Morgana had changed. She used to dress in rich colourful dresses with only the softest of satin slippers. Her hair had once coiled down her back in rich glossy waves, parting down the middle to reveal her beautiful features. She had charmed Alvarr, the Druids, and the court of Camelot all those years ago with just the turn of her head. He'd been just a boy back then but even he had admired her hold over others and taken pleasure in impressing her with his little magic tricks. Well, his tricks had changed now and so had she. She was forbidding, cold, and an utter mess. The severe black clothes she wore now were patched in several places and he could see that the hem of her dress was starting to unravel - echoing its mistress's mind perhaps. Her hair was knotted like a robin's nest and pinned back away from her face to be long neglected. He could imagine getting his fingers caught in that hair. Her eyes though, they were the same, although somewhat icier than before. The last time he had seen those eyes they had been soft and kind as she held him close. She had not yet seen the real cruelty of men and the hard harsh winters of the north. They seemed almost bottomless now.

And yet she had lost none of her allure. While before she had counted on her soft smiles and dancing eyes she now managed to silence the brutish of men with a single charged look; it had worked marvellously on his companion. She was all marble now, unmoving and stiff. The wind had howled against them all, making them huddle into their furs and cloaks, but she had been unmoved. Her hair had fanned out around her face but her expression never faltered. She seemed more in control of her powers now but less in control of herself.

She beckoned him to follow her up inside the tower and then asked him to dine with her. His companions had exchanged sour looks at it but he'd ignored them and followed without complaint. Once inside she had shed her thick furs and muttered a spell to make the flicker of light in the fireplace burn more brightly. "Sit. Eat," she had instructed and he'd willingly complied. The fare was tasteless and rough but he hadn't eaten in days and fell on it ravenously. Morgana did not take even a bite but instead filled up a goblet with some thick wine and sat so that she could study him.

He tried not to look at her but his skin prickled under her examination. He had changed a lot too; from a wide eyed boy to a man. No longer did he look around himself in wonder or trust the first stranger who offered him friendship. The men downstairs were nothing to him – poachers of some sort, who had shared their catch but nothing else. He had learnt the hard way how to avoid detection and notice and it had given him a hollow hungry sort of look. He ate the meat straight off the bone without even removing his gloves. "I feared you dead," she murmured suddenly. "It is dangerous to those of us with magic."

He took his time to reply. It has not been easy, he told her. The fear of being burnt at the stake had taught him not to trust anyone.

"Even I?" she asked quietly and he felt himself start to fall into that gaze like so many others before him.

He smiled in response, the expression strange and unfamiliar to his lips. It did nothing to show his real thoughts only to make him look as though he was hiding an amusing secret. Morgana was peeling an apple with a short blunt looking knife. He noticed how the juices slowly ran down her slim fingers and when she brought them to her lips he could not help but feel his heart tense.

Her expression turned knowing.

"Have you missed me, Mordred?"

"No." He had never missed her. He'd been excited to see her on those rare occasions but they were far too short and far apart to weave hope into them. He had never expected to see her again after Alvarr's little play and when he'd first heard of her being this far north he'd until now resisted coming to see her. Morgana had been a young woman when he was still a boy. He remembered those moments where she held him close to her, cupping his head gently and smiling so warmly. As though pleased to see him. As though she loved him.

He'd admired her more than he could ever put into words. She had been the most beautiful woman in all of Camelot, in the whole land – she still was.

When she used her powers to push back his chair he sounded no protest. She was watching him, expecting him to ask what she was up to, but he took pleasure in disappointing her. He remained silent with the odd smile upon his lips.

She came to him then, moving slowly and deliberately. He watched the way her hips swayed and how the firelight danced in her blank eyes. He wondered if he could put something back into her eyes and the thought was enough to pull him to his feet. He was taller than her now and when she was close enough he could see the deliberate curves of her breasts. He thought of how she used to hold him to her chest, how he'd shut his eyes and taken comfort nestled there. He took hold of her and pulled her mouth up to his own.

He tasted ice, then warmth, and then underneath that magic.

The knowledge of what he was doing excited him. That it was her, Morgana,pressed against him. His lips moved against hers fiercely and she had her hands in his hair. His own fingers skimmed across the curves of her body, the knots in her hair, and then finally the surprising softness of her skin.

He lifted her and laid her back on the table. Goblets and plates magically smashed against the walls and the wine splashed across her cheek. She was tugging at him, impatient as always, and kissing him back with such fervour that he used his powers to slam her wrists back against the wood. She moaned then and the sound brought a laugh to his lips. He unlaced himself, hardly noticing the shaking of his hands, and then pushed himself inside of her.

At once he could tell she was still a maid and the satisfaction of knowing that made him gather her in his arms. Their lips met once more but after that they were both lost in the motions of sex. Her hands had crawled beneath his tunic and he felt her nails dig into his flesh but this only enhanced his pleasure. In return he bit down on her neck. When she came she threw her head back, her eyes flashing fire, and the image alone was enough to make him follow.

They were quiet afterwards. She tugged her skirts back into place and adjusted her chemise while he dressed. When finished she offered him a goblet of wine which he took, murmuring his thanks. They both sat before the fire in compatible silence before Mordred finally spoke. "You were a maid."

"As were you," she retorted.

He smiled and might've replied - but the sound of loud bells cut him off. Morgana visibly stilled and he thought he saw a flash of apprehension cross her perfect features. She put her goblet down slowly and then the bells started again. A grin suddenly came her lips.

"Arthur. He's here."