Eddard was grief-stricken and furious. Most of all, he missed his two daughters, one just over eleven, the other only nine. With him trapped in a cell, would his children be all right? They were children of summer who had yet to endure winter's cruelty.
Darkness was the only thing Eddard had to face. There was no sunrise or moonset here, nothing he could see, not even a way to mark the walls. Whether his eyes were open or closed made no difference.
Eddard slept and woke, woke and slept, unsure which was more painful. Sleep brought dreams, dark, disturbing dreams filled with bloodshed and promises he could not keep; awake, he had nothing to do but think, yet his thoughts were more terrible than nightmares.
Eddard missed Catelyn most of all. He did not know whether they would ever meet again, or where his beloved was now.
Time flew past, and Eddard knew nothing of the days and nights outside. With no one to speak to, he could only keep hope alive. Eddard felt there might still be a chance. If Alyn and Harwin killed the Mountain and returned, if the King's two brothers, Renly and Stannis, readied themselves and summoned the vassals of Dragonstone and Storm's End. If Catelyn heard what had happened to him, the northern lords would march south with a great army, and the lords of the Vale of Arryn and the Trident would mobilize as well.
But Eddard thought most often of the King and his bastard, over and over again. He saw the King in his youth, tall and handsome, wearing a stag helm and holding a warhammer, sitting his horse like a horned giant god. In the darkness, he heard Robert's laughter and gazed into those clear blue eyes, like mountain lakes.