“I don’t care for that honorifics crap. Well, I guess Ygritte hasn’t told you, did she?” “Told me what?” “What I thought. Just call me Robb. I don’t get off on people calling me titles.” “And what do you get off to then? If I may ask.” “Sure you can. I get off on people trusting me to do right by them. Which means that unless everyone is happy, it doesn’t work for me.” Or: where Theon Greyjoy and Robb Stark walk into Ygritte's BDSM club one evening. Calling it good karma is probably an understatement.

Jon Snow has been having dreams. Of Old Valyria, of a girl with brown hair and grey eyes, of a silver haired woman with dragons. He spends his waking hours brooding and pretending he is not watching Tormund Giantsbane too closely and that Tormund is not watching back.