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Chapter 4
The following night, Maleficent found herself just as unable to sleep as she had been for the past weeks. It was not long until Aurora's birthday anymore; not long until that damn curse would prick Maleficent's heart like it would Aurora's finger. It was what she deserved, Maleficent bitterly thought. But her Beastie was innocent and deserved no evil in the world.
Lost in thoughts, she spooked when he announced his return with caw. She did not raise her head, too exhausted to acknowledge him. He did not seem to mind. Flapping over, Diaval landed on the edge of her nest. She could trust him to get Aurora home safely, and she knew that if something would have been amiss, he would have made more of a fuss.
She blinked her eyes open in surprise when he was suddenly there, right there, curling up to her as she had let him the night before.
"You're freezing cold," she scolded, wincing at his windswept plumage's touch. Shoving him down, she kept him away from the bare skin of her neck. Diaval made no sound or move to complain, and as usual, fell asleep in no time.
She did not.
At least he kept her thoughts off the imminent doom she had forced onto her fosterling. Why had she not kicked him out, Maleficent wondered. She could have pushed him out of her bed altogether instead of downwards. Now she was holding him even closer. He seemed quite content with the nest that was her hand and upper sternum, caging him in like her chin had before. Maleficent herself found that she indulged in the way his back rose and fell rhythmically against her palm.
When she next wondered whether it was the peaceful breathing that had secured him his place; that had kept her from banning him from her bed, it was already morning. She had actually fallen asleep again.
With a long sigh, Maleficent savoured the first rays of the sun. Or perhaps it were not the first, making her question how late it was. And how her feathery companion could sleep for so long.
He was just that, was he not? A companion, not merely a minion. Surely, she would not have relied on him to soothe her nerves and grant her some rest if he were just another underling. That was about all she conceded, even to herself.
Reliable as she was, Aurora came to spend the day in the Moors. Oblivious to the looming danger, she played with the Wallerbogs, danced with the Water Fairies, and told Maleficent about her dreams. She laughed with Diaval, then weaved them each a crown of flowers.
"I love the Moors," Aurora came trudging up the riverbank, the wet hem of her dress in hand. "I want to see it all—can I stay here tonight? We could have a sleepover! Then I'll see the fairies at night and oh! We can gaze at the stars," she raved, twirling around herself.
"How are you going to see them when you sleep?" Maleficent raised a brow. She hid the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but a glance towards Diaval told of a mild success. Ultimately, she was weak to whatever the girl asked, complying. They contemplated telling the three Pixies—morons, as Maleficent dubbed them—but decided against it when Aurora retold how they had not noticed her playing with Diaval the previous evening. Playing consisting of her mostly stomping for minutes right above their heads.
"What is this for?" Aurora asked, bending down. Maleficent raised her chin, so her fosterling presented her discovery. Ropes—the ropes connected by the metal eyelet that had kept Maleficent's fingers apart. Diaval took it from her, tilting his head at it.
"Nothing of use." He shrugged, overplaying the entire ordeal.
"Did you get into trouble?" Aurora worriedly asked. "You got hurt, didn't you?" She glanced down at his wrist, his sleeve having fallen to his elbow. It revealed a slim wound, crusted but not old enough to have scarred yet. Maleficent wanted to turn him and pluck one of those long, to him particularly precious feathers from his tail. Could that birdbrain not tell her he was injured for once? He needed his arms—wings—to fly, for goodness' sake.
The wound vanished, closed up by tingling, swirling golden magic.
"He got himself into trouble," Maleficent said. He raised his brows at her, and she met his eyes unwaveringly. Still, he did not correct her. Not now anyway. "Did you hear the bells this morning?" she addressed Aurora. The latter shook her head. "It's because someone deemed it necessary to take them down—alongside the entire tower of course," she tutted gently.
"Of course," Diaval echoed sarcastically, a smile playing on his lips.
Aurora frowned, looking from one to the other. "But how?" she asked, intrigued. She was such a ray of sunshine, it made Maleficent question how she herself had not withered to ashes and dust the year before Aurora's birth. Life without her was unimaginable.
Instead of answering, she circled her fingers. Diaval's skin darkened, fur and feathers once again growing in the place of his clothes, huge claws stretching from his fingers. Aurora stumbled backwards when his wings burst from his back, a bristled lion's tail lashing out from his tailbone. He stood tall and proud, but kept quiet as not to scare her.
It took but a moment for Aurora to forget her shock. A smile broke out across her features, eyes brimming with wonder when she marvelled at his form, encircling him excitedly.
"Incredible!" she cheered, beaming from Diaval to Maleficent and back. "So beautiful," she reached out a hand, curious to touch his wing. He let her, lowering it. When she brushed a hand over his feathers, leaning into them as if lying on a down bed, he wrapped it around her. She laughed blithely, merely peeking out from her cocoon, never wanting to leave it again.
"Can we sleep like this?" she asked her self-proclaimed godmother. Maleficent raised a single brow. "It's so comfortable—would you mind?" she turned to Diaval, having to stand on her toes to grin over the rim of his wing. He voiced his consent with a low grunt, and she laughed gleefully, hugging his flank.
When night descended over the Moors, Diaval quit playing with Aurora and the fairies to lie down. He chose a large tree, leaning against it as he sank down onto his front. Aurora happily joined him, snuggling into the soft fur of his flank, tucking herself up with one of his giant wings. She insisted that Maleficent join them, and it took her several minutes and those big blue eyes to finally have the Queen of the Moors relent.
Maleficent waited for any change in her companion's behaviour, but he showed her none. He drifted off as easily as ever. It gave her time to process the feeling of wings her size or even larger around her. They reminded her of her own, of how they trapped the warmth of her body and encased her protectively. Again, she eventually fell asleep to his steady breathing against her back, as well as that of Aurora at her side.
It was as if nothing was wrong; as if nothing could ever disturb their peace as long as they stayed that way. She dreaded the coming morning, not because it would be the fateful day, but because it was another day closer to Aurora's demise. Her own demise.
Her last thought that night went to Diaval however. She wondered what he would do once the deed was done; how he would suffer under her depression and lack of sunshine in their lives. He would try to cheer her up, she assumed, but he would never succeed. She would have to set him free; chase him away if must be.
For now, she savoured his warmth and the placidity he blessed her with.
It would just become another bad habit, Maleficent knew, but she could not help herself. The following night, she transformed him into a beast again, and he did not complain. It was not a dog after all.
Maleficent needed those wings, feel them hold and calm her. It was even better than stoking his small raven wings. It was addictive.
And so, close to his side, she was by now almost guaranteed to find sleep. He was quick to adapt, but she did not give him much of a choice either. Each night, she transformed him, chewing off her lips but unable to stop herself from continuing the new tradition. He never brought it up during the day, kept silent as a beast, and when returning to the tree fortress later than her, even nudged her to notify his return, knowing she would want to turn him promptly. She always did, and he obediently curled up closely around her bed of moss.
He was either enjoying it as much as her or he was that faithful of a friend, she mused.
It was seldom but not never that he moved in his sleep. Once, he rolled onto his back, somewhat depriving her of the full splendour of his wing. He must have noticed her grumpiness the coming morning, because the night after, when turning, Maleficent woke from a paw around her midriff. It heaved her up and onto his belly where he wrapped both wings securely around her. She was not sure whether it had been unconsciously in his sleep or on purpose, but she did not ask. At sunrise, she merely made sure to get up before him.
It really had become a habit, and a bad one. Maleficent found that she was not yet past but closing in on the point of no return. But her fears for Aurora only heightened, so she ignored the voice of reason in the back of her mind, hushing it with much-needed sleep.
It were the wings she needed, nothing more, nothing less.
All until one night.
Maleficent had paced trenches into the moist evening earth, finally coming to the conclusion that she had to tell her Beastie. Tell her the truth about the curse and its origin. Courage had left her soon though, and so she had wandered the Moors in search of distraction.
Tiredness kept knocking against the inside of her skull in the form of a headache. Resigning for the night, Maleficent strut back to the tree fortress. Diaval must have long returned from bringing Aurora home.
He had indeed, Maleficent assessed once having climbed all the way up. Fast asleep, Diaval laid on his back in his own nest for once. She regarded him as he slept. She must have forgotten to turn him into a crow before, but for Aurora, it was always nicer to have someone to talk to—someone who could answer her intelligibly.
It was almost odd, seeing him sleep as a human. His own bed had gone unused for over a week now. Watching, eyes glowing in the dark of the night, Maleficent tried to imagine him as an animal as she neared. She hesitated. Minutes ticked by. The raging battle inside her went completely unnoticed by him. An animal, any animal, she repeated in her head.
She put down her staff. Cautiously, Maleficent crouched, then lied down. A bad habit, a terribly bad habit, she berated herself. Had it not been for the years between Stefan's betrayal and that very moment, she would have never considered it; not entertained the very notion for even a heartbeat.
But when her palm sank down onto his chest, torso following, it was the rocking she had become accustomed to, almost dependant on. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, when suddenly his own hand was there too, having shifted off his now occupied stomach and onto her back. Luckily for him, it was far enough away from where her wings had once been.
Maleficent harked, holding her breath. When he showed no sign of wakefulness, she relaxed, shoulders easing longingly. With clandestine content, she found that when she laid her ear over his heart, her horn fit perfectly in the hollow of his neck, not bothering either of them.
He could sleep like a rock anyway; chances were hight he did not wake before she was up and gone. And she would be, Maleficent told herself as active thought faded into long-awaited slumber.
She would have counted on him acting differently towards her, but he did not. They never spoke of their nights spent huddled up to each other, and she was grateful for that. Both for the huddling as well as the silence.
It was a surprise, but a welcome one. He was a wild animal after all, at least at heart. Humans expected things, demanded things, claimed things. Diaval did none of the sort. He endured, he granted and he read her like a book, knowing what she needed and when. Not once did he refuse, however awkwardly it made her feel to wordlessly request it in the first place. Perhaps animals did not feel that way, she pondered, never getting an answer. He was a man now, so why did he not clamour like they all did?
Like Stefan and his kingdom did.
Sighing was the first thing she did when awaking. Another of those unwanted habits. Lifting her head, she carefully manoeuvred her horns as not to prod and rouse Diaval. Apart from that, she did not move—she had not all night, the rocking of his chest beneath her having lulled her into sleep quite effectively.
Her heart jumped into her throat. His eyes were open—not fixed on her, but open. He was awake.
Trying hard to steady her momentarily racing pulse, Maleficent glanced up at him from below. He was looking on aimlessly, vision most likely blurred, trained at the ceiling of branches and leaves.
"Mistress," he said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. Another tiny skip—the same bloody skip that had given her away, she presumed. She held absolutely still, not averting her gaze. She had her pride. "I think we should let Aurora go." Her brows furrowed fiercely, palm stiffening over his chest. "Have her return to the castle—maybe working with the curse will prove more helpful than battling against it."
He was insane, he had to be. This was what she got for being soft with him—a softie. Mushy in the head, akin to those humans. Next, his newfound genius would get to his head and he would cut off her horns to—
"Someone will screw up no matter what we do," he bluntly phrased. She knew exactly whom he meant, and she could not have said it better had she tried. Those sorry excuses for aunts, as they called themselves. "If she goes to the castle, she might get cursed, or maybe not. They took precautions years ago."
"Don't be a fool, Diaval." Her voice cut through the room like a knife.
"All I'm saying it that if her father truly loves her, he will make sure—"
"Her father is a monster," Maleficent hissed. His hand pressed down slightly in an attempt to steady her.
"She's still his—"
"He's a monster and a bastard and wouldn't know love if it clawed out his eyes," she pressed between gritted teeth, struggling against the hand on her back. "Let me go or I'll—" she snarled, but he had already lifted his arm off her. With another growl, Maleficent crawled to her feet, strutting out the room and then the fortress. Never bothering to pick up her staff or trap her hair in snake skin.
She fumed, pacing through the high grass, along the creek, past the reeds and deeper into the forest. Away from him and away from the thorn wall. A friend, she had called him. At least she had not been stupid enough to make him her advisor, she thought to herself. He could have simply supported her like he always had—in silence. Remained an animal, mute and sleepy and not more than a cuddly pet.
Why could he not have slept on like every morning?
She stayed away most of the day. It was well past sun high when she reached her fosterling's favourite riverbend, finding it abandoned. Aurora did not know of the tree fortress, and she should not. Maleficent did not appreciate being surprised, especially not when trapped within her own sins.
The latter should not be posing an issue anymore, she thought, wrinkling her nose. It was over. She would bid that bad habit good riddance from now on, never to fall into dependency again. Especially not with a man, beast or not.
