The Tourney had gone as expected…. Mostly. Daemon beating nearly every other up until the point he'd even thrown Otto's son into the dirt with his horse on top of him! Then came…. That Northern cunt! All high and mighty stop his white charger. Daemon had been sure he could win. Both when they gone charging at each other with them lances and even after hitting the dirt and grabbing his sword. Something he now looked back on and frankly regretted. He should have known just by the other man's sheer size and the fact that men from the North played dirty, he had to stay sharp. He hadn't…. Off in the arena there was a lot of cheering and shouting still. Probably more Jousting still left and Daemon was limping, a rather tired and sulky expression on his face for his large red and black tent. Using his teeth pull one of his gloves off his other hand went to push the flap back. Entering he sort of eyed the long sofa his servants had set up, and after a moment he'd all but c