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Two gallows had been erected outside the walls of Buckle's Ford.
Thick crossbeams cast long shadows in the morning sun. Three bodies already swung from the first one, turning slowly in the breeze. Five more men stood on the second, nooses loose around their necks, feet balanced on wooden blocks. They were shaking, faces bone-white.
Thousands of soldiers stood in total silence.
Only Joffrey's voice carried across the open ground.
"This Crackclaw man started the fight and caved in a man's skull with a club." He pointed at the middle corpse. "Dozens of witnesses identified him. Murder demands a life, so he hangs."
His finger moved to the next body. "This Crownlands soldier drew steel and killed during the brawl. He was run through with a fish-spear in return—justice served."
The crowd swallowed hard.
"As for these five," Joffrey gestured at the men still standing on the platform, "they were identified as having injured others. They remain here under watch. If any victim dies, they die. If the victims live, twenty lashes and they walk free."
No one spoke.
Joffrey waved a hand. "Call the next witness."
Lord Buckwell stepped forward and took the witness stand, facing Joffrey with steady eyes.
"I swear by the gods that my words are true. I accuse the lords of Crackclaw Point—Lord Brune, Lord Boggs, and the rest—for allowing their men to pillage royal lands, trample wheat fields, destroy crops, and break the King's Peace."
He drew a deep breath and stared hard at the cluster of Crackclaw lords being held nearby.
"I demand they be judged."
It was a one-sided trial.
Every man from Buckle's Ford had the right to speak. They came forward one by one, pointing at the Crackclaw lords and listing every crime: how many rows of wheat were ripped up, how many vegetable patches were ruined, whose house was torn down for firewood, whose daughter was…
Some witnesses broke down halfway through and had to be helped away.
No one from Crackclaw Point spoke in their defense. They stood huddled together, watched by hard-eyed Crownlands soldiers.
Bald Lord Brune tried to protest several times, only to be slapped silent by the Gold Cloaks.
The trial dragged on for hours. The accused lords went from furious to numb to hollow-eyed.
When the last witness stepped down, Joffrey rose.
"By military law, allowing troops to pillage—especially allied supplies—is treated as murdering comrades and treason. The penalty is death."
The lords looked up in disbelief.
A roar went through the crowd, but it was a roar of approval.
"If this were Lord Tywin, he would have taken your heads and put them on pikes," Joffrey added quietly, watching their ashen faces. "But you came at the King's command, so I have no authority to execute you here."
"Death sentences are recorded. You will be taken before His Grace for final judgment."
"However, the living cannot escape punishment. Your heads and beards will be shaved. You will receive ten lashes in public and apologize on your knees to Lord Buckwell and his people. Damages to the fields will be paid in full. If you have no coin, it will be taken from your lands' taxes."
Joffrey looked out over the crowd. "Is this judgment fair?"
A thunderous cheer erupted. "The prince is just!" "The prince is wise!" "Long live Prince Joffrey!"
Most of them hadn't even heard the details—they were simply cheering because everyone else was.
When the noise died down, Joffrey turned to the four thousand Crackclaw levies standing under guard.
"As for you: half will surrender your weapons and join the supply train. The other half will be split among the other lords' companies under close watch. Once the King passes judgment, you will be returned to your original units."
"Dismissed."
Murmurs exploded through the ranks.
A few Crownlands soldiers huddled together, whispering.
"The prince was protecting us, right?" a young soldier asked. "I cut a man down— you both saw it—but he never mentioned it."
The man beside him clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up, you idiot! Want to end up on that rope?"
The young soldier glanced nervously at the gallows. "But… so many Crackclaw men died. Will they accept this?"
"Who cares if they accept it?" an older soldier snorted, jerking his chin toward the levies being reorganized. "Because of this mess, the prince also quietly dropped the demand that they turn over their own grain. We still have to share some of ours with them."
"Keep your eyes open. Don't let them take advantage."
"Exactly," the others muttered, nodding.
Not far away, a line of Crackclaw men stood watching their weapons being taken. In exchange they were handed a chunk of salt beef and a hard loaf of bread. No one protested. They just ate like starving wolves, eyes on the ground, saying nothing.
Armed soldiers stood watch, spearpoints glittering.
The Hound appeared behind Joffrey.
"You did that on purpose," he said.
Joffrey didn't turn. "Did what?"
"Favored our side," the Hound rasped. "Everyone saw it."
Joffrey looked out at the Crackclaw men being broken up and reassigned. The disarmed ones shuffled toward the supply train. Those folded into other companies were watched like prisoners by Crownlands knights.
"What are they saying?" Joffrey asked.
The Hound snorted. "What do you think? They're calling you fair."
"Not them." Joffrey shook his head. "The Crackclaw men."
"Think back. What slogan were they shouting right before the fight started?"
The Hound scratched his scarred head, then his expression changed.
"Targaryen!"
Joffrey nodded but said nothing more.
"You people really hold grudges," the Hound muttered.
Joffrey still didn't fully control the six thousand Crownlands troops. Four thousand men openly nostalgic for the old dragon kings were a dangerous unknown on the long road ahead. He couldn't kill them—they were technically allies marching at the King's command. So he split them, scattered them, and placed them under constant watch.
As for fairness…
He glanced once more at the bodies swaying gently from the gallows.
He had given the Crownlands soldiers the fairness they needed to see. Anyone not directly identified could keep their weapons and keep marching.
Joffrey swung into the saddle.
"Let's move. His Grace is already waiting for us at the crossroads on the Trident."