I'll wager you, he eats too many beans, he breaks wind just like me, but you'll never hear him admit it, oh, no.
What's he got to be so puffed up about anyway?
Only two sons, and one of them's a twisted little monster.
I'll match him son for son, and I'll still have nineteen and a half left when all of his are dead!"
He cackled. "If Lord Tywin wants my help, he can bloody well ask for it."
That was all Catelyn needed to hear.
"I am asking for your help, my lord," she said humbly.
"And my father and my brother and my lord husband and my sons are asking with my voice."
Lord Walder jabbed a bony finger at her face.
"Save your sweet words, my lady. Sweet words I get from my wife.
Did you see her? Sixteen she is, a little flower, and her honey's only for me.
I wager she gives me a son by this time next year.
Perhaps I'll make him heir, wouldn't that boil the rest of them?"
"I'm certain she will give you many sons."
His head bobbed up and down.
"Your lord father did not come to the wedding.
An insult, as I see it. Even if he is dying.