The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the towering windows of the Red Keep, its golden rays illuminating dust motes dancing in the air as an endless procession of servants labored under the weight of ancient ledgers, worn books, and countless scrolls. The converted Great Hall, normally a place of feasts and ceremonies, had been transformed into what looked like a maester's fevered dream. Row upon row of temporary tables stretched across the vast space, their sturdy oak surfaces already groaning under the accumulated weight of the crown's financial history.
"Seven hells, more coming, my prince," gasped a page boy, his young face flushed with exertion as he paused in the doorway. Sweat had plastered his sandy hair to his forehead, and his chest heaved with each breath. "Lord Baelish's solar... three more cabinets yet to empty. Never seen so many records in my life."
"Good," Joffrey replied, his green eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He stood at the center of the hall, hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch a commander surveying his troops before battle. The prince raised two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle that echoed off the stone walls.
What happened next was like watching a carefully orchestrated dance. From every shadowed alcove, behind every tapestry, through side doors and servant's passages, they emerged - over a hundred pages, each one carefully selected and trained for this very moment. Some were sons of minor houses, others clever commoners who'd caught Joffrey's eye. All had proven their worth with numbers and discretion.
They flooded into the hall with military precision, each carrying fresh ledgers bound in pristine leather and pots of black and red ink. Their boots clicked against the stone floor in an almost rhythmic pattern as they took their assigned positions at the tables.
"Remember everything we've practiced," Joffrey called out, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast space. "The double-entry system is our weapon today. Every single coin must be accounted for twice - once where it left from, once where it went to. If the numbers don't match perfectly..." He held up a pot of red ink meaningfully. "Mark it clearly. No exceptions, no oversights."
The great hall filled with the sound of quills scratching against parchment, a hundred small sounds merging into a constant whisper like falling rain. Joffrey watched with barely concealed pride. For weeks, he'd drilled them relentlessly in his new method. Some had caught on quickly, their eyes lighting up as they grasped the elegant simplicity of it. Others had required more patience, more explanation, more practice. But now they moved like a well-oiled machine, each understanding their role in exposing the truth hidden in these dusty numbers.
"You've been planning this for quite some time," came Lord Stark's quiet observation from beside him. The Hand of the King stood straight-backed and stern as always, his grey eyes missing nothing.
Joffrey allowed himself a small smile, never taking his eyes off the working pages. "Since the very moment I realized how pathetically easy it would be to steal from the crown under the old system. One book, one entry, no cross-checking... it's like leaving the treasury door wide open and being surprised when gold disappears."
"And yet you waited," Stark pressed. "Why?"
"I needed someone to make the first move," Joffrey replied, finally turning to face his future father-in-law. "Someone arrogant enough, clever enough to think they could use numbers against me."
"And Baelish obliged by accusing your uncle." There was a hint of something like admiration in Stark's tone, though his face remained carefully neutral.
Joffrey couldn't suppress a derisive snort. "Oh yes, he thought he was being so clever. 'The Imp must be stealing from the sewer project,'" he mimicked Littlefinger's smooth tones. "'The numbers don't add up, my prince.' He actually thought I was too stupid to understand basic arithmetic, too focused on hunts and tournaments to notice his little game."
A page approached with a question about a particularly complex entry, and Joffrey spent several minutes explaining how to properly record it. When he returned to Stark's side, the older man was watching him with increased intensity.
"You could have exposed this sooner," Stark pointed out, his northern accent making the words sound harder, more accusatory. "You had this method working perfectly well on the sewer project for months. Why wait until now?"
Joffrey turned fully to face his future father-in-law, noting the familiar suspicion in those grey eyes. It was the same look he'd seen countless times since arriving in King's Landing - the look of a man waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the trap to spring.
"Tell me something, Lord Stark," Joffrey said, keeping his voice low enough that only they could hear. "If I had walked into the Small Council three months ago and declared I'd invented a better way to track money, what would have happened?" He waited for Stark's slight nod of understanding before continuing. "They'd have laughed me out of the room. Varys would have tittered behind his perfumed hands, Pycelle would have mumbled about the 'wisdom of traditional methods,' and Littlefinger..." He grinned. "Littlefinger would have patted me on the head and explained why I was wrong using the smallest words he could find."
"So you waited," Stark said again, but this time it wasn't a question.
"I waited for someone to try and take a bite out of me," Joffrey grinned, showing teeth. "Then I showed them I'm the one who does the eating."
Stark's face remained impassive. "And how many other traps have you laid, prince Joffrey? How many other surprises await those who oppose you?"
The question hung in the air between them. Joffrey could hear the real meaning behind it - was Stark himself walking into a trap?
"My lord," Joffrey said carefully, "when I'm king, you'll be both my Hand and my father-in-law. That means you'll have the options to beat my ass If I do your daughter wrong, or wipe it clean if I do the kingdom wrong. Either way, you win." He met Stark's gaze directly. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"
Stark said nothing, but something shifted in his expression - a slight easing of tension around the eyes. He turned back to watch the pages at work, leaving Joffrey's question unanswered.
The afternoon dragged on, marked by the steady scratching of quills and occasional mutters between pages comparing figures. Joffrey paced the length of the Great Hall, occasionally stopping to peer over shoulders or answer questions about particularly confusing entries. The sun had begun its descent when a page boy - one of the sharper ones Joffrey had personally selected - approached with trembling hands.
"My prince," the boy said, voice cracking. "We've found something... unusual in the daily accounts."
Joffrey took the proffered ledger, scanning the neat columns of his new system. His eyes widened slightly at the discrepancies. "Get me the last three days of records," he commanded. More pages scurried to comply.
Lord Stark moved closer, his shadow falling across the pages. "What have you found?"
"A pattern," Joffrey muttered, spreading out the additional ledgers. "See here - small amounts, but consistent. Silver stags vanishing between collection and deposit." His finger traced down the columns. "Two here, three there... never enough to raise alarm, but..."
"But enough to add up," Stark finished grimly.
Joffrey nodded, then raised his voice. "I want every daily account from the past month checked against tax collections. Priority on the merchant fees and dock tariffs."
The army of pages redoubled their efforts, passing ledgers back and forth like a well-oiled machine. Joffrey had drilled them relentlessly for this moment, teaching them to spot the subtle signs of coin slipping through the cracks.
"He would be proud," Stark commented, watching the organized chaos.
Joffrey laughed sharply. "Robert? He's probably passed out in the hunting lodge by now. Numbers make his head hurt worse than wine."
"I meant Lord Tywin."
That made Joffrey pause. "Grandfather would say I'm wasting my time doing servant's work." He shrugged. "But he's not wrong about everything. A Lannister always pays his debts - which means keeping track of who owes what."
The sun had set completely, and servants were lighting torches around the hall when the final tallies began coming in. After compiling through 100's pf ledgers the only amount he could directly pin towards Baelish taking with him incriminatingly so would be.
"Seven hundred and eighty-six silver stags," announced the lead page, his voice carrying across the now-quiet hall. "All missing from three days."
Stark's expression darkened. "Not as bad as we though would you say?"
"Just the routine daily operations of the crown," Joffrey reminded. He turned to a different page. "Bring Lord Baelish. It's time he answered for these discrepancies."
While they waited, Joffrey engaged Stark in quiet conversation. "You know what this means, don't you?"
"That Baelish has been stealing."
"That's just the beginning. If he could skim this much from ordinary days..." Joffrey let the implications hang.
"The tournaments," Stark muttered. "The feasts. All those massive expenses with no proper accounting."
"Exactly. And who knows how many years this has been going on?" Joffrey's voice hardened. "How much gold has vanished into his private coffers while the crown drowns in debt? If we factor in the lavish feasts and the money not accounted anywhere we could Multiply that number by 8"
The doors opened, and Littlefinger was escorted in. Despite his confinement, he maintained his usual smooth composure. Only the slight dishevelment of his normally immaculate clothes betrayed any distress.
"My prince," he said with an elaborate bow. "I trust this unfortunate misunderstanding has been resolved?"
"Seven hundred and eighty-six silver stags," Joffrey replied flatly. "Missing from just three days of normal operations. Would you call that a misunderstanding, Lord Baelish?"
For just a moment, something calculated flickered behind Littlefinger's eyes. Then his face arranged itself into an expression of concerned surprise. "A regrettable error in management, perhaps. Though hardly a significant sum in the grand scheme of things. I would be happy to make restitution immediately."
"Seven hundred and eighty-six silver stags," Joffrey repeated, starting to pace. "From three ordinary days. No tournaments. No feasts. No special expenses." He stopped directly in front of Baelish. "How many thousands have disappeared during the big events? How many dragons have vanished into your pockets over the years? It is a dragon a day if we count and you have served for eight years. 2920 dragons hardly a big number but you did serve through a war and almost 19 Tourneys and feasts during your time so the number is bigger don't you think"
"My prince, surely you don't suggest-"
"I'm not suggesting anything," Joffrey cut him off. "I'm stating facts. Facts proven by numbers that don't lie." He turned to Stark. "As Hand of the King, I formally request Lord Baelish's removal from office and prosecution for his crimes."
Stark nodded gravely. "The evidence is clear. But the final decision must come from the king."
"Of course," Joffrey agreed. "Send for my father. Let's see what he has to say about his Master of Coin stealing from under his nose."
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