He would have left long ago, long before any army showed up, if he could have. Hell, he'd be all the way in a different kingdom right now if he wasn't trapped...But here he was, locked in a crazy curse and letting various witches control him at their leisure.
He flung the dagger out at the woman's face, and she tossed his hand aside with a strong arm. Even without magic, she was stronger than he. Diaval began to prepare his mind for pain, and possibly death. Who knew with these witches?
With a bolt of cracking light, she flung Diaval across the room. He slid across the floor and snapped his head into the wall. Immediately his head blurred and the world seemed numb and soundless. He could barely see flashing colors dancing outside of his eyes.
Suddenly he was griped with so much pain, he couldn't help but cry out. The back of his head bled badly, a pulsing, white hot pressure shooting down from his head and into his eyes and temples. His sight returned, and through his tears he saw the form of his mistress collapse onto the ground, purple light streaming from her body and into the victor's. His sight began to fade as a gold ring began to glow on the dead witch's finger. The victorious witch snatched it up, looking at it curiously. She turned to Diaval just as his consciousness slipped into a needed sleep.
The man woke up in a bed. An uncomfortable bed, for certain, but still a bed. The very fact that he was alive proved very good news. When he tried to look around, he felt a painful headache start, but he opened his eyes anyways to see his surroundings. White cloth set up as temporary walls, rows of beds with multitudes of wounded men and women. He had been placed in the infirmary.
"He's awake!" cried a female voice, "Go get the Queen!"
Diaval sunk into the bed again, closing his eyes against the harsh light and colors of the world. After a few minutes he felt a presence beside him; not comforting, but not quite intimidating.
"What is this?" The presence said with a stern tone.
The man opened his eyes just enough to see what she was talking about. She carried his ring.
He let out a sigh, "It's my curse." Adjusting his legs, he shifted around on the bed, finding it difficult to get comfortable.
"What do you mean?" She demanded.
"Whoever owns that ring owns me. A witch tied me to that ring several years ago, and I've been a slave ever since. You own the ring now so I guess you're my new mistress."
The queen looked taken aback, "What kind of magic is that? I've never heard of any sort of spell that could force obedience."
"It's an old magic..." He replied, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his head, "An evil magic. Enacted by the most powerful being in this world."
The woman sat on his bed, making his head tilt to the side and relieving some of the stress on his wound.
"Who might that be?" Asked the woman. Diaval didn't like the tone in her voice: It was hungry. Hungry for what?...power? Blood?
"I don't know her name, I met her on the road, but the power that came from her was overwhelming," he lied.
The woman seemed disgruntled. She stood from the bed and brushed away the wrinkles in her scarlet red dress.
"Sleep then, cursed one. I'll speak with you later."
Diaval obeyed...like he always did.
His dreams were a mixture of memories, blending together into confusion.
Maleficent smiling sadly, telling him that it would be okay. Phillip dying in his arms, gasping out a few final words. Élania cackling wildly, putting his ring on her wrinkled, ugly finger.
The raven woke up in a cold sweat. The infirmary was dark, and the sweat on his skin began to chill with the bitter wind making it's way through the cloth. He steadied his breathing, then felt his body begin to rise out of bed. Pain blossomed in his head, but he couldn't stop. He had been summoned. The cursed man walked out of the infirmary, making his way down a row of tents to the large scarlet tent on the end. He brushed past the tent flap and walked straight past a sleeping guard, into a section of the tent that was completely covered in red, white and black drawings. He pulled the coverings away and stepped through, his hands shaking with the effort.
The witch lay in bed, rolling his ring around in her fingers. She looked up in shock when he walked through, and then gasped. Diaval bowed slowly, then collapsed on the floor as control of his muscles was given back to him.
The young woman got out of bed and grabbed him, pulling him up onto her bed and pushing aside his hair to check his wound. The sights around him started to blend once more, and the world faded away, leaving only the dulled color of scarlet and a frantic whisper of "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!"/tt/pre