He wakes to the heat of the sun streaming through a large window, making him uncomfortably hot. He is momentarily confused, though it's summer; Winterfell never gets quite this warm. The soft sound of rushing water draws his sleep-soaked mind to the fact that they had reached Riverrun last evening. Reluctantly pulling himself away from the warm, flowery scent of Cat's soft hair, he sits up as stretches. He pulls on some clothes and heads down to break his fast. On his way he checks the children. Robb is sprawled out on top of the light blankets, his unruly hair strongly resembling a bird's nest. Though he has Catelyn's look, Robb has his jaw and dislike of the heat. Arya and Sansa too seem to have his hot blood. Arya is squirming in her crib, frowning and kicking the blankets and Sansa has neatly (as neatly as a child in her third year can) folded hers by the end of her bed. He smiles and continues to the Great Hall.

Catelyn finds him there a short time later. They are the only ones there, having risen rather early.

"Good morning my love," she says, smiling. He rises and kisses her softly, "Morning."

As she sits down he says, almost shyly "I was wondering if perhaps you might show me around the Riverrun. We did not have much time to walk together when last I was here and I would love to visit the areas where you spent fond hours in your childhood."

Her smile broadens "I would enjoy that very much, my lord."

After finishing their meal, he goes to inform Lord Hoster that he and Catelyn shall be going for a walk and informs the servants that a lunch should be prepared. Cat sees to it that Robb and Sansa are left to the care of the septa, Arya to a wet nurse.

They set out on their leisurely journey. The beauty of his wife in the sun transfixes him. Her eyes seem to be made of the deep blue water of the river and the sun lights her hair on fire.

"Lysa, Petyr and I used to used to race each other to the river. Edmure would try to join us, the poor sweetling, but his little legs could never keep up. Rain or sun we would run like wildlings and throw ourselves into the river."

Her frowns, the mention of Baelish's name in such a happy moment pulling him away from his contemplation of her beauty. He decides not to push the issue. The man was, after all, once like a brother to her, as misguided as his affections were. The day is gorgeous and he does not wish to dwell on past sorrows.

"My lady wife masquerading as a wildling? I cannot imagine it."

She laughs and then lowers her voice, now practically a purr "Can you not?"

He can feel a grin chase itself across his face as he remembers her chanting his name, just the night before. It was the first night they had been alone in a time, preoccupied as they were on the road.

"My lady, I do believe I shall require convincing," he says with mock seriousness, doing his best to school his countenance to appear disbelieving.

Cat raises her eyebrows at the challenge, checks that the river is fairly close, then looks quickly around. The only people in sight are at the castle, now far enough away to only appear as dots. Then, faster than he thought possible, she undoes the ties of her dress, slips out of it and runs, clad only in her shift, to the water.

He gives a bark of laughter before pursuing her, catching up to her just in time for her to jump headlong into the deep water, dousing him.

Her quickly strips to his smallclothes and wades in after his wife. He swims a few strokes, watching as she floats on her back, eyes closed, breasts poking out of the water, the sodden shift doing nothing to hide their gentle slopes.

She twists, swims over and presses herself against him, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He pulls her closer and draws his mouth to where her pulse is beating wildly under her skin. He can feel his manhood hardening in his breeches and evidently so can she, for she nips lightly at his ear and whispers "I tire of swimming my lord, and it the river is not the only thing making me wet."