[i]Hmm, I did not even get to explain my sword he was so excited about, [/i]Tristan thought.[i] I hope I did not upset the boy, twas only a little teasing. [/i] She shook her head and resumed her walk toward the feast. Boys drinking ale; who knows where his mind took off to. Her stomach was getting increasingly vocal about it's need for food, and moments later she arrived at the feast, finally. Tables radiated outward from the center, where the King's own table was set somewhere beyond a sea of heads. She figured it was unlikely Mordred was dining at the moment, or Igraine, and went carefree to the tables further in reserved for knights and highborn folk. Being a, well... highborn lady whether she liked it or not, she had a certain amount of freedom to move about between certain groupings of social circles, though she greatly preferred knights. 

She took a seat on a bench at a reserved table for anointed knights where she could still see the highborn tables. A good compromise. A servant came and placed a bread trencher in front of her and a two prong fork. Moments later, another came by with a platter, offering carved roast boar dressed with field herbs and sea salt, and positively dripping in fat. Her mouth salivated as she took a heaping quantity of the meat into her trencher, and dug in with blissful pleasure. She let another platter carrier spoon some simmered greens and potatoes into the bowl, in what little room as was left. She ate like a lady, but with obvious joy in her food that most women would hide for the sake of modesty. Her stomach gave a loud rumble of appreciation as the first bite hit its mark. This was better than tugging on that old sword any day.