Ravens weren't animals known to be tolerant to idiocy.
After all, what was the need? A day in the life of a raven should not need to consist of anything other than preying, mating, and sleeping. All manners of sophistication be damned. So it when then that Diaval found himself at a loss, to say the least, and culturally challenged, to be more precise, when he was tasked with the duty of raising the princess.
Alright, perhaps that was an embellishment of the tale. Rather, back in those days, Maleficent had ordered him to ensure that the princess did not descend to meet an untimely, unfortunate end at the hands of the three imbeciles who - and Diaval would plant both his claws on the ground at this - did not do the least to try to even pretend they weren't some brainless dimwits!
And the dark Queen of the Moors herself? She would rather die rather than admit she cared for 'the little Beastie', which was why this unfortunate task had befallen him.
Not that Diaval, himself, cared for the child or anything, no. Don't be ridiculous. He had sworn his life and service to Maleficent, after all. It was only ever so unfortunate that her wishes were his command.
In the earlier years, it was tough. Diaval still wanted to claw somebody's face off every time he recounted the incident on the very first day of the princess's exile. It was a freezing Spring day, and those loons left the little Beastie to its own devices in a basket outside, as they claimed the cottage, giggling foolishly as they did so. He had had to squawk his pride and dignity away for them to come and collect her. He had made Maleficent promise not to let a soul from the Moors learn about that shameful incident, but the grins the elves sported upon their return told him otherwise, and Diaval could not do anything but send her sidelong glances of disapproval, as Maleficent smirked.
The depth of those Pixies' stupidity was unfathomable. Diaval sometimes wondered if their brains had shrunk even more as their bodies grew. Not once during their sixteen years of residence in that cottage did they ever question how they stumbled upon said cottage in such perfect condition, no leakage in the thatching nor moulds on the walls nor anything of that sort. He sometimes made bets with Maleficent on how far these idiots were going to take things for granted. After all, ravens weren't made to be thatchers either.
He had also had to resign himself to taking care of the basic necessities of a child. Not once did Diaval appear before her in his human form, for Maleficent feared his presence or absence would later be questioned as the princess grew. He did have an inkling, however, that she only did this so he would have more trouble caring for the little Beastie as a raven. Well, in that case, damn her too.
He brought the princess flower dew from the forest when she was thirsty, fed her fresh fruits picked from trees, and grains of barley which grew in the fields yonder when she cried. He had stolen the child's clothes to wash in the stream and hang up in the sun to dry, as the three old fools bickered amongst themselves to find out who put that mauve blouse where and the beige socks whither. Then, at night, he would return to the cottage once more, put the neatly folded frocks and blouses and socks by the mantle, and watched as the little princess fell into slumber.
Ravens could not sing, no, else he would have. So all Diaval could do was grab the rim of the cradle, and rocked it slowly to lull the little Beastie to sleep every night, as he let moonlight filter through the opened window to caress her fair skin, and the forest wind to brush away her cares.
As the princess grew, Diaval's duty lessened. He no longer had to keep an eye on her to see if she had had something to eat, or if she was feeling poorly. He hated to say this himself, but it would seem that he had, instead, become her companion and confidant.
Oh, why did one raven have to endure so much sufferings?
From searching for lost thimbles in dusty corners, to watching the rising dough in the oven and squawking for her before she burnt the bread, and listening to the princess at her bedroom's window as she confessed her little secrets to him. She never liked the cookies that aunty Thistlewit baked - burnt, would be more accurate a description, Diaval had mentally contended as he nodded along with the girl. Neither did she like how aunty Flittle turned all the paints in her paintbox all different shades of blue, it was pretty, but it made her feel blue too, and Diaval could not argue. Most of all, the princess confessed in shame, she did not like how aunty Knotgrass always yelled - or smelled, for that matter! And the raven only snickered.
Maleficent had that knowing look on her face when he recounted these little tales to her, and Diaval had to hurriedly clarify that it was not as if he had committed his mind to remembering these useless details or anything. Somehow, they only stuck with him. Obviously, what business did a raven have with humans?
Winters came and went, time flew by with the wind, and in these recent years, he had not seen much of the princess. Maleficent had sent him to the Forest of Thorns, to lead the faeries of the Moors to stand up against the constant attacks from that greedy King Stefan. It was during these years that he heard from whispers of the wind and tales of the nymphs, that the little Beastie had grown to become a beautiful princess, and that Maleficent cared for her. Not that this surprised Diaval at the least. What struck him, was that the princess supposedly even came deep into the Moors a few times, and Maleficent had let her freely roam her Kingdom, while the Queen herself stepped away into the shadows of the forest, and watched. Well, Diaval thought. It was time he paid her a visit.
"You seem awfully trusting," he greeted, as he landed on her shoulder. Or so he thought he had said it, before he realised that all that came out were some squawks.
Maleficent was not startled at his sudden appearance, she only gave him a sidelong glance and put her finger to her lips. This made Diaval perk up, and the raven craned his neck to peer out of their hideout and into an opening in the dark forest they stood.
"I know who you are!"
A voice suddenly rang out of darkness, and Diaval was taken aback. He could not see what was beyond the tangling vines, but that it was most definitely a human girl's voice.
"You've been watching over me my whole life. I know you're there. Your shadow has been following me ever since I was small," the speaking continued, "Don't be afraid!"
It an was unfamiliar voice, and he cocked his head to the side as he watched Maleficent's face for any signs of change.
"I'm not afraid..." The Queen droned.
"Then come out."
"Then you'll be afraid."
Maleficent stretched her lips into an unsmiling grin, and stepped out into the opening. Then, it was in that moment that Diaval was met with a sight he had never, in his life as a raven, expected to be greeted with...
Her hair, a deeper shade of gold than the first light of day. Fair, was her complexion, and her fragile countenance.
...Lips, a blooming rose kissed by midnight dew...
Oh, he would have been sure he had never laid eyes upon a maiden fairer than she! But it was that pair of crystal blue eyes, that very same pair of eyes that had triggered the memories of all those long lost years to come trickling back into his heart again...
He had stared long enough. The raven flew off Maleficent to perch on a branch nearby, intending to preen his feathers to pass time, but the sweet voice of the girl startled him for a second time.
"I remember you," she smiled, and Diaval felt something blossoming in the pit of his stomach, "Pretty bird."
"This is Diaval," Maleficent said, and the raven took a low bow. From the corner of his eye, he could see her fingers caressing the air, and Diaval felt familiar magic rushing through his veins as he found himself transforming into a man again for the first time in many years.
The girl before him took a step away in shock, but then the same sweet smile returned to her fair face.
"Hello, Aurora," he found himself whispering.
It was as if he was bewitched, because before Diaval could help it, his legs were already carrying him against his will towards the princess.
"I've known you," he managed to croak out, "Since you were a little one..."
He let out a shaky breath and raise his hand, to which she offered hers. Their eyes locked, long and meaningful, as he gently pressed his lips onto that soft, fair, skin...
Aurora smiled, and so did Diaval.
His little princess had grown.