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Sir Tristan smiled to herself as she overheard the young man and his father from where she stood. She could sympathize with the burning desire to participate, as she'd certainly had to fight to win her own right to do so. Not wasting a single opportunity to prove her ability, Tristan had competed in the swords earlier in the day. Her purse was a bit heavier with winnings, some of which was from the tourney and the rest won through bets. She'd be collecting a bit more now having bet on the newcomer and she made a mental note to congratulate the lad later. Kay something or other, wasn't it? Sir Ector's oldest boy.

It wasn't as if she were hurting for income nor that she was greedy. It was more that she found it amusing to take money from those that bet against the "wench with a sword." Treating herself with the money of haters took the sting out of the flung insults from the stands. Not everyone knew her, and many were simply insulted at her presumption to don armor and fight. Many were still confused that a female knight could exist, but a knight she was as well as a daughter of a king, and if they had spoken to her on the street the way the drunkards hooted in tourney stands they'd have been thrown in stocks. This was the one day heckling was simply expected, and cheeks were turned. Knights who threw hissy-fits over drunken commoners simply made bigger fools of themselves. As for this win, she'd simply indulged in using a little of her winnings to bet on newcomers and underdogs, which included this Kay. It was always the newer participants that had something to prove.

Aside from the pocket money, she'd also won a chance to tug at the sword in the stone. She didn't expect it to pull up for her, of course, but when the time came she'd make a solemn attempt out of respect. She honestly didn't think the thing would ever come out for anyone, and was one of the growing number of knights that wanted to see an heir chosen by council after years of no leadership. Lady Igraine was unlikely to birth new sons any time soon as she'd refused any suitors that attempted to pursue her after Uther's death. Tristan respected that loyalty, and had herself removed certain stubborn suitors from the halls of Cornwall on her lady's behalf.

The lady knight stood, stretched her stiffening shoulders, and looked to the lad tending her plate mail. 

"Be sure you get all the dirt out the crevices, or it'll rust. Ruin it and I'll beat you myself." she warned. The boy was maybe twelve, getting close to considering himself a young man, but still young enough to be wary of the tall red-head standing over him whom he'd watched defeat nine other knights just earlier this day. As well as still short enough to be bent over the knee. He gave her a nod with a "Yes, Sir" before turning back to his task and she gave him a pat on the head so he wouldn't mistake her words as being cross with him. 

Tristan went into her little tent and tied the flap closed behind her. There was a chair, a narrow rack holding her nicer clothes, and a table with a basin of water. She ran water through her hair with a comb, and washed the dirt from her face, neck, and ears before tying back the short locks with a strip of gold ribbon. She changed from her plain tunic for under armor into her nicer tunica in kelly green with golden embroidery of lions around the hems. Lyonesse colors. Even as a knight of Cornwall she could still wear her family's colors as she pleased, and bore their crest on her personal shield. Lastly she put on fresh brown hose and finer leather boots before belting her tunica, making sure her purse was fastened securely, and setting out to find that bookie for her winnings. She'd trust her little commoner lad to tend to the used clothing and whatnot.