A/N: I spent time making this chapter extra-long. I'm going to try and do that in-between the long uploads so you guys get as much content as possible.

Until next time, enjoy!

I own nothing expect this story and OCs.

Chapter 6 – The Fate of Westeros

Lyra Wood was a Northern girl and a bastard. She had come to King's Landing with her younger sister, Merrin, from their home in the North after their father had died of a fever. He had once told her about how her true mother had been a woman from King's Landing and had on day promised to take Lyra there to find her. However, when they had arrived in the bustling city, Lyra had discovered that her mother had been a whore. Having used up the last of their coin on the journey, Lyra had agreed to work at the brothel in Flea Bottom where her mother had worked in while Merrin helped in the brothel's kitchen.

They had been there for only two weeks before they attack came.

Lyra had been seeing a man that night while Merrin had been sent out to fetch fresh bread. The man had been one of the City Watch, yet he was unshaven, squat and fat, with a stench of alcohol on his breath that made Lyra gag whenever he breathed next to her. When they had finished, he started downing the wine left on the bedside and would not stop boasting about how he had always preferred the Lannisters to the Starks, and how Lord Tywin was going to smash King Rob. Lyra, knowing better than not to challenge him, had quietly nodded in agreement.

But then she had heard shouts and panic from outside. Lyra had gone to the window and in the darkness, she saw folk running in panic through the streets. The next moment, Merrin burst into the room and ran right into her sister. Lyra had been shocked by the terror in her sister's tearful eyes.

The gold cloak, confused by this, made his way to the door, but the door was suddenly kicked open like someone had taken a small battering ram to it. The gold cloak had been hurled back as two figures in strange white armour were revealed. Lyra had hidden Merrin behind her, shielding her from these creatures. One of them approached them, pointing a black object at them which Lyra had no idea what it could be other than it held it like a crossbow.

"You're coming with us," the figure had said in a voice that sent chills down Lyra's neck.

Unsure how to respond, she stood there, trying to hide a frightened Merrin behind her back. After a few long seconds, the figure had eventually grabbed hold of Lyra's arm, while the other carried a wailing Merrin over its shoulder.

That was how they had ended up here, herded into the middle of a narrow street in Flea Bottom, surrounded on four sides by walls of blue light. Septons, steptas, whores, guardsmen, street urchins, craftsmen and traders were all crammed into that space, a cramped throng that had pushed Lyra and Merrin to the edge. Through the blue light, Lyra could see the things in white armour watching them, their black eyes observing the people in the square like animals in a pen.

"Shush, little one." Lyra was in the midst of trying to comfort her distraught sister when over Merrin's shoulder, she saw the gold cloak from her room approach the blue light wall. She wondered what had possessed him, because when he reached out to touch it, that was a flash like lighting, followed by the man's scream of pain and the gold cloak tumbled back into the herd of people. Lyra gasped when she saw his hand, blackened and charred like some crooked tree branch. The gaggle of people shifted in horror at the sight on the screaming gold cloak, clutching his claw by the wrist.

"By the Gods," she heard one man say horror. "What kind of magic have these demons brought upon us?"

"Fuck you and your damn magic, you bastards!" the gold cloak with the burned hand screamed at the guards on the other side of the barrier.

"Up your arses!" another man yelled. "If you've got any arses."

A whore lifted up her skirts. "I wonder if they have cocks as well?"

Soon the air was full of vulgar shouts and taunts being directed towards the troopers. Lyra covered her sister's ears. The men confined in the square continued to bark, shake their fists and make rude gestures. And what amazed Lyra was that their captors remained completely stoic and silent. She had seen other men get riled by such taunts and start a fight, but these troopers continued to stand guard like they couldn't even hear.

She wondered what they were like under their helms. They had the shape of men but they didn't act like men. Was there even anything inside?

The taunts and gestures lasted for an hour before the people in the square realised it was for naught and stopped. Overhead, Lyra heard the screech of the strange flying machines that now regularly flew over King's Landing. She watched them zip over the rooftops until the disappeared behind the Red Keep on the horizon.

She briefly wondered how the king was reacting to this, then went back to comforting her sister.

Maximillian Veers was overseeing the final stages of deployment from the cockpit of his AT-AT. Ten of these heavy walkers had been dispatched planet side. Standing at 22 meters, they were the pride of the Imperial Military's ground forces and the embodiment of the Army's unstoppable might. Veers knew the potent effect the gargantuan beasts would have primitive mind, sending them scurrying in terror.

Outside the walker's cockpit, several dropships had skilfully landed and were unloading hundreds of troops and equipment. The landing site was a large stretch of land near the shores of a large bay.

The scouts had found dozens of stone castles in the surrounding area. Veers had ordered them seized immediately and their occupants placed under arrest. He was aware of the risk of spreading his troops out like this before they even had their HQ set up, but he hadn't been expecting any trouble from these primitives.

Veers heard the walker's holo-communicator beep. He answered and a hologram of a Stormtrooper captain came up on the cockpit's dash board. "Report," Veers said.

"General! My company has captured the last castle, sir," the captain reported. "The lord is in our custody."

"Well done, captain," Veers complimented the solider, like he had seen Lord Vader do with his men. "Carry on."

"Yes, sir." The captain's image vanished.

Veers nodded to himself. Things were going well so far. Lord Vader would be pleased.

"General, Colonel Zellaby's forces have taken the city, sir," an officer reported.

"Is that so." Of course, Zellaby had taken the city! These primitives were no match for Stormtroopers! It was to be expected. The boy had proven he could subdue one dirty city populated by people who could not hope to harm the Empire's forces! Hoorah! He deserved the Medal of Valour, First Class! "Anything else?"

"Yes, sir, Lord Vader requests your presence in the city, immediately."

Veers, knowing that when Darth Vader said immediately he meant immediately, said, "Tell our commanders to continue deployment until all of our forces are on the ground. I want an HQ set up at this position. Peacekeeper." He showed the officer the coordinates of the Stormtrooper captain's last known location. "All units are to hold position until I return."

"Understood, sir," the officer saluted.

Veers made his way out of the cockpit and into the main belly of the walker. "And lay me on a transport with speeder bike escort," he called over his shoulder.

Captain Frazer Yareli was not accustomed to planet-side work, yet here she was, walking down a stone corridor lit with burning torches alongside Colonel Zellaby. She was still in her well pressed uniform while Zellaby was in full armour, carrying his helmet under one arm as was the common practice. Close behind them were three of Zellaby's own troopers. In the less than a day since they had arrived on this planet, Yareli noted how the young colonel was rarely seen without at least two of his men at his side.

"You know something, Captain," the Colonel said. "I thought you'd stay on the ship."

"Lord Vader wanted me to be present," Yareli replied. "Believe me, I would much rather be up there right now."

Zellaby said, "Lord Vader wouldn't drag you from your command to down here if he didn't have a good reason for it."

Yareli cocked an eyebrow. "You think so?"

"I think Lord Vader has a good reason for everything," said Zellaby.

Yareli couldn't help but agree. She was indifferent to most Stormtroopers, seeing them as little more than faceless manpower or cannon fodder, but there was something to like about Zellaby. He struck her as direct, logical, practical and loyal, qualities she herself held in high esteem. He was twenty years younger than her but talked and acted like he was on par with Yareli's own forty-seven years.

"What do you make of the natives?" she asked.

Zellaby shrugged. "You've read my report, haven't you?"

"Yes, but I wanted your own opinion. A soldier's opinion."

"Alright then." Zellaby rolled his head, making his fringe slide down his brow. He readjusted it then said, "They're a primitive lot. Superstitious. They have their gods they worship. They're easily frightened as well."

"Makes things easier for us then," Yareli added with a half simile.

"This is a big planet, Captain," Zellaby continued, casting a sideways glance at her. "They may not all be so humble. I had to burn an entire family alive for insubordination."

The nonchalant tone of that last statement gave Yareli a small chill. She was well aware of some of the more unpleasant methods the Empire was liable to use when dealing with traitors, she had even seen a good few first hand, but every time the person who had carried it out reported she could sense a tiny sliver of remorse in their voices. She got none of that from Zellaby.

"Here we are, Captain."

The small party had come to a stop outside a wooden door, identical to the hundreds of others in the castle, guarded by two more Stormtroopers. The sentries saluted the captain and the colonel.

"Lord Vader is expecting us," Yareli informed them sharply.

The troopers automatically swung the door open with a heavy creek. Inside, Lord Vader himself was waiting for them with General Veers at his side. They were standing next to a table, around which the small council was seated, comprising King Joffrey, King's Hand Tyrion, Queen Cersei, Lord Baelish, Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pyscell. Yareli tried her best not to look at them as she and Zellaby walked in (she noticed the way Veers' eyes coldly watched Zellaby) and took their places standing next to Lord Vader.

Tyrion could feel the tension around the council table as the two last Imperials entered the chamber and stood beside Darth Vader. He usually felt safe when Bronn was with him, but the commander of the City Watch had been relieved of his sword and when Tyrion looked up at him, the man looked desperate to be somewhere else.

He quickly glanced around that table at his fellow Weserosi. Joffrey's bright green eyes still harboured that fear Tyrion had seen in them when Vader had forced his way in. Cersei laid a hand on her son's shoulder, trying to give the boy reassurance, while on occasion, glaring up at the Imperials with all the fierceness and loathing she could muster.

Then there was Littlefinger and Varys, two men of great cunning and deceit. They were both schemers, Tyrion knew, but now they sat in their seats uncomfortably. Varys stared down at the table while Littlefinger had one hand clamped over his mouth. Their ashen expressions informed Tyrion, much to his surprise and curiosity, whatever plots they had been cooking up had just been dashed to pieces by the arrival of the Galactic Empire.

"We are ready to begin," Darth Vader's booming voice seized everyone's attention. He pointed at the map of Westeros and Essos that was laid out on the table. "I want to know everything about this kingdom."

Vader's gloved hand swept across the map, from the sandy scape of Dorne, over the Riverlands and the Reach, past the Neck, across the vastness of the North until in stopped over the snow-capped land beyond the wall.

The rest of the council failed to answer, so Tyrion cleared his throat. "By all means. This is the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. If you're after the entire history, I'm afraid it's one that cannot be explained in simple terms."

"Your history is unimportant," said Zellaby. "We want to know what is happening at this present time. Other nations, factions and any current conflicts."

Tyrion pulled at his thumbs and considered how much he should tell them. "Well you seem to have arrived at a rather," he paused, trying to pick his words carefully, "troubling time."

"Troubling how?" asked Yareli.

Tyrion decided to put it plainly. "We are at war." He waited for a response, but the mysterious people before him didn't change their expressions (not that that was an option in Vader's case) he continued. "King Rob Stark of the North has rallied his bannermen and marched on the South."

Vader brushed away Tyrion's words. "Your petty squabbles are of little concern. They will soon be coming to an end. That I can assure you."

"King Robb may disagree," said Tyrion. "The Young Wolf has yet to lose a battle."

"Then someone should teach him what defeat feels like," Veers scoffed.

"He is not the only pretender to my nephew's throne," Tyrion went on. "In the Stormlands, Renly Baratheon, the brother of our late King Robert, has declared himself king and is seeking aid from House Tyrell through marriage to their daughter Margery. The Greyjoys of the Iron Islands have declared themselves free from the North. And Renly's brother Stannis has declared himself King over in Dragonstone."

Zellaby studied the map. "Looks like you're your enemies have you surrounded. Don't you have armies?"

Tyrion wasn't surprised by Zellaby's patronising tone and tried to ignore it. "My father, Lord Tywin, the true Hand of the King, has taken most of our strength to march against Robb," he explained. "So far, he has beaten us at every turn and taken my brother prisoner." He saw Cersei tense up at the mention of Jaime.

Vader took a step forward to look at the map for himself. He took some time observing it then pointed at the lion figure head placed near Harrenhal. "I take it this is where your father is stationed."

"That is correct." Tyrion was puzzled at first by Vader's assumption, but then again, the Lannister lion adorned the Red Keep at this time, so it wasn't unreasonable that he had assumed correctly.

"And where would I find King Robb?" Vader asked.

Tyrion directed him to the wolf figurehead that sat on the Riverlands. "He is currently here after he smashed our siege of Riverrun."

"Are your sources reliable?" Vader demanded.

"Lord Varys is our Master of Whispers," Tyrion gestured to the Spider. "Ask him."

Sweat was making the light shine off of Varys' bald head as he slowly lifted it to meet the black eyes that loomed above him. "My… little birds inform me that the Young Wolf is indeed waiting at Riverrun with his armies."

Tyrion couldn't ignore the sharp snort that General Veers made when Varys brought up his little birds.

"What about down here?" Zellaby tapped the Stormlands where a stag figurehead was placed. "I take it this is where Lord Renly is marshalling his forces?"

"That is correct," said Varys. "My sources also say that Lord Stannis has travelled there to broker an agreement with his brother."

"If you want to stop them from squabbling," Tyrion put in solemnly, "I wouldn't put too much hope in. I doubt neither could be convinced not to take the crown."

Vader seemed to take this as a cue to turn to Zellaby and say, "Colonel, you will go to the Stormlands and confront Renly and Stannis. Bring them to King's Landing. They will bear witness to the Empire's authority."

"Yes, my Lord. And what if they refuse?"

"Then show them how the Empire deals with resistance." Vader punctuated his words with a figure jab at the Stormtrooper.

"As you wish, my Lord."

Vader addressed his next question to Tyrion. "I want you to send messages to all lords in the north and south. Tell them that the Seven Kingdoms belong to the Galactic Empire now. They can either serve us willingly or be annihilated."

"You said your father is the true Hand of the King," said Yareli. "I take it that he has the real authority."

Tyrion nodded. "He sent me here to rule in his stead."

"Will your father be willing to cooperate?" Yareli raised an eyebrow that pulled her scar up straight. Something about it unnerved Tyrion.

"My father is a proud and stubborn man. But I assure you he is no fool."

"Will he listen to you?"

Tyrion shrugged. "Only when he has no choice," he said bitterly.

"Good." Tilting his head down, Vader looked back to the wolf figurehead. "I will go and meet King Robb in person."

"Are sure that's wise, my Lord?" asked Veers, but when Vader abruptly rounded on the general, the expression of fear told Tyrion that he immediately regretted speaking.

"I am very sure, General," Vader rasped, making Veers go silent.

Then Vader turned his black orbed gaze to the one person at the table who wanted it the least: Joffrey.

"Captain Yareli."

Yareli snapped to attention.

"You will be responsible for the king and his mother. They will be held aboard the Eliminator."

Tyrion wasn't surprised when he heard Cersei loudly proclaim, "I'm sorry?"

"I have a world to conquer," said Vader, snapping his head at her. "I cannot have your son's childish ways interfering."

"Now see here!" Cersei arose from her chair. "What right do you have to demand such a thing?"

"I don't think you appreciate the gravity of the situation, your Highness," Yareli said giving Cersei a stoic look.

"I'm not going!" Joffrey suddenly yelled, leaping to his feet and knocking his chair over. It landed with a clatter. "This is my castle, my kingdom! I am King! I sit on the Iron Throne like my father before me! You think you can take that from me? My grandfather and uncle will show you!"

Tyrion clenched his hands in frustration, wishing the little fool would shut his mouth before something bad happened.

In the midst of his yelling, Joffrey jabbed a figure at Tyrion. "And to insult us further, you seek council from the Imp?"

Damn you, Joffrey, Tyrion cursed his nephew.

"I want you out, do you understand? Out! I am the King and I will do as I pl…"

Joffrey's ramble was halted as his mouth frozen. The lump in his throat started to quiver and his eyes bulged.

"Joffrey?" said Cersei.

The boy tried to inhale but just made sickening squeal as he tried to suck in air. He was choking.

Tyrion was confused at first but then he saw the way Vader was holding the thumb and forefinger in a pitching motion and realised whatever power Vader commanded was being inflicted on Joffrey, who dropped to his knees, hands clawing at his neck.

Cersei rushed over to embrace her son. She glared up at Vader with a lioness' fierceness. "STOP!"

Vader did nothing and Joffrey collapsed onto his side.

"Please, stop!" Cersei's fierceness suddenly dissolved into helpless pleading. "I beg you, he is my son!"

Seconds passed as Joffrey writhed around in the arms of his powerless mother. Then, as Tyrion was sure Joffrey was on the edge of death, Vader released his finger and thumb. The boy king stopped writhing and began spluttering as he was once again able to breath.

"Captain Yareli," Vader said. "Escort these two to your shuttle."

Yareli motioned for two Stormtroopers to pick the king and queen off the floor and half drag them to the door.

"Wait!" Vader looked back at Tyrion. "Are their any other members of the royal family in the castle?"

"Only young Prince Tommen." Tyrion felt a pang of empathy for his younger, more innocent nephew.

Yareli nodded, seeming to already understand what Lord Vader wanted. She led her charges out of the room.

"There is one other thing," General Veers said, braking the unbearable silence. "We need access to your resources, so we need workers. Lots of workers."

"You can help yourself to our dungeons," Tyrion told him, still slightly shaken by Vader's display.

"We will also need the support of the City Watch. Can you guarantee that?"

Bronn gave a deep sigh and said, "Yes, ser, you can. Provided there's enough of them left."

"General, have you selected a commander to maintain the garrison here?" Vader asked before Veers could respond to Bronn's remark.

"I took some time to consider and Colonel Rarick was the most suitable candidate, my Lord," said Veers. "You can give him your full cooperation, I take it?" he added to what was left of the small council.

"Very good. I intend to leave for the Neck to meet King Robb as soon as possible. Colonel, how soon can you leave for the Stormlands?"

"Immediately if necessary, my Lord," Zellaby said very matter-of-factly.

"Then go." As the colonel left, Vader said to Veers, "General I want you to start marching your walkers north. Let the people know that the Empire is here."

"It would be my pleasure, lord Vader." Tyrion noted the arrogant smirk that Veers was failing to hide.

Vader gave his final address to the small council. "You have your instructions. Carry them out."

Taking only a nod from Tyrion as an answer, Darth Vader stomped out of the room with Veers at his heel.

Tyrion Lannister slouched in his seat, pulling at the collar of his tunic and letting out a deep sigh.

"Pyscell," he said. "I think you had best go and send those crows."

"Yes… yes I should," stuttered the Grand Maester as he clumsily stood up.

"Oh, and don't worry about the note for my father," Tyrion added. "I shall write it myself."

"Very good, my lord," Pyscell said as he left.

"Gods be good," Littlefinger muttered, burying his head in his hands.

Tyrion got down from his chair and went to pour himself a drink. He wondered over to the window. The sun had fully risen and out across King's Landing the sky was awash with the metal flying machines and the screeching and swooping noises rang in the dwarf's ears.

In just one night, the fate of Westeros had changed completely. This game of thrones so many were playing had just been radically altered. Tyrion just hoped that he had chosen wisely in aiding the invaders. Not that he had had much choice in the matter, nor would his father, or King Robb, or Renly or Stannis or the Greyjoys. Based on what he had experienced with the Galactic Empire so far, Tyrion supposed they were used to getting what they want.

Then, he had a thought. If Lord Vader was going to meet with King Robb and wanted the Starks support, maybe the Young Wolf would appreciate something being returned?

Tyrion nodded to himself and took a sip.

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