Diaval sat by the cottage, listening to the crickets chirping loudly and humming. The dark was succumbing, black, unwavering, and he didn't know why his mistress had left him here to watch the babe at night; surely the pixies were competent enough to sleep while she slept. But he offered no complaints, except that he wished she would have changed him back to his natural form so he could perhaps relax at last and sleep. He sighed and tilted his head back to look up at the dark sky. The moon, the stars, so vast. The very universe was before him. He thought of how the starlight touched his mistress's eyes, how the moonlight bathed her skin silver. He wished that she was near for him to see the real her, but his mind's eye was enough. He wondered, just for a split second, if she was looking up at that same universe, and he wondered if she was thinking of him, too. He snorted. That was a preposterous notion. She tolerated his presence. That was it. He would wait until he repaid his life-debt, and then she would dismiss him, and then he would leave—not because he wanted to, but because she didn't care about him. She didn't care about him at all. He was the means to an end for her. He bent his head to his chest. There was nowhere he'd rather be than right here, dreaming of her.
Maleficent sat with her back to the old, bent sycamore tree that overlooked the moors. She didn't know why she had forced Diaval to stay at the cabin. Her back ached dully, her shoulders complaining about her lack of wings. Her phantom limbs twitched and burned. It couldn't be soothed, because they weren't there. She sighed and stared up at the large, vast universe. Images flashed through her mind—her, dancing, flying, flapping among the stars. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. In the image, the raven was there, flying alongside her. A single tear slid down her cheek. She was so consumed in hatred and bitter rage, and her servant got the brunt of her wrath. But he never complained, not even once. Not when it rained on him, or when it got so cold that frost clung to his feathers and stuck them to his sides. She glared up at the moon. She thought of how he looked underneath it, his black hair turning a surreal blue-black shade, the moonlight highlighting the scars that marred his face and collarbones. And, for just a moment, she was struck by the oddest notion that, back at the cottage, Diaval was looking up at the same dark sky and thinking of her. She clenched her eyes closed at that thought. That was ridiculous. He was just her servant. He would repay his life-debt, and then he would request his leave. And she would give it, no matter how reluctantly, because he deserved it. He did deserve it. He didn't deserve to be demeaned by her constant rage and hateful nature. He deserved real caring, and not just her broken heart's notions of him. That was alright with her. She wanted him to be happy. She sighed and curled on the mossy ground. There was nowhere she'd rather be than right here, dreaming of him.
Her back was turned to him. He felt the pain float through his chest. She was casting him away once again. Does she ever even see me? "Mistress…I'm here," he provided softly. She was hurting, too. Their fledgling was cursed. Their fledgling would never see a day after her sixteenth birthday. He swallowed hard. He didn't want her to hurt. He couldn't stand the thought of her hurting. He loved her. But she didn't love him. He wondered, when she looked in his eyes, what she saw. What would she see? Did she see the utter adoration that he bestowed upon her? Did she see that he loved their beastie as much as she did? Could she ever understand that he harbored feelings for her that she would never return? "Mistress," he prodded softly with his words, but didn't dare to touch her physically. "I'm here," he repeated. She couldn't just deny him time after time. Eventually, somehow, some way, she would turn around, and she would acknowledge his presence. She would acknowledge that he was hurting, too, and that he would help her. But his heart sank a bit. She wouldn't care that he was hurting, because she didn't care about him, and that was the end of it. He bowed his head. "I will see you on the morrow, mistress." He turned to walk away, and he knew then that, when this mess was over—if it ever was—he would tell her. She deserved to know. She deserved to know his feelings, and if that made her cast him away permanently, so be it. He wouldn't hold back for her anymore. Not anymore. But first, he had to do everything he could to save their fledgling. And until then, he had to be content with his dreams of her. There was nowhere in the world he'd rather be.
She kept her back turned to him. The pain stabbed through her all over. The curse wouldn't reverse. The curse couldn't be lifted. She couldn't fix her mistakes. Some things can't be fixed. Some things are too broken. She swallowed hard and heard Diaval's voice. "Mistress, I'm here." His voice was a comfort. It soothed the burning stumps on her back. She could sleep under the stars with that voice; she could listen to it babble on for hours with only mild annoyance. But he didn't mean those words; he couldn't mean those words. He never sees me. So she ignored the voice, though she wanted nothing more than to turn around and sprint toward it. He didn't care for her. He couldn't. He cared for the day that she would release him from his services. She considered doing it right then, at that second, just to make him feel some better. But she didn't, because she was selfish, and she wanted to keep him close to her a little longer. "Mistress, I'm here," he repeated. She didn't dare move. She didn't dare turn around to show him the single tear that left her eye and tell him how she felt about him. She had promised herself that she would never feel those things again. And, for a brief moment, she wondered what he saw when he looked into her eyes. Could he see her raw pain? Could he see her fear? Could he see her in her eyes? He doesn't care, a voice whispered. She almost physically nodded in agreement. His voice came a final time. "I will see you on the morrow, mistress." She closed her eyes tightly. He deserved to know her feelings. She decided, then, that she would tell him when the whole mess was over—if it was ever over. She would tell him, and then she would release him, because that was what he deserved. He deserved a real life with a real mate and real hatchlings. She listened to his footsteps fade away. She would be content with her dreams of him. There was nowhere in the world she'd rather be.
"You called, mistress?" Diaval swallowed hard, approaching her. Her back was to him, as usual, but now her gorgeous wings adorned it, making her seem even more intimidating than before. But he knew what this was. This was his emancipation. She was freeing him. He could sense it. And he didn't want it. So, as she said nothing, he continued hesitantly, "If you're going to free me, I have something I'd like to say, first." Her feathers ruffled. She continued to say nothing, but she nodded. He gulped. "Mistress, I knew when I met you that you were very hurt and angry, and I pledged my servitude to you because it was the honorable thing to do. But it's not just about that anymore." He scratched at the scars on his face. "I serve you because…" He almost choked on his words. He was condemning himself. "I serve you because I've been in love with you since Aurora was a baby, and I know that you've never looked at the same universe I look at and thought of me, and I know that you don't care what I feel or what I think because I'm just a silly bird, and I know that you don't believe in love." His heart was leaping in his chest. She still wasn't replying. Why wasn't she replying? "I'm sorry, mistress, I'm sorry, but if I had one request, it would be to continue to serve you, because I am no more a crow than I am a man, but instead a mixture of the two." She was still. Her feathers moved in the breeze. "I'm sorry," he repeated. And he waited. "I guess I'll just—I should go then, mistress?" He waited, because if he left, it would confirm that all he had left were his endless dreams of her, and he guessed that that would be okay.
"Wait." She was stiff. He didn't mean those words. He couldn't mean those words. And, even worse, she loved them. She loved him, and she loved that he may entertain her selfish notions of staying behind. She turned around. What was she going to do? What was she going to say? She wanted to run. She wanted to speak to him. Before she could stop herself, her tongue was moving. "I love you, too." She gauged his reaction carefully—the slight flare of his nostrils, the widening of his coal black eyes, the shock and pain and—oh how could she have ignored the affection and devotion there for so long? "Diaval, I don't want you to serve me anymore. I hate being called mistress, and I hate knowing that I enslaved you for so long." She took a small step forward. He mirrored her. Her wings dragged the ground. Her golden-green eyes met his. He bobbed his head very much like a bird. They were both hesitant. They were both afraid. She was afraid. She wasn't supposed to know love, not like this. "I look up at the same universe you look at every night and think of you, and I have always cared about how you feel and what you think because you are so much more than just a silly bird, and I just needed two very special people to remind me that love is real." Her heart had grown its own set of wings. She stepped closer to him. He mirrored her once more. Their hands caught. "And I should hope that tonight I will dream with you rather than of you, if you would allow."
His handsome eyes met her beautiful eyes, and he bobbed his head. "Endless dreams with you are much better than of you."
Their lips caught, and they knew that neither of them would ever dream alone again.
A/N: Please review! This was strongly inspired by "Dreaming of You" by Selena.