Thank you, no. Lysa, we must talk.
After, her sister promised, already beginning to turn away from her.
Now. Catelyn spoke more loudly than she'd intended.
Men were turning to look.
Lysa, you cannot mean to go ahead with this folly.
Alive, the Imp has value.
Dead, he is only food for crows. And if his champion should prevail here...
Small chance of that, my lady, Lord Hunter assured her, patting her shoulder with a liver-spotted hand.
Ser Vardis is a doughty fighter. He will make short work of the sellsword.
Will he, my lord? Catelyn said coolly. I wonder.
She had seen Bronn fight on the high road; it was no accident that he had survived the journey while other men had died.
He moved like a panther, and that ugly sword of his seemed a part of his arm.
Lysa's suitors were gathering around them like bees round a blossom.
Women understand little of these things, Ser Morton Waynwood said.
Ser Vardis is a knight, sweet lady.
This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart.
Useful enough in a battle, with thousands of their fellows around them, but stand them up alone and the manhood leaks right out of them.