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[b]Westeros, The Vale, Gulltown[/b]

The journey had taken him from Ashford to Bitterbridge by barge where they had disembarked and continued along the Roseroad. Ser Otho Bracken had hated the entire river voyage, beginning to end. Water was not his strong suit –at all. In fact, the huge knight would not have taken a ship at King’s Landing if he had not needed due to time constraints. Making it in time to Gulltown was paramount, for his third tourney this season. If only they could have set out sooner, then the journey could have been made by land, or at least up to Maidenpool where they had need only traverse the Bay of Crabs that cut into the Riverlands up to Saltpans.

If only they could have set out sooner. But no, a royal investigation had been called, and Ser Otho –a knight present at the Ashford tournament- had been sent for as a witness. Maekar’s blow had been a vicious one, and it had no doubt caused the death of Prince Baelor Breakspear. Nevertheless, Maekar remained a trueborn son of Daeron II and it seemed surreal to prosecute him for fratricide. Already from the beginning it was clear that the Anvil of Redgrass Field would be cleared of all charges. Both Valarr and Matarys, who had indicted their uncle for the murder of their father, displayed choler and disappointment as the trial proceeded. Bloodraven undoubtedly had had his own claws already in the proceedings, and he was either powerless to do something, or did not wish for Maekar be found guilty. Otho had not known which one was worse.

A seasick Ser Otho stumbled down the gangplank at the pier in Gulltown, immensely grateful to feel solid ground beneath his boots. Breathing in the air, he felt his strength –and stomach, returning and made for the tourney lists. He sent a boy ahead of him, but couldn’t remember his name. Then he realised he did not care either.

No expense had been spared in setting up the lists. The city itself was filled to the brim, by the sound and smell of it. Filled with hopefuls and knights and ladies, those that did not had quarters offered to them by the local nobility; filled with purse-cutters and homeless people little more than refuse. Ser Otho chose to set up his three pavilions in the designated area, outside of Gulltown. At least the smell of thousands of bodies packed together was less prominent, and horses did not reek half as bad.

The joust was a disaster. Ser Otho, encased in dented black armour with auburn highlights, had been sorely tempted to kill his horse after that poor showing. A nameless lad, only having earned his spurs a few weeks previously according to the stablehands, had dealt him a devastating blow with the couched lance. Otho –and his dignity- had been flung out of the saddle, sprawling from his horse. The crowd had been in awe until he had risen and roared with anger. Several men-at-arms had to grab hold of him, at least two of them having their noses broken in the process, lest he charged at the victorious hedge knight, intent on bloodying his blade.

Fortunately he could take out his anger on the opponents he faced in the melee. Fuelled by his rancor, Ser Otho Bracken had proven unstoppable, besting several knights of renown. Even the Laughing Storm had proven to be not fierce enough to withstand Otho’s powerful blows. The only adversary coming close to beating him, had been that disillusioned brat from White Harbor. For all his holy misunderstandings, Ser Baelor Manderly knew how to wield a sword, and the Brute of Bracken had thoroughly enjoyed the match. Violence and the sword-song is what he lived for.

Exhausted, he accepted the rewards and admired his handiwork. He had given a knight sworn to House Brune such a beating on the helmet with his gauntlets, that they had to carry him off the field to remove the dented helmet. The knight was fine, but the helmet had been lodged on too tightly as a result of Otho's punches. Ser Otho had taken several blows himself, and so when he smiled his mouth was coloured with blood. Some in the Riverlands might have recognised him better this way, running from the crimson spectre as he and his band of screamers came charging.