Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part VII…

"Tyrion…" Sansa coming to consciousness with her ingrained Stark sense of duty on first sound of the alarm clock. One of the lesser but hideous "joys" imposed by their benefactors, Tyrion liked to joke when not groaning at the sound. She reached to find…Nothing…

"I'm up…" She heard his voice from across the room. "Been up for a hour." Sigh…

She looked over to see him at desk, indeed fully dressed…Eyeing the glowing screen of his laptop computer, given out as aid from the Occupiers to the government to assist in better organizing the realm. For the better exploitation thereof, Tyrion would grimly note, although he had to grant the things were useful once one got the hang of them. Though he'd had to carefully disabuse those in his circle of "friends" now enthusiastically computer-and-net literate from using the new Westeros net for any sensitive communications. It wasn't magic and the system was very much capable of being monitored, whatever the Dirters insisted about the "privileged right" of free speech. Like their commitment to "non-interference" or "equal justice" for natives and their own or the continued "complete independence" of the societies they encountered, the concept was both "relative" and "flexible", particularly in times of crises…The definition of "crisis" being reserved of course, to them.

"Why?" she called, a bit annoyed.

If my little one's that energetic this morn, there are better things to spend his time on…Namely me, she grinned to herself, slightly blushing…She still did that, occasionally.

If anyone had told me a few years ago that I'd be pouting because Tyrion Lannister had left my bed…

"I wanted to check on the situation up North before the Council meeting today…" he noted. "And you deserved a little extra rest, without that foul imp pawing at you…"

"Tyrion!" she snapped, annoyed.

"Sorry." Sigh.

"It's not funny when you mock yourself like that…And mock me too." She frowned. "I don't appreciate my heart being dismissed like that, you know." She swung legs over the floor and sat up.

He looked over. "I am sorry, Sans…You're right." Apologetic tone.

"You could prove it by coming back here and pawing at me…" she grinned.

"Excellent idea. Just let me set this little report of mine to print…" he clicked the mouse to start the printer.

"Amazing thing…Though I can't help wondering how many forests go down now to make these little miracles possible." He eyed the paper issuing from the printer and rose from his chair.

"Stop being Tyrionly morose and come back here…I want you." She insisted. "And you can tell me of your brilliant report on the defense of the realm, Mr. Defense Minister and Lord Hand."

"Indeed. I was hoping you'd edit it." He noted, taking the paper from the printer and carrying it over with him to the bed. "There's new rumors of Mother Love and her children in the North…"

"After…" she insisted, putting hand to his mouth, setting his sheets on the small bedside table. "Thanks to your burst of industry we've got an extra hour. So, paw, my imp…" grin.

"Wicked, wicked girl…" he sighed, smiling.

The Wall…

Still the Wall, the great Ice Wall, created centuries ago to guard the North…A wonder even to the Dirters who marveled at how the natives, with their primitive tech could have ever assembled such a thing. Like the Pyramids back on Earth, some frequently noted…Or the Great Wall of Porcelain…China…China, that's it…Lord Jon Stark, Warden of His Majesty's Watchers, Guardian Commander of the Night's Watch, and Keeper of the one Dragon corrected.

Not that any of these grand titles really mattered much now…He reflected as he toured the Wall with his visitor, a Dirter scholar of some sort…Historian…Yes…Who'd begged a chance to see the Wall with its famed Commander.

"So, you served here since the very start of the last great civil war on the continent, is that right?" the scholar, pulling his heated suit a bit tighter round him and trying to avoid the gust of icy wind now howling over them…A "Doctor Sin…Clair." Sinclair, yes…Who'd seemed to think his being born on a Dirter colony rather than Dirt itself made him brother to those he encountered in Westeros.

One of those "oh, call me Jack…" Dirters who seemed to think a friendly smile, upbeat attitude, and willingness to repress some of the condescension was all that was needed to "smooth over" any bad feelings about the massacres and the occupation.

Still, Gods know he'd put up with worse, from his own…And the man was honestly curious about things here. A tall, fair-haired man, oddly reminding him of Jamie Lannister, the arrogant Kingslayer of old, though the Jamie as he'd last seen him, another weary refugee …His only difference, in appearance at least, being he and his rather oddly matched mate were of those few trudging North rather than South.

"Yes, since the start of the Five Kings' War." Jon agreed.

"And you signed on here, for life, is that right?"

"That's always been our way in the Night's Watch." Jon noted, a bit stiffly, eyeing the Dirter whom he had to admit seemed genuinely impressed.

"Yes, so I've been told. That's quite a commitment, especially up here." Sinclair nodded. "Tell me, though, not many are left…Were there many when you signed on?"

Jon sighed. "Not that many though it seems like compared to now…"

Now, when our duties seem more to be acting as guides to any Dirter or friend of the Occupiers looking to see the great wonder of the Wall…

Still, fair's fair…First time I came, it was for the legends of the wonder of this place and the stories Uncle would tell. And it was a tourist wonder even then…I remember when little Tyrion Lannister, now the mighty Hand and Minister of Defense for the kingdom of Westeros…And more or less my superior, under no less than the King himself…Came here, wanting to piss off the Eighth Wonder of the World.

Though now we boast two of the world's wonders…He noted, wryly.

"…Barely a thousand then…Though we did our duty and held the Wall."

"And now?" the scholar asked, keen look as they walked.

"Now, those of us left still guard. And hold the Wall, against marauders, smugglers…"

"Refugees mostly, now, right?"

Jon tensed just slightly, pausing…

The question and questioner seemed innocent enough…And the Dirters weren't known for their subtlety in asking for intelligence.

"Quite a few…" he nodded. "But that was always the case. Though now, transit is allowed, if they've no record of criminal violence." He resumed walking, Sinclair staying at his side.

"I can see why a lot of the ones North of here would want to be headed south." Dr. Sinclair smiled. "I've spent two years in Siberia on Earth and six months on Altair IV in the northern wastes but this seems worse. Maybe cause it seems like it should be livable out there, but isn't."

"It's hardly that bad now…" Jon shrugged. "With your vehicles and heaters and clothing…"

"Well, I mean more the animals…And the virus…" Sinclair noted.

Jon looked at the scholar.

"You people cured the virus…And killed the Walkers who refused treatment…And wouldn't stop fighting." He hesitated.

"Not always checking to see if they were restored and simply not willing to submit to oversight." Sinclair nodded. "It wasn't always handled well, a lot of us weren't happy about that."

'Not handled well'…Jon thought, keeping a noncommittal expression… Turning to wave his lantern as another watcher passed, raising his in salutation. He waved, then turned back to face Sinclair who seemed to be awaiting his answer…

These people and their euphemisms. No wonder ole Tyrion enjoys sparrin' with them so much.

"No, not always." He finally nodded. "Though the Walkers did kill or worse than kill a lot of our folk, including people I knew. I've no great sympathy for those who wouldn't accept the cure."

"A lot of them were rather deranged…Still, at least quite a number were helped." Sinclair paused. "What's your take on that, Lord Stark? Having fought them and as you say, had friends killed by them."

"I've seen what their virus did to my friends." Jon sighed. "I'm grateful it's gone. As for the survivors, if I take your meaning that you want to know what I think of them? Most of them are just people, like any other, even if some of them think they were better off then."

"The older ones were very long-lived…" Sinclair noted. "I suppose it seems to them they've lost a kind of immortality."

"It came at too high a price…" Jon, firmly. "If you want me to say I'm grateful to you people…I am…For ending that nightmare." His voice rising above the wind…He exceeding what he'd want to allow himself… "But there are some things…"

"It's only natural you resent the changes we've brought. Not all of us are happy about that, either." Sinclair noted.

"Well…Life changes…" Jon shrugged. "It wasn't so long ago I was called Snow and was not but Ned Stark's bastard son. Now, I'm the recognized head of the family and a Stark by name."

"Lord Edduard Stark, the man whose execution started the last war…" Sinclair eyed him.

"Yes. But if you're seeking the family history, you've come to the wrong Stark. My brothers at Winterfell and their people could tell you more."

"I've spoken to them. They and the other North Lords told me a great deal. He was quite a man, by all accounts."

"He was." Jon, firmly. "It's right that his murder brought the bitch Queen and her bastard down…"

"King Joffrey I…I've heard he was quite the Caligula…Pardon…" Sinclair smiled at Jon's puzzled frown. "'Little boots' as it translates was a mad emperor of one of our great Earth empires, thousands of years ago…He was infamous for the way he enjoyed killing and torturing his victims. His father's soldiers gave him the name as a boy when he marched with them."

"That sounds like Joffrey…" Jon nodded.

"So you see, our worlds aren't all that different in their history." Sinclair, wry shrug. "I keep seeing similar patterns on human/humanoid worlds…We all seem to develop along the same lines, much as I keep hoping to find something different."

Jon, curious now… "You've seen many worlds?"

"About thirty habitable ones, most of them colony worlds that never evolved advanced species…" he paused. "…though I guess some of the native life there might think differently. A few very different worlds, with life that took pretty strange courses."

"Must be quite a life…And you weren't born on your home world."

"Dirt?" Sinclair grinned. "No. I know you folks get rather a kick out of pronouncing it that way." Chuckle. "Some of us on the colony worlds feel a bit the same way."

"They say it's a beautiful place…"

"It took the resources of fifty other worlds to do it, but yeah…They made it quite beautiful again." Nod. "I've been there, lived there for grad school…When I took my advanced degree." He explained.

"But you prefer to travel…?" Jon, shrewdly.

"I like to see what's out here…And learn how it got to be that way." Nod.

"And our role in making it so…Especially the damage we do." He stopped. "Some of us, in the colonies and on Earth are concerned about that, Jon…Lord Stark. "