Priscilla shakes her arms, awakening the man resting in them. Sær groans in protest, rolling over and cuddling up against her chest. The two had been traveling all day, and keeping up with Priscilla's gait was exhausting. Nevertheless, he had pressed on, not wanting to seem weak in front of her. Rather pointless, seeing as now he was cradled in her arms.

Priscilla sighs fondly, pushing open the heavy door to the Anor Londo castle. The moment she lays eyes upon the inside, she loves it. The giant hall, tall doorways, wide open rooms... It was the size of a castle even for a crossbreed! She pads down the hall, her bare feet on the cool stone. She knows not how, but she knows exactly where she needs to go.

Priscilla pushes open the door to the central throne room, quickly crossing it and taking the large lift. Stepping off on the second floor, she gently blows ice breath across Sær, waking him up with a shiver. He gives her a look of indignation, which quickly withers into bliss as Priscilla breathes on him normally, warming him and sending a shiver along his skin.

"You still haven't told me what we're here for," Sær says.

"I will once you get down."

He clutches to her with a vice grip. "No way."

"Yes, way," Priscilla replies, attempting to pry him off with her tail. No use; when it comes to embraces, Sær is like a leech. As the two struggle, they fail to notice the large doors in front of them swing open. It is only when they hear a gentle breathing from within that they swivel towards it, jaws agape.

There, reclining on a massive chaise, is a woman thrice Priscilla's size. Walking up to her slowly, Priscilla speaks in a reverent tone. "H-hello, mother."

"Mother?!" Sær squeaks. "Lady Gwynevere is your mother?!"

Priscilla continues, not addressing his suprise. "This is Sær, the man who freed me from Ariamis, and who was so kind as to take me as his lover."

"Don't say it like tha-"

"It has been many a year, dearest daughter," the giant woman interrupts. Her voice is deep, yet soft a silk with a motherly tone. "But while I am grateful to this one for rescuing you, I think you should reconsider. Apologies for addressing courtship so soon after our first meeting, but a mother worries." She smiles before focusing on Sær and frowning. "You... Do you really think I will approve of a man who is so weak as to cling to my daughter's breast? I could smite you with but a glance."

Sær hops out of Priscilla's arms, landing on the floor with a SPLAT before scurrying under her skirts. "See? He is a simpering coward," her mother remarks.

"Any man would be frightened of his lover's mother; what if she were to persuade her daughter to find another? And when said mother is seven times his size and wields powerful magic-"

"That does not change the fact that-"

"But!" Priscilla protests.

"Let me speak!"

"But-"

"Daughter..."

"I love-"

"Priscilla!"

"I want to marry him!"

Gwynevere freezes, a look of shock upon her face. Priscilla continues.

"I want to ask for your blessing." Sær (currently clinging to Priscilla's leg) tightens his grip, mouth hanging open in shock. Slowly, he crawls out from the skirt of her fur, looking at her in awe. "Is... Is that alright?" She asks Sær.

He walks towards her slowly, his mouth still hanging open. "Sær?" Priscilla says in a small, worried voice.

Using as much force as he can, Sær leaps into the air, wrapping his arms around Priscilla's neck and kissing her, hard. He pulls back, laughing joyfully and peppering her with kisses.

"YES!" He cries. He tightens his grip. "Priscilla! Priscilla! Priscilla Priscilla Priscilla Priscilla!" He shouts, kissing her each time he says her name. "I love you. So much," he whispers, touching his forehead to the space between her brows, staring into her eyes. The green slit pupils stare back at him, half concealed behind her eyelids as tears well up behind them.

She nuzzles her head against his, speaking softly. "I love you too, my tiny shiny knight."

"I love you more, my furry flurry maker," Sær replies.

Gwynevere stifles a gag. "I BEG pardon," she begins. "But I don't recall giving you my blessing."

"We don't need it," Sær says, Priscilla gently setting him down. She wraps her tail around his arm, spiraling all the way down to curl around his ring finger.

"And how shall you find one to wed you in these dark times?"

The couple are silent. "Before I shall pass judgement..." She points at Sær. "Come hither, child." He looks at Priscilla, who gives him a nod of encouragement. Reluctantly slipping free of her tail, he climbs up on the dais to stand at the foot of the massive chaise. The massive goddess reaches down. Sær flinches, but remains steadfast. Gwynevere brings him up to eye level, then gasps.

"Oh, MY, Priscilla. He's so handsome!" She gushes.

"Isn't he, though?" Priscilla says, beaming.

"I certainly see why you are so enamored with him. So handsome and Bra~ve," she coos sensually. "I've half a mind to steal him for myself. A man of his size would make quite a pleasurably unique consort."

"Mother!"

"Oh, don't get your fur ruffled, I was merely teasing!" Gwynevere says. "Or am I?" She whispers, giving Sær a kiss that moistens his whole face. Priscilla stomps angrily, her fists upturned at her hips.

"Give him back!" She demands. "You're frightening him!" 'Twas true. Sær cowers in Gwynevere's palm. He has fought dragons, lamia, minotaur, and a host of other nasties, but an amorous, building-sized future mother-in-law brought a new kind of terror. Gathering his courage, he leaps down, and Priscilla catches him in her arms where he quickly burrows in her fur, pulling her tail up so only his eyes are visible.

Gwynevere sighs. "Regardless of my blessing, you cannot be wed. Do you recall my sist- erm, brother?"

"Uncle Gwyndolin?"

"Quite. Only through his blessing may citizens of Lordran be wed, and he has been missing for many a year. I dream of him, choked by smoke and darkness, surrounded by horrors. There is only one place he could be."

"The Abyss," Sær says.

"Well, I don't care!" Priscilla pouts. "We'll get him back!"

"Very well," Gwynevere sighs, knowing better than to oppose her stubborn little dragon. "But to traverse the Abyss, you must aquire a sacred artifact, used by the hero Artorias to drive away the rot it brings. You must defeat his loyal wolf, and take the sword of it and the sword of the wolf knight." She turns to Sær, who only has his head exposed and blows him a kiss, winking. "Good luck, you fertile little stud."

Sær vanishes back into Priscilla's fur like a groundhog in winter.