Chapter 11: Lions shouldn't tarry near a Den of Wolves

Jon got to his feet, trying to get his bearings back. He noticed Robb sitting in Ned's chair, leaning back with his eyes closed.

"Robb," Jon sucked in a full breath. "What the fuck are we gonna do without him? I don't think I can ever recover from this." He held up the letter, "And this doesn't make it better."

"I don't know, brother. I don't know if we can ever be the same," Robb replied, keeping his eyes closed.

Jon shuddered, "It's not fucking fair. Of all the people… how could the world take him?"

Robb sat up now, "It wasn't the world that took Dad from us." He hit his hand on the desk, "Tywin! It was Tywin, Jon. That I do know. Just that one thing."

"Aye," Jon echoed. "Tywin. What're our next moves?"

"Whiskey?" Robb looked at Jon.

"Yes please, some sweet relief," Jon huffed.

Robb opened the lower drawer of the desk and came back with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Jon moves closer to the desk, laying his letter by his box. Robb pours himself and Jon healthy portions of the bottle.

Jon took his eagerly, downing it in one gulp. "Ah… that's good shit," he put the glass back on the table. "Gimme another."

"Gods, Jon," Robb chuckles, pouring.

Jon's eyes wandered back to his box, realizing he didn't look to see what else was in it. He picked it up, tipping his head downward. He almost fell over once he saw the rest of the contents. A silver ring, the direwolf of House Stark engraved into it. Jon held it in his palm.

"Is that a ring?" Robb put his glass down.

Jon didn't respond, only walking back over to the window it looks at the ring in the light.

Robb's eyes widened, knowing he probably had something else in his box. Taking hold of his own.

Jon held the ring with his index finger and thumb. Examining the inside of it, an inscription, it read simply, "prestige, nevertheless, his name." Jon grinned as wide as he could. Then his slid it on his right ring finger.

A thick journal laid in the bottom of Robb's box, he set the box aside once he got the ledger out. Examining it, just a pale shade of brown leather. The binding is worn like it's been opened and closed a hundred thousand times. Robb sat back down at the desk, laying the book down on it. Opening it up, on the first page was a short note:

To Robb,

I've been writing in this for a very long time now, I think it's plenty full of useful information. I wrote about my daily dealings, and extra knowledge I think was important for you to know.

See you around the bend, my dear boy.

Love,

Ned Stark

Turning the page, a couple full paragraphs resided there. Quickly reading them, Robb noticed this must have been written a very long time ago. Because the writings didn't pertain to anything Robb could remember happening in his lifetime. He kept flipping through it.

"What's that?" Jon inquired of Robb, strolling over.

"Some journal Dad had, he put it in my box," Robb didn't look up, still running through all the pages.

Jon decided he needed some pour whiskey, pouring himself some more. "What's it for?" he asked after he'd emptied yet another glass.

"Supposed to help me I guess, answer some questions," Robb assumed.

"You can read through it later," Jon sighed. "We gotta get ahead of this."

Reluctantly, Robb closed the book, "Yeah, you're right."

"What's our next moves?"

"Well, we need to deal with Lancel first… Don't be opposed to what needs to be done," Robb stood up so he could be level with Jon.

Jon looked away from him, "You gonna kill him?"

"What needs to be done."

"I don't want any part of that."

"Fine," Robb waved him off. "Fine. I'll have Grenn take care of it."

Jon sighed, returning his gaze to Robb, "I didn't mean for Grenn to get tied up in all this."

"Yeah, you did. Or you wouldn't have brought him here," Robb argued. "Besides, we can use him. Especially because we don't have clue where Jory or Niko is."

"Jory was with you."

Robb rocked back, "What? He was?"

"I sent him after you," Jon told him. "After you left the coffee shop. But I don't what happened to him. I assume he either got away or died. Or perhaps he's sitting in a hospital right now. You didn't see him?"

Robb shrugged, "Guess not."

"Alright well, I know Niko was with Dad, so… he could easily be gone."

Clenching his jaw, Robb nodded, "Yeah, could be."

"This is all so fucked," Jon cursed.

"Hey… you said Tywin called you right?" Robb walked around the desk, moving closer to Jon, an idea floating around in his head.

Jon inclined his chin, "He did."

"Gimme your phone," Robb said, holding his hand out.

"Okay?" Jon reached into his pocket, finding nothing, he shook his head. "I forgot. I left it on the kitchen floor."

Robb laughed, "Why did you do that?"

"I was angry. What Tywin told me brought up some emotions I hadn't felt in a very long time," Jon said, some of those feelings started coming back to the surface.

Robb raises one of his eyebrows, "What'd he say?"

"I told you already."

"No," Robb stiffened. "You summarized what he said. What did he actually say?"

"He talked of Lancel, how he really didn't give a shit about the boy. But we had to give him back because he's a Lannister."

"We ain't gotta do shit," Robb replies. "We ain't ever gonna do what he wants… ever."

"Then," Jon continues. "He mentioned Dad. He wasn't specific at all. But he said something like, 'I'd talk to him if I could.' Or some shit like that. The point is it was clear he knew something we don't."

"Now we know for sure he did something—"

"Nope," Jon interjects. "We know nothing. We assume he did. But we don't have a shred of proof. What we do have… we know Pop went to Bolton's and he ever came back out alive. We can't work with that. Roose Bolton for sure had a hand in it."

"Once the words out about Dad, everyone will suspect Tywin," Robb retorts.

"And he'll deny it," Jon guessed with some certainty.

Robb didn't respond, he only strolled over to the door, pulled it open and stuck his head out. Jon didn't see who he spoke to, but he heard him say, "Hey! Go get Jon's phone from the kitchen floor." The footfalls of whoever was obeying Jon could be felt through the floor.

Jon crossed his arms over his chest as Robb turned back to him, "You couldn't go get it yourself?" He chided.

"Why the fuck would I do it when I have thirty guys just standing around all over the place here?" Robb shot back with a small smile. Moments later, Jon's phone was placed in Robb's hand.

"Hand it over," Jon told him. Sticking his hand out.

Robb shook his head as he fiddled with his brother's phone, trying to unlock it. "What's your password?"

"It's 'Robb sucks dick,'" Jon replied quickly.

"Very funny."

Jon stomped over to Robb and ripped the own phone out of his hands and punched his password into it.

Robb stepped closer to look at the screen, "Go to your previous calls." Jon did as he was bid, several different numbers cascaded down the screen. Robb pointed out the one at the top, "That must be his number or one we can reach him at."

"He said he'd call me back with details about dropping Lancel off," Jon remembered.

"Piss on that," Robb barked. "You call him now."

"Why?" Jon sputtered, confused.

"Tell what we are going to do with Lancel."

"Which is what?"

"You said you didn't want any part," Robb reminded him. "Just tell him Lancel will be at 82 Gum Street." He left the room without another word.

Jon watched him go, then he stared down at his phone. Hesitantly, he pressed redial.

Loud clanging of forks against the porcelain plates, glasses of wine jangling around. The large room was dimly lit by candles across the expanse of the length of the dinner table. An expensive chandelier hung over the table. Ravishing cuisine lined the dining table from end to end. From succulent chicken to roast beef, it's all there. Parallel to the buffet was a grand fireplace, that contained a roaring fire. The darkly colored walls sported various painting and decorations, also caricatures of previous important men in the family. Opposite the fireplace was two grand doors, the entrance into the room.

Once a month, Tywin Lannister required his immediate family to come to his estate for a feast. Not necessarily because he wanted to, but because he had to make sure no one was fucking up. Everyone had to be kept in line.

He, of course, sat at the head of the table, thanks to Ned Stark his left arm was now in a sling. The doctor almost got left in a roadside ditch for asserting that he needed one. His gray hair combed back as always, he wore a starch red sweater, black slacks, and brown leather shoes.

To his left sat Jaime and Cersei to his right, all of her children were with her. Typically, more people would be here. Namely, Kevan, but he was busy looking for his son.

Everyone attended to their food, all except for Tywin, who refused help to eat. He could barely move his arm without excruciating pain. The hunger was there, but there's no way he'd let someone feed him. That hadn't happened since he was a boy.

"Where's Tyrion?" He grumbled.

"Probably at a whore house," Cersei remarked, sipping on her wine.

No one denied it because they thought it was probably true.

These dinners were usually quiet affairs unless something was going on that needed attention. Tonight was one of those occasions.

"So," Jaime chewed. "Ned Stark is dead?" His attire was a red dress shirt and a black velvet blazer.

That did bring a smile to Tywin's face, a few things did.

"He is."

"Good riddance," Joffery raised his voice, next to his mother. "King's Landing will be a better place."

Joffery Baratheon was a known miscreant. He often did what he wanted, took what he wanted. Rarely did he hear the word, 'no'. This is made possible because his grandfather is Tywin Lannister. His golden locks waved just above his eyebrows, he wore a tan button up.

Tommen and Myrcella talked quietly amongst themselves.

"I respected Ned Stark," Twyin drawled. "But he had to go."

"Boorish man, I'd say," Cersei remarks. "Rather boring."

Jaime nodded, "Really can't say I was fond of the man either."

The doors to the dining hall swung open with such a force that a brisk breeze blew over the dinner table. Along came in the dwarf, Tyrion Lannister. Slightly drunk, shaggy hair looked even more unkempt than usual. Body covered in red leather, head to toe.

"Ah," he announced himself. "Hello, sorry I'm late." Strutting over next to Jaime, taking a seat by him.

Tywin grunted, "And where were you? A whorehouse?"

The imp rolled his eyes, "No, not today. Just running late, traffic was horrid." His eyes moved down the table, examining all the wondrous food. Though he grabbed hold of an apple and took a bite. The crunch echoed throughout the room. He winked at Myrcella, who giggled and whispered something in Tommen's ear.

"Fashionably late," Jaime clapped Tyrion on the back. "As always."

Tyrion gestured to his father, "You get into a fight with a bellhop or something?" Noticing the sling.

"Ned Stark—"

Joffrey nearly lept out of his chair, cutting his grandfather off, "He's dead! Ned Stark is dead."

A genuine gasp left Tyrion's mouth, "Truly?"

"It is," Cersei smiles, cutting through her steak with more force than needed.

"What could possibly possess you to kill The King of The Block?" Tyrion scoffed.

"He'd got in my way," Tywin replies, confidently.

Tyrion bit off another chunk of the apple, "Isn't that frowned upon?"

"Matters not."

"What of the rest of the Stark family?"

"They will submit or die."

The juices of the apple lingered on Tyrion's chin, "You killed their father. Those boys will never forget that. They'll die long before they kiss your ring."

"So be it," Tywin said. "I have no qualms with erasing them completely."

Tyrion raises his eyebrows, "Well… I'm sure you've thought it all out." He relents.

"Of course he has," Joffrey scolded.

"I'm just saying, just because you sniped the neck of the snake, that doesn't mean it won't continue to slither around," Tyrion shrugged, eating more of the apple.

"What do you know of it?" Cersei flares at him.

"It's not complicated, you can't expect them to lay down for you. Their father is dead, they assume you did it and no one will convince them otherwise. Robb Stark—"

"Is with his father," Tywin finished for him.

"Huh? He's gone too?"

"I've been assured his wounds were fatal, he alluded my men at the hospital. Nevertheless, he should be long dead by now."

Jaime laughed, "A bullet to the chest kills most men."

"Oh… I see," Tyrion smiles. "You plan to take The Block. Now that both Ned Stark and his heir are gone. It's yours for the taking."

"You always were perspective," Tywin admits.

"But what about you killing Ned Stark and his son and all?"

"There's nothing that links me to the crimes."

"Hmm? I now assume you have that sling because of old Eddard?" Tyrion suggests. Twyin didn't respond in any way. "I'll take that as a yes. Did he twist your arm the wrong way? No, I doubt it came to fisticuffs." Tyrion laughed way more than he should about that last part. Imagining his father and Ned Stark fist fighting was very funny to him.

He slapped his thigh and bit his lip to keep the giggling back. He was the only one who found it funny. They all just stared at him. Tyrion choked down his laughter.

"Yes," Tyrion sighs, regaining his composure. "I heard about that shooting at the coffee shop, and then later at the hospital. On my way in here, I overheard some guards talking about Lancel. The Starks have him?"

"The bastard boy will return him unharmed," Tywin responds.

Tyrion ripped off another big chunk of the apple, he chewed with his mouth open, "You sure about that?"

"They wouldn't dare harm him. He's a Lannister, perhaps a weak boy, but a Lannister still," Tywin sat up in his chair.

"Ah! You may be right normally… but you just killed their father." Tyrion shrugged. "I'd bet your bottom dollar that boy is gone dead—"

There was about to be a retort when the doors to the opened up again. A man-servant came over to Tywin, gasping a wireless phone. He held it out, "Phone for you, sir."

Eyes still on Tyrion, Tywin took the phone and put it to his ear, "Yes?" The servant speed-walked out of the room like a live bomb was about to go off.

"Tywin Lannister?" A familiar voice.

The old man shot up from his chair, "Who is this?"

"You've forgotten my voice already? I think you know who this is."

Realization set in, "Oh, yes. The bastard Jon Snow, the drop off isn't set for Lancel yet."

Everyone stopped eating, completely silent as they watch Tywin leave the table.

"Yes, well. He's already been dropped off."

Tywin scowled, "What in seven hells! What've you done?"

Tyrion smirked, knowing he was right about what happened. He slapped Jaime, and then whispered to him, "Our father severely underestimated the Starks, I'm right, you know it." Jaime showed no response as he looked back to his father.

"Listen here, boy! I'll—"

"You'll do nothing!" Jon cut him off. "It's already been done. 82 Gum Street, take a peek." He hung up after that.

Tywin let out a vocal groan, then he threw the phone against the wall, breaking it into a million pieces. The motion caused him a lot of pain because he cried out, clutching his arm. Cersei got up and came over to him quickly, putting her hands on his back.

"Leave me!" Tywin yelled. "I'm fine."

Cersei stepped back, hands up. Tywin righted himself, face red as the apple Tyrion's eating.

Before Jon made the call, Robb all but ran down the stairs to the basement. Lucky he didn't fall and break something.

Lancel sat exactly where he was left. At some point, he had woke back up while they were upstairs. He heard Robb coming before he saw him.

Grenn waited in the corner for someone to come back downstairs, he called out to Robb when he saw him. "You've come to rescue me?"

Robb laughs, "Not quite."

"P-please… let me go," Lancel cried.

"Typically, people don't judge a child by the sins of their fathers. Well… in your case, uncle.. But this isn't the typical situation," Robb explains.

Grenn moves to stand behind Lancel, who tried to turn his neck to see him, but to no avail.

"It's not you, Lancel. Honestly, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Robb told him. "Though now we're here. You tried to kill me. And, your names Lannister. Unfortunately for you, my hatred for your family has grown tenfold recently. And I can't bear the sight of you."

Grenn got right up behind Lancel, laying both hands on his shoulders.

"No! Please! I tell you anything!"

"Tsk tsk tsk… " Robb waves his index finger back and forth. "That time for that has passed. You had your chance to speak." He locked eyes with Grenn, then nodded firmly. "Make peace with your god, Lancel. Quickly."

Lancel cried out as Grenn wrapped an arm around his neck. That arm was braced at the elbow with a free hand. Lancel kicked and made what sounds he could which were mostly noises of spitting up and choking, as Grenn's arm tightened around his neck.

Lancel fought as much as he could but without the use of his hands. There wasn't much to do.

Robb watched the horror on Lancel's drift to slight unconsciousness and then to nothing.

Lancel's upper body lurched forward completely as Grenn let him go, strangled to death.

"Take a couple guys," Robb breathed. "Dump his body at 82 Gum Street… Then, go get yourself marked."

Grenn beamed, "Really?"

"Yeah, Grenn, you're one of us now."

"What happened?" Jaime asked his father.

Tywin turned from them, walking to stand in front of the fire. Not saying a word.

Cersei touched Joffrey on the shoulder, "Take your brother and sister, go play outside."

"I don't want to go!" Joffrey argues.

"And I don't care!" Cersei widens her eyes. "Go!" Pointing to the doors, beckoning in them out.

Joffrey wanted to argue more, but both his uncles glared at him. He stopped, pulling his siblings up. Following them out of the room.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Jaime repeated his question, "What happened?"

Tywin huffed, "I don't know."

"Well, what did he say?"

"The bastard said Lancel was dropped off."

"That's good then," Tyrion said.

"But what did they do to him?" Jaime wonders.

"I don't know," Tywin sighs.

"He didn't say?" Tyrion prodded.

"No!" Tywin raises his voice, still staring at the crackling fire.

Cersei fell back into her chair, instinctively reaching for her glass of wine, her only comfort. "What a mess," she whines, taking a sip.

"Quite," Jaime agrees.

"He's at 83 Gum Street. Jaime, grab some men and go take a look," Tywin directed.

At the command, without a word, Jaime rose from his chair and strutted out of the dining hall.

"Well," Tyrion bit into his apple yet again. "Appears I may have been correct."

"What are you talking about?" Cersei glared at him.

Tyrion snorted, "I was getting ready to say Lancel had been killed before that servant came in here… Based upon our dear father's response to that phone call, I feel like I was right."

"We don't know what happened to the boy," Tywin corrected him, still unmoving.

"I feel like Jon Snow saying, 'he's already been dropped off' before Lancel was supposed to be. That's a really bad sign for him," Tyrion sighed. It really was a saddening feeling, it washed over him. He could feel it, Lancel is dead.

It's wasn't hard to locate Lancel, once eyes were set on 83 Gum Street. The poor boy hung from a lamp post. Clothes tattered, beaten, bloody, bruised, utterly lifeless, Jaime had him cut down. Once he laid on the ground, they found a note stuck into his jacket pocket. Written on the bloody parchment: "Lions shouldn't tarry near a Den of Wolves."

He was taken to the morgue directly for an examination. There, some of his family gathered.

A bright room, pale white marble floors, walls a sandy yellow. Lancel lay on a metal table, covered in a sheet.

Kevan Lannister, Lancel's father, approached the table very slowly. Tywin and his lot standing behind him, everyone but the children. Wishing none of this to be real, all a dream, Kevan wished. Reluctantly, he moved the sheet from off Lancel's face to take a look at his son. They'd done their best to repair what was broken, but there wasn't much to do. By his face, it was quite clear he'd taken a heavy beating.

A doctor came over, "I'm so sorry for your loss." He said.

Kevan brushes his finger over his son's cheek. Eyes not leaving his battered face, "What happened to him?" He asked, voice full of emotion.

The doctor grimaced, "Your son took an intense beating. Several broken ribs, some punctured other organs, broken nose, cracked jaw. A little internal bleeding because of all that. His windpipe completely collapsed, I believe he was savagely strangled. I suspect that was a welcome release, he endured a lot of pain."

Kevan looked away as the tears became to come like a waterfall. "My boy… my first boy." He muttered to himself.

Tywin stepped up, "Leave us." He spoke to the doctor. Who nodded, then ducked out of the room.

"Who did this?" Kevan asked, to no one in particular.

"You know who did this," Tywin scoffed. "The Starks."

"If… it was them, then this is your fault," Kevan growled, craning his neck to look at his brother.

"Ha!" Tywin half-laughs. "You blame me for this?"

"You killed Ned Stark. Did you not? You started this," Kevan returns his eyes to Lancel. "They… killed him because of you."

"Please, father has nothing to do with this," Cersei defended.

"Don't be a dimwit," Kevan scowled. "Tywin has started a war."

"A war? I highly doubt it will come to that," Tywin replies.

"They did this to my son!" Kevan yelled, pounding his hand on the table. A loud clang filled the room, everyone stepped back. "To my son! My first boy!" He turned his whole body to regard them, eyes watering with salty tears. "If they'd do this to him, what the fuck do you think they'll do to you! Lancel has nothing to do with Ned's death, yet they murdered him nonetheless! Why? Because his name is Lannister!"

"You have every right to be angry—" Tyrion started.

But Kevan cut him off, "You're damn right I do!"

"Calm down, uncle," Cersei rolled her eyes.

Kevan gritted his teeth, "If you were wise you'd protect the rest of your family. I'll do so with the rest of mine."

"You're scared of a pack of wolves?" Jaime scolds.

"Yes… I am. After this, I will always be scared of wolves," Kevan lowered his tone, he settled his gaze back on Lancel. "Now… get out of here and focus on making them pay for this. Leave me with my boy. Now."

Jon hung up the phone, not sure where that new-found confidence came from. He laughed nervously.

"Holy fuck," he whispered to himself. Dropping his phone on Ned's desk, he had to grab the whiskey again. He started to pour it into his glass, but he shook his head and stopped. Deciding to drink directly from the bottle this time, taking down two gulps.

He picked the phone back up, scrolling through his contacts absentmindedly. A name caught his eye, DT. Furrowing his brow, forgetting who this way. Then he blamed his buzzed state, remembering its Daenerys Targaryen. For reasons he didn't know, he dialed her.

It rang three times before she picked up.

"Hello? Jon?"

"Oh! Uh… hey, Dany," Jon kicked himself at the awkwardness of his hello.

"Hi, Jon… did you forget that I told you I needed some time?"

Jon slapped his forehead, regretting making this call. "Umm… yeah, I'm sorry. I… I forgot."

Her laugh made him relax a bit, "It's okay. I guess you did give me a few hours," she said.

Jon smiles, "Damn… thanks for letting dodge that bullet."

"No problem," Jon could feel her responding smile through the phone. "So, why have you called anyway?" She added.

"Oh… I just needed to hear your voice."

"Is something wrong?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Is there something I should've heard about?"

Jon looked at his feet, "I suppose word hasn't made it to the city yet."

"Jon, What happened?" She could sense the melancholy in his voice.

The words didn't come when he wanted, harder to vocalize now for some reason. Breathing hard into the mouthpiece.

"I… my father… he — he died."

"Oh, Jon. I'm so sorry."

The tears weren't felt until they ran down Jon's face again. He wiped them on his shoulder.

"What happened to him?" She asked.

"We're… not sure yet," Jon tried to get himself under control. "He was shot at—" He hesitated to tell her much more.

"What was that last part?"

"Listen," Jon tried to change the subject. "I know you needed time. I hope you've had enough, 'cause I want to see you."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah… I know we kinda had a torrid start. I totally get it if you don't want to see me," Jon replied.

"Considering I killed three people last time I saw you. But… there's something about you. I can't get enough. I like you."

"You barely know me," she laughed.

"I know enough, the fact that you even answered my call tells me a lot."

"Jon, you saved my life. I'll never forget that."

He closed his eyes, "I killed—"

"You did want you had to," she told him. "I wouldn't be here right now if you weren't there." She didn't say anything after that for a while, a long silence hung between them.

"I like you too," she continues. "But there's a lot about me you don't know. I've got… a dark past. The kind of stuff other guys are put off by."

"I don't care about any of that. It doesn't matter what it is."

She exhaled, "You don't have any idea what I'm talking about."

"How about you tell me all about it over dinner? Tomorrow night?" Jon tried to sound confident.

She seemed to be thinking it over, based upon another span of no response. Jon feared she would decline.

"Okay, Jon Snow. I'd love to."

Thanks for reading.

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