"They'll be twenty thousand fresh corpses when Lord Tywin gets here," the old man shot back.
"Don't you try and frighten me, my lady.
Your husband's in some traitor's cell under the Red Keep, your father's sick, might be dying, and Jaime Lannister's got your brother in chains.
What do you have that I should fear?
That son of yours?
I'll match you son for son, and I'll still have eighteen when yours are all dead."
"You swore an oath to my father," Catelyn reminded him.
He bobbed his head side to side, smiling.
"Oh, yes, I said some words, but I swore oaths to the crown too, it seems to me.
Joffrey's the king now, and that makes you and your boy and all those fools out there no better than rebels.
If I had the sense the gods gave a fish, I'd help the Lannisters boil you all."
"Why don't you?" she challenged him.
Lord Walder snorted with disdain.
"Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the West, Hand of the King,
oh, what a great man that one is, him and his gold this and gold that and lions here and lions there.