A/N: Hey, there guys. So, I already posted this story on AO3, so don't panic. I'm not stealing from anyone but myself. lol

I hope you enjoy!

EDIT: I have rewritten a few dialogues, adding/changing scenes here and there. The plot hasn't changed, but I felt like changing the dialogues so they would be more in character.

Act 1: Season of Torments

The once called fae queen walked through the woods. Almost didn't pay any attention to her surroundings, looking straight at the endless trees in front of her without further thoughts on what she saw or felt. Barefoot, she used to sigh now and then, the pleasure of feeling the wet ground beneath her feet up being something very reassuring. Her wings, remarkably beautiful and strong, dragged elegantly by the earth, leaving a trail wherever she passed by, covering the small footprints she left impregnated in the dirty earth covered in melted snow.

A week had passed since the beginning of spring, and damp air seemed to impose its presence around the dense land of the Moors. The arrival of the heat was abrupt, but not at all unexpected. Torrid storms came soon after, bringing life to all living beings, making the flowers to bloom and animals to bathe in a splendid curtain of cool and refreshing liquid. But as rain came, it was gone as a cork passenger, allowing the creatures to get out of their nests for the first time in days. Maleficent stood out among such creatures as she opted to wander around at night. She abandoned her nest in the ruins and decided to walk aimlessly. She noticed, however, the changes brought by time, grateful to know that Mother Nature was naturally kind.

Her lands have never been so beautiful.

Looking up to the sky, she could see the natural and electrically phenomenal event characterized by the appearance of bright lights on the dark blue coat that covered the lands. She paused for a moment, observing a bole of an old and worn tree. Golden magic travelled through her slender fingers as she rested her hand on the tree, and seconds later the bole was restored from the ravages of time and probably some unwanted insects.

After a moment, the fae of magnificent wings was back to her nightly rounds, walking and feeling the breeze touching her powerful cheeks, a funny noise penetrating her pointed ears, making her sigh wearily due the lack of sleep once again insisted on its claim.

Eight seasons had passed since the end of the curse. Since Aurora's coronation as ruler of the Moors until her eighteenth birthday, this one, by the way, shall take place in a few days. Maleficent, as the young queen's fairy godmother, knew that the little beastie must be planning some kind of feast and she would probably invite both her kingdoms to celebrate with her, to smile and laugh all the time. However, feasts use to bring complicated dances and smiling couples, definitely not Maleficent's favourite way to have fun.

"But everything for the little beastie." She mused. There was nothing she wouldn't do for the girl, in fact, she couldn't say no to her, and if Queen Aurora asked her to dance, Maleficent would dance.

A small smile graced her beautiful face.

Sometimes she couldn't believe herself.

As the seasons changed, her love for the girl became so natural that she knew she had to adapt herself to the changes that each time and circumstances brought her. Time would pass and with it, day and night would disappear on the horizon, leaving tracks behind. Over time, the leaves would fall and the blooming flowers would appear, rainy days and snowy nights, the warmth of the sun and the moonlight, all together with the celebration of eighteen winters since the birth of the little beastie, and the so spoken words of her curse.

No matter what her servant tells her, not even the sweet things Aurora did. Nothing would make her forget what she did and the guilt that plagued her was sometimes too big to handle. The pain of Stefan's betrayal and the loss of her most precious possession – her wings – had been so terrible that it corrupted her, and she, so young and foolish, allowed hatred to poison her heart and curse a child, an innocent baby that since that fateful day would smile at her every time their paths crossed.

Ice walls one day used as barriers, indestructible modelled in hatred and bitterness, now crumbled by the voice of a simple girl, whose eyes lit up at her godmother decides to spend the afternoon talking to her. What was left of an old heart was stolen as a gem by a thief in autumnal night.

Maleficent then smiled, seeing the coincidence of the beastie being born in spring, the time of growth and renewal, the birth of a new life, the beginning of better times. Aurora had been her redemption, a way of the gods to tell her not everything was lost, that she could love again.

She looked around the blooming fields. For a beautiful sunrise, the light in the darkness aroused by betrayal, loss and grief...for her god-daughter Aurora, the fae was extremely grateful.

Tiredness expressed itself through a long, deep sigh, and her soul begged deliberation as well, trying to forget the past. It is a fact that her mind was the reason she left the nest before sun appears. She was at war with her own soul, which actively persisted in tormenting her dreams. Sleep was a bit difficult with so many disturbing memories. As usual, magic nothing could do to avoid frightful iron monsters, and as night unearthed memories of thoughts and feelings too old to consider, guilt consumed the remaining fair emotions.

So she kept walking. She walked to forget.

It did not take long for the sign of the day to arise on the horizon, marking the beginning of twilight. The presence of weak sunlight made a big difference, even with moon can still be seen in the distance. Maleficent narrowed her eyes to protect them from the upcoming light and made the shortest way to her nest. Winter had been very cruel to her tree, which was yet to form leaves, leaving the fae the option to return to her nest in the ruins. When the beastie found out about it – Diaval just could not keep his mouth shut -, she quickly offered them both one of the most luxurious chambers in the castle.

Maleficent had to refuse.

"I need to care for the Moors," and the queen, the lovely girl she was, accepted her godmother's reasons with no objections.

And her nest was a nice place to live. It had everything she needed. There was a large bed made of dry leaves, straw and deerskin, some decorative flowers meticulously placed by Diaval and a fireplace enchanted by her. The food was also provided by her magic, but sometimes Diaval brought her a few things from farms, and she could not tell if such attitude irritated her or not. She had told him many times not to take risks because most humans were stupid, and they could hurt him with spears and arrows. The sight of long scars printed on his pale skin demonstrated that her orders were entirely ignored, with the raven so willing to help and please. While healing the wounds, she had called him stupid. He had laughed, because they both knew that there was no sincerity situated in her words. How could it be? More than a servant, that silly raven was a friend, and she would be blatantly lying if she said it was not nice to have him around.

Finally, the sun rose completely from its den, and the lands were hit with bright white light, warmer than ever.

The protector of the Moors left the woods and walked through the open fields. The wind hit on her wings, comforting them after so many years trapped in a glass cage with unique views of the human king.

Maleficent frowned, for although her heart no longer beat for him, his memory was still uncomfortable.

She breathed the pure, moist air, a warm and comforting breeze hitting her face, making her feel like forgetting such memories.

Spreading her wings, she flew home.

Landed on the window ledge, only to open two curtains and step inside. There was a hidden door in the lowest part of the ruins, a secret passage that one day had been used by beings without wings and herself, when she had lost hers. However, the door had been forgotten as soon her wings were attracted to her back. The only one who knew of its existence was Diaval – because he had accompanied his mistress wherever she went for longer than sixteen years – and Aurora, who obviously did not have wings, but had to use the door every time she went to visit her godmother in her nest. The young queen had been there several times, spending whole days talking about her kingdom, asking for advice, and seemed to have appreciated the place and how clean it was.

Maleficent would not accept otherwise. She could be a wild creature to human eyes, but as fae, although not a pure one, yet the most powerful of all, Maleficent was full of quirks and mannerisms, always making clear that her word should always be heard, and obviously not accepting anything less than good care of the place she would call home.

It was at times like these that she appreciated having chosen a raven as a servant.

Times were hard and she could hardly sleep due the nightmares with iron wings and men with chains. Her back still ached, her magic was beginning to heal the wounds, and she was not able to focus on something that was not the curse. She knew that rest was required to her wounds to heal as quickly as possible, and the thought of how tall her tree was had been quite bothering. Sleeping in one of its branches would result in a painful death, with her body falling from that cliff.

This way, she asked Diaval to help her on finding a place to a new nest. He took an afternoon for doing so, and another afternoon to take her there. She recognized the place as the ruins that had once been her refuge in difficult times, and knew then that the raven she had seen that fateful day had been her servant. Her trusting on him increased immensely during the nest-building process, and he seemed so excited while doing it. Maleficent could still see the special affection his black eyes bloomed while he collected branches and searched for flowers. He had been rather thorough on his task, but when you speak of a raven, the most methodical bird in those lands, you cannot expect less than perfection.

The result of his work was a small, but comfortable nest.

The curtains had a dark blue tone, resembling the night sky, and it gave the place a distorted and interesting look. A comfortable heat seemed to prevail, circulating her entire body, enough to give her a sudden desire to lie down on her nest and sleep for seven days.

When her tired eyes gazed down at the nest, however, she felt her heart squeeze around its own cage of bones.

Diaval was gone.

Maleficent waited three seconds to curse under her breath.

She did not know exactly what to think. She simply left without warning him because she did not want to bother him again. He was tired after a full day flying over the Moors in search of problems to solve and she wanted him to rest. By the way, she had ordered him to rest after shutting him up with a spell because he kept asking about her well-being instead of caring about his own state of mind and body, to say at least.

Maleficent sighed, massaging her temples.

The stupid bird had to fly after her. Of course he would, she did not know why such attitude still caught her off guard.

Surely, he was a good servant, taking care of his mistress' belongings and knowing what to do to please her without the need of words, but his concern, most of times, exceed any kind of expectations. He ends up forgetting about the most frivolous things, as when was the last time he ate, or the last time he slept.

Absurd was to say that she didn't appreciate what he did to her – where to find a servant as loyal as him? –, but the lack of importance he gave to his 'beautiful self', of which he's so much proud of, was worrying. She cared for him, as much she did for the little beastie, and she knew that her feelings were mutual, because if it were the opposite she would have found the raven asleep in the nest.

Maleficent could not prevent a tired smile to form in her face.

Her body was restless after waking up from a nightmare.

It was a common thing for her, but it has never been as frequent and disturbing as it has been recently; not even in the darkest time of her life, when mental and physical pain for the loss of her wings brought her to a chaotic state of crying and screaming.

Notwithstanding, last night had been a unquiet one.

Sweat covered her face, running up to her neck, chest heaving due the rapid breathing, the image of the moonlight rise clear in front of her eyes. Open curtains revealed the horizon of the Moors, and the silence of the rest of the creatures living there. When she dared to breathe, the feel of the leaves and flowers surrounded her senses and under her fingers were branches - which incessantly served as support - trying to hold up the release of the ardent black magic in her veins.

The sight of her servant lying beside her made her hold the sobs that her throat, as sour as her soul, dangerously emitted. Lifting a hand to stroke his feathers, she realized she was shaking just like the rest of her body, which seemed to freeze with the cold breeze after the rain. She sighed and nuzzled the soft fabric of his dark shirt, since his thick coat had been folded and put under his head as a pillow.

She turned away to put on her robes.

Casting the sleeping curse was easier than not to look back when flying out the window, for the reason she knew that the curtains would be closed by the sudden sound of dust in the air.

A deep sigh left her mouth.

He would return soon, she knew, probably shouting, complaining about not being disturbed, and she knew she would feel tempted to broke her promise of never turn him into anything he despised – mostly dogs and wolves –, but she missed his annoying babbling so much that to be scolded as a young girl almost did not bother her.

It would be worthwhile. The desire to have his dark silhouette by her side was greater than her irritation of knowing she would have to hear his scolding voice. For she needed him to be there, for if he was there, she knew she would be fine. It could be labelled as deeply wrong and dangerous to depend on someone, but concern was the last thing on her thoughts, for just the sight of him sleeping beside her was a consolation to her fears.

Of the many times she had turned Diaval into a human, a few of them were to have his arms around her, bringing some sort of brief relief to her tormented soul. It did not take long for them to share the nest. Against all odds, have him sleeping beside her was not frightening. He was her servant. It would be ridiculous to fear him.

Although that, within time, she could no longer be seen sleeping without his presence on the other side of the nest. Therefore, his human form was always required, as it has been in her most recent memories.

It was strange to think, but it had happened by his request. He was a bird. He was observant and under his worried gaze were all the nightmares she ever had. He knew that she lost any line of reasoning after a nightmare. She had never told him about them, but he probably knew what they were about: the loss of her wings, the words of her curse, and Aurora's sleeping form.

"Let me sleep as a man from now on. This way you will never have to worry about transforming me again."

The bird was clever. He knew of the dependence she had on him, and did not care.

Knowing how selfish her attitudes were, the second thought required to every rational decision made no sense to her then, for everything was fine when Diaval was around. No gesture ever indicated such a need. His heat was like a blanket, his heartbeat turned out to be a lullaby, and the feel of his breath on the skin of her neck made her feel alive.

How strange their relationship was at times. This bond they had built from friendship and companionship - from love, she dares to say - was as strong as she the one she shared with the little beastie, and made the feelings she once had for Stefan look nothing more than butterflies in her stomach, a sweeping cold down her body.

A smile graced her face, happiness and satisfaction taking over her veins as she lay down on the nest.

The sight of the blue gentians and white orchids, purple harebells, orange hawk-weeds, and pink yarrows provided a sea of colours to those emerald pearls she seemed to have instead of eyes. Those then caught sight of a folded black coat, hidden among the branches and flowers. There was some reluctance from her part, but two or three seconds later, the coat was already in her hands, her touch triggered at the feeling of the thick fabric, and the aroma it emanated. Downing the smell of wet earthy and wild berries started the incessant beat of her heart, suddenly pounding in her chest, tearing away her breath and making sighs to leave her mouth. Maleficent folded the coat under her head and lay on her side, her wings lazily stretching to cover part of her body.

Her thoughts were still on her servant while she carefully listened to the bird songs. A few hours after sunrise and the living and magical beings of the Moors were already up for another day. It was amazing how happiness seemed to penetrate their veins and make their eyes shine.

White light reflected endless colours in contact with the dark curtains of her nest and interesting moments later the walls had on a bright blue tone, a show of colours worthy of admiration. The remaining traces of light that were able to pass through the curtains reached random parts, like the fireplace—now off—and Maleficent, who was delighted by the sun's heat warming her blood.

A gentle wind crossed the limits of the nest, opening the curtains and allowing a perfect breeze to travel through the branches and flowers up to her face. The peace Maleficent sought was felt inside of her chest, soothing her wounded heart. As soon as the warm breeze was gone, the curtains were closed again, and darkness overlapped the nest for what it seemed to be permanent.

Maleficent gladly closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Infinite relief took over her breathe, which was being held for longer than she expected. Maleficent sat down on the nest to stare expectantly at window. She smiled slightly to see no more than a bird of feathers as black as night and strong and loyal wings entering the nest.

The raven landed on one of her horns. He bent his head down and pecked her forehead.

Caw!

Maleficent raised an eyebrow. She knew that the bird had gone after her early in the morning and was not sure how she should proceed by the way he gazed at her right now.

"What is it?"

Caw!

He landed on one of her knees and shook his head in response to the previous words. She reached out and stroked his feathers. The creature purred, taking a short laugh from her throat, "Such a spoiled creature," she said.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

The raven flapped his wings on her face.

"Diaval!" Maleficent's gasp was soon forgotten as the bird landed by her feet to turn into a man.

He had only asked to change shapes at night, to be able to hold and comfort her, but she was so moved by his words that when the crown was placed on Aurora's head, and without a word, Maleficent bewitched him. Diaval now had absolute control over his transformations, a gift for all the years of servitude and unquestionable friendship he offered her. He was one of the few creatures she could trust, probably the only one she could consider as a friend, and definitely someone very dear to her, as much as Aurora, who so affectionately referred to him as godfather. Maleficent could still see the glow in little beastie's face when they went to visit her a week ago.

"Godmother! Godfather! It's so good to have you here!"

Seconds passed to ebony feathers become white skin covered with scars, along with a pointed nose and straight hair with a few dark feathers on the top of his head. A so typical frown emerged on his pale face, causing Maleficent to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"A nightmare?"

The caring and worried tone used by his voice was noticed by her. She sighed. She could see his face by the corner of her green eyes. He was annoyed.

How wonderful.

"I will not ask of you to worry for my dreams," She sighed tiredly at the sound of a snort. Recalling of the so many years of nightmares consoled by his arms, she couldn't help, but feel immense tiredness running through her muscles. "I appreciate your—Kindness. It is good to know that—that someone cares. But you needed rest, after aiding so many with their worries. Which is why I left."

She thought that his answer, full of fallacies and an exaggerated tone of concern, would come immediately. But that's not how it happened. No, instead of the anticipated scold, of which she was so used of hearing since the beginning of her nightmares, reminding her of a parent struggling with a child, her raven-friend was silent, a simple wrinkle in his brow.

He was not angry. He was confused and hurt.

It had never been her intention to hurt him.

"Diaval—"

He raised a hand, stopping her in middle sentence, "I truly believed that, after so many years, you would know I do not care about the matters of servitude. We have even talked about it. So many times that my beautiful self is hurt to hear your words, mistress."

A deep frown took over her face. She hated the sound of such word and hearing him calling her like was rather irritating. She looked at him to see him running hand through his dark hair, sighing dramatically. Upon raising his eyes to meet hers, he smiled slightly, "And ignoring all said about dreams, it is my duty to worry about what happens in your mind while you sleep, even if you have never told me what it is entails, whether I need rest or not." He stopped to watch her, grinning to learn that she was angry with him over such a foolish thing (on his mind, anyway). "I consider you a friend, mistress. How could I not after so many years?"

"Diaval—"

"Do you not see me as such?"

"You would know if I did not."

That made him pause. His brown frowned in his confusion, "Then if I am a friend, it means I worry. That I care."

Maleficent regarded him. His posture, his so clear distress that was born over her own. He was such a sympathetic creature, as raven were known to be, so insightful. Almost twenty years, and she was still to get used to such...closeness of heart. She ought him answers. Not only due the fact he for many times preserved her sanity and nurtured her soul. It would be sure of her to do so, as a creature of honour (the small portion of it that was left, anyway). It was a consequence—he cared for her with his heart and she...found herself unable to deny him anything.

"I merely wanted to—"

"—to be good, yes! The Mistress of All Evil taking pity on her poor servant." He said in a playful tone, in order to make the serious expression on her face disappear at once. A slap on the head was his reward. "Alright, alright! Maybe not the Mistress of All Evil—"

"The Mistress of All Evil would never take pity on anyone." She said softly. "She takes care of her friends."

Her gaze didn't leave his even with his hand resting on one of her knees.

"Promise me."

Maleficent raised her eyebrows at him, surprised by the serious and, at the same time, protective expression he could keep in his dark eyes. Tiredly, she finally gave in, "I promise. Now go rest, little bird. I can sense your tiredness."

Diaval snorted, "So much care for her servants, I see."

That made it. Maleficent slapped Diaval on the back of his head again. The raven-man seemed to have some appreciation in irritating her, and she always had the willingness to make him remember whom she was and what she could do to him. Of course she would never do anything, but loved to play the part, after all, it was nice to have him close, and, above all, it was nice to know that he wanted to be close to her.

"You speak as if I have forgotten of all the times you came back from a farm with a new scar." She said dryly, not enjoying remembering such a thing.

Her eyes declined over the exposed skin of the man, revealing his strong chest covered by scars that undoubtedly caused great pain. Marvelling her eyes through his features, she soon realized the blood stain very poorly covered by the fabric of his black shirt.

"You are a fool, little bird." She muttered and crawled to him, stopping inches from him, feeling his breath against her forehead. Legs touching, skilful fingers unlacing his shirt. He blushed, not daring to do or say anything. Brushing the blood with her fingerprints, she narrowed her green eyes at him, "What or who did this to you?"

Diaval's response was quiet and simple, "A hawk."

She said nothing in response while landing her hand over the wound in his belly, golden magic shining through her fingers and being passed to pale skin. He let out a painful hiss, for his skin burned like fire. When the golden light suddenly disappeared, all left was another scar.

"How it is possible for a hawk to have caused such wound?"

Diaval sighed tiredly.

"Mistress—"

"You did not turn into a man." Green eyes suddenly turned dark. "You had to fight in your natural form because you can fight without the use of magic!" Flashes of fights hovered on her mind and she could not help but complain, "Why must men be so full of pride?"

Such as a human child had once did, his black eyes stared back at her, showing the same innocence and good will of the purest nymphs and the courage of the wood elves, protecting the trees that served them as home. Complacency squeezed her heart, whose sudden pain made her lovingly smile, not waiting for the answer that would come with soft words full of passion.

"He would not tell me where you were, mistress."

She arched an eyebrow at him, silent was her surprise and secret satisfaction and affection for the bird. She raised a hand and outlined the scars just above the line of his thick eyebrows, and then slid her fingers through his dark hair, combing the feathers on top of his head. Such movements dragged out weak sighs for what seemed like minutes before the halting request came:

"Lay down beside me?"

Utterly not ignored, the longing glances he gave her when he thought she wasn't looking harboured her soul. She knew of his time watching her sleeping at night, and even flying through the skies for nothing, laughing to feel the wind in her face.

But it was so painful to her heart to admit it. Maleficent just could not believe in the acclaimed love that her servant so obviously had for her in so clear secret. It would be too painful to surrender to the inebriating passion and fantasy of only seeing him next to her, and then become aware that such feelings were no more than pity. She had enough pity coming from the other inhabitants of the land of the Moors. These, for the most part also feared her, even though she demonstrated them more than once that she would never do them any harm, creating even a wall of cruel thorns to protect them from the human intrusion that would certainly come with the curse upon the human king's child.

Small, however, was the impact of such fear, for she had always been alone, as daughter of darkness and light, she waited for the moment when the beings in the Moors, of whom she longed for respect and absolute affection, would turn theirs backs to her.

It was just a matter of time.

Such time of painful abandonment, however, threatened to return worse, with the sight of her beloved raven rejecting her advances.

Because more painful than the loss of her wings would be to see his silhouette leaving her nest and never coming back, for he was her wings and always would be. So she kept him with her, as her servant, and his freedom would come if he asked. Sometimes Maleficent thought he never would do such a thing, not because he was fond of her, no, but because his heart knew that she could not have peace without him. She had become so dependent on his warmth, now more than ever, with the little beastie no longer living nearby, and terrible was the thought of not having him around. Other times, just like now, Maleficent was filled with hope, the hope of having her heart—once ruled by hatred and rancour—accepted and loved, for the end of loneliness and nightmares was found in his arms.

At least, as much he was willing to put an end to both torments, she would be fine and just lay beside him, as she did now, the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear while his warm hands stroked the feathers of her wings, causing them to move unwittingly.

Silent gratitude lasted through the darkness caused by curtains blocking the sunlight, which was as strong and bright as the transparent emotions blooming in both beating hearts.

It was a beautiful morning in the Moors.

A/N: Thanks for reading! More angst and mutual pining ahead.