Ser Hardyng remained no match for Ser Lyn, though fortunately, he wasn't beaten to a pulp.
Sansa stood at a distance, watching Alayne help her betrothed to his feet.
Legend had it that Ser Lyn had killed as many men in the tournament as he had on the battlefield. His knighthood was earned by supporting Robert's rebellion. Initially, he fought against Lord Jon Arryn outside Gulltown, then joined the rebels at the Battle of the Trident, where he killed the renowned Kingsguard, Prince Lewyn of Dorne.
Sansa had heard her husband mention that when Prince Lewyn finally faced Corbray's legendary sword, the Lady Forlorn, he was already battered and on the brink of collapse.
But he quickly added that this was not to be spoken of in Corbray's presence—anyone who questioned the truth of his duel with Martell was sent straight to hell to ask their opponent.
Truth be told, if even half the stories she'd heard were true, Ser Lyn Corbray was more dangerous than all the lords Petyr Baelish had ever persuaded to his side combined.
Brienne and Mya returned with the young lord.
"Brienne, what did you think of Ser Lyn's swordsmanship?" Sansa asked her.
"He's faster than me, quicker than me, more skilled in the ways of the sword," Brienne considered. "But he's too thin, and shorter than me. If we met in full armor on the battlefield, I might let his blade clang against my armor, then smash his skull with my Hammer."
"Ser Lyn has a Valyrian steel sword," Mya said. "It cuts through armor like butter."
"Mya, what do you think of Ser Lyn? He's a bit older, but he looks handsome," Sansa asked suddenly.
"Ah, if only I had a pair of full breasts."
Sansa's laughter caught Corbray's attention. He tossed his shield to a retainer and removed his visor. "Ladies." His long brown hair, damp with sweat, clung to his brow.
"Fine fighting, Ser Lyn," Sansa said. "Though I truly feared you'd knock Ser Hardyng unconscious, just like that poor soul before him."
Corbray glanced back. "He shouldn't have challenged me if he knew his own strength."
He was right, Sansa thought. She suddenly felt tempted to tease him, so she smiled and asked, "I attended your brother's wedding to his new wife. Perhaps they'll have children soon."
Corbray stared at her darkly. "Indeed. The girl was young and had a big behind. Lyonel never left his big-behind wife's side, as if he were the first man to ever impregnate a whore."
Oh, that hit a nerve, Sansa thought.
Lyonel's first wife had borne him a sickly child who died young, so the line of succession naturally passed to Ser Lyn. But after his poor wife's death, Petyr Baelish arranged another marriage for Lord Corbray.
The second Lady Corbray was only sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, bringing a considerable dowry. She was said to be tall and sturdy, with ample breasts and broad hips, seemingly well-suited for bearing children.
"May the Mother bless Lady Corbray with a healthy child," Mya said.
Sansa continued with a smile, "My lord is always eager to serve Lord Robert's loyal advisers. I'm certain he'd be delighted to arrange a marriage for you, Ser Lyn."
"How kind of him. To treat me as he would Lord Robert? Or do you have another sister?" Corbray's half-smile sent a chill down Sansa's spine. "But I have no lands, and likely never will. What use is an heir then? So tell that glittering Lannister to spare us his herd of cows."
The words carried a touch of venom, just as the courtyard erupted in clamor as the great lords of the Vale returned to Grafton Castle.
Lord Baelish and Lady Lysa rode in a carriage bearing the Arryn crescent falcon and the Baelish Mockingbird sigil. Behind them followed her husband, Bronze, and various Vale lords.
The wedding was over, yet the lords had gathered here once more—as if something significant was about to unfold?
It wasn't until evening, when Sansa and Tyrion were alone in their bedchamber, that they finally had a chance to speak privately.
"Jeyne is very fond of Lord Harrold Hardyng," Sansa remarked.
"Of course. She's a steward's daughter. Marrying Lord Hardyng would be the best outcome for her." Tyrion ate the dry bread he carried for supper, having touched nothing at the banquet. "What do you think of this Hardyng?"
"Not much," Sansa replied. "He already has two bastards—an older daughter who's two years old."
Cough! Her husband was seized by a violent fit of coughing.
"What's wrong?" Sansa sprang to her feet. "Do you need water?" She hurried to gently pat his back.
"No, no." Tyrion wiped his mouth, dabbing away drool. "Just too dry. Ser Hardyng has two bastards? I don't see what the fuss is about. King Robert had plenty, and Lord Eddard too..."
Mid-sentence, he looked up and saw the anger on Sansa's face, so he stopped. "Anything else?"
"I also met Ser Lyn Corbray. He's formidable—defeated many swordsmen—and wields a Valyrian steel blade."
"He's skinny as a monkey," Tyrion remarked. "We have Valyrian steel too. Even with his help, Littlefinger won't stir up much trouble."
"Is he one of Lord Baelish's men?"
"Indeed. You wouldn't know it, but it doesn't escape my notice," Tyrion said. "The matter concerning Arya has been settled."
"She is to be betrothed to Lord Robert?"
"Precisely. Not only that, but a tournament is to be held beneath the Gates of the Moon." Tyrion continued. "To showcase the Vale's wealth and strength. Lady Lysa has her little vanities."
"A tournament?"
"Quite. The knights of the Vale didn't get a chance to distinguish themselves in the War of the Five Kings. Perhaps a tournament will give them an outlet for their energy," Tyrion said. "Young Lord Robert should enjoy the spectacle."
"I'm worried," Sansa murmured anxiously. "If anything happens to sweet Robin... He's a sickly child. I always feel it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong. If anything happens to him, Ser Hardyng becomes Lord Harrold, and then..."
"It seems you neither want your sister to marry the Young Lord, yet you fear for his life."
"He's just a child," Sansa said. "He hasn't done anything wrong."
Tyrion stared into her eyes. "Trust me. Everything is under control."
...
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