I answered Ji's drabble challenge today, only fair that I answer yours as well. *smiles innocently*

Aside from his mother, there had really only been one constant in Mordred's early life- birds. As Morgan could hardly be called a very constant person, it was really just the birds.

It started as game, and even as an adult he would mentally assign people birds. He had regretfully one night when he was six resigned himself that his Mother was Magpie, as she was too clueless to be a Raven. His cousin Gawain a Hawk, and the nice monk that Morgan sometimes stayed with was a Merlin (indeed, Mordred can no longer remember the man’s real name) Arthur…well, the boy had briefly toyed with giving his Father the title of Starling before his honest forced him to conclude that he really was a Hawk. Or a dragon. Yes, they were cold-blooded enough.

This was a game that worked almost without fail for the boy until he was thirteen.
“You don’t have a bird.” The thirteen-year-old boy informed the ten-year-old girl before him. Gwenhwyvach blinked her great grey eyes at him.
“Do I have to have a bird?” She asked him, puzzled.
“Yes.”
“Why?” He opened his mouth to reply, and couldn’t.

Later on, when they were trying to name their first child, Mordred looked at his blonde wife and clicked his fingers. She looked up, startled.
“You,” he informed her, “are a Goose.”