While Lancelot remained behind to accept the legacy of the Greenseer, Eddard Stark arrived at Castle Black. He immediately convened with Ser Kevan and Lord Commander Mormont.
"My lords, what is the current situation?" Ned asked.
"Lord Eddard, the repairs on the seven castles are nearly complete," the Old Bear, Mormont, replied. " soon enough, we can focus entirely on repelling the enemy invasion. We won't have to worry about them scaling the Wall with ropes and grappling hooks anymore."
"As for Lancelot," Ser Kevan added, "we haven't sent anyone out to search for him. The Red Woman he brought along insists he is safe and will return on his own. She warned that sending rangers to find him would do more harm than good."
After a moment of contemplation, Eddard decided he needed to speak with Melisandre himself.
When he found her, she was at the smithy, working alongside Gendry and that fierce red stallion, the Crimson Charger. They were forging arrowheads.
Specifically, they were forging Valyrian steel arrowheads—the most effective weapon against the White Walkers.
"My Lady," Eddard called out, standing before the furnace.
The two humans and the horse stopped their work and turned to look at him.
Being stared down by the trio gave Eddard an indescribable feeling. Even though the Starks were often joked about for having "long faces," being scrutinized by an actual, intelligent horse was unnerving.
"Lord Eddard!" Melisandre said. "Are you here to take Lancelot's place? He isn't dead, you know. Right now, he is in a very mysterious place."
"A mysterious place? Where?"
"Come closer," she beckoned. "I will let you see for yourself in the flames."
Eddard stepped into the smithy. The heat was intense, rolling off the forge in waves. Melisandre tossed a pinch of powder into the hearth, and the flames roared upward, startling Eddard into taking a few steps back.
"Do not be afraid. Look with your heart. All secrets are revealed in the fire," her voice was melodic, instantly calming his nerves.
In the dancing flames, Eddard saw a vision. It appeared to be a dim, hollowed-out tree. Lancelot was sitting there, cracking nuts. He smashed them open with a rock, one by one.
After cracking the last nut, Lancelot seemed to sense something. He looked up at Brynden Rivers—Bloodraven—who was sitting with his eyes closed.
"Is someone watching this place?" Lancelot asked.
"Indeed. But there is no malice. Perhaps they are looking for you, Lancelot," Bloodraven replied calmly.
"Can I see them?"
"No. You cannot see them; they can only see you. However, once you become the Greenseer, you will be able to travel through the timeline and see anyone you wish."
"How much longer will that take?" Lancelot asked.
"Soon. Very soon," Bloodraven said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as if anticipating something delightful.
Suddenly, Lancelot felt a shift in the weirwood roots wrapped around his wrists. It felt as though the roots were burrowing into his flesh, taking root in his very body. The tendrils surged and pulsed under his skin, moving deeper.
"Argh!" Lancelot screamed in agony. "You! What are you doing?"
He looked up to see that Brynden Rivers had somehow already freed himself from the tangle of roots. A mysterious, triumphant smile played on the old man's lips.
"You are my vessel, Lancelot. You will bear this pain in my place. That is the price," Bloodraven declared. "Do not resist. Though your body will remain immobile forever, your mind shall be free to fly to the ends of the earth."
The surrounding roots began to encase Lancelot, forming a massive, wooden egg-shaped cocoon, while Bloodraven finally stepped free from the Greenseer's ancient prison.
He walked to a crevice in the tree hollow and pulled a longsword from a gap in the roots. It was the legendary blade, Dark Sister.
"Finally, I shall see the sun again. Hahaha! Raven's Teeth, attend me!" Bloodraven shouted.
Instantly, nearly a hundred figures materialized in the tree hollow. They were clad in black armor and wore dark cowls and masks—his personal guard, the Raven's Teeth. They had followed him beyond the Wall years ago, their lineage surviving and guarding him generation after generation.
"Let us go. We have a partnership to discuss with Mance Rayder," Bloodraven said, stepping out of the tree hollow.
Inside the wooden cocoon, Lancelot was in dire straits. His consciousness was fading, losing its independence, as if it were being dissolved into a massive, collective hive mind.
With no other option left, Lancelot chose the only escape route he had. He bit through his own tongue.
---
[Time Reset]
When Lancelot regained consciousness, he was back in the tree hollow. In his hand, there were still ten uncracked nuts.
Lancelot took a deep breath, gripped his rock tightly, and walked toward Brynden Rivers, who was still wrapped in the roots.
"Lancelot, I don't care for nuts, you don't need to be so polite," Bloodraven said, assuming Lancelot was coming to feed him. "I'm over a hundred years old; my teeth are all gone."
Lancelot stood before him, looking at him with a strange intensity.
"I heard the Dothraki have a tradition," Lancelot said.
"What tradition?" Bloodraven asked.
"A man who has lost his teeth is as good as dead. You've lived long enough. It's time you went to hell."
Without warning, Lancelot raised the rock and smashed it directly onto Brynden Rivers' skull.
Thud. Thud.
The skull is a hard bone, true, but it is not harder than a rock.
Bloodraven cried out for mercy.
"Why are you killing me? I haven't done anything to you!" he yelled, bewildered. "You can't kill me yet! If you kill me now, you won't become the Greenseer!"
"We were so close! Even if you want me dead, can't you wait a little longer?"
Lancelot gave a dark, vicious grin.
"Oh, Brynden. They say Greensight is all-seeing, but I doubt you have the time to watch everything."
"My abilities are beyond your imagination!" Lancelot scoffed.
Back in the Kingswood, Lancelot had encountered the Great White Hart, a divine avatar of the Old Gods. He had become its Champion, gifted with a miraculous talent: Nine Lives.
He had lost one life killing a sheep stealer in the Vale. He had lost another just hours ago—in the future that just happened—when Bloodraven tricked him.
He wasn't going to let Bloodraven succeed this time.
Ignoring the old man's pleas, Lancelot continued to bash his head with the rock.
"Raven's Teeth! Save me!" Bloodraven roared.
Damn it, Lancelot thought.
Dozens of men in black armor and masks appeared in the hollow. They drew curved blades and advanced on Lancelot.
"The way this looks," Lancelot thought frantically, "even if I bash Brynden's brains in, these guards are going to chop me to pieces. What do I do?"
He had two choices now.
One: Mutual destruction. Kill Bloodraven, and let the Raven's Teeth kill him.
Two: Bite his tongue again, and rewind time a few hours further back.