The Warmonger and the Peacemaker
Borra and Greer's soulmarks do not match, but they are mates in the truest sense.
Greer is the calm to Borra's chaos, a warrior like his mate, but gentle where he is rough. Greer is an oasis in their brutal desert homeland and the ongoing skirmish with the encroaching humans.
It is a harsh existence. Only the strongest survive the blistering heats, the bitter nights, the barren wastes which stretch on and on and on and on, under scorching sun. But to Borra it's home.
Greer is home.
("These humans are a plague."
"You're too concerned with the humans, beloved. Give some attention to me."
"They're growing bolder."
"We've survived worse. So long as we're together there is nothing to fear."
"I love you."
"I love you too.")
Borra loses both the day the humans overwhelm them, the greedy savages claiming their sanctuary as if they have any right to the shelter the Dark Fae carved out for themselves, the resources they cultivated through magic and generations of hardship.
Borra tears through their forces, providing a distraction as his brethren flee. Where they will go they do not know, only they cannot remain if they want to see their children grow.
He is wrath. He is vengeance. The humans will suffer for every drop of fae blood spilt.
It is not enough, not enough. His kin are slaughtered and he is not enough, not enough.
The humans overwhelm them and in the ensuing chaos Borra loses track of Greer. He doesn't even notice until the panicked tug at the corner of his mind becomes an incessant scream -
(Find him! FIND HIM!)
It breaks through the haze of bloodlust and sends him reeling, crying out for his mate.
"GRREEERRR!"
He dodges attack after attack, scouring the planes, the bodies - fae and human alike - which litter the ground, until he is gazing into those green eyes he has loved so dear - open, unseeing, gone.
Too late.
Greer lies still, wings fractured at odd angles, an iron spear torn through his chest and Borra feels the wound as if it were his heart on a pike.
It is his heart on a pike.
Borra is a desert fae, he does not know snow, he does not know ice, but when - in another land, far from this wretched place - he meets the tundra fae, he will recognise the sensation for the same sharp, jagged pain, which pierces him now.
The desert is brutal. The desert does not forgive. Borra rips apart the monsters who destroyed his home, who savaged his kin, who murdered his mate, and in the end, Greer remains dead and Borra goes down, black spilling across his vision like blood over sand, and he is falling…
…falling…
…falling…
…fall-
~x~
Borra survives.
Years later, he comes back to life.
~x~
Aurora is unlike anyone Phillip has ever met. Admittedly, he has never met a princess reared by faeries posing as peasants but that is not what fascinates him.
Phillip is a prince raised in the royal court, politics is his first language. He is used to calculated conversations and hidden agendas, no one ever saying what they mean, veryone after something. Life is a chessboard and if you aren't careful, you will end up someone else's pawn (his mother taught him that when he was a child).
Aurora knows nothing of politics and wears her heart on her sleeve. Some, like his mother, might call her naïve, but Aurora has seen more darkness than most and is still so full of light that sometimes he swears if he squints he sees sunshine spilling out of her.
In this sense, she reminds him of his father. A strange comparison for the woman he is courting, but - he has always admired his father's hopeful compassion, his sense of justice, how he strives for peace, even as his mother cautions Phillip to keep his sword sharp and his wits sharper.
He cannot see the world as Aurora does, but sometimes when he is with her he catches a glimpse and it is beautiful. She is beautiful and Phillip feels each of her smiles like a blessing.
She enchants him from their first meeting and, with every encounter, he falls more deeply under her spell. It is not a question of if he will ask for her hand but when.
"If love has a truth, here is mine."
A union of two lands, two kingdoms, two people. His father calls it peace. His mother calls it strategy. Phillip is the best and worst of his parents. He has Queen Ingrith's iron-will and King John's gentle-heart. It is the latter he gives to Aurora, knowing she will keep it safe-
"Will you marry me?"
-and, by some miracle, she hands him her own in return.
~x~
"Do you hear it? Huh? It's a message from the humans. I hear it loud and clear. Time for us to die."
~x~
"It doesn't change how I feel about you. Aurora, I love you. I don't care what's on our skin. I choose you."
And he means it.
Phillip knew Aurora did not bear his soulmark long before he asked her to marry him (she, oblivious to the impropriety of rolling up her sleeves in the presence of a prince, let alone engaging in mud-fights).
At first, he was disappointed this wonder of a woman was not the match to the mark he has spent countless hours admiring, imagining the person it belongs to - his so-called other half. But upon reflection, he realised it didn't change anything.
Soulmates are rare among humans. Growing up, the only other person he knew with a soulmark was Percival (on his left bicep, two semi-circles with spirals slicing through solid black, parallel to each other so they look like a leaf or a shield - or a heart, as Percival proudly declares).
He doesn't remember how old he was when his mark developed but he remembers how disturbed his mother had been, never treating him the same. In contrast, his father reacted with excitement, proclaiming he'd always known Phillip was special. But his smile soon strained, likely realising, as Phillip later did, that as a king's first-born his destiny was decided long before any mark showed on his skin.
As heir to the throne, Phillip resigned himself to marry for duty as his parents had and took pains to conceal his mark, all too aware of the grim consequences if it was discovered the future King of Ulstead had a soulmate.
Meeting a princess, who is kind and courageous and far more enchanting than any make-believe soulmate is more than Phillip dared hope for, and though it is a shame their marks do not match, they are too far in love for it to signify.
And there are greater concerns, like her godmother cursing his father into an endless sleep. While he trusts Aurora when she says Maleficent can't have meant it, seeing his father still like that awakens a fear he is not ready to address.
Not yet. Please, not yet.
He is trying to juggle being a supportive partner while planning a wedding and also running a kingdom and he can't shake the nagging sensation he is missing something.
He is grateful for his mother taking Aurora under her wing, though he wishes she was less vocal on the Moors. Between her and Percival, he thinks he might scream. Hopefully Maleficent will return and awaken his father and then they can all sit down and have a nice, long conversation about bigotry.
His right arm tingles and he traces the pattern on his skin. Soon, this nightmare will be over.
~x~
"Conall wanted peace... and they filled him with iron. Now, we will have our war."
~x~
"This isn't a war. It's a massacre."
~x~
Borra is in the desert. NO. He is in the kingdom.
This time they have taken the fight to the humans - just as they once ravaged his homeland, now he will lay waste to theirs.
Only, once again, it is the Dark Fae who suffer, burning to ash before his eyes as the humans rain crimson dust upon them.
Is this why they wanted the Tomb Blooms? They desecrated our dead to finish off the living?
Murderers! Monsters!
(Find him. Find him.)
He circles the castle grounds, taking in the carnage. Conall cautioned him against war but he refused to listen, blinded by rage, by grief. Now he has led his kin into a massacre.
(Find him! Find him!)
His attention is caught by two humans scuffling amidst the chaos. One in armour, one without.
Even with an enemy on their doorstep the scum still fight amongst themselves.
The one in armour pounces upon the other and he snarls. With his back to the sky the soldier does not see the Dark Fae approach, glancing up too late as the warrior slams into him, hurling him across the ground.
(There! There!)
Something screams in Borra, boiling under his skin, and his gaze snags on the other human, unconscious and vulnerable.
(Mine.)
He dives, transfixed by his prey.
(Mine! Mine!)
The iron pellet pierces his arm, the shock as much as the pain causing him to veer off-course, crashing into the gravel path.
He doesn't stay down long - a downed fae is a dead fae.
The soldier grapples with his crossbow. Borra advances, knocking it from his hands with one powerful swipe of his wings.
Make him suffer. Make him bleed. For Greer. For Conall. For all of them! No mercy!
The tip of a sword digs into his throat. "Stand down!"
He stiffens. It's over.
He will not avenge his brethren, his mate. He thinks of Greer and waits for the final blow.
It never comes.
"This is not my fight. My mother wanted a war, and you're giving it to her."
Borra looks at the man - blue eyes, pale skin, delicate cheekbones - and considers… if his mother wanted a war then could this be…?
"I won't allow her hatred to ruin my kingdom or yours," the Prince declares with such conviction Borra might believe him, if not for the sting of iron against his jugular.
He pointedly looks at the sword, eyes travelling along the blade to the Prince's torn sleeve. His gaze lands on the black mark on the other's forearm…
...the same mark Borra conceals under a scrap of cloth, its very existence a mockery.
It can't be. It can't be.
"There will be no fae blood on my hands."
The sword clatters to the ground. The sound awakens Borra from his spell and he looks again at the Prince, his… his soulmate...
Spirits, no! His mate can't be human!
Humans killed his mate!
HIS MATE CAN'T BE HUMAN!
(Mine.)
He launches into the skies, away from battle, away from the Prince.
Wrong. This is all WRONG!
Borra roars in agonish.
No one answers.
~x~
And Phillip thought dinner with Maleficent was tense. Watching the humans and fae eye each other now the fighting has ceased makes him wish he had been born a farmer's son. Hopefully, no one gets cursed.
He glances at Aurora. It seems a bad time to bring up a wedding. Silent agreement passes between them and together they step forward to address the crowd.
"There will be no more fighting. Ulstead will never attack the Moors again. And from this day on... we move forward... and find our way… in peace. Together."
"Any wounded shall be tended to and any wrongs set right. The Moors will stand with Ulstead… two kingdoms united… in peace… where all will be safe and all will be welcome."
Diaval applauds. No one else does.
"Those are pretty words but how can we trust you humans won't attack us again?" One of the horned fae demands. She has the most magnificent wings, full of reds and yellows and blues.
"You attacked us first," Percival protests and Phillip wishes his friend would go back to brooding.
"That powder you used against us was designed for fae warfare," another fae asserts, his hair as white as snow.
"Made from the flowers you harvested from our brethren's burial ground!" Someone else shouts.
What now?
Phillip has been training his whole life to deal with the most delicate of diplomacies but none of his tutors ever covered what to do when your mother leads a genocide.
He smooths his expression, shoulders back, trying for regal, wishing he was dressed in more than a torn chemise and his formal breeches - but that is what he gets for not glancing out the window while his mother readied for war.
"As Prince of Ulstead, I decree no harm shall come to the fae or Moors-dweller at our hands. If anyone defies my orders the consequences shall be as severe as if they were against any citizen of Ulstead."
There is shuffling. His soldiers understand a direct order at least, he hopes most are loyal enough to handle the zealots until they uncover how deep the rot goes.
"And I, Queen Aurora of the Moors, promise there will be no further violence against Ulstead."
The fae glance amongst themselves, then to the sandy-haired warrior Phillip confronted earlier, awaiting his verdict. He must be their leader. He has yet to say anything though Phillip has felt his eyes boring into him since the fighting stopped.
"Well, Borra?" Maleficent addresses the warrior (fitting name). Her tone is languid, but one doesn't need to make threats when you can transform into a giant phoenix.
Borra looks from Phillip to Maleficent, his gaze resting on the former. Phillip's heart pulses in the palm of his hands.
"I won't allow hatred to ruin our kingdoms."
Something loosens in his chest.
"Conall wanted peace… if an accord can be reached between the Dark Fae and the humans, I owe it to him - to all of us - to try."
A smile overtakes Phillip's face and he lurches forward. Borra's eyes widen and Phillip falters, afraid the movement has been mistaken for an attack.
Carefully, broadcasting his actions so they can't be misconstrued, he offers out his hand. "Thank you for your trust. I promise we will not let you down."
The fae regards his hand as if it might bite. Phillip refuses to let his smile fall, keeping his gaze locked on Borra's and willing him to accept.
Are handshakes not something the Dark Fae do? Don't let him have bodged their first step to peace with a cultural misunderstanding.
Just as it is starting to turn from awkward to embarrassing, Borra reaches back, his hand engulfing Phillip's. His grip is firm but not painful like it could easily be judging by the bulge of his muscles.
"There is no fae blood on your hands," he murmurs and Phillip's chest stutters.
"Things will be different now. I swear it. I will make sure it's different."
The cardinal rule in politics is don't make promises but Phillip means this with all his heart. There will not be another massacre while he draws breath.
Borra must recognise this, gold eyes agleam. Phillip has never seen eyes like his… they're mesmerising…
Furious bleating erupts and Ingrith, in her new goat form, charges towards the colourful winged fae.
With the reactions of a seasoned soldier, Percival propels himself through the air - and back into Phillip's good graces - tackling Ingrith before she can start another war.
"That's enough mayhem for one day, your… uh… gruffness." Percival looks up at the fae and his face slackens. "You're beautiful… I- I- I mean… ar- are you… al- alright… my… my lady?"
The fae stares at Percival, likely wondering what to make of this stuttering human sprawled at her feet.
Ingrith bleats aggressively and tries to buck out of Percival's arms, only to get tangled in the vines which sprout from the ground at the fae's will.
"Someone should really cover those horns," Maleficent drawls.
Phillip sighs. "We should… we should take this inside... there's… plenty of refreshments… and cake…"
Lots of cake.
"Lead, we will follow."
Borra's hand squeezes his own and only then does Phillip realise he is still holding on. He snatches his hand back, flushing. Borra's expression doesn't change, eyes oddly intense, though his hand lingers in the air a beat longer before dropping to his side.
Phillip opens his mouth, no clue what to say, when his father staggers out the castle with the joviality of a man well-rested.
King John takes in the armies, the rubble, and the goat. "What have I missed?"
~x~
Peace isn't achieved in a single day. There are talks to be had - lots of long, boring talks that have Borra rolling his eyes. Clearly, humans only learned to speak to hear their own voices, since most of what they say is hot air.
He probably shouldn't have said so out loud but he earns a snort from the Prince, who covers it with a cough, smiling at Borra from behind his hand.
The Prince of Ulstead is not what he expected. When he thought of the human kingdom across the sea he imagined their rulers to be as barbaric as the rest and Queen Ingrith certainly was but the Prince and King are different.
King John doesn't have a bad bone in his body. When the peace negotiations began, Borra suspected it an act, but no - the King is genuinely that nice, treating the fae as his equals.
("Call me, John. If I'm to address you by your names then you should use mine."
"Uhh, your majesty, I don't think- "
"Now, Councillor, which one of us is wearing the crown?"
"Very good, your majesty.")
The Prince weighs his words with more care but so far has proved sincere in his promise to the Dark Fae, acting with more honour than Borra believed humans capable.
He is more practical than his father or the young Queen of the Moors. Both seem to believe it will take a few pretty words and one grand gesture for centuries of violence to be forgotten. But from the looks passed between Maleficent and the Prince, they understand how difficult prejudice is to stamp out, how deep the hurt goes.
It is a long, arduous road ahead of them and yet the Prince is undaunted, rising to the challenge, so even Borra, who once advocated war, finds himself buying into the vision the royal paints in his speeches. They will never be able to wash away all that blood, but that doesn't mean they cannot strive for better.
Conall would have liked the Prince, it is tragic they will never meet. Still, Borra hears his old friend when the Prince talks of a brighter future and listens in a way he never did before.
The Prince is not a warrior as Borra is, has never had to survive as Borra has, but he has the heart of one. He is the Moors' fiercest defender - wielding his words like soldiers do their swords when members of his own court protest the idea of accepting the fae. Every time Borra witnesses these glorious displays - the Prince's eyes ablaze, each word artfully chosen to cut and mould his opponents to his will - he feels a lick of heat through his belly.
He desperately wants to hate the Prince - he is a human, his people murdered Conall, his mother massacred Borra's kin, and, worst of all, he bears Borra's soulmark when Greer did not.
And yet.
If Borra never glimpsed the Prince's soulmark, if there wasn't this invisible string binding them, would he still feel the same draw he does now? Unable to tear himself away, even with the sense he is staring directly into the sun, hanging onto each word that falls from those clever, rosebud lips, and wondering what it would be like to taste…
He can hear Conall's ghost laughing at him.
Worse, his fixation has not gone unnoticed. Udo is too polite to comment but Shrike makes sure he sees her smirking - as if she has any room to tease with that captain gawping at her like she hung the moon. Borra hopes he is more subtle than that, otherwise he will have to drown himself.
Maleficent, as well, has sent him some strange looks, but mistakes his interest for animosity (she is not wholly wrong).
"Borra, while I understand your feelings, know that I will not allow anything or anyone to jeopardise the peace. No harm shall come to the Prince."
"I don't intend the Prince harm."
But what if he asks nicely? His mind whispers and Borra quickly shuts down that idea.
She arches one elegant brow. "Good. Aurora would be upset if she found herself without a groom."
And there it is.
Because it doesn't matter if Borra's heart throbs whenever the Prince bestows him a sly smile. His soulmate is engaged to Queen Aurora, the softest, fairest creature of them all, and Borra's total opposite.
Destiny is mocking him. First, he loves a fae who is not his soulmate. Now he is marked for a man who will never be his.
It is a cosmic joke. Or, more likely, punishment - for failing to save Greer and the Dark Fae he led to their deaths.
One thing is certain, Prince Phillip can never know.
I have never re-watched Maleficent: Mistress of Evil the full way through, but I have watched that battle sequence again and again.