“Yes, Lord Stark has come to town to help his mother bring out his eldest sister,” Tyrion said, pouring Jaime a glass of wine. “I understand he also plans to take his seat in the House of the Law. His uncle Edmure has been gathering time for him to give his maiden speech.” “Yes, yes,” Jaime said irritably. “That’s not what matters and you know it. Well?” Tyrion sighed. “He's nineteen, well-favored, and as far as I know, neither demented nor stupid. And not a hint of a betrothal. Sorry.”

It had never occurred to Jaime once, in the three solid months he’d spent in the pen, that Robb Stark could make his imprisonment worse by giving him a bath, a warm bed, and some decent food to eat.