Late at night, in the master bedchamber at Winterfell.
The heavy oak door closed behind him, shutting out the lingering noise and smell of wine from the depths of the castle.
Duke Eddard was so exhausted that he felt as though every bone in his body might fall apart.
Entertaining Robert and his enormous entourage had cost Eddard as much effort as commanding a battle.
He practically dragged his feet over to the bed.
The room was almost cloyingly warm, a blessing bestowed by the hot spring deep beneath Winterfell. Moisture condensed into tiny droplets on the stone walls and tapestries.
The embers in the hearth gave off a dull red glow, casting wavering shadows on the walls.
Eddard took off his heavy outer garments and leather armor, still carrying the smells of the feast, leaving only his linen undershirt.
He lifted the heavy furs and slipped beneath them, immediately enveloped by a familiar fragrance and a warm body.
Catelyn wound herself around him without a sound, nestling tightly against his broad chest.
The heat of their bare skin touching drove away his last trace of cold and kindled another desire beneath his exhaustion.
A long while later, their passion ebbed like the tide.
Eddard lay on his back, his chest rising and falling gently, beads of sweat at his temples glinting in the dim light.
Catelyn had recovered quickly under Maester Luwin's care, thanks in part to her sound constitution.
Besides, she was still young, only in her early thirties.
Had someone not secretly poisoned her, Catelyn would never have miscarried.
Catelyn lay atop him, her cheek against his sweat-damp chest, feeling his strong heartbeat gradually settle.
Her slender fingers traced circles over his firm abdominal muscles, her breathing languid in the aftermath.
Her voice was soft. "Ned, please