Chapter 7
King's Landing, Small Council
"Your Grace," Tywin began, "Lord Frostwood should be arriving any moment now, on his 'dragons.'"
"Skeptical, Tywin?" inquired Aerys.
"I will believe it when I see it, your grace," Tywin replied with a measure of certainty.
Grand Maester Pycelle chimed in, "Your Grace, I agree with Lord Tywin. Dragons have long been dead, and it is said only Valyrians could control dragons. As far as I know, Lord Frostwood is no Valyrian. There is no precedent for him to have control of such creatures, especially so many."
"My spies report the influence House Frostwood has in the North, even for a house so young. I have confirmed the reports of dragons multiple times. Should these reports be false, I am willing to resign as Master of Whisperers," Edwell declared, injecting a level of conviction that left the council momentarily stunned.
Such a bold statement prompted Pycelle to fumble over a response. Putting your position on the line caused it to be hard to deny what the man was claiming.
"If Lord Edwell is so certain, I believe we should take his words to be fact," suggested Symond Staunton, the master of laws.
"Your Grace, if he does have dragons, it will upset the balance in the realm," warned Tywin, his tone carrying a weight of concern.
"What would you have us do, my lord Hand, wisp them away in the night?" Edwell retorted with an edge to his words.
"Watch your tone, Lord Edwell," Tywin spoke with a warning tone.
"Peace, my lords. If this man does have dragons, I would have him share the secret with me." Aerys' tone was more jovial than ever, and he seemed to have almost a childish excitement as he awaited news regarding Lord Frostwood.
As the council continued their discussion, Ser Barristan Selmy, one of the esteemed members of the Kingsguard, abruptly entered the chamber. His armor clinked as he approached the table where the Small Council convened.
"Your Grace, Lord Frostwood has arrived," Ser Barristan announced with an air of urgency. "He comes on dragonback, and with him, six other dragon riders."
A hushed silence fell over the council, which was abruptly shattered by the sound of Aerys' laughter, echoing in the chamber like the cackles of a madman. The flicker of the supposed 'Mad King' emerged, visible in the erratic mirth that danced in his eyes.
"Ser Barristan," Aerys declared between fits of laughter, "invite Lord Frostwood into the throne room. I shall await him there."
The tension in the room persisted, amplified by the unsettling laughter of the king. Ser Barristan bowed in acknowledgment and quickly made his exit to carry out the king's command.
—
The day was unfolding in typical fashion within the crowded streets of King's Landing, the hustle and bustle of the smallfolk creating a familiar rhythm. However, the mundane routine was abruptly shattered as resounding roars echoed through the air, capturing the attention of every resident in the city.
People in the streets stopped in their tracks, their daily activities momentarily forgotten. They began to look to the sky, wondering if they had heard right, and sure enough they had.
In the distance, the sky revealed the majestic silhouettes of the mythical creatures, their wings casting shadows over the city below. The seven kingdoms felt the presence of dragons once more, a sensation that stirred a mix of awe, fear, and wonder among the smallfolk.
"They're massive!" echoed the exclamation from an anonymous soul, and truly, they were. Most dragons, majestic in their own right, measured around 80-100 feet in length. However, there was one dragon that eclipsed them all, capturing the undivided attention of the onlookers.
Ancalagon, a colossal presence in the sky, stretched over double the size of the other dragons. His immense wings cast a formidable shadow upon the city below, and as they soared above Kings Landing, the dragons left an indelible mark on the collective psyche of its people.
The awe-inspiring sight of these mythical creatures, their scales glistening in the sunlight, struck a chord of both marvel and trepidation among the populace. Gasps and whispers swept through the crowds, each onlooker grappling with the sheer scale and majesty of the dragons that now graced the skies above the capital.
As Ancalagon's massive form soared over the city, he left an indomitable impression on the minds of the smallfolk. The ground trembled beneath them, as their powerful roars were like earthquakes. It was the dawn of a new era, dragons had arrived, and Westeros would never be the same again.
—
"Announcing Atlas Frostwood, Lord of Avalon!" The king's court, typically a hive of bustling activity, now found itself in an abnormally silent state. The doors swung open, and a hushed stillness fell upon the attendees.
Tales of House Frostwood and their enigmatic Lord had circulated far beyond the confines of the North, yet many dismissed them as mere exaggerations. However, the resounding roars heard earlier had dispelled any skepticism, and the gravity of the situation settled over the court like an unspoken truth.
Seven figures entered the throne room; five bore a striking resemblance, as if brothers. Their silver hair, reminiscent of the Targaryens, shimmered under the ambient light, and cold blue eyes surveyed the surroundings. Another figure looked to be the living embodiment of fire, possessing ruby red eyes and hair aflame like the heart of a forge.
However, it was the one leading the group who captured the attention of the court. 'Atlas Frostwood', everyone thought in unison, for there was no doubt in their minds as to the identity of this individual.
Tall and imposing, his stature towering over most, Atlas entered with a commanding presence. Raven-black hair with streaks of white, alongside penetrating emerald green eyes which scanned through the court with a mix of intelligence alongside a hint of playfulness.
The light of the room further revealed his features, chiseled yet inviting. The contrast between his dark hair and the piercing green of his eyes left an impression on those who met his gaze. His was a look that spoke of both authority and a measure of amusement.
As Atlas approached the steps leading to the Iron Throne, he gave a small bow. "Greetings, your grace." Straightening after his brief acknowledgment, he focused on the dragon skulls which adorned the room, "I like the dragon skulls, quite a touch,"
"It is customary to kneel, Lord Frostwood." Tywin spoke with an edge. However in response Atlas simply gained a mischievous glint in his eyes and seemed to take no mind of Tywin's words.
"Customs, my lord, are like armor—worn by those who feel the need for protection. I find myself unburdened by such constraints," he remarked, his words carrying a subtle edge. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes, "Plus, me and my troops here had quite the exercise last night, so unfortunately, kneeling is currently something I cannot do," he added with an exaggerated sigh.
Tywin's stern expression betrayed anger and irritation, "Respect for customs shows respect for the realm."
Atlas, undeterred by Tywin's stern expression, continued, "Ah, respect for the realm, a commendable sentiment, Lord Tyron."
Tywin's jaw tightened at the disrespect, but before he could respond, Aerys finally spoke, "Lord Frostwood, your dragons have caused quite a stir, so tell me," leaning forward, the fire illuminating his eyes, "How did you do it?"
Atlas met Aerys' intense gaze with a calm demeanor, and an easygoing smile. "Your grace, the answer is quite simple…magic."
The simpleness of the answer caused Aerys to begin to laugh, quietly at first, but soon enough it was full blown. His laughter echoed through the court room, and the attendees found themselves hesitatingly laughing alongside their king.
"Magic you say!" Aerys said, after his laughing fit had died down, "Tell me my lord, how would one use this magic to go about claiming a dragon?"
"Your grace, we should not trust the words of this man, he has shown no loyalty, and he may use his vile magic to corrupt you!" Pycelle spoke urgently, but his confident expression was quickly shattered as roars from outside once again echoed through the halls.
Aerys seemed captivate nonetheless, and leaned in, eager to hear Atlas' response.