"Master Erik, it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm told you're willing to work at my shipyard. What could possibly bring a shipwright as renowned as you—famous across the eastern continent—to a yard that hasn't even been built yet?"
Gaemon studied the man standing before him. Erik looked to be in his mid-forties, his skin burned dark by the sun, his short red hair already receding into a widow's peak. His clothes were simple but practical, the sort worn by a man who lived for his craft.
"Your Grace," Erik began, his voice steady but respectful, "I was working at a shipyard in Myr, one owned by a powerful magister's family. My skills were decent enough that life was comfortable.
One day my wife came to visit me at the yard. The magister's son spotted her during an inspection and took a liking to her. He sent men to demand I hand her over. With the help of a friendly captain, I managed to smuggle my wife and myself out of Myr and flee to Westeros, eventually reaching King's Landing.
I never imagined the bastard would still refuse to let us go. He tracked us down here and found the shipyard where I was working. Not long ago, his men tried to forcibly seize my wife and me and drag us back to Myr. Only the yard workers fighting them off saved us.
But they haven't given up. They've been following me these past few days. When I learned through the guild that Your Grace was looking for master shipwrights, I saw my chance. If I could work under the protection of a Targaryen prince, they would never dare touch us again. That's why I recommended myself."
Gaemon understood at once. It was the all-too-common tale of a rich second son using power and coin to prey on the innocent. Such things were depressingly ordinary in this world. At least Erik wasn't powerless—he had connections and skill enough to protect his family this long.
"If that is the case, then rest easy. You may work at my shipyard without fear. I will deal with these troubles from Myr."
Gaemon wasn't the least bit concerned. A Myr magister's family held some influence in the Free Cities, but against House Targaryen it meant nothing—especially here in Westeros, the very heart of Targaryen power. He wouldn't even need to lift a finger himself. A handful of the second sons from the Order of the Golden Fleece could settle the matter cleanly and quietly.
Hearing Gaemon's promise, Erik's entire face lit up with relief. The dark cloud that had hung over him and his family for months finally began to lift.
"Thank you, Your Grace! You are my savior. I swear I will devote every ounce of my skill and knowledge to help you build the largest and most powerful warships the world has ever seen!"
Erik's voice trembled with genuine gratitude and excitement.
Gaemon could understand the man's emotion perfectly. Without his protection, Erik and his family would have been doomed.
"No need to be so worked up," Gaemon said with a small smile, waving a hand dismissively. "I simply hope you can live up to that promise. Go and make your preparations. We will be departing soon. The working conditions in the beginning will be harsh, but I trust you will overcome every difficulty and build the warships you speak of."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Once their conversation ended, a guard escorted Master Erik from the room. As silence returned, Gaemon sank back into thought.
With Erik now in charge of the shipyard project, that side of things should proceed smoothly for the time being. Site selection, construction, and staffing could all be left to the master shipwright.
That left only one critical position still unfilled: a master architect and city planner.
While Gaemon possessed far more advanced knowledge of urban planning than anyone in this era, knowing something in theory was very different from executing it in practice.
He was no expert in the building techniques, structural mechanics, labor requirements, machinery, or materials available in Westeros. Unlike some of the more fortunate transmigrators in the stories he once read, he had no magical "build anything instantly" cheat.
The most he could offer were basic concepts—proper cement mixtures, the importance of advance city planning, clean water sources, sanitation systems, and other common-sense ideas that would be taken for granted in the future. To actually turn vision into reality, he needed an experienced, highly skilled engineer to work alongside him.
As Gaemon pondered who could fill that role, one name immediately came to mind:
Septon Barth.
Ever since King Jaehaerys had taken full control of the realm and reorganized his Small Council, Septon Barth had been instrumental in building the Kingsroad—the greatest and most ambitious engineering project in Westerosi history. The road connecting the North and South had been under construction for decades and still wasn't fully complete.
Barth had also led the major reconstruction and improvement of King's Landing itself.
When the city was first founded, it had only been meant to support the Red Keep. As decades passed, the population exploded far beyond what the original haphazard layout could handle. Without proper planning, King's Landing had grown into a chaotic mess of buildings crammed together with almost no proper streets.
After two devastating disasters—a massive fire and a terrible plague that killed two-thirds of the city's population, including Princess Daenerys Targaryen—King Jaehaerys finally ordered a complete overhaul of the capital.
The man who had carried out that transformation was none other than Septon Barth.
If there was anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who could help Gaemon design and build a proper city and castle from the ground up, it was the current Hand of the King.