"In the name of my Lord Father, Stannis of the House Baratheon the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I Lyonel of the House Baratheon, his heir by blood and right, do sentence you to die." He nodded and in a single motion, a dozen axe heads rose and fell. Necks split, blood spurted and heads rolled.

"A just end to the brigands," Ser Aerion nodded his approval. "What do we do with the bodies, my prince?"

"Bury them," he said.

"Leave them to the crows, I say," Aerion replied.

"And I say bury them, see it done. Justice has been done we don't need to desecrate their bodies further."

Aerion nodded. "As you wish," he said stalking over to the slumped row of headless bodies.

"Prince Lyonel!" He turned to see an outrider riding towards him from Sparton.

"What is it, rider?"

"The people are ready for your court, my prince."

Lyonel nodded. "Then we'd best not keep them waiting. Horse!"

Sparton was a contracted name, he knew. It had once been known as Sparrowton, but during the Dance of the Dragons, the sparrow population of the area had been thinned by the beast, their nests destroyed. And so, over the years, the name had shortened by common parlance until it was Sparton in truth. It was a small town, too close to the larger Duskendale to be a true market town, but too close to valuable coastal supplies for it to decline to a village or hamlet. The town had two septs. A large one in the middle of the town, and a smaller motherhouse on a hill just beyond the palisade wall.

Lyonel entered the town escorted by a score of his archers. More of them lined the town square in which the people of Sparton had gathered, curious as to what the prince who had rooted out the nearby outlaws wanted with them now. Most of his army remained beyond the walls. He dismounted at the edge of the square, handed of his horse to his squire and made for a chair set at the top of the steps leading into the large sept so that he could overlook the entire square.

He sat down and nodded to Albrech, the captain of this detachment of archers who rapped his spear on the ground thrice to quell the lingering quiet.

Lyonel took a breath. "Let it be declared that the Commons Court of Sparton is now open. On this day I act in the name of my father, as his representative in this region. On this day you are free to speak as you would. No word you utter will be punished, no plea you issue will go unheard. Place your concerns and complaints before me and I will answer them for you. Those who wish to speak raise your hand and I will hear you."

When he was finished the silence hung over the square. He sat back in the chair set out for him and waited. He was used to this by now. This was the eighth Commons Court he had held since he had arrived on Crackclaw Point and the people had never yet taken his words at face value. No doubt they assumed he was lying only for them to reveal seditious feelings and fall beneath the headsman's axe. Even as word of his courts was spreading, no one fully trusted them. They probably wouldn't until they became a fixture of his reign. When he became king he would do this across the Seven Kingdoms. He would be itinerant. Justice may flow from the king, but that meant nothing if the king never moved. These people lived only a stone's throw from the capital, compared to people living at the mouth of the Mander or in the shadow of Casterly Rock, yet none of them could not hope to come to King's Landing, braving the road, paying tolls and lodging fees for only a hope that they might one day get to present their concerns in the throne room. He would have to go to them, and he would. When he was king he would ensure that justice did flow from the king across all of his realm.

Almost everyone had objected to the idea of him holding these Commons Courts from his knights and archers, who said he should focus on the war, to the local lords who questioned his authority to do so. He dare not mention them in his letters to his mother, like his knights she would be furious that he was distracted from the war effort in the field. But this had to be done. The people had to know that House Baratheon was better than House Lannister. They had to know that with a new regime came a new order. They couldn't just go back to the days of Robert, they had to be even better than that. So Lyonel would go to the people and he would hear their concerns.

Eventually, one man tentatively raised his hand.

"Stand ser," Lyonel said, beckoning him to do so. "And speak your piece."

The man got to his feet and looked around nervously at all the eyes upon him. "Your Grace, my prince," he began awkwardly, fumbling his words.

"Please friend, calm yourself and tell me in a clear voice, what is your concern?" He didn't correct the man about the term of address, for now, it was more important that he felt able to address him at all.

The man nodded. "Your Grace, the bandits that you just put to death. They stole my wife's necklace. I wondered if you'd found anything in their camp?"

"We found some things," Lyonel confirmed. "If you give us a description of the necklace I will send some men to see if it is there." He would have let the man go, but then he could simply identify any old necklace he found, better it was done this way. The only other way would be a public trial of the man, calling on witnesses to testify that the necklace he'd identified had indeed been his wife's. As important as justice itself was the trust these courts were to bring. If they turned into tribunals, there would be nothing gained.

"It were a silver thing, her mother's see, with a pearl hanging from the front of it."

"I see, Tonner, go and search."

The archer nodded and departed the square to search the gathered treasures of the brigands.

And with that, the dam was broken, hands were raised, men rose to speak first. The words meshing into a wall of sound. "Friends!" Lyonel called, raising his hands for quiet. "All will be heard, one at a time. You ser," he pointed at a man who had remained sitting, that would hopefully encourage the others. "What would you say at this Commons Court?"

The hours passed and the day grew long as Lyonel listened and dealt with one comment or complaint after another. It started as matters regarding the war, over taxation, the demanding of greater and greater levies of food and soldiers and such, but soon progressed to general matters of justice, law and rights. When he was in the middle of a dispute involving a whore who claimed her step son had forced her into a brothel after her husband's death to claim her rightful inheritance, in direct contravention of the Widow's Law of Queen Alysanne, one of his archers entered the town and approached him, leaning in close. "My Prince, a message from Captain Rennic."

"Is it urgent?" He asked.

"I believe it is just an update."

"Find out, if it is urgent I will take it, if not it will wait until justice is done."

"Yes my prince," the archer stepped away and Lyonel continued his Commons Court. It lasted until the orange of evening blanketed Sparton and the last supplicants had submitted their disputes to him. But now he was done with justice, he could return to the war.

He found the archer who had delivered the message from Rennic. "What was the message?" He asked without preamble.

"Captain Rennic reports that Voledun has surrendered, his men now hold the castle."

"Excellent," Lyonel drew a short map scroll out from his pouch. It was a leather backed map, crudely drawn and not to scale, of the point. He lay it flat out on the ground and drew his knife. With it, he scored a cross through Voledun. Similar crosses now dotted almost all of the point, one for every fortress or town of import. In particular a crescent of crosses was extending around Duskendale, not quite enclosing it.

"Are we ready to attack Duskendale yet?" Ser Aerion asked.

Lyonel shook his head. "No, our enemy is demoralised by constant defeat at the hands of my father and the Starks. One failed attempt to take Duskendale could unravel all of that. I will not make an attempt for the town until all the castles and fortresses within a day's ride have been taken. We continue as we are for now."

"What if the Lannisters are able to reinforce the garrison?"

Lyonel shrugged. "Let them. We control the seas, so they won't be supplied that way, and every man they slip inside is another we can trap and starve there when the siege begins." He returned his gaze to the cross covered map. "In the meantime let's bring more soldiers up from the centre of the point. I want us moving on to the next fortress as soon as we can." There were only three more to go before the net around Duskendale was sealed and he could begin the siege of the town.

But there was one part of the map that had very few crosses, the border with the Riverlands. His plan had been to take both Duskendale and Maidenpool and use them as anchors to hold the point against attacks by both the Lannisters in the south and the Starks to the north. But his uncle Rolland, leading the march north, had reported that the castles along the path were strongly garrisoned by Stark soldiers. According to what he had gathered from the area, the castles had been ceded to the Starks in exchange for a truce during their peace talks. Rolland hadn't attacked, and Lyonel agreed. If the Starks were bound by a truce from attacking his enemies, there was no need to aggravate them into attacking him instead, claiming the point as spoils of war. Rolland would instead maintain a watch on them, while Lyonel focussed on the threat of the Lannisters. Far from ideal, but it was the best to be made of a bad situation. But still, progress was being made.

"I don't suppose we've heard anything from the riders I sent to my father?"

"Nothing my prince. We've got a message from Dyrge, but it was not from your father."

He clenched a fist for a moment, then relaxed it. It didn't matter. It would take time for the riders to find his father in the field and then release the ravens they had taken to bring a message back to Dyrge Castle, the first he had taken in his landing. Until then he would continue as he had planned. Taking castles and closing in on Duskendale. Once the town was taken, he could push south, through Rosby and onto King's Landing, where he would be able to meet with his father coming from the other direction. In truth, no fortification worried him. They could either be ignored or conquered. The only thing standing between him and his father and victory were the demoralised Lannister field armies. His father was Westeros' greatest war living war leader. He would have no problem against whatever dregs the Lannisters sent against him. And as for whoever was between him and King's Landing, well, that was what Lyonel had developed his archer regiments for. No, they had the resources, they had the time and they had the gods on their side. By the years' end, House Baratheon would be restored.

But they couldn't lose focus yet. "What was the message from Dyrge?"

"Ships have landed from Dragonstone, my prince, they carry the additional food supplies you requested. It's all written here, they say." Ser Aerion held out a letter. Lyonel took it and scanned the pages. Wheat, barley, fish, all good, all needed. He frowned when he got to the bottom of the paper. "Is there a problem, my prince?"

"It says here that my sister has delivered the supplies in person. Shireen is here."