Disclaimer: I do not own Maleficent. I only wish I could take credit.

Note: This story contains no outright OC's, though I have taken the liberty of giving names to and making use of existing minor characters.

Aftermath

Maleficent glanced down at Stefan's broken body. From the disturbing cant of his limbs and unnatural twisting of his neck, it was clear he would never rise again. With great finality, she turned her back on him and walked away, leaving him behind forever.

The rush of battle was quickly draining away, and now she could feel her every injury—every mundane bruise, and every burn the bitter iron had scored into her flesh. She had barely taken a few limping steps towards the castle gate before the heavy doors blew outward in a shower of splinters and debris. A massive, black shape came charging through the ruined passage—Diaval in the dragon form she had last given him—and he stretched upright, loosing an urgent bellow as he looked for his mistress.

"Here, Diaval," she called to him. He saw her, and as he gathered himself she returned him to his familiar human shape with a weak wave of her hand.

He hurried over, and she did not object when he drew her arm over his shoulders and very carefully placed his arm across her back to support her. He had never known her to invite physical contact, and knowing what she had endured he understood completely. He had half feared she would reject the offer of assistance, but he had seen her exhaustion and the livid burns and he was glad that she had allowed him to help.

"We have to find Aurora," she said, voice still tense with pain.

"Yes, Mistress," he agreed. He moved to guide them back towards the gate, but before he could take their first step she held him back.

"Were you hurt, Diaval?"

He shook his head reassuringly. "I'm barely scratched, Mistress. I suppose the Dragon's hide must have been extremely tough. Quite convenient, really."

"It was the only thing I could think of to do," she admitted.

"Well, it was most effective," he replied, sounding just a little bit pleased with himself. It was in the nature of a Raven to preen, after all. "Ready?" he asked more gently.

She nodded, and they set off in search of Aurora. She was searching just as frantically for them, so it did not take long to find her. With a strangled cry the girl spotted them and came running. The three shared a brief, relieved hug, but Aurora inadvertently brushed Maleficent's injuries. The girl quickly pulled back when she felt Maleficent's silent wince.

Aurora's eyes were instantly wide with worry. "Godmother, are you alright? Will you be okay?"

"I am—I will be," Maleficent promised, "though it's likely to take a while." She gathered herself for a second, drooping with weariness as she braced herself to tell the girl what she deserved to know. "He's gone," she said gently. "I tried…well, never mind that. I'm sorry."

Aurora bore the news stoically. "So…it's all over, then."

"Yes." Maleficent took another shaky breath, then looked to Diaval. "We need shelter. The castle…?"

"Not safe," he finished for her. "There are still soldiers everywhere. " No, there was nothing but chaos and iron in that place.

"Then we'll have to make it back to the Moors," Maleficent concluded. "Diaval…?"

"Go ahead, Mistress."

She whispered and flicked her fingers, and Diaval was transformed into the black horse he had been not long before. He knelt down so it would be easier for the women to mount. Weak as she was, there was little choice but for Maleficent to ride behind. Where he had originally plunged at a headlong gallop, the journey back to the Moors was taken at a slow, steady walk, Diaval taking infinite care to help his passengers keep their place.

When at last they reached the Moors, Diaval turned his head to ask his Mistress for direction. Understanding him without words, she told him to bring them to the old, ruined castle they had occupied for so long. He chose a path along the edge of the Moors, but the small, bedraggled party did not escape notice. The frightened Moor-dwellers remained out of sight, but whispers rustled back and forth.

"They're alive. They've come back!"

"She returned to us. She is whole."

There was trepidation and rejoicing, but more than anything else, the whispers asked, "what comes next?"

The only one to approach them openly was Chiudh, eldest and greatest of the powerful Tree Warriors. Knowing he had come to talk, Diaval halted in front of the giant, gnarled being. Silently, Chiudh sank to his knees before Maleficent and made obeisance.

"Rise, Chiudh," Maleficent commanded. "You have no need to kneel to me."

Chiudh stood, but kept his head bowed, a pointed show of respect whose meaning was understood. Of all the inhabitants of the Moors, only Chiudh and a few of his closest brothers had remained truly steadfast. Many of the faerie folk had fled in fear of Maleficent, and vanished. Others obeyed her rule, but grudgingly, feeling they had no other choice if they were to remain safe from the human world. A very few fae had actively rebelled. Chiudh and his brothers had been none of these. Maleficent was never certain just why they had remained so loyal, but if she had ever asked, he would have told her without hesitation that she was deserving of their faith. No one else had followed her into so many battles, nor borne such witness to her courage and determination when fighting for the integrity of the Moors. Her dedication had been absolute, and he felt he could do no less.

When he had risen fully, Chiudh spoke, using the ancient language of his ilk, as tangled and incomprehensible to most as the twisting limbs that comprised his body.

"Our Lady is well come," he pronounced.

"And we are well met," she returned. She marshaled her tired thoughts into some semblance of order as she considered what would have to be done next. "Chiudh," she said, "I need you to spread word. I declare a Moot, tomorrow, one hour before sundown."

"It will be done," Chiudh replied.

According to the old tradition, any citizen of the Moors had the right to call for a Moot—a general gathering of all the Moors' people. Everyone had always attended, for a Moot would invariably concern a matter of great urgency, but some of the faerie folk might be hesitant to come now. They had good reason; the last Moot had marked the terrible day Maleficent had come before them, mutilated and forsaken, her wrath spreading through the Moors like an inky blight as she named herself their Queen. Yet, this time they would not stay away. Chiudh believed in her, and because he did, so would they in the end. Even the vanished and the rebels, Maleficent thought, would eventually show.

She thanked Chiudh, and he withdrew. When he had gone, Diaval resumed his slow walk towards the abandoned castle. At last they arrived. Aurora and Maleficent dismounted, and Maleficent returned Diaval to his human form.

"I'll keep watch, Mistress," he offered. Maleficent nodded her grateful acceptance. He helped her over to the sheltered corner where she made her ragged bed, and once she was settled, he showed Aurora where a few extra blankets were kept. Aurora picked her own corner, not seeming to mind the humble surroundings, and Diaval assumed a post near a broad gap in the wall which had probably begun its existence as a modest window. From there, he could easily stand vigil. Sleep came swiftly to Maleficent, and not long after for Aurora, leaving only Diaval as solitary sentry. Much to his relief, the night passed quietly.