Robert told me the king feasted while the Hand shat. Now the king dies, and the Hand is buried with him, Eddard thought. He stroked the cold wall, as though feeling Winterfell's chill, the Kings in the North in the crypts watching him with cold stone eyes. He remembered his brother's and sister's faces. Poor Starks. Now death had come for him.
I died for my loyalty to you, Robert. You fool. You killed our Lord Jon, killed yourself, and now you're going to kill me. But I was a fool too. I investigated too slowly, without a clue, and got you killed as well. Eddard blamed the king's carelessness. King's Landing had descended into such chaos, and Robert could not even control his own wife. Eddard also pictured Cersei's face, her golden hair like sunlight, mocking him loudly. The she-lion laughed. "I won this game of thrones, Lord Eddard. You lost, and that means death."
Eddard also thought of Catelyn's urging and recklessness. He should never have come south and become entangled in this turmoil, but Catelyn had been eager for the crowns women wore and had kept urging him south, then rushed to abduct the Imp. And there was Lysa's letter, drawing him in like a deadly poison. He had loved too deeply, and too foolishly. Yet in the end, Eddard cursed himself. His stupidity had plunged the North into bloodshed and defeat. "You fool. You gods-damned fool."
What was happening outside? Thinking of his two daughters, of Robb and Catelyn and the others, he burned with anxiety. Even now, he knew he was a Stark of Winterfell. Grief and fury brewed in his heart. He should never have come to King's Landing, this place of chaos.
Eddard could not tell night from day. It was always night