When Tyrion neglects to impregnate Sansa with the heir to Winterfell, Tywin decides to take matters into his own hands. But Sansa is no longer a little Northern dove; she is a Lannister with nothing left to lose.

“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.

Why the fuck would Ned Stark’s kid volunteer to sell off his fucking virginity, that’s something Jaime would honestly like to know. … Also, damn, now that he looks back at it, it’s not just that he’s nervous. He has the face of someone who’s wholly fucking regretting being here. Or: in which Jon makes extremely bad life decisions. Good for him that he pretty much crashes Jaime's undercover op.

Really, Robb doesn't mind that Theon wants everyone to think he tops. He probably should, but he loves Theon too much for it to be a problem. He does have one problem though: That Theon won't.

Two days after they received word of a Frey girl joining Robb Stark at Moat Cailin and riding off north with him, a ship from the Stormlands arrived, and Tyrion went down personally to meet it. Or rather, to meet the man coming off of it: one Selwyn of Tarth.