"I will say this, Gwynevere. This, is top stuff," Menma said, he and the sisters were having some lovely nibbles at a table on a balcony overlooking the city from the back of the keep. Grapes, cheese, crackers and wine. Simple stuff but bloody fuck was it good, after all the last thing he actually ate was an apple. He had no idea how hungry he actually was.

"If you desire I could ask the staff to make a proper meal for you, my Lord," the Princess of Sunlight offered, amused chimes of laughter leaving her as she saw how he attempted a modicum of self control, trying his best not to appear selfish.

"You are the best," he said with a grin, "I'd really appreciate that, being stuck walking around surrounded by Hollows isn't the easiest place to get a good feed." Gwyndolin giggled at his silly way of talking as Gwynevere called over a Knight, asking if he could please run to the kitchen and ask for a hearty meal for their guest, with a bow the silver-clad demigod was off.

"Have you tried putting the two together, sweetheart?" he asked the chibi-Gwyndolin who looked up at him curiously, "Ok, take one of the grapes and a bitt'a cheese, and just nom nom nom them at the same time," he said with a rather animated display of what to do.

Doing so Gwyndolin had to wrinkle her nose reflexively at the onslaught of flavour, it was good but unexpectedly strong, the creaminess of aftertaste of the cheese was peppered with pops of extra strength from the grapes, she was idly wondering how she'd never come upon the idea before. "It's good," she assured, seeing his smile made her happy on the inside, and his grin made her feel weightless, not many people smiled at her. Aside from her dear sister.

Gwynevere watched the small exchange with interest, she knew from the start this 'Dark Lord' was no real danger to her people lest provoked, and was quite personable when relaxed, honestly all of her Father's posturing about how the Flame needed to remain alight or the 'Dark would come and take all their hard work away', the personified Darkness sat at a table with her, giving advice on how to enjoy cheeses and grapes to a child.

"Sir Dark Lord, how do you have wings?" Gwyndolin asked, her tone trying to be as reverent as possible but the undisciplined nature of childhood winning out with how she phrased things, Menma grinned and warmed at the idea of such a carefree Gwyndolin, he'd like to preserve this if he could.

"Simpler times," the slightly choppy voice of his Gwyndolin came, observing the events in the reflection of the Dark Lake.

"You can call me Menma, sweetheart," he assured, getting red cheeks from the little lady, and another amused giggle from her sister, "And I had wings before they were just... hiding." He tried to phrase 'They came when I activated the power of a dragon', in a better way. "Though when Kalameet made me all crispy I had to do some... renovations, shall we say to my body," he said referring to the horns and the new markings.

"Speaking of... Menma," the Princess of Sunlight said, getting his attention, the invitation for informality apparently extended to herself as well, thankfully. "Do you require new clothes, walking about bare chested could... distract some members of the court," she said, not a benevolent smile, but a teasing little smirk.

Menma matched it and winked, "I'd appreciate that, Princess. Personally I think I look rather fetching, eh Gwyndolin?" he asked, flexing in a rather dramatic fashion, the little girl saw the adults' eyes suddenly on her and stuttered out what amounted to very little, red faced all the way. "See? Speechless."

"So it would seem." Once more accompanied by joy filled chuckles, the atmosphere was light indeed. Menma had missed simple conversation, everything was so doom and gloom nowadays. It was refreshing to put it all in the background and have a chat about cheese and how good looking he was.

Two of his favourite topics.

He liked a good bit of cheese.

"So, my Lord. Would you be so kind as to share the tale from your perspective, Ciaran could only tell me so much this morning." Menma nodded, crossing one leg over the other.

"Seems fair enough. It's a bloody doozy though," he informed, before starting his jolly little tale.

Elsewhere

Ornstein and his fellow Knights sat outside the smithy, the giant that happily forged away pounding out another masterpiece, "He has gall, I'll grant him that," Ornstein muttered, "Using the kind nature of the Princess against Flann like that though, it will bite him."

"He'll bite back, and then we'll have an incident on our hands," Ciaran groaned, "I'm beginning to question if bringing him back was a good idea."

"If his prophecies prove true it may take us all to keep Anor Londo from falling into obscurity," Gough said, carving up another item. Though instead of one of his rocks, it was a little horse, a gift for the tiniest princess. He liked children, their innocence was something he fought to keep intact.

"So much for days of peace," Ornstein grunted.

"Strong I am," the giant Smith rumbled, getting their attention, he held up a helmet with a cross shaped slit, it was smooth and had two gaps around the sides, near the temples, "Gift for dragonkiller," the big man said, setting the helmet aside and patting it with his finger, it was completely black with small sigils etched into the 'cheeks'.

"He's a very interesting creature that Smith," the Dragonslayer said with a smile.

"A good heart," the Archer agreed, "I'm impressed that he managed to make a helm for the Dark One so quickly."

"He gets mad if you call him that," Ciaran advised, "Slaughter-mad."

"He's not infallible, that dragon charred him before he transformed," Ornstein reminded, "If worse comes to worst we can put him down, the city will remain safe."

"Lord Flann seemed quite... enraged, at the proceedings," Gough interjected, a slight chuckle in his voice, he didn't like the fireman.

"Well how would you like it if your wife made you out to be a boy in front of every soldier in the area?" Ciaran asked with a smirk. "Though it was good to see the windbag deflate."

"Ciaran," the Dragonslayer scolded, with a frown, she shrugged and kept looking off to the side. "He may not be of the Line but he's still a God and deserves a modicum of respect."

"He's been trying to use his connection to the Princess for a decade now, he's a useless military leader and a poor economic one, so please dear Ornstein, tell me why I should bother?"

"So when did you guys become gossipy teenagers?" a Silver Knight who guarded the smithy asked, all of the Knights turned to him and then to each other, before shuddering and getting up, returning to their duties. "They're so easy to screw with," he mumbled with a smile on his face.

"Silly, you are," the Smith said.

"I know," the Knight said, chuckling.

Menma

"And then I ate him," the Uzumaki finished, idly running his tongue along his teeth, he hadn't felt so relieved and full in months. Souls didn't have a taste and it was more like eating hard air than anything else.

"That's, incredible," Gwyndolin said, blinking.

"Yep, I'm pretty great." The smug was strong with this one.

"Quite interesting, my lord. Quite interesting indeed," the Princess of Sunlight murmured, Menma cast his eyes to her as she continued, "Forgive my bluntness. But how would you like to be considered a god?" she offered, making his brow raise. "The only Lord left is the Gravelord. And he sits down in the dank crypts within the catacombs. The humans need a figure to venerate, and let's face it. That person is not my betrothed."

"Are we gossiping about your future husband, after I emasculated him before his soldiers?" Menma asked, more to himself than anyone else, Gwyndolin giggled into her hands, trying and failing to keep her composure when faced with the befuddled expression on the horned man.

"Indeed, politics and other such tripe prevents me from doing much in my position. But if the masses knew of your position and rallied under you, and I gave my blessing to allow you a moderate amount of clout. You could operate yourself with impunity and eventually we could all win from the proverbial pot of gold," the Princess suggested, Menma took a moment to realize just how cutthroat that sounded.

He loved it.

"So the Sunlight Princess secretly plots to oust her hubby, eh?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his chin on his propped up arm, amused by the smirk on her lips. "I have no reason to care about Sparky, so if you want it done I don't mind. I doubt the Way of White will be particularly fond of our doing so."

"Uplifting the 'Dark Lord' will sound quite radical, sister," was Gwyndolin's input, Menma pointed to the smallest of the collected and nodded.

"The humans, while devout and lovely creatures. Are simply that. We are everlasting, eventually those who oppose us will simply die out," came the sensible answer to her little sister's question.

"My my my, that's positively heretical," he responded with a chuckle, Gwynevere just smiled at him, "Is it that bad being with Sparky that the first chance presented to ditch him, you take it?"

"There are things he simply cannot do, and for all his posturing he's no God," explained the goddess.

"The more you speak the more I like you, my dear." He'd never expected the daughter of a genocidal fool to be so pragmatic and ruthless. Then again, 'Thing he simply cannot', sounded like the poor bastard couldn't exactly do his husbandly duties. Though he could just have his mind in the gutter, sounded funny either way.

Menma pulled on the Dark and summoned a small section of his power, the rolling mist floated much like a wisp around his free hand as he thought, this accomplished two things, it gave the girls first hand exposure to the Dark, proving to them it wasn't some great big-bad power to be feared like they may have been taught, though given how interested Gwynevere looked he doubted she had many reservations about the Dark. And allowed him to further test his control with the power that seemed simpler than breathing when it came to usage.

It seemed all he had to do was pull on the Dark and allow his will to shape its image, the dark mist was no doubt a subconscious preconception from his human life that stayed with him. Though he would not deny the fire in his blood, the need to prove himself and the desire to be the Alpha of all he surveyed, he tried to keep a lid on it, that was something a beast would do. He wasn't some mindless animal he was a man, a Lord, Keeper of the Dark Soul and Vessel of Chaos. He was calm, he was collected.

Spying the distant but concentrated look on her metaphorical golden dove Gwynevere took a moment to drink in his figure properly, his body was well shaped, his muscle tone was close to perfection, as expected of one holding the power of the Lord. His form was quite possibly the nicest she'd ever laid eyes on, Flann was not a man that did much physical activity so he was much less interesting to look at.

The conversation prattled on for a little longer, idle flirting tossed about nothing much else. They'd agreed to discuss their little plan later, it was a good opportunity to get to know his new partner in politics anyway, so that came as a bonus in Menma's mind.

Later, Dark Lake

Menma appeared before the representation of the Dark in his mind/soul/whatever and breathed out a sigh of content, sitting cross legged before the resting abyss. His wings fanned slightly to accommodate his position, his horns melting away back into his head with a yawn. While he didn't mind them, he didn't have to have them out and about all the time, especially in his own mind. Menma felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck and a cheek smelling of ash against his own, "Quela." He greeted, placing a hand on hers, he felt her lips press against his temple.

"You and me. Right here. Right now." She ordered, Menma blinked before grinning and pulling his wings back in, he'd need the manoeuvrability.

And indeed he did, the body of the Witch was better suited to a goddess of the highest calibre, her form was perfect, her curves melded against him in such delicious ways. And sweet darkness it was like sticking his dick in lava but was it worth it.

Yes, the answer was yes.

Stained with seed and out of breath the ashen skinned mother of Izalith was splayed out beside her equally ruffled lover, the stupid grins they both wore was more suited to a pair of teenagers than beings of great power, the Witch rolled on top of him and peppered his lips with kisses, "You stirred something in me that I thought was long gone, you better take care of that from now on, young man."

"I knew you were a cougar." Menma replied, grin stretching at her laugh, the pair continued to lay naked and intertwined.

"Oh har har, look at you get a little fun and you're on top of the world?" She asked, resting her chin on his chest.

"My dear I am on top of the world, sex or no."

"Clothe yourselves!" Shouted Gwyndolin's voice from the treeline, "Thou are not the only inhabitants of this place!"

"Prude." The duo grumbled, before looking a each other and chuckling.

End

Raxychaz!