Now the Lady of the Lake knows your virtues and your weaknesses, however small they may be.

She does not always appear as an ethereal spirit, more beautiful than any human.  She come in many forms as suits her purpose.

Just before his Last Tournament.

The Marquis  chose not to wear any enchanted items, no armor, no sword or lance and no enchanted steed.

“Let us see what we can do without.  There is nothing good of wearing magicked things in a simple tourney.  It is a sacrilege to the Lady of the Lake and all that Bretonia stands for.”

He wore well crafted mundane armor and he marveled that he could move as freely as he did.    He walked out into the paddock and saw that AndreaLyn had provided him his Great Chair to rest until he was called. A small pastry box rested on one massive artm of his chair.   He saw many of his old comrades there, but none paid him attention.   

He waved to Earl Cadfael, but got no response.  He beckoned to Sir Hillier, but that worthy turned abruptly into a tent without seeing the gesture.  Sir le Courageaux  did not recognize him as well.

“Hmphhhh”, he said to himself, “Might as well be invisible”   He put his feet up on a log and moved until he was as comfortable as an old cat before a fire.

He was aware of someone noticing him.  He could see the observer easily out of the corner of his eye.   It was female and dressed sweetly and about eight years of age.   She approached tentatively and quietly.  He heard her clear her throat and ask a question.

“Sirrah, art thee the famous Marquis d’Ascoyne who trains noble knights in the Southern hinterlands?”

What a smart child he thought to himself, so articulate.   He turned to face her directly and sat up.

“You must be he, truly you must. “  She clasped her hands together under her chin in Joy. “Oh good knight I have spent all my life waiting to meet you for I have a concern-“

All her life?  A lifetime is predicaterd on time whether eight or 60 years of age.  The Marquis d’Ascoyne stood up and offered his young guest his chair while he sat upon the log.  The child managed a wonderful curtsey and sat, most ladylike, upon his Great Chair.

She explained she was sorely vexed that some of the knights were seeking prizes or treasures rather than the true meaning of the Tournament, which was fellowship.   He offered her some tarts and she politely declined saying she was not quite hungry just yet.

“Oooooh, it makes me irritated that some knights do not understand what it is to be Bretonnian” and she made a fierce, yet lovable face of righteous anger,