"Her Grace is right, Galbart," Wyman sighed tiredly after a minute. Those words seemed to age the old lord another ten years in an instant. "We simply cannot risk wights spilling into the Gift. The castles along the Wall have no defences facing south and would be quickly overrun. Afterwards, the keeps and the villages in the North would be picked off one by one until we're all drowned in walking corpses. But if you go into battle, we must first fit you with armour, Your Grace. And you will take your sworn shield with you!"