The sun beat down without mercy.
Joffrey stood on a makeshift wooden platform with the crowned stag banner snapping behind him. The Hound and Ser Barristan flanked him on either side.
Below, a dozen soldiers knelt in the dirt while several wounded men lay sprawled nearby.
"My lords," Joffrey said, his face unreadable. "Come claim your men."
Lord Gyles shoved through first and dropped beside one of the injured, wailing between coughs. "My boy… cough, cough… who did this to you?"
No one answered.
Joffrey watched the messy scene below in silence.
He had wanted to appoint one of his own men as quartermaster and take full control of every grain sack and fodder bale in the army. The moment he floated the idea, the lords' faces had gone tight. No one spoke against it outright, but no one agreed either.
So he offered a compromise: a rotation system. Each house would send one man to oversee distribution. Shifts lasted three days. When grain was handed out, every house could have eyes on the scales and the ledgers stayed open.
The lords had lit up at that. They could still keep watch over their own supplies. No outsider held all the power.
Of course, chaos arrived on the second rotation.
The young man from House Harford pushed forward through the crowd.
"Your Grace, I have something to say!"
"Today when the rations were issued, my house reported over seven hundred men, but young Rosby only issued shares for six hundred. The rest are still missing. Are my soldiers supposed to march on empty bellies?"
"Gyles, where are the fuel and saddles you promised me?" another lord shouted.
"And mine!" Lord Rykker added. "You shorted us last time, and you're shorting us again."
Lady Tanda's steward tried to calm everyone. "My lords, please—"
A voice cut through the noise. "Rosby gave you extra grain. That's why you keep defending him. Is he your—"
The spark hit dry tinder. Accusations flew. Old grudges surfaced. Men started shoving. Two hot-headed knights rolled in the dirt, fists flying.
Joffrey gave a small signal.
Clang—!
Dozens of swords left their scabbards at once.
Every man froze. The two knights on the ground looked up, stunned, then helped each other to their feet, brushing dirt off each other's shoulders with forced smiles.
"Ser, did young Rosby really short the rations?" Joffrey asked, turning to Barristan.
"He did," the old knight stepped forward. "House Harford reported seven hundred and three men and received shares for six hundred. House Rykker reported one thousand five hundred and seventy-two and received one thousand four hundred. Five other houses were short at least ten percent. Fuel, fodder, and cloth were also reduced. House Rosby, however, received more than its share."
Silence fell over the field.
Joffrey looked down at old Lord Gyles, who had gone pale. "Lord Gyles, your ward was the quartermaster today. He shorted the army's supplies. The evidence is clear. What should be done with him?"
Gyles dropped to his knees, coughing hard. "Your Grace… I admit the shortage… but look at him—he's already been beaten half to death…"
Joffrey turned to Barristan. "Ser, under military custom, what is the punishment for withholding supplies?"
"Flogging, fines, demotion, or the pillory," Barristan answered calmly. "In serious cases, the offender can be stripped of knighthood and executed on the spot."
Gasps rippled through the lords.
"Your Grace, he's only a first offender," someone pleaded. "Show mercy."
"I will compensate every house for what was taken," Gyles begged, crawling forward on his knees and bowing to the other lords. "I'll make it right…"
The lords murmured in agreement.
Joffrey had never intended to execute the man. He nodded. "Very well. All spoils that young Rosby would have earned on this campaign are forfeit and will be divided among the shorted houses. From today forward, he is relieved of quartermaster duty. Once his wounds heal, he will wear the pillory at the camp gate for three days."
He looked at the other lords. "As for the missing rations, House Rosby will make them good by tomorrow morning. Anything still short will come out of Lord Gyles's own stores."
The lords nodded quickly. "Fair, Your Grace."
Joffrey let the tension ease for a heartbeat, then spoke again, voice carrying. "But let us be honest about what we just witnessed. The rotation system was meant to give every house a voice. Instead it turned into this."
No one dared answer.
"You all want to protect your own supplies. Today you take a little extra; tomorrow someone else takes from you. The day after that, what happens? We haven't even reached the Bloody Gate and we're already fighting each other."
His words landed like hammer blows.
"Supplies are the lifeblood of this army. We cannot afford three days of chaos every time the sacks are opened. From now on there will be one permanent quartermaster—a man of proven honor—who will manage everything. Each house may send a representative to assist and witness the accounts. Distribution will be public every day."
He paused. "I propose Ser Barristan Selmy for the post. Do any of you object?"
The lords lowered their eyes and answered as one. "We accept."
"Then it is settled."
Joffrey turned and stepped down from the platform, the crowned stag banner rippling above him.
Behind him, the lords filed away in uneasy silence. The rotation experiment was dead. Central control had just been locked in place, and no one had dared say a word against it.