(I said maybe

You're gonna be the one that saves me

Because after all,

You're my wonderwall.)

'Go,' she said. 'You may go, Diaval. Until tomorrow, I'll have no need of you.'

It happened on nights when the moon was full and bright, and it was more of an order than a suggestion with her tone so he went. She'd dismiss him with a gentle wave of her elegant fingers, turning him from man to raven. Ah, beautiful and black. He'd silently watch from the shadows, how she'd weave through the trees, slowly settling herself by a large sentinel tree overseeing the lake. She'd lean back, shoulders relaxed. And only then he'd go.

She chased him off too sometimes, in the day, when he'd be in human form for too long; cutting off lengthy debates on whether the human child would eat beetles, suddenly interrupting idle chats, where her light smile would vanish behind a heavy expression. With a flick of the wrist, he was back to sleek feathers and a speechless tongue, wondering just what was going on, if he'd done something wrong.

But after all, he thought, ruffling his feathers, she's a Queen and I'm a servant. She didn't need a reason to dismiss him. He thought he felt slightly depressed at that thought, but hadn't that always been the way of things? Hiding his head beneath a jet black wing, he was grateful for the night to come. At least he had his pride and reason to have left her then.

But the dark was a fickle friend, and on an autumn midnight he was roused by the sharp cry of an anguished scream. It cut through the air and a chill wrecking his spine. He took off before he knew it, recognising the tremors of her voice, like how the sky knew the sun each time it rose and he knew she needed help. So he knew to find her, by the lake, where the stars weren't hidden behind trees, where he left her safe, before she sent him home.

The moonlight made it easier to see and he landed upon her shaking arm. Gods, she was shaking. He didn't know what to do. Without her he was only a bird who couldn't talk. She cried out sharply, hands grabbing thin air and he cursed his illiterate tongue, his finger-less wings.

Gently, he pressed his smooth head to touch a glistening trail on her cheek. Eyelashes brushed against his feathers as she opened her eyes. Rapidly he grew limbs and cheeks and a voice, just as he hopped onto the ground and his large hands found her trembling shoulders. What's wrong?

'What happened?' He breathed, hands running over the outline of her bones, questioning. 'Are you hurt?' She gasped and her face crumpled in pain as his fingers met her shoulder blades. He held her waist and collected her into his arms.

He didn't know what else to do, what to say, when his fingertips brushed two rough protrusions on her back.

I need you to be my wings.

He knew what they were; twitching like they were something more than just missing. Gods, no…And his mouth opened in a silent cry, eyes wet and disbelieving. He held her. Against him, close, he held her tight.

So many whirling questions bombarded his mind.

(How?

What when?

Oh, my dear why?)

She shook her head, against his shoulder, breathing into his shirt. 'Dreams,' she croaked, 'just memories.'

He didn't know what dreams were. But he knew terrible memories. Her hand came up from behind his back to wipe the tears on her face. And because he didn't know how yet to piece together the strength and tragedy and pain he saw in the woman before him, he asked: 'What do you need?'

I'm here.

Her neck was smooth beneath his thumbs, pulse slowly a steadying sound his fingers heard.

She laughed shakily, chin dipping towards her chest, speechless. He lowered his head until he held her green eyes with his gaze. He begged.

Please. Tell me what to do.

I don't know what to do.

She looked at him for a long while, until he could count the gold streaks in her eyes. It became apparent that he's never seen her like this before, like one of her darkest secrets was ripped open raw and he thought she might turn him. Or run. But she took a breath, and finally said, 'A friend.'

Her forehead cautiously lowered to touch his shoulder. 'Can you be a friend?'

And as soon as he wondered if she'd had a 'friend' before, he realised he probably hasn't had one either - not as a raven. He found himself nodding before he fully understood her. His hands gently guided her to lean back against him, arms encircling her waist, shielding her wound from all the world.

He didn't know what a friend meant. But he was here, leaning his head against her crown and he'd hold her up if she needed and 'Is this okay?' He can only hope it was enough.

I want to stay.

She drew another breath.

Please don't chase me away.

And her arms came to lie over his, hands firmly holding his fingers. Her head leaned back to relax, and he saw she smiled with closed eyes. And then yes, he smiled as he drifted off to sleep, yes this was okay.

The next morning was pleasant enough, being the first time he awoke as a man, and the day began refreshingly with an argument on if her horns were sharp enough to poke out his eye. Of course, he earned back his feathers for that tongue, but she turned him back soon enough. In his defense, they both laughed.

But the night came inevitably, with all its blind traps and unlocked secrets. That evening he saw the wave of her fingers before she even summoned her magic.

'Go,' she said softly, looking away at the setting sun. 'I have no need of wings tonight.'

He gripped her hand before he grew them. Her guarded gaze touched their locked fingers, his arm, and finally his face.

'I'll stay,' he said smiling, releasing her fingers.

I have no need of wings tonight either.

Now he thought he rather admired his nimble appendages.

He didn't ask for permission. But from the way she wordlessly sat against the large oak beside him, he thought she'd given it.

The clouds were streaks of orange and pink, the earth solid beneath his back limbs spread eagle. His fingertips found the seams of her skirts as they traced and smoothed each one, the way his beak would do. Before long they found the knotted bones of her knuckles, and were unfurling the creases in her palm until they were smooth. She didn't turn him.

He thought about the previous night and how they were now – friends? Were friends like this? And he thought about how she was still such a mystery, even after a full, whole year, how he still had so many questions left unvoiced; of tragedies and missing pieces and Maleficent how did you come to be?

But she knew of his questions, for certain, for he had touched her scars before and crumpled her soul and maybe she'd tell him on her own, when she could bear it enough. He could wait.

'You know,' he said, as they watched the moon herald in an indigo sky, but for once he was lost for words.

I'm grateful.

You're strong.

A friend.

I'm here.

And a whole other manner of the way his chest reacted to the pressure of her hands on his, left him utterly bereft of thought except hands, and warmth, and sky. And with the way her thumb calmly stroked the back of his hand, he thought she just might know.

Beautiful, he'd think to himself, in the moments where they both lay still and there were just two of them, listening to the whispers of winds threading together unspoken words - and this, he thinks, this is what beauty feels like; gleaming eyes smiling at a sun-kissed sky, looking like her soul could take flight.

A/N: So I just watched the movie two days ago, and somehow I cannot get over how cute these two are. Judging from how they've been entirely self-sufficient for sixteen years, I would very much have liked to see the softening of Maleficent's edges with him. I thought that it would be nice to think of Diaval as the one person who grants Maleficent her powers of flight, be it through her using his wings, or his mere self sufficient for her to think of happiness again, lifting some of that heaviness off her soul. Do tell me what you thought! Constructive criticism is always welcome.