Chapter 3

He announced his return with a caw, and she rose to her feet at once. Passing her, he had not yet landed on the undergrowth that was the uppermost floor of her tree fortress when his limbs extended, feathers vanishing.

"He wasn't there," Diaval said, stumbling. "His men are, but not many. They're interrogating the hunters. They'll be gone before you get there," he added when she spun to stare at the thorn wall as if she would be able to pierce the thicket if only she was angry enough. Stefan was taunting her, showing her how she was not important enough for his personal visit.

Oh, how she wanted to take her fury out on his men, send him a real message in the form of them dragging themselves back, bloody and bruised.

"It's no use; they'll be long gone and the villagers have lots iron," Diaval interfered, sensing her rising ire. With a sharp sigh through her nose, Maleficent tried to cool down. He opened his mouth again, probably thinking she was not listening. "So how about you start up that dinner for your favourite servant?" he suggested. It broke her focus completely.

Frowning, she turned. Bewilderment gave way to irritation by his lack of seriousness. At the same time, she felt her temper cool, thinning out. It did not keep her from shooting Diaval a glare, but when she did, the only thing she glowered at was his foot, zooming around the corner.

Roots for stairs were an obstacle for sure—she could hear him trip as he hasted away, scurrying down the tree fortress. A grin spread across her face. Slowly, threateningly, she followed. There was nowhere to run from her. And what a good boy he was, cheering her up with the prospect of lashing out at him instead of worthless humans.

His plumage would pay the price for such insolence, she adjudicated, however kindly it had been meant. A price he would have to pay anyway since she found caressing his feathers calmed her wrath. She was quite delighted with that new way of teasing him, not least because she simply enjoyed stroking his wings. It made the longing for her own more bearable.

She reached ground level, her feet finally stepping onto grass in the place of roots and moss. A light caught her attention, flickering in the pitch-black night. A candle. All jokes forgotten, she neared it. Indeed, it was a candle; a single candle atop the fallen tree of which she had once cut off the splintered stump to sit on. It acted as the perfect seat for the table-turned trunk. On it was a somewhat flat stone for a plate, its function only guessable by the food piling up on it.

A slice of bread with cheese alongside a juicy bunch of grapes. Next to them was a rather clumsily folded napkin, stained with a squashed grape and hurriedly brushed off crumbs. Maleficent frowned at the array.

"Thought you could use something to eat," Diaval piped up where she nearly had forgotten about his presence. "Gather some strength for the next time I'll have to save you," he shrugged. This time, her death glare pierced him without mercy, but he had already retreated halfway, a single step being all that kept him from disappearing behind her wall of roots. He took it as fleetly as possible.

Exhaling sharply, she observed the corner for another moment. When he did not show again, she turned back to the meal. Regarding it, she remembered her previous brooding about his eating habits—or lack of them, as far as she knew.

"Why don't you eat it?" she raised her voice.

"I helped myself to come grapes on the way back," he nonchalantly waved off, at least his arm did, then fled behind the corner again. He must have stolen it from the humans he had spied on, she concluded, and carried the for a raven heavy satchel all the way back to the Moors. "Good night," Diaval quietly said, pretending that he was already far away, feigning distance in his voice. It made the amused smile curl her lips once more.

Feeling unwatched, Maleficent eventually sank down on the stump. She was not particularly fond of human-made food, but when taking a hearted bite from the bread, sweetening it up with a few grapes, it was enough revenge for the moment—having their precious food stolen and eaten by the Dark Fearie was ironic, pleasing her for now.

Once finished, Maleficent started to wonder where her thief servant had gone. On top of hardly ever having seen him eat, she had also seldom seen him sleep. Between missions presented the occasion, when he'd lie down for an hour or two, curled up in a corner, still as a beast. He slept like one too, head resting on his paws or claws, seeing as she took some liberty with his forms.

Blowing out the candle, she got up. He had not come very far, she noted, finding him immediately, right around the corner. Beneath a young tree that grew from the side of her living fortress, he had curled up most awkwardly for a human—something he was not, most obviously by the way he had his arms at his sides as if they were still wings to be tucked against his flanks.

The young tree granted little protection, for when rain began to softly fall, it dappled him all the same as the grass around them. Wet and uncomfortable-looking—she should have guessed.

Kneeling down, Maleficent studied his torso for wounds. He could not be that much of an idiot and lie the way he did because he wanted to; he must have been avoiding pain.

He stirred when she palpated his body with her palm, magic warmly surging through to find anything amiss. She was certain not to have forgotten anything, but at the same time she knew she had only tended to the obviously visible. Cold was the first thing striking her, making her realise how he had yet to put on a shirt again. His trousers were still soaking wet, and the missing footwear caught her eye.

Diaval's eyes snapped open when her fingers brushed his calf. He met her glowing ones in the dark, then closed his again.

"Are you injured?" she plainly asked. He really was a silly bird for not telling her, playing tough. He should have taken the chance when she had first offered, and she asked herself why she was doing it again.

He gave a negative hum, not opening his eyes. "Is there a new mission?" His words came as a sigh, breath flattening in comparison to moments ago.

"No," she said. Both fell silent. She shortened her examination, but did not abort until she was sure there was nothing severe left uncared for. "Come." Maleficent rose to her feet. Diaval frowned. She had just said no, but he assumed she did not like getting wet, following despite not grasping what he had to do with it.

Heaving himself up, he trudged after her into the tree fortress, up the winding stairs.

"It's pathetic—the way you sleep."

"It's warmer than on bare roots," he mumbled tiredly.

"Ever heard of blankets?"

"Even seen some but that doesn't exactly make them mine to have," he shrugged. She awaited him on the uppermost floor, gaze boring into him. He did not avoid it anymore, all of the swimming, crashlanding, flying, tower-demolishing and more flying having exhausted him enough not to shrink in awe. And it had been bloody seventeen years—he teased her for heaven's sake, and successfully so.

She decided that it had been enough scolding for one night, announcing her resignation with a sigh.

Golden magic swirled around her fingers. Moss sprouted from the roots in the corner, short young grass joining in an effort to imitate the softness of her own bed across the room. She was convinced to that day that clothing was the sole useful thing humans had invented, anything else flawlessly provided by nature itself.

"What kind of a master would I be if I left my pet to sleep in the rain?" she pouted her lips for a pitying voice, conjuring up a dry set of clothes for him to wear.

"Pet," Diaval somewhat spit under his breath, but that was about the entirety of his complaints.

He changed while she got comfortable in her own bed of moss. She might have been across the room, but the tree drey only had so much space, making his every move audible as if his bed bordered hers directly. He all but dropped into the fluffy moss, resigning to sleep almost immediately.

She let out a huff, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. Ready to resign to sleep whenever—it was the first time she admitted envy, if only to herself.

Minutes passed. Her mind had yet to give up its twisting and turning thoughts, spiralling through her head relentlessly. She watched him through the veil of night, listened to his steadying breathing.

"How come you do that?" she broke the to him peaceful silence. When he did not react, she poked him with her stick. Grumbling, Diaval reluctantly woke from his half-dozing.

"What?" he aimlessly blinked into the darkness.

"How come you do that?"

"Do what?" he groggily managed.

"Sleep on your back when you have wings," she insisted. He thought for another heartbeat, his mind foggy with sleep.

"Because I don't have them now," he finally said. As if it was that easy. She had never slept on her back ever since her wings had been taken, usually preferring to lean against trees with her side instead. When she turned over at night, she would do so cumbersomely over her stomach. "I can lie on my back just fine with wings too," he added, tapping his shoulder to indicate how for him, wings did not naturally grow from his back.

He inhaled to say something else, perhaps knowing her better than she had previously assumed. A groan of annoyance—yes, he must have guessed. It was swallowed by a mildly complaining a caw, his body reverting to that of a raven.

"Do it," Maleficent said. He gave her a look from the side. Then he got up, hopping out of bed for her to see. Crouching, he sank onto his flank, then rolled onto his back, wings still neatly at his sides. She observed closely, curiosity making her eyes gleam. Tiredly, he let her, his head dropping backwards to rest. Again, ready to sleep.

She outstretched her staff. With the slim end, she tapped the undersides of his bird feet. He ignored the first few nudges, then complied, holding on. With an almost childish smile, Maleficent made him scoot about on his back, entertaining herself, though careful not to break off any feathers when going against the growth direction. At some point, she lifted him up slightly, keeping him awake and alert since he had to hold on more tightly. She had him bob up and down a few times, and still, he let her.

Diaval opened his eyes when with his next landing, his back sank into the softest of moss beds. The staff retreated from his feet, but he had no chance to contemplate turning over when a hand landed on his chest. Gently, absently, Maleficent stroked down his chest to his stomach. It helped, there was no denying it. Her brooding was not gone but the storm within became a mere gust of wind.

Diaval fell asleep before long. To him, it must have been a bad habit, but he endured—he always had. Putting up with her moods, executing her every wish, permitting her to ruin his beloved feathers that he so vainly sorted each day.

Maleficent surprised herself, for when she actively contemplated his point of view again, the sun warmed her back. She had fallen asleep—actually fallen asleep. Slept through until morning.

Diaval was curled up against the hollow of her neck, her chin unconsciously having hooked him to herself. Stiffly, sorely, he lifted his head at the changing rhythm of her breathing. She hoped it was that which he had felt and not the tiny skip her heart had made upon realising that she had achieved undisturbed slumber.

He stretched his neck, wiggled his shoulders once until deciding that he was still fairly comfortable. Sagging again, he let his beak rest on what was closest – her jaw. She arched a brow.

"What are you getting all cuddly for?" She opened one eye to peer down at him. He did not glance back, a croaking caw from the back of his throat all she got for an answer. Treating herself to some more rest—mostly because it felt damn good to finally get some—Maleficent let it slide. Closing her eye again, she sighed. He followed the example, his tiny chest expanding against the underside of her chin.

His head raised again, quicker this time. He must have heard it the split of a second before her, both startling slightly, holding their breaths.
"…odmother?"

"Aurora," Maleficent hissed. Just how late was it?

Diaval scrambled away as not to get crushed when Maleficent fleetly crawled to the opening in her fortress's side.

"Fairy Godmother?" Aurora was calling, looking around by the creek. Maleficent bit her lip. Her features mellowed upon seeing the girl, another sigh escaping her usually so tightly sealed lips.

"Go, distract her," she waved at Diaval, sending an updraft under his wings. He squawked, then did as he was told for as long as she needed to be presentable.

A bad habit, she thought to herself. Truly a bad habit she had chosen, but a tempting one for sure.