Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Later, it all fell into routine. None of what was before remained and peace seemed to erase any events that weren't inclusively helpful.

However, it was expected for a night of rain to give way to a morning of clouds and too much wind, the latter finding the most secret places of Sanctuary, and a high-pitched sound was heard through ditches and canons. Nests remained quiet, the crackling of fire pits keeping the residents warm. Animal skins were placed against windows as parents tried to keep their youngest at home.

It didn't help on their agitation, little ones being so filled of energy the way they are, and at the first sign of sunlight, the sound of wings flapping and children playing was outside all nests—the loud sound of winding horns announcing there were be soon feast at Sanctuary to celebrate, and those not occupied in "strengthening the clan by producing heirs" could be seen going on daily activities such as training in magic and fighting, the improvement in art skills, the care of basic supplies, and so many other things necessary for the maintenance of the community. Others, mostly too old and wise, would gather at their homes sharing tales.

None would travel beyond the waterfall that served as passage to the tree by the abyss, which remained untouched for what felt to be days. Light illuminated the nest in flashes, and soon the sound of winding horns reached the walls . . . the resident phoenix living within.

And while distant in thought, the phoenix chose to face the beginning of a new day as impulses had been telling her to since the beginning . . .

. . . she ignored them.

Which was unusual when it comes to her. Maleficent was methodic in her ways to the point of monotony. A creature of routine, hater of inconveniences or anything that gets in the way of plans someone might call 'productive'. Quite simple, really: she would woke by twilight, often to a nightmare. Diaval would wake right away and ask of her needs. She would dismiss his worries and both would share a mourning meal, then bathe in a river. Then, they would fly around, gather information on the people she was swrn to protect, the guardian she was. At noon, Diaval would hunt down an animal or harvest plants for them to prepare in the fire. Afternoon was spend on long walks and orders to spy and report. Night was secluded to her nest, a firepit to keep servant and mistress warm, another meal, maybe something sweet as well, and both would rest early.

In the tree by abyss, said routine changed. Maleficent had much to do. The Dark Fae people would come to her for a wisdom she thought to lack, to receive orders she had no wish to give, to offer gifts she didn't ask for or simply out of a genuine curiosity she wasn't used to. Children were the ones who spoke to her the most, filling her with endless questions.

And she knew that, taking recent events, her day to be would be a living hell.

So she, not bothered at duties and too tired to move, resorted to magic to solve her problem—a wave of hand and the once windows created by magic returned to an original state of no more. Sighing, she melted back in her nest, eloped by the abnormal warmth only wings such as hers could provide. The lack of light around her proved the sun had barely raised from its cover, but the sound of persistent wind outside made her awake, fully.

A sense of content burned her lungs so suddenly it left her breathless. Had not memories been so fresh in her mind, she would conclude herself to be delirious, as such peace would have no reason to live within her.

But there was reason, or rather, a person: a raven man rested in her arms—asleep in deep dreamless slumber; unaware to the world and its sounds.

They shared a night of so many confessions and she held him as close as her soul, fear clinging to skin. To feel now her mate stir in her arms and sigh, unconsciously in return to the warmth she provided him, her heart may have almost exploded a little bit.

What to do once wake and notice the one you love with you if not watch over them? That she did—allowing herself to exert gentleness by combing the feathers of her raven's hair as a mistress before she should not, but as a mate, yes.

Impulsive, she deduced. The phoenix in her whispering paranoia—overprotective to a mate who was almost taken but a day ago.

Such feelings lingered on wonders, very serious the frown on her brows as eyes studied the being lying beside her—mainly how, as the why the soul bond would whisper answers into her mind.

The hows would wrap her thoughts and make her a little bit confused. Because how, she would ask, the mere presence of another could mean to her soul everything she never dared to desire for herself? To want so truthfully was impossible to belief before. Before, she was alone. Now—how to word it? For want differed from need and her raven was needed by her to do many things over the years—wings to guide, eyes to watch, hands to give and take, a servent to trust, friend to listen. But the vulnerability of having him as a source of safety to the point she was not afraid?

What a gift to be cherished.

What a blessing to rejoice on.

What a headache too, I might add, to a consciousness so used to ignore feelings but to give into impulses that usually resulted on more pain that she was willing to deal with—a whole vicious circle. It made her mad at the same time it made her smile. The latter caused by the love so new and yet so old, burning in her chest brighter than the fire of the phoenix; flaming even. She loved him in the intensity of her ways. She owned nor had no other explanation.

The nuances of love made her mad—not at her mate, no. He never wronged her. But she wronged him, and herself, at denying them both what they now could share. For how could one be so blinded by pain? Who takes so long to see the obvious? The sense of happiness she felt at the mere act of holding her mate in her arms was instantaneous. Change to come so quickly was unexpected. Naturally, mates take time to find a sense of domesticity. And yet, as their lives were intertwined for twenty winters, there was but almost nothing to add to their daily dynamics. No wonder others thought of them as bonded.

And in a way they were, not as they were now, and that also made her mad.

So much time wasted that it felt unreal that a smile was the first reaction upon watching her mate murmur nonsense on his sleep. Needed alone was to reach onto the soul bond, and the picture of her raven’s dreams would be engraved to her mind. And it should be no surprise to learn he earned for her even in dreams, silly ones, of them flying and then laughing.

Sweet dreams still, kind as her raven was and they made her breathe in a whisper framed by a sigh, "Pretty bird . . . "

Could she have not see it before were thoughts lingering in her mind; the sound of winding horns still so very far away and so very present.

The sound of her heart was louder against her ears though, driving blood and love through her entire being, and she felt invigorated by such a force against her chest.

"Your heart is beating fast."

And even in the midst of a storm so many feelings at once could alone cause, she also wasn't surprised that her raven sensed, in sleep, if anything at all happened to her.

In turn, she was back to the soft caresses on his hair. There no words but a hum of appreciation.

Then, eyes opened to meet hers.

Another explosion burned her lungs and that was the soul bond involuntarily describing to her in feelings what was her own self in the eyes of her mate: green first, of trees and magic, brightness similar to a sun and dark in a night of stars and a full moon, ruled by nature and heat.

A smile adorned her lips as any of his words turned into liquid. For Maleficent, to Diaval, was the most beautiful one had ever witnessed—ethereal, not a dream nor fantasy could find faults on; perfect and free and his and any sense of reality left.

" . . . Diaval?"

No use. He had no air. He would just let her, gladly, to do anything she wished to him—with him. He would die at her word. His mind was wild. Thoughts running amok. Memories so vivid, a temptation to his mind all the time. The figure of the fae, and the sincere act of trust placed upon him, the raven. How to conceive any thought? How any of this made sense? Waking up to the feel of a mate by your side involved a kind of intimacy he never dared to hope for. It was the kind of intimacy one could easily get used to, and yet, there was much surprise and disbelief. The hazed dream of battles and confessions gave place to reality striking like a lighting.

Specially with the sound of winding horns reaching all corners of the nest.

The phoenix sighed a tired complain, no intent on leaving the nest for whatever festivities the Dark Fae had prepared. She had all but one wish: to have her raven rest against the feathers of her wings and ignore the world outside and its events.

And she did just that by finding comfort in nuzzling the feathers of his hair, a hand smoothing the wrinkles off his shirt. He expressed no complain, reaction alone resumed to hands holding her so close. Fingers then caressed the base of her wings, a little ticklish though, and it needn’t effort for a sigh to leave her lips.

"No wish to answer their call?" a voice asked her, so smooth she felt tempted to a kiss—bold act that took her by surprise, yes, but she didn’t make her wish to be noticeable.

Her own voice spoke then, rough in tiredness yet no less gentle in love—"Do you?"

"No," her mate mumbled, eyes closing while a small smile formed on his lips, "Avoiding them might as well be a temptation to visit, however."

And just like that, all the sense of warmth, emotion and cosiness was throw out the nearness window.

Diaval opened on eye to peek at his mate.

She looked outraged.

"  . . . they wouldn’t."

Diaval chuckled, "Do you not know them well by now, mistress?"

Not as much as one could. And that alone wouldn't do much. A day and a night had passed since that battle where the phoenix found love in the raven, and though the turmoil was gone, the sense of protection was to explode given the right provocation.

Read it as: any unexpected event.

Maleficent would not find the people to be unscrupulously bold enough to dare and attack what was hers. The Phoenix had no wish to understand this, and although she'd allowed herself to relax for hours, having her raven there by her side safe and sound, the mere mention of her people's presence could and would be seen as dangerous as any direct threat.

There was no hatred for the people, per say—there was for their traditions and laws. She would have them changed if necessary, risk for civil war be damned—turmoil, at the very least, and possibilities and thoughts had her tense, enough for her raven to look into her eyes and find them on fire—lips pursed, seemingly bothered by her own failure in hiding the anger, yet it would be foolish to try.

No magic would tell Diaval of more—he was no Dark Fae, despite the connections of souls. What he had left were watchful eyes and enough wisdom to know how to read his mate. So many winters shared by her side made of such a task infinitely easier, and he could tell what was on her mind simply by the way she carried herself, how she spoke to others, how she held her staff, how she refused to eat or sleep, and mostly by the lack of light in her eyes, replaced by the fire of a phoenix that knew nothing less than wrath.

He remembered the protective way she'd spoken to him the night before, how there still seemed to be a war inside her, impulses against reason, and he knew he couldn't do anything but let all that anger break free. What he could do to allay her fear was to act on his love—a kiss upon her lips, a hand preening her wings, words of affection or perhaps a comforting silence so she could listen to his heart still beating. For he was her wings and not even hell would take him from her.

"There is nothing to fear," and yet, her fear disarmed him. His arms tightened their hold around her and his lips found hers. He listened to a sigh then, not brought from relief but tiredness, "You said I’m yours, yes?"

"Yes," and her eyes held so much confidence that it was frightening, "You are mine."

"Then why would they do anything against me?"

Well, nothing, at first. To be hers was, to any Dark Fae, enough of an explanation of what he meant to others—the Phoenix’s mate. The one to love and guard her. To be expected to accompany her wherever she went. To be respected by all.

(To sire her children but we will go on that matter later).

What else there was to say about a union that the one by your side belonged with you, well—to a raven, many things.

He chose to be hers, after all.

"Your refusal shall not be remembered. So is the way of the Dark Faes," Maleficent spoke while strategies flashed through her eyes, and she at her best tried to cease the fire within her with reason.

(Please, note it didn’t work as planned).

"Some might disagree if they wish. If they all do—" her heart spoke, and resolution found her as reason left and emotion ruled, "—we leave."

She felt tension in her mate, his widened eyes and lost voice for four to five seconds.

Then, he said, "They are your people."

Which was true, and yet—"You have always been mine."

Silence was his answer.

And that made her mad.

Again.

"You expected otherwise?"

Or maybe incredulous would be a fitting word. What would be the alternative, anyway? To leave him? Inconceivable. Painful above all things—to her heart, her mind, her soul. He was hers. A life without him would be no life at all.

"Certainly not you being so overprotective."

He was offered a glare, and the echo of his upcoming soft laughter travelled through his chest, a hum and a vibration, like drums, but happier. Love was on his eyes. The lack of shame was on her ways. The trust placed on each other was on their proximity.

The phoenix and the raven were but a melody of joys; in love at not being alone in life; grateful at being alone with one another.

"Diaval."

"I would never," mock on the sudden urge of her to keep him hidden and protected from the world—it was a delight after all, to be loved like this. And so he promised, grinning while grabbing both her hands and kissing them, "Not over this."

Maleficent wasn't as convinced, "What then?"

Impatient as ever, his mate wouldn’t wait much on an answer. And Diaval heard himself confess after a moment of reflection, and a hand on his face in a fondling caress had him comfortable enough that he could be more sincere than he normally was.

"I am surprised," he said, "This is—"

"This?"

"You and I," he clarified, "I never hoped . . . for most of my life. I had you, the little beastie and it was good. Life was good. I was good at what I did. A good servant."

"Modest as well."

Diaval smiled a little, "I suppose I hoped a little, but never saw any of this," he mentioned their closeness, their love, "as possible, hence my surprise," and there was a humourless chuckle, shaking his head at his own foolishness, "I apologise if I—" his shoulders fell as tension was released from them, and words seemed to come more easily as he sighed, "—I didn't mean to sound melancholic. You wish to protect me. I’m flattered that you do. Happy even. I—" he whispered the last words, and his eyes met hers, "—I've never been so happy."

"I know," she told him without any sentiment of uncertainty. It felt no different than before, but the same it has always been between them. Like he has always been hers and she, his. The soul bond made it feel natural, like the love they shared has always been there, waiting for her to acknowledge its existence—forever hers to keep, even if those three little words couldn't form in her mouth.

At least, not yet.

It was not as if fear blinded her to the point three words would shake her very existence and change everything she experienced to feel real—the soul bond was enough of a shrill than any sound three words could perform.

It was her own failures, and the fruits of her pain, the traumas of a past so trapped in darkness, that still prevented her from simply saying.

But as much pain she still held close to her heart, it would no longer prevent her from acting. Soul bonds do not allow Dark Faes to overthink, despite not forcing upon them feelings that were not already there. Certainly, it made them feel absurdly safer about those same feelings. For there is no room for doubt in the heart of a fae who finds love. The bond is only formed when there is true love, and if the phoenix felt all that power burn within her just by looking at her raven, why would she have doubts and let afflictions take over her thoughts? Fear is originated from the thought of losing him to others.

And well, to hell with others.

The love she felt was real and more than that, she needn't to know. Instead, she mused on the calmness of her speech, the kindness and willingness of her touch, once so forbidden and now so familiar—it all demonstrated the love awakened in her and she was never more grateful for it.

"We could delay," she heard her mate suggest then, "on answering their call. If you wish, that is. May prevent any unwanted outcomes."

He sounded brash, wanting to enjoy their moments by themselves so badly. Maleficent could only return his enthusiasm with affection—she kissed his lips, sudden was the need of it.

"Perhaps," she said while lining the scars on his face.

The raven man smiled, and though his voice was innocent, his thought wandered, "Might as well spend time our time in productive duties."

That made Maleficent tilt her head to a side, confused as much as curious, "Such as?"

A kiss was on her lips, passionate and soft, earning for closeness.

All was but forgotten.

Much later, when the raven rose from sleep again, he was alone.

He sat up on an instant, confused and worried, and anywhere he looked on the nest, he couldn't find his mate. She was so silent in her ways, but her presence was so imposing, that even if she didn't say a single word, she would cause different emotions to anyone who saw her.

Finding no more clothes for himself than those he already had, and not bothering too much at it, Diaval headed to the nest’s entrance, and was surrounded by a flash of magic. Clothing similar to the ones he had before covered his body—pants, boots and an open black shirt that did nothing on covering the marks on his neck—the brands of possession he would proudly wear as long he lived.

He suspected his mate wanted him to—that her intent on those marks was for them to be seen. Possessiveness has always being a trait of hers, and he would’ve questioned his own sanity if he didn’t know what this magic was for if he couldn’t guess what had set this in motion.

His mate was wide aware he was awake.

So he left the nest to call out for her name, an action of no use as the answer came immediately followed by the laughter of children.

They were by the waters that fell from the stones behind the tree by the abyss. There were five of them, three boys and two very small girls, so small that Diaval could effortlessly hold them in his arms, wings so colourful and little horns so varied in shape.

His mate was surrounded by those children, so tall and imposing with her staff in hand, but the gentle aura in the smile on her lips made her look welcoming, and the children were enthusiastic. They kept making several questions of which Maleficent didn't seem to understand, though she seemed to try.

Then, her eyes found the presence of her raven. The soul bond had told her of a beating heart, and she knew he would be looking for her so she made use of her magic to give him new garments, as it wouldn’t do to have him walking almost bare in front of little ones.

Her eyes became kind as their gazes crossed paths, and bathed in the light of the sun, their green seemed to shine like emeralds.

Diaval's response was to grin like a fool.

We all know how much ravens adore shiny things.

"Diaval!"

One of the children exclaimed upon noticing his arrival, and the others turned to him with enthusiasm. He opened his arms to them, and the children literally flew up to him, knocking him to the ground. Maleficent followed them in a steady gaze, settled on watching the scene from afar.

Diaval, on the other hand, was a victim of questions as much his mate had been. Little hands squeezed his face, pulled his hair and clothes, curious and checking.

"Are you really alive?"

"What happened to you?"

"Mommy said you were really hurt."

"Did you get a new scar?"

"Did you become a dragon?"

Diaval ended up laughing either way, "One at a time, please! I can’t understand what you are saying!"

That seemed to calm the children a little, enough for Diaval to sit up and settle. He smiled at them, "I see I was very missed. What happened for that?"

And so the children were back to talking all at once.

"You fought Borra!"

"Father said you were hurt!"

"Ma said you fought with a spear!"

"The Phoenix saved you!"

The children kept talking endlessly, each responding in their own way.

Diaval shared a glance with his mate. She wore an amused smirk, curious to see what he was to say.

That brought out of him a sigh of exasperation.

"Calm down, calm down," he requested, and he didn't have to repeat himself for the children to obey him. They were loud, but very polite, "I'm well in one piece, you see?" he stretched out his right arm, the one that had been crushed, so that the children could witness the wonders of Phoenix's magic. The children were fascinated, since the stories told by their parents were that Diaval had been almost killed.

"The Phoenix healed you?" asked a little girl, the youngest child.

Diaval's eyebrows raised dramatically, "It was her, yes. She saved me," then, he learned in conspiracy, whispering the last part, "You never want to see her angry, I tell you."

The children giggled among themselves. Maleficent, fondness in her features as she watched the scene unfold before her, rolled her eyes.

"She turned you into a dragon?" asked a boy this time, a bit older than the rest of his friends.

Diaval chuckled, "Why do little ones love dragons so much?"

"They are so big!" the boy stretched his arms for emphasis, "You were a dragon, Diaval! You know!"

"I did, I did, but a long time ago. I faced a human army and their king."

"Tell us, Diaval!" asked the children all at once, "Tell us the story!"

But there was no time.

"Oh, thank the gods!"

A young Jungle Fae, face painted with blue over her eyes, landed by the edge of the abyss, and the children seemed to recognize her. The youngest was happy and ran to greet her. The other ones certainly knew they were in trouble for not telling their caretaker of their plans to visit the Phoenix and her mate. 

"Sister!" the youngest fae ran into the Jungle Fae's arms, who hugged her tightly and somewhat desperately, only to look severely at the other children.

"How could you do this to me?" she walked to them, the smaller fae still in her arms, and shouted at two other little ones who were also her younger brothers, "One moment! I took one moment away and you disappear!" she turned to the rest of the children, who were also under her responsibility by that day, and exclaimed, "You too! If your parents know I lost sight of you, they will curse me! Is that what you wish?"

The children bowed their heads, except for one, the boy fascinated by dragons.

"But we wanted to see Diaval!" he exclaimed, pointing to the raven man, who promptly got up to his feet, offering a hand in greetings.

"That would be me. I'm Diaval. How do you do?"

His friendly tone of his voice caught the young fae off guard, and her anger dissolved as she realized that the children whom she was responsible for were not alone.

She swallowed, visibly fearful, but accepted Diaval’s hand in greetings, though her grip was far stronger than he expected, "I'm called Neema, my lord. And I apologise sincerely for the inconvenience. I gather you would wish for peace after what happened. Again, I apologise—"

"You were at the arena?"

Maleficent took them all by surprise, so subtle was her approach that no one took notice, not even her mate, whose gaze she met before turning to the young fae. Her eyes widened in awe at the Dark Phoenix, and she quickly bowed her head in awe.

"My lady, I—"

"Look at me," Maleficent ordered, and the young fae obeyed, "Are these children your family?"

The young fae nodded nervously, and arranged the child on her lap.

"Not all, but yes, under my responsibility for the day."

"And you lost sight of them?"

The young fae froze in her place, and became pale. Diaval felt the need to intervene, "There is no need to overreact, yes?" he said to his love, a hand resting on her arm, a soothing gesture she allowed with ease, "You know little ones. Running and flying around as they do. Aurora did the same thing."

His mate scoffed, "Whenever those idiots wouldn't pay attention to her," and she wanted to sound adamant, but Diaval knew it was just her instinct speaking.

"I'm certain it won't happen again," he looked at the young fae, who nodded very quickly, "Yes?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed, "We were instructed not to disturb you," then gave the children a stern look again, "But by the looks of it, the order was disobeyed. I apologise."

Diaval frowned, "Why would you be instructed not to disturb us?"

"It was quite a battle," Neema explained, "You were wounded, my lord. It wouldn't do disturbing your rest."

"So you were at the arena."

And Maleficent didn't like the possibility at all. It was as if she considered anyone in that arena to be her enemy. They had celebrated the death of her raven, after all.

Neema's eyes widened, "Oh, no, my lady, no. I was not allowed there. I was at the Harvest, you see, the place we grow crops and where pairs take their young so they can play. I was with Mother. News travelled there. The whole clan knows of what happened. Secrets have no use to us. A duel would be no different. No one talks about anything else. It was quite the event."

Diaval was surprised, "And they are . . . pleased at the outcome?"

"Oh, yes," Neema said with a smile, "Duels are such as they are. Whoever the female chooses, it is her choice to make. Your duel wouldn't be any different, my lord, even if your species is not us."

The raven man stared, somewhat awkward, and cleaned his throat, "Well, that’s . . . good, I think."

The young fae nodded, "I apologise once again, my lord. The children won't bother you too. I promise. It won't happen again."

"The children are welcome here," Maleficent spoke then, and the Jungle Fae was taken aback as the children celebrated. The Phoenix smirked and later added, "As long as their parents are informed."

The children's joy dissolved into complaints and the young fae laughed lightly, "I thank you, my lady," she looked at the children again with an angry face, "If they wish to come here again, I shall tell you first. But now they need to face the consequences."

The children begun to complain.

"But Neema!"

"Diaval was telling us a story!"

"That ain’t fair!"

But the Neema was having none of it.

The children then bowed their heads, ashamed, little hands placed in front of their bodies to demonstrate their regret.

Neema felt her anger fade for an instant, and became frustrated, "You cannot fly into another's nest without first announcing your arrival. It is not polite! Now, apologize, say farewell and let us return to the Harvest."

Most children seemed to have accepted, but one of them, the youngest, had the audacity to look Diaval in the eye and beg him:

"Diaval, go with us to the Harvest!"

In the background, Neema seemed too perplexed and indignant, yet said nothing because Maleficent's gaze did not allow her, and the young fae knew better than to fight. Diaval himself, took long seconds to think of an answer, but in the end, he said nothing. He turned to his mate, and Maleficent felt the sincerity in his eyes. He was awaiting her orders.

A sigh followed, and sensing her raven didn't seem to have found a way to voice his thoughts, a proposal followed, "We may go."

The children celebrated before Diaval could say anything really, and he smiled softly at them.

"Would you accept our company?" he then asked Neema. The young Fae nodded too many times in agreement, not wanting to displease.

Suddenly, magic turned man into raven. Diaval squawked in surprise, and landed on his mate’s staff, looking at her curiously.

"Lead the way," Maleficent told Neema, spared a glance at the children, and they waited for their caretaker to flap wings and fly so they could follow her.

The Harvest was domain of the Jungle Faes, the more nurturing of their people. They lived on a vortex shaped cannon surrounded by hundreds of trees—a vain forest of damp weather, heavy and diverse. Its canopy permitted ample, shimmering lights to descend for colourful saplings to claim the sloping and slanting ground below. Where there was shadow, huge nests made of very green leaves and strong branches, all in the form of bags. Coiling climbing plants dangled from many trees, and a range of flowers, which desperately tried to avoid the shadows, added some colour to the otherwise emerald forest grounds a carpet of soft grass that covered stone walls. A mishmash of sounds—most of which were birds and insects and the wind, filled the air—drowned out the occasional splashes of little ones jumping in what appeared to be a large a water pocket fed by waterfalls from small rivers of underground springs. Right beside it, vegetable and herb farming mostly cared for Dark Fae in their old years.

It was remarkable sight, and if compared to the other places in Sanctuary, such as the dry canons of the Desert Faes and the cold north of the Tundra Faes, one could agree that this place had been perfectly adapted for cultivation. The faes responsible used their magic to create small clouds that irrigated the crops, keeping those healthy and fertile throughout the year.

The children, for the most part, were flying around or playing. Their parents rested in the shade of the so gigantic roots that dangled from by the edge of cliffs.

Nonetheless, there being the domain of the Jungle Faes, it was possible to notice, the further one entered the place, the figures of desert warriors scattered around the highest points, hidden amount the trees, always watching, always ready to face any threat to their young. Pairs of all three remaining species—Desert, Tundra and Jungle—but with different wing colours and horn shapes, stayed there to take care of the little ones.

It was meal time, and upon their arrival, the children with Neema were taken by their parents so they could eat—but not before being scolded for their reckless actions. Pairs of young Jungle Faes distributed the food in clay pots. Inside them, fruits of many colours and shapes, most never seen before in the Moors.

The Phoenix and her raven were greeted with smiles and kind greetings alike. They chose an oak tree and it shadows to sit below and eat. It stood well tall and strong, close to the water pocket and the little children playing there. The wind would gently hit them, an offered relief to the heat around them as the midday sun would show itself.

Silence was established between the pair as they ate, and yet it was not the usual for them anymore—it could not with Diaval's thoughts and feelings being so clear as they were due to the soul bond, and Maleficent was engulfed with a sense of sudden happiness.

The Phoenix frowned, unsure of what the feelings inside her chest were about, to then glance at her mate, only to find him watching the little ones playing close to them, and then laughing at their manufactured adventures.

Her mind was put at easy, and she returned to her own state of peace.

"They were eager to ask after you," she felt the need to tell him though, and the raven turned to her, curiosity on his features, "Disappointed then," she continued, now too gazing at the little ones, "to know you were unavailable for the moment. Not enough to cease with the questions, however."

Diaval laughed lightly, "Little ones can be quite curious," then, a slight frown, "I didn't hear them land. You—" he paused himself, the frown deepening as he glanced back at his mate as he said, "You didn’t wake me."

"You were resting," she explained her reasons as if obvious—clear that she wouldn't disturb his sleep. She would have done it before, yes, when they were servant and mistress.

They were no longer.

"I wouldn’t have minded," Diaval said, "I could spend the whole day with them if they asked me."

A beat of silence. One to forego an observation.

"Most are not usually keen to play with children."

Children in the Moors had rarely shown any interest in Maleficent. Because they did that with those of all species, and for years she thought herself as the only one left, and so few ventured to know of her. She would usually know those who were foolish enough to approach her in pranks, which was quickly mended by worried parents and caretakers, begging for her forgiveness, and her sarcasm on explaining to them that no harm was done was often taken as anger, so she soon learned it was better to ignore them.

Later, she secluded herself. It was easy not to interact with others even before the betrayal and loss of her wings. After, no one dared to approach her. And she preferred it that way until one day Aurora asked for a place in her arms, and she found herself unable to deny. A strange feeling rose in her chest, a longing forgotten in the farthest space of her broken heart, and it grew larger as the years passed, and the little beastie she had cursed became her daughter.

Dark Fae children differed in everything. If they could, they would fill her with questions of all the most absurd subjects. They asked if she was strong as their parents told them, how high could she fly and if she could teach them to do tricks in the air; where her magic came from and what it was like to be a phoenix; if she would like to play with them; if she would like to have her hair braided, to have ornaments in said braids.

Maleficent would never admit it to another, perhaps not even to herself, but she enjoyed moments with those children.

It didn't mean, however, that she felt she had the knowledge to deal with them.

Diaval was the absolute opposite.

"Most are not ravens," he huffed, finding the thought of leaving little ones on their own quite ludicrous, "We are taught to care for our young. And to teach them how to prank wolf cubs."

Maleficent hummed, tilting her head to the side in thought, fingers picking on the neatly cut pieces of fruit on the bowl in her lap, "An ominous feeling to be proud of that."

"For the most part," Diaval admitted with a grin, "Ravens congregate in small numbers. Little ones close to sight."

"And now they follow you in flocks."

"I wouldn't call them an unkindness, though they do seem to conspire against their elders."

A smirk, "Aren’t ravens little beings of mischief."

Diaval raised an eyebrow at her, leaning a little closer, voice low in a challenge, "If I didn't know you any better, I would say you are jealous."

Maleficent held his gaze, and the piercing green of her eyes left him a little breathless, but not enough not to listen her response, "Weren't you the one to preach about indulging on the charms of my people?"

"I am very wise," his grin enlarged and his mate rolled her eyes in return, which caused him to reach out and touch her face so their gazes would hold for a moment. There was a sparkle in his own, the ever usual mischief, and the soul bond told Maleficent things that made her smile, and the world around them seemed to fade.

"Diaval! Diaval!"

Till the little ones were quick to remember of Diaval, of course, and as soon as their mothers and caretakers were distracted enough or simply allowed them to run and fly around freely, they ran up to the raven.

Diaval, in all his courteousness, did not hesitate to welcome them with open arms, not failing to notice the children's mothers and caretakers there watching the interaction. Most seemed cautious. The rest simply curious.

"You play with us now, Diaval?"

The raven glanced at his mate for a moment, not sure she would mind to be by herself, though she often preferred that way. Maleficent merely nodded at him, and her eyes were soft.

Diaval turned to the children, "Well, what do you want to play?"

The children celebrated, and just like that, Diaval was dragged by them to the pound.

Like a blink of the eye, the day went by.

Maleficent was content in resting under the shadows, eyes intent on watching her raven and the little ones with him. She was from time to time approached by pairs of young Dark Fae who seemed more interested in gazing at her wings without the ability to say a word, and then parents, wise enough to offer a smile in greetings and let her be.

All indeed knew of what had entailed at the arena, and they definitely paid no mind nor care to the consequences a misunderstanding had put in motion. Without exception, everyone who was to address Maleficent, or to speak of her in side conversations she ended up listening from enthusiastic young faes, had only good things to say. Her bravery and power were admired. And no one there seemed to think of daring to challenge her again.

Which eased on the ever presence sense of threat the phoenix within her had awakened the night before. Maybe it was a mistake to leave the nest so shortly after the occuried, but she would not allow fear to overcome her. Power alone was enough to make her wish known. Of course, the sight of her raven under her watchful gaze, inevitably generating more whispers and gossip, added a nice level of meaning at what he meant to her, of what he should mean to the entire clan.

Maleficent couldn't confirm such a thought as true or not, and she didn't care, as long as she was allowed to rest. Weariness still plagued her, and all needed was a day of no ocupations, something she had rarely allowed herself.

Said wish was attended to, and for a while—barring any occasional greetings—she was left by herself.

It wasn't an unusual way to spend an afternoon, not really. The sight of Diaval and little children brought memories of when Maleficent would chose a blind spot to watch over Aurora while instructing Diaval to stay entire afternoons with the girl, playing tag or pretending to be a guest to her tea parties, to the point she would fall in bed due to exhaustion. It was good, too, to keep her out of danger, as the girl liked to wander the forest in search of adventures. Maleficent's hidden presence and Diaval's small games distracted her from inappropriate thoughts, and the girl was happier when she had someone to play with.

The little ones of the Dark Fae were no different. To keep them occupied, and far away from the nursery (territory of the Tundra Faes and place where eggs would hatch), the children were taken to the Harvest so they could engage in all kinds of activities and lessons—survival, flying, playing, magic, mischief . . . always under supervision. When fifteen springs were completed, a Dark Fae would choose an official duty to perform: to be a warrior, artisan, healer, sage, caretaker or hunter. However, all were encouraged to spend some time caring for the children, as it was good practice—one day, after all, those young Dark Faes would become parents themselves.

Parents were quite appreciative on those who would spend their time with their children, taking they were many and sometimes difficult to handle. However, when it comes to Diaval being the one to interact with them, the reaction many Dark Fae expressed was surprise. A non Dark Fae male to be a caretaker? And one so willing? That had many in the Harvest watch the scene with confusion. Maleficent, upon noticing this, would listen to murmurs, attentive to any malice. There were none, just idle gossip and curiosity, many also aware of what had happened to the last one who dared harming what was hers.

Which was fine—she was used to being feared. She welcomed it at times.

Until, well, she realized the nature of the Dark Fae gossip turned into healthy and enthusiastic compliments—and Maleficent alone paid attention to those—of how handsome, attentive and good of a mate Diaval was.

And Maleficent was not fond of others observing her raven as he was a piece of meat, or worse—and mildly insulting to her, I may add—as if he was available. Possessive jealousy burned her veins. It got worse as females of all kinds would sit close to the tree she was resting by, and they wouldn’t stop talking. It was similar to that night at Sanctuary, when lighting crossed the skies at the mere giggles of young ones. The thought alone made Maleficent visibly grumpy.

But then.

The joy and laughter of the children reminded her that Diaval didn’t care about others at all. He was sitting on an old trunk fallen by the pound waters, a pair of children in his arms, many other little ones surrounding him as he tells them stories, much similar to what Udo would do. He told tales of his old adventures as Maleficent's servant, and then laughed at his own foolishness. He was dramatic and thoughtful, and the children loved him.

Of course, by the end of the tale, the children begged him to turn him into a dragon, like he did when fighting Stefan’s army so many years ago.

Maleficent had to content them with a horse though.

And overjoyed they became. Climbed on Diaval's back and he galloped around the pound, splashing water everywhere. The younger ones ran after him laughing. Then two more climbed on his back, making him stop and let out a grunt.

Maleficent moved her fingers and turned him back into a man. He fell into the water, and recovered quickly, clothing and hair completely soaked.

He looked at his mate in disbelief, knowing she was responsible. She smirked, while the children laughed loudly, and Diaval started running after them, promising revenge.

That only added to the compliments and females gathering together to gossip about this and other things. So much that a young Desert Fae with a baby on her arms, seeking to preserve herself and her baby from the sunlight, sought refugee in the same oak tree Maleficent did.

The Dark Phoenix pay no mind to that. She simply nodded to the young fae in greetings, noting she was too worried about the things on her pack, and was back to her own thoughts.

Mind I remind you however that babies love new things. They ultimately love to grab at things they shouldn’t. And so once the baby’s eyes found the staff rested close by, he started squirming in his mother’s arms, hands itching to touch that object so mysterious to him.

"No, El. A staff is not to play with."

Maleficent, once distracted, noticed the small commotion, but she was not abrupt—she glanced at the baby boy, curious to what he might do next. His aura was innocent, and his mother’s was filled with caution, as if afraid of any reaction Maleficent might have at her baby’s stubborn behaviour.

"I said no, El," the young Dark Fae moved her son in her arms, placing him sitting on top of her legs, and so Maleficent's staff was out of view, "Tis quite dangerous."

The baby looked up at his mother as if he had understood what she said and didn’t like it. He babbled an argument, a hand to his mouth, bothered that the object of his desire was no longer on sight. His mother frowned, "And do not argue with me, little man."

El frowned back at his mother, babbling even more. At the scene, Maleficent was reminded of when Aurora was so much younger, running around the forest alone to pass the time, only to find Maleficent healing a tree from the actions of time. The little girl sought hugs and kisses, which were not often given by her aunts, and showed no fear when facing the one to have placed a curse upon her. 

This little boy named El also had no fear, and Maleficent couldn’t help but look at him with curiosity.

The young mother confused her actions with criticism, and was quick to say, "I apologise, my lady," she had great emotion in her voice, "I should be paying more attention to him. Are we bothering you?"

Maleficent shook her head, and made sure to keep her voice calm, "No. You are not."

That made the young mother smile nervously, then turn to her son with a frown that caused him to laugh, a sound that had Maleficent wonder—and a pull on her heart returned. Her eyes locked back on Diaval and the children.

The sight alone made her long for what she had no skill to describe.

"My lady is very fortunate."

The phrase came out of nowhere, and Maleficent was so taken by surprise she was silent. The young Desert Fae beside her talked of her raven, clearly, and interpreted silence as a request for enlightenment on her words. So she, watching Diaval as he played with the children, proceeded on explaining:

"I know little of men and non fae males, but what I know is that they do not usually share with children the patience spent on hunting and brooding. They rather boast on the stories of their deeds to little ones whose only wish is to have a new friend to play," she turned directly at Maleficent, who looked at her in bewilderment, "It is very rare of a non fae male to be a caretaker, like ours are to be. My lady is very fortunate to have one so willing. Was he always like that?"

And yet, it was innocence like this, contrary to the malice of some who seemed to judge her for having a human as a daughter, and there was no harm in replying, "He was with Aurora," but Maleficent commented it more to herself than anything else, and didn’t expect the fae beside her to say anything in return.

She asked instead, too nice for her own good, "Aurora is the Queen, yes? I apologise for my lack of knowledge, my lady, not much was told me about your life before us. Of your children, I only know of the Queen. I haven’t heard anything about the other ones. Will they be joining us as well?"

And you see, the peculiarity of the Dark Fae is on much straightforward when young that even for someone who always preferred direct words to small talk, it could too much.

And yet, such a question was so common among the Dark Fae, so used to meddle themselves in the lives of one another. 

Maleficent was not fond of it.

" . . . other ones."

And she was so perplexed by the mere insinuation that she couldn't even formulate proper words.

Dark Faes and their ways would continue to surprise her for the rest of her life—mostly when those ways come from her own children; them being three Dark Fae and a human queen, but that’s a tale for later on. At the moment, the thought at the possibility of their existence left her with no reaction.

Because, well.

Children.

Certainly a wish that has come to her more than a dozen times, mainly in her lonely youth, where she could only watch so many families being formed around her and she was barely able to build one friendship that only resulted in betrayal. And when it did, she gave up all hopes for a happy ending with a large family, her childhood’s greatest wish when she returned to a nest with no one awaiting for her, because happy endings could never be the future of someone whose wings were so cruelly severed by the one she has loved.

Then fate laughed at her face. She found herself caring for the child of her enemy, and her heart ended up betraying her. Aurora restored her heart—Maleficent not only knew what it was like to love again, but allowed herself to be loved by her daughter.

She contented herself with that, unaware of the existence of others from her kind and also not having any hopes that any other race, magical and definitely never human, would see in her a potential mate, just as she knew that she would never feel such an interest in anyone.

She discovered the Dark Fae, or rather, they discovered her, and being among them she found herself so lonely and angry and heartbroken, believing she had been betrayed once again, that love had been denied to her, and she denied her child as much she believed her child had denied her, and she dared thinking about abandoning everything, the Moors and those who had been faithful to her, to build a new life together with her kin. She considered so many times, and in an act of pure anger and stinginess, she tried to forget.

She was unable to; ended up returning to what once was hers, for her instinct was greater than her pride. She allowed herself to love again, since she never stopped doing so—she found herself bonded to another soul, and her spirit was renewed, her aura was calm, and nothing else she could wish to add to her life other than peace for the rest of her days.

Having a child of her own blood implied more.

The very mention of it made her lose her breathe. For the will of her youth ended up finding solace in Aurora, a warning that a wish was still there, waiting to be brought to surface. It was always there. She was jealous when she saw her enemy happy with a child. She felt angry at herself for loving Aurora. She felt her chest ache whenever she came across a mother and their children.

Maleficent knew, in heart and mind, that any children who came to have her blood would receive the same love she offered Aurora, as love would multiply infinitely, because her children would be hers, and their happiness would be life.

Though, it was not only wishes who mattered anymore. Diaval mattered too. And it was enough to look at her raven to know. It was the role of a raven to have many little ones to care for, and Diaval did as he could with Aurora, as far as Maleficent allowed him. And she regretted, dramatically, that she hadn't allowed more. Hatred still corrupted her then, and her chest ached to see the joy Diaval felt in spending afternoon after afternoon with Aurora. His happiness bothered her.

She would never allow herself to repeat such an error again. She did not hesitate to bring her raven to the Harvest so that he could have with those children what he could not have with Aurora.

But looking at him playing with those little children now, it was enough for the Phoenix in her to burn. It talked to her since the moment she was reborn, whispering impulses and dreams. It drove her in the battle against Ingrid. It pushed her into saving Aurora. It showed her the path to her raven. It whispered confessions. And now it told her to drag her mate to their nest for days and nights amok, to allow herself be touched by him, to plant his seed in her so they watch her body grow in life—the offspring of the Phoenix and her raven.

Such thoughts would’ve disgusted her not so long ago, before she knew the soul bond they shared. The knowledge of it make everything seem so easy, feelings clear in her mind and heart, and she knew what she wanted and there was no fear left. The painful memories would always be with her, but no trauma would torment her. For Diaval was too ridiculous to be afraid of. He loved her. And bearing his children seemed the simplest of tasks, natural of a relationship such as theirs. Also, a duty to perpetuate the power of the Dark Phoenix through a new generation. To give her people a successor to her role as leader once she died, although she would never impose such on her child if they denied the honour.

The Dark Fae ask of her when she would join her little ones to theirs, because after twenty years with her raven, it would’ve been expected of them to have many little ones already.

They didn’t. How could they if the soul bond was never known to them as others believed so? The possibility of building a family never presented itself till now and when in face of it, there was dread of them inheriting the darkness of their mother’s heart, of suffering to the coldness traumas inflicted on her, and of herself not being able to be loving enough to them, in the way they so deserved.

Maleficent thought of Aurora then, of her pure heart that was so reminiscent of Diaval, and knew that even though her children were to have dark magic and tendencies, there was no possibility any child of Diaval being evil.

So, gazing upon Diaval and the little children with him, Maleficent decided.

"There were no other ones," she said, and the Dark Fae by her side was confused, perhaps a little surprised. Then, a single word added made her smile, "Yet."

Children, it was.

"Diaval!"

A happy cry drove her out of her thoughts, and the arrival of yet another large family became her focus. Not only because of the number of little ones (five brothers), but because who was the adult with them: Udo.

She nodded at him in greetings, and he returned the gesture with a slight bow, hands behind his back in a serene posture. Running, or rather flying, past him was the agitated figure of a little one.

"Diaval!"

The raven was surprised with a little boy literally flying at him and both almost fell into the water. Diaval was quick enough not to allow that to happen, but struggled to properly hold the little on his arms. He simply moved too much.

"I did it, Diaval!" the little one exclaimed, his colourful wings fluttering excitedly, "I found your mate! She saved you! She did!"

The raven was surprised at this, and shared a look with his mate, whose soft smile confirmed Lito’s words.

"Lito, that is no way to greet someone."

Udo’s voice was heard and Diaval understood he was his son.

The little boy protested, "But father!"

"Lito."

He pouted but obeyed, "I’m sorry, Diaval."

"No apologise is necessary," Diaval said—his voice was tired and his back hurt a little. One would certainly tire after hours of playing with little ones.

He placed Lito on the ground and asked, "I take you were the one to tell my mate of the battle?"

Lito’s eyes widened, and he nodded, enthusiastic.

Diaval smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I thank you sincerely, little wolf. You saved my life."

The little boy was momentarily surprised to be addressed so respectfully, like only an adult would be so, but smiled proudly nonetheless, his cheeks blushing.

"Diaval!"

The other children, not happy Diaval’s attention was no longer on them, called him in groups.

"Diaval, turn into a bear!"

And he didn't even have time to answer. Lito soon joined the other children, now surrounding Diaval in a sea of horns and wings, suggestions for new transformations coming from all sides. The raven had no idea what to do, and gave up on trying to understand the children. He raised his eyes to face his mate, whose eyes expressed a level of mischievousness few knew.

That gave him an idea.

He knelt in front of the children so that he was at their eye level, and they, surprised by his attitude, went suddenly quiet. Diaval then whispered to them, conspiratorial and mischievous, and the children all whispered back, giggling among themselves.

Maleficent, despite curious, didn't make use of her soul bond to find out what it was about in her raven’s mind.

And she was regretted it later, three seconds later, when upon finishing conspiring with the children, Diaval stood up and smiled as he watched them run to Maleficent and fill her with requests.

"You see, children, my mate is the one who chooses my transformations. If you wish something, you must ask her. And do not be afraid, she adores every single one of you."

Maleficent then was surrounded by children, many more than the ones who had visited her nest earlier on that day. She didn't understand much of what they were saying, she just knew they were very happy to be able to talk to her, auras of enthusiasm and purity hovering in the air.

She found herself disarmed in front of them and hated every moment of it.

(She really didn't, but one must keep their reputation intact). 

"A dragon, Phoenix! A dragon!"

"Yes!"

"Please, please, please!"

"Turn him into a dragon!"

Watching the scene beside Diaval, and clearly hearing his son’s voice, Udo openly laughed, "A dragon would be too large, Lito. It won't do."

The boy turned to his father and complained, "But father! I never saw a dragon!"

The other children also complained amount themselves.

Diaval tried to appease their frustrations, "Maybe one day I can be a dragon again," and while they celebrated at this promise, Udo looked at the raven man with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to explain, "Not here, though, not enough space," Diaval eyed his mate, "Under supervision, of course, maybe if we go to the Moors, mistress?"

The title came out of his mouth as always in the last twenty years, though not by her request, and if Maleficent was slightly irritated by it, she didn't demonstrate.

"What a strange way to call your mate."

Or at least, she didn't have time to.

"Though I would congratulate you first, my lord."

For Ini had landed in the Harvest, and it seemed that everyone realized that something was to happen. Mothers and caregivers called for their children, and the little ones obeyed reluctantly, though they did seem to feel change in the auras around them. The Dark Phoenix rose from her place, staff in hands, and her aura became guarded and cold.

"Mother!" Lito exclaimed happily, and run to her her legs being so much smaller than her.

Ini chuckled to feel her son’s arms around her, and stroked his hair with affection, "Little wolf," she said, and motioned for the boy to join his father and brothers. Seeing herself alone before Maleficent, Ini bowed her head in respect and reverence, "My lady," and before Maleficent got any reaction, she addressed Diaval, "My lord, please, warn me before you take my youngest to the Moors, will you?"

The raven became paler than he already was, "I never meant to—"

"We know," Udo intervened, aura as calm and wise as ever.

There was a moment of silence, and Maleficent was in a state of irritation clearly palpable for any Dark Fae there who knew how to read her aura. The Harvest became unnaturally silent, and even the warriors who watched over all stopped to witness the Dark Phoenix and the Peacemaker, so little time after their first confrontation.

It would be wise to be given time for anger and pride to settle down, but this was a meeting of chance, and there is nothing to be done if not resolve matters before they ended in blood and fire.

Ini, in turn, did not lose her composure, and continued to speak to Diaval, "How are your injuries?"

The question had no sarcasm or cynicism behind it, Ini actually cared, but that didn’t stop Maleficent's blood to boil.

"Speak your will at once," she snapped a sudden appeal, made out loud and then came the threat, the warning, and her eyes returned to green in a promise of revenge, "And choose your words well."

A small audience was there in waiting: parents, caregivers, children and warriors silent and fearful of what was to come, for what the Tundra Fae would do or say.

Ini frowned at herself as she seemed to ponder on her words, "My intention is not war, my lady. I came sorely for my children."

"I have no doubt whatsoever."

No, she was being extremely sarcastic and even a child could tell.

Ini didn’t appreciate it, "I ask you to consider my position, my lady," she said, "Duels of honour have been amount the traditions of the Dark Fae for centuries. The Phoenix herself established them. Any mate is expected to defend their soul bond, to defend the honour of the love they feel. No honourable mate would let anyone doubt their devotion for the one who owns their heart."

"And so you would have him killed."

The words weighed on her conscience, for losing Diaval was unthinkable. Anger corroded her body, it could even destroy her soul, and for many years it did, preventing her from allowing herself to enjoy the good things that life offered her by letting her survive such a betrayal.

And though she was tired of being carried away by anger, she didn't mind showing what she felt before so many people, she would not fail to show affection to those who had a home in her heart, she would not hesitate to defend those she loved, she wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who hurt those she loved.

And given the possibility of loss, she was not afraid.

She was furious.

Ini sensed that. The aura around Maleficent was frightening. Green eyes started to glow.

She took a step back, "My lady—"

And Udo stood front of her, an act of instinct, and Maleficent’s eyes turned to him.

At the sage, she could not feel less than eternal gratitude for his kindness and understanding. She considered him a friend to be trusted.

As for his mate, if I say to say violence was not up to debate, but question and the answer was yes, it would be an understatement. Maleficent wasn’t keen to violence. It was a toll to be resorted at the last minute. But at the arena, her main objective was to save her raven, and when she did, she wanted to get him out of there as soon as possible. Then, her blood no longer boiling so much, she regretted not having taken more measures than a simple spell against Borra, as it seemed insufficient. It was a game of contradictions in her head: the phoenix told her to seek revenge, and the soul bond told her not to let her raven out of her sight.

She opted for the more practical, and decided that revenge could come later.

With the opportunity literally presenting itself to her and Ini standing before her at her own wish, a spell would do and revenge would be completed.

"Maleficent."

She felt warmth by her side, her Diaval. His hand rested upon hers, the one holding the staff, and her anger dissipated. She found comfort on his eyes, and saw the plea in the obsidian of them, and the soul bond told her there was no rage, no danger. His aura was apprehensive, a contrast to the curiosity in the auras of the children around them, very much unlike their parents, who watched carefully and fearful.

Ini’s aura was nervous, but she had no plan to set in motion a battle at a place as sacred as the Harvest.

Therefore, Maleficent abandoned revenge. She would never take a mother from her children, not as she did with Aurora and Leila, only to regret it so many years later. Nor would she allow darkness to speak louder than reason, as once at Ulstead. Instincts spoke for protection, but only if explicitly threatened.

She was not.

There was temptation for a warning, however, and to that, Maleficent gave in.

"If anyone as much dares touching what is mine, they will pay."

And yes, certainly a threat that was to be considered as dangerous, and yet Ini, as much anyone there, was not surprised by her words. Passion was fascinating to the Dark Fae, they took it as inspiration, and there was no rebuke to it.

Maleficent didn't understand how simple things could be, and still it was welcoming to be amount those who understood that her short temper was not the result of any lack of character. It was part of her very nature. And no Dark Fae would judge her for that.

"We expect nothing less, my lady," surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Ini nodded her head in agreement and peace was settled. Then, she turned to Diaval with apologetic eyes, "Diaval of the Moors, I misinterpreted your doings. My mate has me informed you were unaware of the soul bond, and therefore could have never known what the duel truly implied. It was unfair of me to have expected that of you, and for that, I ask for your forgiveness, if you see it as possible."

And Diaval was so shocked at this his jaw dropped. He was speechless.

"You are rather swift to offer an apology."

Maleficent, obviously, was not so easily impressed.

"I'm not Borra, my lady," Ini pointed out, "I won't fail to acknowledge my mistakes."

Truth that might be, Maleficent regarded Ini sceptically, and pressed her lips into a thin line, annoyed. She had no wish to believe a word of what the Tundra Fae said, even though her aura showed that she was being sincere.

The pride of a fae is the greatest of all.

But Diaval had been more offended by Ini’s actions, and Maleficent would defer to his judgement. And her raven, the kind heart, having quickly recovering from the initial shock at Ini’s apologise, replied as Maleficent expected he would, "I must apologise as well. I had no intention of offending anyone with my refusal. I simply did what I thought it was best."

Ini then smiled, and her eyes found the marks on his exposed skim, "It certainly ended well."

Diaval was slightly red, "Yes, it . . . yes," he cleaned his throat, and adjusted the collars of his shirt, "No apologise required."

"You are most generous," Ini offered her an arm in truce, which Diaval accepted it, "Most wouldn’t be so willing to forgive and forget."

They shook hands, strong as the Dark Fae would do, and after parting ways, Diaval said, "Had I known what the duel truly meant," and smirk was on his face the entire moment, daring and smug, "I would’ve gladly accepted the challenge."

And while Ini grinned, nodding approvingly at his choice of words, Maleficent was not amused.

"Absolutely not!"

She certainly wouldn't forgive and forget anytime soon of what had happened, even if the end had been to her benefit.

Her raven found it rather amusing.

"And wipe that smile from your face!"

But that only caused the smile to turn into a larger one.

For nothing could erase joy from his heart.

Sunset was by the horizon when the phoenix and the raven returned to their nest. After the morning rain, warm wind arrived from the sea, and while the Dark Fae prayed for more rain, in its place there was a sudden, muffled heat.

The fae and her raven headed to the waterfalls located behind their nest, sitting by the rocks that surrounded the waters.

Diaval washed his hands in the waters and once more lamenting the lack of imminent rain, he bathed his own face and hair.

Maleficent watched him in details: the pale of his skin and his scars, the flush of his cheeks, the many drops of water fall over him until reaching his shoulders, soaking his shirt. He refreshed like a bird would. He was quiet in his actions, making no noise or moving the waters too much. He combed his hair back and seemed happy by the end, much more relaxed, and visibly tired out.

The sunset was fading over the horizon, and little light reigned between the stone walls that surrounded that lonely corner in Sanctuary, making the tree by the edge of the abyss look so lonely.

And yet, at that moment, so domestic and simple, as much larger hand sneaked into hers, lips finding her palm in sweetness, Maleficent never felt so at peace.

"Thank you."

Maleficent frowned ever lightly, "What for?"

Diaval brought her right hand to his lips, kissing it twice, "You . . . today was . . . this is a greater gift I find myself worth of. I wish I could offer something in return that is as great, mistress."

"Begin by ceasing with the title."

Diaval smiled, playful, "The Dark Fae shall be happy at this improvement. They found it odd I referred you as mistress. Borra called it stupid."

"Borra is an idiot," Maleficent said grumpily, suddenly annoyed at the mention of that bloody Desert Fae.

"He is? So he lives?" Diaval concluded dramatically, almost theatrically, as if playing with her. It was not a challenge, neither he wanted to embarrass her for the choice of words. Little, if anything, could be done for this. She had already spoken to anyone willing to listen, and even those who weren’t. She had claimed him as her own.

And that did wonders to his ego.

"Does it matter?"

Diaval shrugged, voice too cocky, "Well, come to think of it, he was my rival. Eventually I will know what was done to him. You can't keep secrets forever from your mate."

"It is irrelevant."

And he didn’t believe her, "Was it a curse?"

Maleficent didn’t respond.

"He wasn’t at the Harvest, so it must have been worse than a curse."

Again, silence.

"You turned him into an animal?"

She totally did.

"Which was it?" and now Diaval was curious, "A worm? A cat? A goat?"

Logic found a way and the answer was right there.

" . . . a dog?!"

Diaval stared at his mate. He didn’t find a word to describe what it was. He was actually surprised. He had no sympathy for Borra, but he had no fond memories of his time as a dog either.

Maleficent was slightly offended by the apparent criticism. She thought her raven would be pleased by her choice in revenge, "I could've him killed instead."

"I know, but—" his mate just raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for her raven to complete his sentence. He was not intimidated, and continued, "—but he too followed traditions. You sparred and forgave Ini. Yet you chose to punish him—"

"I never said anything about forgiveness," Maleficent made it clear, looking deep into his eyes, almost in a vow.

Diaval blinked, and suddenly he understood, "You did not."

"I share no kindness to anyone who tries to harm those close to me, Diaval. You, above all people, should know by now."

"I do. I'm quite grateful. I simply have no wish a conflict to be born because of me. It is not worth the effort."

"You are."

Eyes widened at her. The aura of romance was replaced by silence, and then replaced by emotion.

"My love, do you truly—"

He realized his mistake the moment his mate tensed and her eyes widened, but it was too late to create an excuse because his words were very clear, said so effortlessly, and yet meaning every word with the love of his heart.

His mate watched him in turn, taken aback, and yet her eyes said nothing of hate or indignation, she didn’t look at him with judgement.

Diaval swallowed as he interpreted the silence as rebuke. He tried to apologize, "I—I didn't mean to—I mean—"

Maleficent sensed he would lose himself to nonsense explanations unless she was more resolute, so a hand against his face worked like a spell: Diaval fell silent, realizing in an instant what he was doing, and surrendered to the touch of his mate.

Then, he cleared his throat, "Forgive me."

Maleficent shook her head in disagreement, "Unanticipated, not unwelcome."

Her raven's face changed then, suddenly, and his eyes lowered.

It was a very odd of him to be so guarded in her presence. He was always petulant and talkative to a fault. And the soul bond showed an immense euphoria her raven could barely contain in his chest. So much love and hope in him. He may not be shy in the way he looked at her, but kept many things to himself, not wanting to do anything without her explicit permission, and however frustrating it might be at times, the gesture of caution was much appreciated. Not because she was afraid, but because it showed how much he was willing to put her above any of his desires. Her raven felt the need to voice in actions what she meant to him.

And actions sometimes resulted on words. When it comes to a pair bonded in this life and the next, it was expected to address each other in a kindness that could be considered passionate. Even humans did it. Faes certainly did too. Dark ones not so much,, as a mate would rather duel as way to make others know what their beloved meant to them.

Maleficent had set her claim when she chose Diaval in battle, and that was more valuable to her people than any term of endearment she might choose. Love was difficult enough as it is—delicate, and it could never be meaningless.

And words, well, she saw them as a waste of time if actions were an alternative. She would not adapt to others. She would not conform to what others wanted her to do, to wear, to behave. She would do whatever was necessary, and she would not waste time on nonsense. Perhaps one of the reasons for having resisted the notions of love so much. She always saw love around her being expressed through beautiful words, poems and songs. Humans or creatures were not to say what they wanted and supposedly expected their loved ones to guess their intentions.

Maleficent much preferred to be straight to the point, and betrayal made her so much more withdrawn, the contrast of the boldness she exposed in her youth. Perhaps her younger self would have kissed her raven already. Perhaps they would already have little ones on the way. Her younger self was more innocent, yet so impulsive. It was also true that her younger self didn't know anything of love before the betrayal. After saving Aurora, after the battle in the arena, she knew.

And she would rather act than say.

So she cupped his face and their lips joined.

Diaval was initially surprised but very much eager to please, and took pleasure on whatever his mate wished to do to him. He arranged himself so he would be sitting facing her, and his hands found her arms, her waist, hips and below, and as an arm wrapped itself around her middle, she pressed herself against him, keeping her hands on his face, and he sighed. He would happily indulge, gently, without any haste or hysteria, savouring whatever was allowed. He would taste of her lips in pecks, building up enough courage and intimacy to be more daring. He would part his mouth and capture her lower lip and bite, and he would be guided by her sighs and rapid breathing, navigating the pleasure that he could provide her.

Maleficent would not deny him the opportunity, basking in his caresses, the complete delicacy and beauty of his kisses, the care he took to do everything very slowly, exploring and enjoying every second he could have with her. Memories of shared feelings would come to her and there was longing in them—he was in her arms and yet, she missed him. He smelled of earth and rain and tasted of fruits and his skin was a little colder than hers and the phoenix within her seemed to sing with the fire that emanated from love, which seemed to grow more and more. Magic seemed to hover over them, and indeed it did, traces of golden lines surrounding them.

The lack of control over her magic only happened whenever she felt too much. Usually, it was wrath and vengeance. It never was because of love. She had twice fought for love, to save those she cared for, and then her magic was poisoned by anger and she lost control. But to lose control because she was feeling to much love was unknown. And when she felt her fingers tingling with a glow that was not the poisonous fire she used on the arena, but golden as treasures and powerful as sunlight, she seemed to freeze.

Diaval noticed the sudden change in behaviour, and pulled away quickly, hands on he legs, "What is it?" he spoke with difficulty due to the many emotions in his chest, and his skin was all flushed, lips swollen from kisses, "Is something wrong? I—"

She silenced him by holding his hand, and then Diaval saw the magic running through her fingers, now touching his skin, but without harm. It was a power to be used for whatever she wanted, and at the moment she didn't know what for. Diaval's eyes widened, and he looked at her in awe.

"Should I be worried?" he jested, and his mate offered him an incredulous look, "It is a valid question."

It really was not.

"What to do with you?" she asked rhetorically, tracing the lines of his jaw and not actually expecting an answer.

"Keep me," he replied, quite passionate, "Preferably forever. Ravens mate for life."

"So do phoenixes."

A grin flashed at her.

"Anything you wish," and he leaned in for a kiss.

Night fell upon them shortly after, but for little time darkness remained. Flowers filled with light were lit as if in reaction to the darkness, and the waterfall resembled the pounds in the Moors, bluish colours everywhere.

The phoenix and her raven sat there for several minutes, enjoying the silence as a light breeze passed by to relieve the tiredness brought by the heat. Lips joined in soft kisses, hearts beating strong and steady, the sound of treets hit by wind seemed to flood their surroundings, the water coming out of cracks in rocks, the sea to the south and the aroma of salt from the coast. Nature seemed to speak to them their most impossible secrets if they were willing to listen.

But despite the fullness of actions, their minds did not stop and remained in the presence of one another.

To Maleficent, the soul bond said several things. That her raven wanted the touch of her. That he was content to be so close and yet wanted to taste more than her lips—he wished to feel the taste of her skin, exposed due to the cleavage of the gown she wore now. His hands were furtive from time to time, and they intensively craved for the curves of her body and the feathers of her wings. There was no malice nor a wish that was ill intended. There was love and many things Diaval wished to do, so very like the raven who couldn’t hold his tongue when told to do so.

She heard him sigh then, fingers making circular movements in her arms and the longing he felt was too much for even her to ignore.

"Diaval."

His name came out soft, and her raven dragged his lips from hers through her jawline till he was to pull away and look at her, "Yes?"

"I have a request."

His smile was kind, the kiss that followed was soft, eyes ever curious, heart ready to serve, "I would give you anything." 

Such openness eased the anticipation. It was, after all, a life changing moment of many real consequences, and to propose this to her mate, to expose herself to the possibilities, made her feel unprepared. She had settled her mind on her own will, she wanted Diaval to sire any children she would have, and she knew he wanted that too, if the way he had spent the day playing with little ones wasn’t enough of a statement.

He didn't do it on purpose, he didn't want to subliminally talk of his desires. He played with those little children because he wanted to, because he was a good and kind soul, and ended up proving to be an excellent caregiver even for the strange standards of the Dark Fae. Maleficent herself didn't need much to understand his heart's desires. She also knew Diaval would hear anything she had to say, and he would be kind as he always was. He would never deny her anything, let alone this.

What to do then?

How to ask him?

She took a deep breath, and was straight forward:

"A child."

Well, not much so.

" . . . a child?" Diaval frowned as he did not seem to understand the importance of what he was being asked.

This time, Maleficent did not hesitate, "I want you to give me a child."

Her raven's aura changed then. His eyes widened, blinking too many times, and there was suspicion in them, and the soul bond said his heart was guarded.

Frowning, he wondered to himself and was silent for the next minute. Not due unwillingness to talk—he simply had too many things to say and he did not have the wisdom to do so. He felt enthusiastic. Consumed of energy. His hands tingled, playing with the fabric of his pants to avoid giving in to desires fruit of not convenient impulses.

The meaning of his mate’s question was not unknown to him. It was his greatest desire. He used to dream about it—he had, after all, loved her for so long much that he often fell victim to thoughts and desires that a servant shouldn't have. These dreams were his to have, and no one could take them away, but it didn't mean he should have them. Dreams are just what we wish reality to be, and rarely what is dreamed can overcome the moment when you achieve what you dream.

And no dream could prepare Diaval for the happiness he was feeling now. To be cradled on her wings as they rest together, he needen't nothing more. What else could he wish for anyway? Ravens don't require much. They live in large families, parents and their countless hatchlings, taking more territory as they multiplied. They live in forests, and were happy as long as they were not alone.

But children?

Truly?

How was that even a question?

"If I may ask—" he failed to, actually, a short laugh following only to later cause him to clear his throat, if only to sound serious, "What made you change your mind?"

That made her pause.

"Change my mind?"

Her raven looked at her sceptically, quoting, "I can't be a mother, Diaval. To be a mother would require a lot more than I can offer, Diaval."

Maleficent raised an eyebrow and that alone said too much, even if she was silent.

Diaval sighed, "I need you to be certain. I know you can tell what I felt when . . . when I was with those children. I wouldn't want to impose—"

"Would I ask you if you were to impose a wish on me?" 

Oh. He couldn't go against that logic.

"You would not," he admitted, "You would demand it. That wouldn't do."

"It wouldn't."

Her mate sighed, "I want many of them."

His mate blinked, not expecting that kind of confession.

" . . . many?"

"Many," he confirmed, "Ravens have lots of little ones. Besides, look at the size of this nest. Could use a little joy. Even if in the end, I find my downfall."

That made her raise an eyebrow, intrigued, "How so?"

"Oh, it's terrible, mistress," it wasn’t really, just a raven being dramatic, which was obvious by the grin on his face, "If they look anything like their mother, of course."

You couldn't tell if Maleficent was offended or curious at this.

"Why?"

Her raven feigned a tired sigh, as if facing a very difficult labour, "Oh, try to imagine: little mistresses ordering me around with their starves. What nightmare that would be! You would teach them to prank me relentless, I'm sure."

Maleficent did not even bother to defend herself against the accusation, giving the impression that she actually was considering doing such a thing. And the thought of her little ones indulging on pranks made her heart smile.

"Would that be so terrible?" she asked in turn.

"Very much," the fun was put aside for the moment, and the kindness in his eyes seemed to intensify, a smile absurdly sincere, "And nothing would make me happier."

If she were told that her heart missed a few beats, stumbling through feelings, she would vehemently deny it.

"Is that your answer?"

And he laughed, looking at her in disbelief. He took her hand in both of his, planting a long kiss on her palm—a thank you, kindness and all his love, and then he looked at her, a magical glow in his irises, a smile on his face, and maybe it was the most beautiful she has ever witnessed.

"I'll give you anything you want," he repeated, and there was so much happiness and truth in his words, "If a child, or children, is what you wish, then they are yours. As am I."

There wasn't a response. Not at least with words, but a kiss—a seal to the agreement, a promise and a compromise, equally raw and true, passionate and hers—a taste of what was to be . . . 

"Join me," she whispered to him and his eyes turned questioning.

Instead, she used actions, and staff abandoned by a lonely stone, walked into the waterfall. Diaval followed her with a dazzle gaze, not truly sure of what was her intent. Then, she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder, questioning, he realized that it was an invitation, and joined her with enthusiasm.

Magic was used to heat the water, causing the stream that wrapped all around, hiding anything that could be exposed, forming a thermal spring deep enough to be swallowed by—yet not enough to hide his mate as she freed her hair of braids, and placed the feather adornments by the edge of the thermal spring. Then, nakedness was revealed as her dress fell to her feet.

Diaval was stuck by the vision.

"Beautiful."

Ravens love pretty things. Shiny things. Anything that might make their nests beautiful enough to catch the eyes of a potential mate. But no gems nor gold would be a suitable analogy to describe his mate. She was as the name bestowed upon her: magnificent. The mere vision of her had him sigh in longing. It made him feel a special warmth, and his fingers tingled to reach out and touch.

She simply stood by the waters of nature, as if part of the very elements surrounding her, hair loose and wet, clinging to her back in long strands. Her skin held the pale of the moon, but blood burned her lips, cheeks and shoulders, so flushed due the heat of the water, and the scent of the water resembled the sandalwood oils the Moorish folk used when bathing in hot springs. Her wings looked as majestic as Diaval always found them to be, from the first day he saw them, even though they were covered in the dust of time in a glass cage. And those wings touched the waters as his mistress bathed in them, finding solace on those waters enough to let her guard down, to allow herself to be seen.

"Diaval."

The trance seemed to break, and Diaval recovered from the impact, blinking several times. Maleficent ignored his lack of action and proceeded to bathe herself, sharing a gaze to her raven from time to time, waiting for him to . . . do something. She wanted to test how far he would go with his wishes, so wild that the soul bond couldn't help but read them. It was interesting to see him fight his passions. His eyes followed her body and his love was endless.

She wanted to bask on it.

Diaval in turn remained still, gaze lost on her, eyes wandering her naked body, her wings, then letting out a heavy sigh. His breathing was evident, so strong, his chest rising and falling, and his face was never so red. What was implied was absolutely everything. All desires and passions. And he knew that if he accept it, nothing in the world would stop Maleficent to do whatever she wanted with him.

"Are you certain?"

Still, Diaval hesitated one last time. He wanted to know she was aware of what she was offering. He was willing to content himself in the simple touch of lovely kisses and warm feathers, never the fiery passion of a phoenix. His love was not conditional to touch. He craved for it, he dreamed of it, but it was a necessity. Her love was and he already had it. He knew he did. She wouldn’t kiss him otherwise—in her words, she would never do anything out of obligation or some sense of debt. She loved him willingly and he fell in love every moment.

Thus he didn’t want her to regret it.

She wouldn’t—her intention was to make him give in.

It was not common for many fae species to be so open in showing affection, a contrast to their bold ways of fighting for a partner, in which they seem to have no reservations. Diaval was an exhibitionist for sure, and he was never ashamed to expose what he thought, much less to do what he wanted when allowed. But he never expected himself to be allowed too much. A little bit of change on such demeanour as time passed by was expected, of course. Maleficent could feel the desire in him every time their eyes met. A certain apprehension kept him from giving into what he felt, and Maleficent didn't appreciate the thought. For she understood that if Diaval did not take any initiative then she was the one who would have to do this. But his resistance, though understandable, had her further frustrated. She knew he wanted to touch her. And given his question, the remains of the patience Maleficent had left—the patience she was nurturing and cultivating in order to deal with such a new situation—were gone.

So she moved her hand and her magic threw Diaval into the thermal spring. Water went everywhere, and the raven man emerged slowly, his clothes completely soaked. His hair covered his eyes and even though he wasn't cold, he looked irritated. He was glaring at her, in fact. Ravens had no enmity with water, they used it to care for their feathers, and from time to time at the edge of a stream, they could find beautiful stones to adorn their nests. When they were feeling more mischievous, they could splash water on one another, although the custom was actually playing in the snow, which was nothing more than frozen water.

But being thrown into a thermal spring was definitely not a game for ravens.

As to faes, well . . .

"You are to blame," she told him with affection, and lots of mischief. Her eyes seemed to laugh at his face.

The raven man groaned, frustrated with himself, "Surely! Blame the raven! Throw him into the water without a single warning!"

"And where is the fun in that?" he heard her ask.

Diaval scoffed, "How kind of you, mistress."

"You said anything I need," hands combed his hair out of his eyes, and when he opened them to feel hands on his face, gentle and warm, and a fae who gave no importance to her own nakedness, feeling absolutely comfortable to be so close and exposed.

His heart was filled with love for her, and his anger dissipated. Whatever resolve he still kept not to give in to instincts seemed to crumble like sand into water, a feeling palpable like the wind, and his reaction was sudden, eager and willing.

A passionate kiss, then fingers would be lost among the feathers of her wings, palms spread and trying to reach as many feathers as possible. Maleficent gasped in turn, and lips found hers to swallow her voice. Her hands rested on her raven’s shoulders for support and she became aware how much physically stronger he was if compared to her when his form seemed to engulf hers, face hidden in the skin of her neck, lips kissing mindlessly. She raised her chin to offer a better access, instincts whispering wild narratives, defiant ones, and they shared intense touches, silence seeming to devour them both.

Clothes went first—well, his did, a shirt discarded far away from the water in hurry. Pants and breaches were almost ripped apart by claws. Then, more kisses, and the beat of his heart so strong against her own. She was not used to being touched by anyone in such an intimate way. Not even her first love dared to touch her like that. Because even before the betrayal, she feared, she was afraid of the touch of others, even though she wanted it so badly, she was unaccustomed to being touched, and she feared what she didn't know.

But Diaval loved her. He has touched her wings so many times that a minimal effort would be required to allow him to touch the rest of her body.

In fact, there was no effort at all. Under his touch, intimacy was equal to pleasure.

"Take me."

He would grant her wish on top of a fallen trunk by the water. It was covered in leaves, dry and wet, greenish and golden, and he felt a shiver run down his spine as he leaned back against the trunk, allowing her to press against him. 

He shivered the entire time, a little bit from the sudden cold wind in loud whistle. But it wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing—he was inexpedient but observant, and years as a spy had made him understand humans more than he'd like to.

"Oh!" another gasp left her, a quite moan as her skin was bitten in a slight plea for more. His breathing felt warm against her face, and Diaval knew well what he wanted, to himself and from her, as his tongue travelled through her collarbone to have a taste of her breasts. Claws found his hair, pulling the feathers there and trying not to do any harm.

But pain didn't seem to matter to Diaval, whose kisses became wilder as his mate did. In response to his groans of appreciation at her ministrations, she grabbed his face and their teeth clashed, and she was more careful, however, as she did not want to hurt him with her fangs.

Soon, it was as if their life depended on kisses to survive. His touch felt like fire and it reminded her of the forest, a raven's home, so wild, and yet she paid no mind. The taste of his mouth became addictive from the first time, a volcano erupting and ashes reaching the sky, and then you have lighting crossing the clouds. But it was hot and wet and everything neither of them expected to be.

For it was better.

Afterwards, both stood by the shadows of a waterfall, dazzled in passion too much to word anything themselves, but it would be impossible to deny themselves any longer. For so long both thought to never known touch, that now they could, he would never stop and she would not stop him.

They delighted in warmth—eyes closed contentedly to the feel of it. The movement was slow and fiery as fire but it was enough for them to give in and then only wings protected them from the eyes of the world.

The phoenix and her raven paid no mind to anything but their own hearts simultaneously racing, filled with sudden joy. Inexperience was on both sides, it was true, but neither lacked determination. They learned from each other, and the intensity was such that time did not seem to pass. He, so easily inflammable, if a bite was delivered to his lips and many claw marks left across his back—all control he was so proud of was gone. His mate, daring as she was, would tease him merciless; the phoenix within her burning in the fire of her love, reason dissolved like lava while lips would nip at the base of her wings, and she would voice his name over and over again . . .

Eventually, they returned to the nest, and under the light of a firepit by the centre of the nest, they would enjoy and learn from themselves.

Making love humans called it, and they did it with laziness and so much love that confessions and sweet words spilled from their lips, and tears fell from their eyes, the soul bond seeming to burn around them and their auras glowed for anyone who tried to read them.

A day later, they became daring and a passion returned while coherent thoughts left.

The phoenix found herself lying face down in the nest while her raven would kiss the base of her wings. He would grasp and pull on her hair. He would devour and kiss lips, her jawline, down to her neck and back and below, between her thighs, and there he delight in a feast, eliciting groans till the pelts of the nest were ripped apart by claws and involuntary magic. After, he would soothe his mate in the afterglow with more kisses. Then he would repeat what he learned and learn more. He felt obsessed and his tongue lavished on her. It was slow, tortuous, and the fae would barely breathe, suffocated by kisses and so much love and passion that coherent thoughts fled her mind.

"Your hair smells of flowers."

Sometimes, the sensations brought by passion were so many, so sudden and so intense that she would lose consciousness to a minute's sleep that would be as deep as an hour's sleep. She would wake up from bliss to the smell of food and the sound of words, sweet and sincere, quite lovely, yet as random as the colour of flowers in the fields.

Diaval spoke quietly, whispering against the skin of her bare shoulder, and love was on his words, "The most beautiful of gems would envy your eyes."

Babbling would be the result of when her raven was to lose himself in her beauty, when he was faced with the sleeping figure of his mate, lying bare and soft by the pelts of their nest, beautiful in the eyes of her mate.

And Diaval could not contain the feelings that were born inside him. He couldn't help but say what was in his heart. Such speech included, notably, the total lack of any kind of filter in relation to what he thought. And what he lacked in magic, he abounded in words.

"You taste so sweet."

Maleficent herself was rather fond of it, but it still was babbling, and Diaval would go forever if allowed.

"Diaval," she tried to cease the compliments, not used at all to them, but the touches, oh the would distract her into oblivions of passion. The soul bond would tell her the truth in his words—not the wish for favours behind as it did when others would find words to describe her. Diaval spoke what he felt, and his words were simple because ravens saw no use in too much poesy. And yet, there was something poetic about the way he spoke in so much passion.

"How are your lips so red? I’ve always wanted to know."

That made her chuckle, "Diaval . . . "

"And your wings," he spoke while planting kisses on the base of them, hands sliding up and down her side, slowly and carefully, "So beautiful. They compliment you so well I want to kiss them forever."

And sometimes, Maleficent laughed at such nonsense. Sweet nonsense. Diaval never hid the admiration he had for wings and she never rebuked him for that. As mates, she had a new approach, however—she would allow him to offer kisses and caresses to her wings, to worship them as he did her, and that resulted on her pushing him on his back and mounting him. She would find support on his chest and his hands would find her waist, but his eyes never left her wings. Maleficent did not feel distressed when he looked at her wings, she did not feel threatened or violated.

She felt beautiful. Diaval was in love with them. And it made her want him more.

Later, much later, they rested.

Wrapped by one another, they would talk like never before. He would make her laugh more than she had ever before. Then, they would share silence and neither could believe how effortless it was. Together to rest only, bared and unbothered, it felt like what they've been doing it for so many years.

And, naturally and as expected, as days passed and the pair remained, the promise of a child was finally fulfilled.