'A good foundation is the best a parent can hope to give their children... especially back then.' she listens to him speak of growing, and frowns slightly. She was raised by Uther for better or worse, since she was only a young thing of ten and oblivious to the dangerous - in that house - nature of her existence. 'I was in my twenties when I really understood what I am. Or began too... Uther. Uther banned all magic, good or bad, in Camelot. After Queen Igraine died... Uther would have seen me dead, even though he loved me, for the nature of my being if he had known.'

'So I was left in the dark. Those who suspected didn't dare tell me, even though I trusted them.'

She pulled away and went to sit in one of the bugger, more comfortable chairs, legs curled up under her and her head resting on her hand as she considered it. At the same time a silver platter of cakes and sweets appeared, easing it's way onto one of the small tables in the room. 'Only at times? Do the gods not sing along your very nerves? Does the urge to jump through the fires not rise in you? To run, free and naked as the day you were born?' This brings her smile back, half teasing half genuinely pleased at the memories, ideas. There was one thing that could never be mistaken about Morgana. She was very much, even under centuries of sorrow and pain, an alive, vibrant, magical and sexual creature... and it was perhaps the one thing about her that changed so little.