"What do you need of me?"
"I need your wings."
It was a rude... Well, awakening you might say, to suddenly lose your lovely fine feathers and beak and grow great gangly legs and arms that weren't good for anything, least of all flying, but Diaval supposed it was better than being struck down and killed by a farmer. Maybe.
And so, Diaval became the wings Maleficent needed, and thus began the next 16 years of his life.
At first, Diaval thought that perhaps his mistress was the most cruel and wicked being he'd ever seen, saving his life regardless. Her cursing the new princess only confirmed it. And Diaval grew weary of the spying he was called to do, and the vitriol which spilled from Maleficent's mouth when he was once more shackled in his human form and gave his report.
And yet he remained. He owed his mistress his life. Never let it be said a raven didn't have his honor.
Diaval remembered tales of Maleficent's kindness, her strength, her beauty, all talked of from the time he was a hatchling, but he never laid eyes upon her until she was wretched with grief and rage, her kindness gone, her strength twisted into revenge, her beauty still magnificent but cold and distant.
But one day, he began to realize her hatred of the infant she called beastie was misplaced, and her actions disqualified her words, and then... Well, then his reproachful looks, both raven and human, seemed to elicit a reaction from her-frustration, guilt? And Maleficent's beauty became a little less cold, a little less distant. The warmth and brightness of the sun were nothing compared to his mistress' beauty the day she awakened Princess Aurora and rediscovered her capacity for love, affection, and hope.
Diaval loved to fly, winging through the air, catching a current, plummeting until he nearly struck the earth, only to stretch his wings and catch the wind once more. He never realized the yearning in Maleficent's gaze until many years had gone by, and he thought perhaps he understood some of her bitterness and rage.
When her wings were once more joined to her back, Diaval was nearly struck dumb by the fierce joy on her face, the fierce loveliness of her wings, the fierce longing he felt for the first time.
Later, after the final battle and King Stefan's death, he was absolutely struck dumb by the realization that his mistress no longer had need of him and never would again.
Days passed, and where once Diaval struggled not to fly too far ahead of Maleficent, now he struggled not to get too far behind. He waited for the hour of his dismissal, but found his mistress not so much as even hinting at it. And his confusion grew, and swelled to anxiety mixed with anger, because why keep him here when he so clearly paled in comparison to everything about her?
But he remained quiet and observant-a habit hard to break, observing!-and continued his watch over the princess and his mistress, and struggled to understand where he fit now.
A week or so had passed since the final battle, and Diaval perched upon a limb of Maleficent's (his too?) tree as dawn was breaking, resting peacefully, when he was suddenly jostled awake as his branch dipped and swayed. He squawked and flapped his wings, opening his eyes to see his mistress' (not cold, not distant at all, but so warm and near and beautiful) face stretched in a joyous grin, expectation and mischievous delight in her eyes.
"Come," she said, "let us fly." And she raised an eyebrow in challenge-and who was Diaval to resist her?-before they flew through the air, above the clouds, into the headwind. For that time, Diaval forgot about his confusion and anxiety and lost himself in the heady joy of flying with his companion.
More days passed, with Diaval being awoken as every dawn broke, flying behind Maleficent's soaring form as she led him through the fairy kingdom, showing him sights he never would have imagined being able to spring from the dark, thorny landscape he had been accustomed to. And as he watched the kingdom renew, he watched his mistress renew as well, shed the last vestiges of her poisonous anger, release the coil of her hatred and revenge. The hints of caring and compassion he had seen lurking in her came full forth, and the Maleficent he had heard about as a hatchling-the one with kindness, strength, and beauty in spades-had returned.
Diaval was helpless to do anything other than become more enthralled with each passing day, noticing the strength of her wings, the iridescence of her gold-green-blue eyes, the innate wisdom she displayed as she made reparations throughout the land, and he wondered why she kept bringing him with her on her journeys when she so clearly had no need to. And his conviction that she had no need of him now-not with her stronger wings and her sharp eyes and a conscience fully restored-grew stronger, and his fear increased, and his anger resurfaced.
Diaval squawked and cocked his head in the manner that let Maleficent know he wished to take his human form, and as he waited for the transformation to take place, he took a moment to gather himself.
He stood tall before his mistress (for how much longer?), taking in the warmth of her eyes as she gazed upon him.
"What is it, Diaval? Missing your time as a wolf?" She asked with a hint of a smile. Diaval tried to smile in turn, but he suspected it was a failure.
"I-," and here he choked, unable to continue. Maleficent's eyes turned concerned.
"Are you well, Diaval?" She asked. Was he well? He thought. No. No he was not.
"My mistress has no further need of me," he said, squaring his shoulders resolutely. He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw her eyes widen, felt her surprise. "My mistress has no further need of me," he repeated, "and I ask that I be relieved from her service."
The hurt and confusion were nearly palpable, and Diaval wanted to cringe at so clearly hurting his-Maleficent, not mistress, no. She opened her mouth to respond, paused a moment, gathered herself. "You are correct that I do not need you as I did before," she replied quietly, "and you are relieved from my service." And Diaval felt as though he would die. He bowed his head in silence, not sure where to go from here, this place and person he had been with for 16 years and more. He looked up to say-something, goodbye?-and saw a plaintive edge in her eyes, a slight quiver in her lower lip, as she said, "But I wonder if you might stay anyway?"
Well. Well, that was something for consideration-she no longer had need of him, but perhaps she wanted him near anyway?
And Diaval thought perhaps he was getting the notion of what it meant, that he was still here with his Maleficent.