With Gaemon and Bahamut working alongside them, the temporary camp took shape faster than anyone expected.
In barely a week a proper road stretched from the camp all the way to the forest's edge. It was still just a simple dirt track, but six yards wide and lightly hardened, more than enough for the first stage of development.
The moment the road was finished, the settlers threw themselves into building houses and breaking new fields.
Gaemon's domain was vast—at least ten thousand square kilometers by his aerial surveys. Most of it was thick forest, dotted here and there with steep hills and rocky ridges, yet the flatter stretches near the river gave him a real advantage. When he divided the land, every settler received roughly the same amount; only the distance from the river varied.
The very first permanent structure they raised was the lumber camp on the site of the original tents. Using the endless timber all around them, the men quickly threw up several modest wooden cabins and leveled a broad work yard.
According to Gaemon's plan, five hundred new settlers would arrive from King's Landing every month. Half would become farmers and receive plots in the prepared farmland near the camp. The other half would be assigned to the lumber camp, stone quarry, shipyard, smithies, construction crews, and every other trade needed to grow a real town.
By the time the first batch of settlers finally received their own land, a full month had passed.
The camp no longer looked like a cluster of tents in the wilderness. A long wooden pier now jutted into the Wendwater so future arrivals would no longer have to wade ashore. A few sturdy warehouses stood a short distance from the riverbank.
Looking out over everything that had been raised from nothing, Gaemon let out a long, satisfied breath. The first and hardest step was behind him.
They say the beginning is always the toughest. Now that the worst was over, the rest would be steady, patient work—filling out the domain one building, one field, one road at a time. There was no rushing it.
With the basic infrastructure in place, Gaemon turned his full attention to opening farmland. Every mouth in the camp ate one and a half kilograms of grain a day. Even cheap black bread made from rye, barley, or oats added up quickly when hundreds of people were eating it. Making the domain self-sufficient in food was now the most urgent priority.
Almost everything still had to be bought from outside. Each morning Bahamut carried sacks of grain on his back when he flew in from the Red Keep, saving what little he could on transport costs.
To stretch supplies further, Gaemon organized a ten-man hunting party that went into the woods every day to forage and trap game. He also had Master Erik and his shipwrights build a small fleet of fishing boats so men could work the river. Any fisherman who brought in a set quota would keep the boat as his own—a simple incentive to keep morale high. If you want the horse to run, you have to feed it enough grass.
Breaking new ground meant clearing brush, burning stubble, and deep-plowing heavy soil. Normally it took one to two years before virgin land could grow reliable crops.
To speed things up, Gaemon spent a small fortune buying a herd of sturdy Dornish mountain horses from a dealer in King's Landing. These tough little horses had powerful legs, hard hooves, and endless endurance. They climbed steep slopes and carried heavy loads without complaint, and they thrived on rough forage. They might not match the big destriers of the Vale or the warhorses of the Stormlands in battle, but for farm work and hauling they were perfect.
To go with the horses, Gaemon had the smiths forge heavy iron plowshares. The wooden frames were made on-site by the camp's carpenters—every copper saved mattered.
With mountain horses and heavy plows, the first team of two hundred and fifty settlers, led by Gaemon himself, attacked the fields.
Westeros had never invented true machinery, but its agriculture was surprisingly advanced. Thanks to the heavy plow, the three-field system was already in use across the continent: one field sown with winter wheat or rye, one with spring barley, oats, or beans, and one left fallow. Only a third of the land rested each year, and the legumes helped restore nitrogen to the soil. It was the most sophisticated farming method known in the world.
The settlers worked in rotation, turning over the rich but heavy, sticky earth according to Gaemon's carefully drawn grid. Overhead, Gaemon circled on Bahamut and breathed controlled jets of dragonflame across the upturned soil, incinerating every weed, bush, and leftover stalk. The ash left behind would enrich the ground even more.
The long days left Gaemon bone-tired by the time he flew back to the Red Keep each evening. Queen Alysanne watched her youngest son with growing worry and more than once begged him to rest, to slow down, to remember he was still only six.
But Gaemon was drunk on progress. The simple joy of clearing land, turning wilderness into farmland, gave him more energy than sleep ever could.
Thank the gods for his magic. Without the constant flow of ambient power strengthening his small body, no six-year-old could have kept up with such brutal labor.
Each day he linked his magic to Bahamut, using the dragon as a living conduit. Every breath of flame sent power surging through the bond; every time Bahamut recovered, fresh magic flowed back into Gaemon. It was a perfect loop. The more they worked, the stronger both of them grew.
And so rider and dragon threw themselves into the work with boundless enthusiasm, lost in the pure, simple pleasure of turning empty land into living fields.