Chapter Text
“Buttermilk tea?”
“Yes.”
“No! That can’t be right.”
“It is,” Diaval insists to his newest charge as they sit at a small table used for enjoying tea in one of the many small sitting rooms in the castle. This one resides just off the main kitchen.
“Many would even consider it a staple of the pixie diet.”
Young Harrison, Harry - as the older bird has to remind himself that the teen likes to be called, sits back in his seat, dumbfounded.
“Seriously?”
Diaval nods. “This is as close to it as we can get here on the Isle.” He picks up the lone, chipped tea cup from on the table between them and holds it out to the son of a pirate.
The teen hesitantly takes the beverage from the bird man, still not fully convinced at the necessity of such a beverage.
At Diaval’s encouraging smile, Harry slowly brings the cup to his lips, carefully swallowing.
The teens' eyes widen.
“It’s good!” he chirps in awe, before downing the rest of the sweet beverage.
Diaval grins with a small chuckle, his reaction not unlike a young Aurora when she first laid eyes on the Moors or when Mal first tasted this very same beverage as a baby - all bright eyes and grabby hands.
“I told you!” he says.
“I didn’t know something could ever taste so sweet!” Harry licks at his lips. “Is there anymore?”
“Yes, yes there is,” Diaval says as he picks up the nearby tea pot from a side table to pour more of the delicious beverage.
“You can drink it as we move on from food and diet to common fae terminology,” the bird man continues as Harry takes another large swig from his cup.
“Now, tell me, what do you know about sparrowmen?”
—————
Maleficent contents herself with watching from the shadows of the kitchen doorway as Diaval continues with Harrison’s lessons.
Her beloved may have not been born fae, yet he was leagues above her in understanding some of the nuances of different fairy species.
She was quite happy the young fae was proving receptive of the teachings her bird could offer.
Not only that, but the boy had hardly been here a few days, and already the access to more fae appropriate food and drink seemed to be improving his moods and overall disposition, as stated by his captain, who came by their dwelling as soon as she’d heard about the captain of The Jolly Rodger’s untimely end by Maleficent’s hands. (Though, it’s likely that the man’s death also helped in improving the young fae’s mood - or, at the very least, didn’t seem to worsen it.)
Her castle only had a few books on fae within its walls, not that she ever learned much from any herself growing up - but it was important to explore all avenues of education available to them when such knowledge was so sparse - as sparse as it always was on the Isle for most any subject.
Bertha never seemed to feel the need to learn about the fae world more than she had to growing up, always preferring to go to that human school, Dragon Hall, with her human peers. Anything outside the basics of fae customs and the specifics of her own mother’s species she did not see the need to learn. Maleficent didn’t blame her daughter. The older fae herself was never much one for studying through way of books and lectures. In the Moore it was unneeded. One learned through experience and their surroundings.
There was no such luxury of that on the Isle though.
Sudden movement from the corner of her eye catches Maleficent’s attention.
She tears her gaze away from the fae at the table to one of the adjacent doorways of the room.
Bertha meets Maleficent’s stare with a glare at being caught watching her father and their new ward getting along.
Maleficent holds her gaze, only quirking an eyebrow to ask a silent, >i>What?
Her daughter’s only response is to silently scoff and roll her eyes as she departs from the doorway, back the way she came.
Maleficent backs into the kitchen as well. She then quickly pivots on her heel to head out of the room to catch Bertha before she leaves the decrepit castle halls.
“Bertha,” she says, stepping in front of the side exit door just as the purple haired fae is about to reach it.
Her daughter only huffs as she crosses her arms, her wings fluffing up behind her indignently.
“Mom.”
“Leaving so soon?” she asks. “We’ve hardly seen you these past few days, and you know how the bird worries.”
She doesn’t say, I’ve been worried, even if that’s what she means. There’s no telling if certain pirates of The Jolly Rodger might seek retribution by way of hurting her kin. Though it was a duel won by sword, and it stayed within the pirate’s code of conduct, well… The Isle was still the Isle. Vicious and violent and unfair.
“Yeah, well,” her daughter says bitterly, “forgive me if I don’t much want to see my replacement.”
Maleficent finds her mouth opening and closing without sound, taken aback.
Is that what her daughter thought this was?
Had they not been clear?
They were providing protection.
Nothing more and nothing less.
“Bertha, that’s not-”
“Don’t tell me that’s what it’s not!” the young fae yells, dropping her arms to the side so she can curl her hands into fists.
“Everyone on the Isle knows, Mom!” she continues. “Parents don’t just go around killing other people’s parents and then taking in that parent’s kid without it looking like- like-” she gestures back towards the currently occupied sitting room at a loss for words.
“It doesn’t look good!” Bertha concludes, her eyes wet.
Maleficent is once again left reeling, her heart breaking at the sight of her child in pain.
“Oh, Heart,” the older fae says, a wetness coming to her own eyes as she reaches out a hand to caress her daughter’s cheek.
Bertha’s breath catches at the touch, and the first tears fall from her eyes.
“Oh, pet,” Maleficent says, taking her daughter into her arms, where the young fae promptly breaks down crying.
“I just- I don’t-“
“Shhh,” the older fae soothes, running her fingers through Bertha’s hair, mindful of her horns. “We could never replace you, Dragonfly.”
“But you just-!”
“No, Heart,” Maleficent interrupts. “We only took the Hook child because we are protectors of fae.”
“What does that even mean?” Bertha questions, pulling back a bit, but not completely out of her mother’s embrace. “Why do you keep saying that?! Why is that so important?!”
“Because, that is our lineage, our role, our power. We are capable of protecting, of doing what must be done to protect our own kind when others cannot,” she tells her daughter. “Do you expect small pixies to be able to kill a human, if needed? For their own protection? With them being so trusting and loyal even when it isn’t earned?”
“Even other fae,” she continues, “like your father? The stupidly kind, trusting bird who willingly followed me onto this barren Isle, even if it would cost him his wings he so loves?”
The young fae is silent at this.
“We are needed, Heart,” Maleficent says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear, “because we are willing to do what others cannot. We protect, and if that means permanently separating a parent from their child for the sake of that fae’s peace of mind, a chance at healing and further protection from suffering further pain by their hands, then so be it.”
Bertha bites her bottom lip at this.
“So, Harry-?”
“Is kin in need of guidance and protection.”
“So you’re not taking Harry in as my new fairy brother?”
“Mmm.” Maleficent ponders this.
“Not intentionally,” she finally decides.
And, before her daughter can interrupt, she continues, “Outside the Isle, long before you were born, I came to claim and care for a human child, my little Beastie.” This story is not wholly new to Bertha, but perhaps hearing this story through this lens might help her understand.
“I can admit, I became attached as I unintentionally came to raise her with your father.”
Maleficent swallows.
“I never once thought of you as a replacement for her. And I’ve never made you think I did, yes?”
Bertha nods, eyes wide.
“Similarly, I never meant to care much for your father beyond what he could do for me, the services and company he could provide.” This is a new admission, something Maleficent has never said out loud.
“Should he ever leave me, as I constantly question why he does not, I would not try to replace him. How could I?” she asks a bit helplessly, despite herself, her own eyes becoming more tearful.
“He will forever be my wings just as you will always be my Dragonfly, my heart.”
After a pause, Maleficent continues, “Harrison… I cannot say what he is to me or your father yet. Though, I hazard that your father has already imprinted on him, the stupid bird.”
Her daughter cracks a slight smile at this playful jab. Diaval truly was too caring.
If Maleficent hadn’t put her foot down within the first years of being on the Isle, they might be running an orphanage right now - the castle full of little gremlins known as human children.
“What I can say,” the older fae carefully admits, “is that the son of Hook reminds me a lot of my younger self. Of what could have been and what was.” Of deep betrayal, of her wings lost, of the fear of never being able to fly again, the possibility of never knowing her true self, of always questioning why.
“No fae, no person, should go through that,” Maleficent states, meeting her daughter’s gaze. “And that is what we do our best to protect against.”