The army Lancelot led totaled seventy thousand men: seven thousand cavalry, sixty thousand infantry, and the rest were logistics personnel and support staff.
At this moment, Lancelot was strategizing about how many men to leave at each castle and how to rapidly repair the castles along the Wall.
Although he had enough gold, converting it into manpower and resources would still take some time.
"General Lancelot, have you made your choices?"
In the Lord Commander's quarters at Castle Black, Lancelot and Lord Commander Mormont were studying a map of the Night's Watch, looking for suitable castles to garrison.
Since there were many castles along the Wall, they didn't necessarily have to repair seven adjacent ones.
Armed with data on the damage status of all the castles, Lancelot finally made his decision.
He summoned Ser Kevan and instructed him to begin allocating manpower for the repairs.
After receiving his orders, Ser Kevan didn't leave. Instead, he looked at Lancelot with a panicked expression.
"Lancelot, something terrible has happened!"
"What is it, Ser Kevan?" Lancelot asked.
"We have a major problem with our food supply. Mace Tyrell wrote that a locust plague has struck the Reach. More than half of the crops across the Reach have been devoured, and they are rushing to harvest whatever is left."
Lancelot's expression turned grave.
"A locust plague!" This disaster was arguably worse than floods or blizzards. Where locusts passed, nothing green remained.
"However, the Reach still has grain reserves stored for over ten years. I believe we will weather this crisis," Ser Kevan added.
"Do we know where the locusts came from?" Lancelot asked.
"From the south of the Reach!"
"The south... Dorne?" Lancelot mused.
He guessed that perhaps the insect eggs in the desert had sensed something, triggering a mass hatching. In search of food, the Reach was their best option.
"How much food do we have left now? How long will it last?" Lancelot asked.
"Less than a month's worth. Plus, it's so cold here that everyone is eating even more than we anticipated," Kevan replied.
"Appropriate the Night's Watch's reserves and pool them with our own for distribution," Lancelot ordered.
He knew the Night's Watch always kept large stockpiles of food.
"Will they agree to that?" Ser Kevan asked worriedly.
"I am the Commander-in-Chief of the front line. What I say goes," Lancelot declared.
"I'll go see Lord Commander Mormont."
Lancelot discussed the matter with the Old Bear, Jeor Mormont, for a long time. Finally, he went to see the First Steward, Bowen Marsh, and had him open the Night's Watch's cellars.
Walking in, Lancelot saw abundant stores of cured meat, ham, and beef legs—mostly meat products.
As for vegetables, don't even think about it. Stored for too long in the freezing cold, they would definitely rot.
"With so few men in the Night's Watch, what do you do if you can't finish all this food?" Lancelot asked.
"If we can't finish it, we throw it away. Would we eat spoiled or moldy food?" Bowen Marsh replied.
Although the Night's Watch could be wasteful at times, they were a special force in a unique situation.
That night, Lancelot sat down for dinner with Lord Commander Mormont.
A man in black robes approached their table, completely drunk.
"Lancelot, I heard you took all the Night's Watch's food. Are you planning to hoard our provisions for yourself?"
"You're drunk, Ser Alliser." Lancelot glanced at him.
"The moment you arrived, you brought the Night's Watch under your command. Now you've taken all our food to your camp. Tell me, what exactly are you here for?" Alliser Thorne slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"To kill White Walkers, kill wights, and keep the Wall from falling," Lancelot replied.
"Even without you lot, we of the Night's Watch wouldn't let the Wall fall. Worst case scenario, we seal up all the tunnels completely, leaving no way through the Wall. No White Walker, wight, or wildling could ever cross," Master-at-Arms Alliser Thorne declared.
He waved his hand broadly, addressing the other brothers of the Night's Watch.
"Brothers, tell me, am I right?"
"Right!"
"Aye!"
A few voices chimed in agreement.
Lancelot understood. Alliser was here to pick a fight. He likely feared Lancelot would usurp the Night's Watch's authority, demoting him from an officer to a common soldier. Or perhaps he was afraid Lancelot would send him beyond the Wall to fight the White Walkers head-on.
"Ser Alliser, don't be afraid. If it really comes to battle, you can stay behind and guard the castle. I'll send Benjen Stark and his men to fight the White Walkers," Lancelot said.
Alliser's face flushed red. He felt Lancelot was looking down on him.
"Come out and face me! See if my sword is sharp enough to kill a White Walker!" Alliser shouted, his neck turning red.
"You're drunk, Alliser. Two of you, take him back to rest," Lord Commander Mormont ordered.
Two burly brothers of the Night's Watch grabbed Alliser and carried him out.
"Lancelot, don't mind him. He's definitely jealous of you. I know Alliser isn't a broad-minded man, but he's not a bad person either," the Old Bear said.
"I understand," Lancelot nodded.
Given his age, his current status naturally attracted envy and resentment from many.
"Lord Mormont, do you remember your son?" Lancelot asked suddenly.
He had recently received a letter from Jon Snow. Daenerys Targaryen had finally hatched three dragon hatchlings.
She was safe now, protected by Ser Jorah Mormont, Jon Snow, and other Dothraki warriors, and was heading toward the ruins of Valyria.
They planned to try their luck there and see if they could find anything valuable.
After all, they had Lancelot's example to follow. Although Ser Barristan Selmy might not go to serve Daenerys this time, Jon Snow had taken his place.
"Why bring him up? He's an unfilial son who brought shame upon House Mormont," the Old Bear grumbled.
"Do you know who he's serving?" Lancelot asked again.
"I only know he went to the Free Cities. I don't know where he is now," the Old Bear replied.
"If I told you he is serving a descendant of House Targaryen, would you believe me? The last true dragon, Daenerys Targaryen. She has hatched three dragons. Your son is protecting her," Lancelot revealed.
"What!" The Old Bear's eyes went wide.
"He... he really has done something significant, hasn't he? How does the monarch he serves compare to Robert?" the Old Bear asked.
"Well... for now, she might be a bit green," Lancelot said.