearing into it. Eating like a wolf, he looked every bit the wildling himself.
---
Castle Black
Eddard Stark watched Lancelot die in the flames.
He turned to look at Melisandre, who was equally shocked.
"Impossible! How could Lancelot die? It cannot be! The prophecy must be wrong," she stammered.
"This news cannot leave this room, Lord Eddard. We must keep it secret. Can I trust you to hold your tongue? No one must know," Melisandre urged.
Recovering from his shock, Eddard knew she was right. Now was not the time to announce Lancelot's death.
Such news would cause chaos at the Wall and in King's Landing.
From his time in the capital, Ned knew how close Lancelot and Joffrey were. Their bond was tighter even than Joffrey's relationship with his own brother, Tommen.
"I will keep the secret," Eddard promised.
Neither of them knew that Lancelot hadn't truly died—he had merely used one of his extra lives to reset.
---
Somewhere in a valley Beyond the Wall
Night had fallen. A bone-chilling wind whistled through the tents, bringing a biting cold into the wildling camp.
On a distant ridge, an army of wights appeared. They began to descend slowly—walking corpses, moving with an eerie, relentless calm.
Inside a tent, Val crept toward the sleeping Lancelot, a dagger in her hand.
Just as she was about to strike, she felt something was wrong. In a flash, Lancelot was behind her. The sheathed blade of Dark Sister pressed against her neck.
"Throat-slitting. It really is your people's favorite pastime, isn't it? Though, honestly, this habit probably gets a lot of you killed and thins your numbers. Why not give up such a backward custom?" Lancelot asked casually.
"It is our freedom. We are the Free Folk," Val replied without turning her head.
"You're descendants of the First Men, right?" Lancelot asked.
"Yes. Why?" Val was confused by the sudden history question.
"The First Men seemed a lot more advanced than you lot. It feels like you wildlings are evolving backward. How did that happen?" Lancelot had never understood why the Free Folk were so primitive.
The Mountain Clans in the Vale were backward because they lacked resources and land. That made sense. But the wildlings here had vast territories and huge numbers.
Aside from the extreme cold, most of their problems seemed self-inflicted.
"The Wall cut us off from the south. Expanding north is impossible. So, we're stuck here, getting worse generation by generation. I don't like it either! Tell you what—be a dear and take me south with you," Val said.
Suddenly, she wrapped herself around Lancelot's waist like a water snake, her grey eyes locking onto his.
Just then, roaring erupted outside.
"Bad news! The army of the dead is here! Retreat! Run!"
Lancelot and Val's expressions changed instantly.
They rushed out of the tent and looked toward the ridge. The army of wights was charging. They were no longer shambling; they were sprinting like sprinters in a hundred-meter dash. Some tripped and fell, only to be trampled by the wave of corpses behind them.
Mance Rayder's voice boomed over the chaos.
"Retreat! Leave everything behind! Move! Now!"
They fled further north, eventually reaching the Frostfangs.
Lancelot had been here before. It was here, in the tomb of a Giant King, that he had found the Horn of Winter. He had left the horn back at Castle Black.
To blow the Horn of Winter, one needed a giant.
But Lancelot hadn't seen any giants in the wildling camp.
"Val, where is the giant clan?" Lancelot asked as they caught their breath.
"The giants don't usually live with us. They're huge, you know. During mating season, they sometimes come into the camps to steal women. A lot of women get torn in half," she said, shuddering at the memory.
"But I heard there are half-giants. Isn't that when one parent is a giant?" Lancelot asked.
"That's right. But it's always a giantess mother and a human father," she explained.
"That must be... quite something," Lancelot mused.
"Incredible, truly."
---
A few days later, Lancelot finally saw the giant clan. Every one of them was at least half again the size of Gregor Clegane. The Mountain was eight feet tall; these giants were twelve feet or more. Most were three or four meters tall, and Lancelot even spotted one that stood five meters high.
Over the past few days, Lancelot had been learning the Old Tongue of the First Men from Val. He had picked up some basic greetings.
So, he walked up to one of the giants.
"Hello there, big guy. Have you eaten today?" Lancelot asked.
Giants had massive appetites, but they were vegetarians. They didn't eat meat. If they did, the other wildlings probably wouldn't sleep anywhere near them.
The giant, standing over four meters tall, looked down at Lancelot. He spoke in the ancient, rumbling Old Tongue.
"Little man. Do you have food?"
Lancelot took out a handful of nuts. To the giant, they were probably the size of sunflower seeds.
Still, the giant accepted them, cracking them between his teeth and swallowing them down.
"Tastes good. Too small, though," the giant grunted.
"I am Wun Wun. What is your name?" the giant asked.
"I'm Lancelot. You're the first giant friend I've ever made, Wun Wun," Lancelot said with a smile.
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