He thought of her as he lay down to sleep, at the river's bend where they made camp for the night, after crossing the Ruby Ford. She'd begged him to stay safe and to come back to Winterfell once and for all - and he promised her that he would, for her sake.
She'd dressed hastily to see him off the next morning, standing up there on the battlements again, and he looked up at her once more before he left. She touched her fingertips to her lips and waved him a kiss, and he raised his hand in farewell, and then fell in with the cavalry and men-at-arms.
She'd asked him once to forgive her calling him Ser, knowing how he felt about it, but she might be the only one who could call him that, he thought, smiling to himself. He thought of what he would do when he met his brother again.
He could hear the river rushing outside, behind the thoughts of her beauty naked, the feel of her body, the soft touch of her fingers over the back of his hand when she invited him to her chambers, her kisses; but strangely, as he drifted off to sleep, it was what she had said to him in the Godswood that he remembered - "He is not worth it."
And now he desperately wanted to go home to her.