After wrapping up business at Snowsalt Town, Gaemon stood for the first time on the exact spot he had chosen for his future capital. The new year had just turned.
Follow the Wendwater downstream another few dozen miles and you reached this place. Gaemon had already named the still-unborn city Oros—after the legendary Valyrian Freehold metropolis famed for its trade, its scholarship, and its forges. Most Valyrian steel in history had poured from Oros's crucibles. He intended his new Oros to become exactly that for House Targaryen: the realm's center of invention and craftsmanship.
The first thing that greeted him when he landed was a long, hardened road stretching north to south for miles. This was the city's spine, its grand central avenue.
He had named it Alysanne Avenue. When finished it would run well over two thousand yards, lined on both sides with shops, warehouses, and guild halls—the beating commercial heart of the city.
At its northern end lay the future Dragon Plaza, a vast circular square. On its four cardinal sides would rise the four pillars of any great city: the City Hall, the Treasury, the High Court, and the University.
In the plaza's center would stand a towering clock tower. At its very top, Gaemon planned a colossal statue of a dragonrider—his father, King Jaehaerys, astride Vermithor the Bronze Fury. He had already commissioned the finest painters in King's Landing to capture the exact moment so the stonecarvers could immortalize it.
Beyond the plaza lay the Royal Quarter. Right now it was nothing but bare earth, scattered boulders, and a handful of rough wooden cabins that looked more like a backwoods farmstead than a palace district. The houses were pure frontier work—logs cut on site, roofs of split shakes, walls chinked with moss. Gaemon didn't mind in the slightest. He swung down from Bahamut's back and strode toward them with a broad smile.
The cabin door opened. Several men stepped out, and Gaemon's face lit up.
"Kormon! You finally made it. How did the Citadel trip go?"
Kormon Correy—master architect, veteran of King's Landing's great rebuild and the Kingsroad itself—bowed deeply. The Correy family had been building castles and cities across Westeros for nearly three centuries. Without Septon Barth's recommendation, Gaemon would never have known such talent existed.
The two men had met once in King's Landing. After hearing Gaemon's vision for an entire planned city from scratch, Kormon had been fascinated but cautious. He had never designed at this scale before, so he had asked leave to travel to the Citadel and study every scroll on urban planning, hydraulics, and grand civic works he could find. Gaemon had agreed at once.
Through ravens they had stayed in constant contact for months. Gaemon had sent detailed lists of requirements; Kormon had returned clever solutions for every one.
"Your Grace," Kormon said warmly, "the journey went well overall. There were a few… obstacles at the Citadel, but Prince Vaegon's assistance cleared them away. I owe both of you my deepest thanks."
Gaemon waved the gratitude aside with a laugh. "Nonsense. You're doing the work for me. Any help I can give is only fair. And thank you for putting up with my endless letters."
Kormon smiled, then grew serious. "Your Grace, I found viable designs for the pressurized water system you want—fresh water to every home, proper sewers for waste. But adding all of it will drive the cost and labor to staggering levels."
Gaemon simply shrugged. "Money is my concern, not yours. We won't try to finish everything at once. I've divided the entire project into three phases, three years each—nine years total. The day I turn sixteen and come of age, the city will be complete. I will invite every lord in Westeros to the grand opening. And on the great stone monument in Dragon Plaza, every builder's name will be carved in letters deep enough to last a thousand years. Yours, Master Kormon, will be among the first."
Every man present straightened as if struck by lightning.
The plans they had seen were already breathtaking. When this city rose—larger than anything in the Crownlands, perhaps rivaling Oldtown itself—their names would be remembered as long as the stones stood.
Kormon Correy's voice was thick with emotion. "Then let us begin, Your Grace. Oros will not merely be a city. It will be a wonder."
Gaemon grinned, silver hair whipping in the river wind, and looked out across the empty plain that would one day become his capital.
The future was already taking shape beneath his feet.
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