And if they hadn't turned into what they did, then she might have been able to take that as a cue, and – god forbid – they might have had something like a normal conversation. Instead what Nathan got was the usual disparaging snort which greeted any of his quaint notions about how things 'might' have played out, his desperate glance met with the usual detached, calculating gaze, quietly disappointed with Nimue's continued fixation on the one thing she couldn't ever hope to freely give, not as long as Arthur's kingdom remained something less than self-sustaining. “You do of course realise that they're not really 'meanings', just things people want them to mean and therefore attach? The plants themselves mean nothing. They just are.”
The words weren't quite right, but they'd do. Maybe there was something deeper in that, something to do with the damned prophecy. Maybe she'd eventually grow the metaphorical stones to ask Nathan for help figuring that out (and maybe after that for help to break down whatever wall was stopping her getting anything other than visions so she could have more than a snowball's chance in hell when it came to Morgan). Maybe. Not right now, though, and her free hand snapped her laptop shut as if it might betray her.
And the moment, such as it was, was gone; Enfys leant back in her seat, surveying the interior of The Round Table. “You could just tell me who she is, you know. It would save a lot of time.”