Her Faithful Servant

Maleficent studied the pale body laid out before her on a makeshift bed of soft brambles and grass as she recalled the events of that evening for the hundredth time.

She had entered that throne room with her faithful servant at her side, whether he had wanted to be there or not. She had cursed that human's ugly little child, an act that, even considering the current circumstances, she still refused to regret. The king had begged for a reprieve, and Maleficent had softened the curse out of mercy for the queen and the child, both of whom she despised, yet still found to be relatively innocent in the greater scheme of things. It was Stefan who was the monster, not his repulsive mate and offspring.

Leaving the castle was easy—no, should have been easy. She had her magic, after all, and neither sword nor crossbow scared her. Of the few guards who were on duty, most had not been willing to risk the safety of the crowd, nor that of the newly cursed infant. But there were still three or four who had attacked. Maleficent remembered laughing at their wasted efforts as her staff blocked their arrows and swords. Then she had heard Diaval's cry.

The arrow had entered him just below the heart, and to this moment Maleficent still didn't know if the archer had been aiming for her or not. All she knew was that her faithful—if reluctant at times—companion had screeched once as he fluttered in a circular pattern straight to the stone floor, where he tried several times to take flight again, failing at each attempt. She remembered scooping him up into her arms as she ran from the castle, no longer concerned with curses or revenge now that she was beginning to realize how selfish and petty she had been.

Maleficent had run all the way back to The Moors, stumbling several times as her balance still remained unimproved after the loss of her wings. Only when she had made it past those thick, brambled walls did she allow herself to stop and rest. The raven in her arms had his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open, and his breathing had been shallow and fast. She knew he wouldn't survive much longer in this form. Laying the raven gently down on the soft grass, Maleficent had hurried to gather loose brambles to create something his human form could lie upon. She remembered putting her own cloak over the finished nest to protect her servant from the sharpness of the tiny thorns. Diaval had made no sound when Maleficent placed him on the bed.

With a wave of her hand, Maleficent had changed her servant back into a human, a form that Diaval had never preferred, but would at least keep his fragile heart beating. The first sound from his human throat had been a cry of pain, which brought tears to Maleficent's eyes, but also hope to her guilt-ridden heart. He was still alive.

Diaval had instinctively reached for the arrow buried between his ribs on the left side of his body, requiring Maleficent to take a firm hold of both his arms.

"Diaval. Can you hear me?"

Her servant had nodded very slowly. More relief, more hope.

"You need to lie still. Let me take care of your wound."

Maleficent had released his arms and went to remove some of the leather that bound her hair. She had placed a piece of it in Diaval's mouth.

"Bite," she had commanded. Diaval's soft moans of pain had been muffled by leather when Maleficent pulled the arrow from her servant's body. The arrowhead had remained attached to the shaft—thank every spirit in heaven and earth for that—and there was no sign of poison. The only binding she had was her own clothing, so she tore several long strips from her dress to patch her servant up as best as she could. But as soon as she had laid him back down, his eyes had shut.

That had been an hour ago.

She now sat beside him, watching him struggle to breathe as she replayed her every action in her mind's eye, wondering which one had been the fatal mistake. But what did it matter? Every mistake had been her own. Diaval had advised her not to take her revenge in such a petty, merciless way, but he had come with her anyway. She should not have stayed and fought, but arrogance got the best of her. Diaval had been there to protect her anyway. Even now, the faeries of The Moors would probably already be here offering medicine and herbs if they hadn't been made to fear their Queen these past several years.

Maleficent let one small tear escape down her cheek. Diaval had become her wings, but in doing so, he had given up his wings—his freedom to her service. And this was her gratitude?

"I'm sorry, Diaval. I'm so sorry," Maleficent whispered, but she knew the words weren't enough to get her faithful servant back.

She stayed with him the entire night, praying that each shallow breath he took would not be his last.

I've never seen a movie and written a fic for that movie all in one night, so I'm pretty happy (and sleepy). I'm considering adding a second chapter to end it for real…

Please let me know what you thought of it!

-Samuel