Chapter Text
Maleficent
Four years earlier
The journey back to the Moors was long and heavy with pain.
Darkness still cloaked the land, offering them a fragile veil of safety as they fled the ruined castle. The townspeople had not yet risen. The echoes of battle, shouts, smoke, the clash of steel, had begun to fade. Inside the crumbling fortress, the soldiers left behind worked to douse the flames and claw their way through the wreckage. The great dragon had carried Aurora to safety through the shattered windows, the very ones Maleficent had smashed through not thirty minutes before.
Now, in the quiet aftermath, the trio stood in a solemn ring around the broken body of King Stefan.
No one spoke.
The cold wind slipped through the stone corridors, tugging at their clothes and wings like a spirit not yet passed. Diaval, still in his dragon form, landed near Maleficent and changed back with a wave of her hand. His transformation was clean, effortless, but he did not miss the way her fingers trembled from the effort. The last of her strength was waning, already fraying at the edges.
Aurora knelt beside her father's body. For a long moment she only stared at him, expression unreadable. Then, with deliberate gentleness, she reached forward and closed his eyes. It was not forgiveness. It was farewell.
“I am sorry, child,” Maleficent whispered, her voice rough as gravel, her head bowed in mourning, not for the king, but for what had been stolen from them all. A father, freedom, sanity.
Aurora stood, slow and steady. Her face was pale, her pale golden hair shadowed by soot and tears. She looked not at the man who had sired her, but at the woman who had raised her.
“He was no father of mine,” she said softly, stepping forward. She wrapped her arms around Maleficent, who stiffened briefly in surprise before returning the embrace with aching tenderness.
“Let’s go home… godmother.”
Maleficent closed her eyes against the tide of emotion rising in her chest. After everything, after all the hatred, curses, and years spent locked behind walls of pain, here was her beastie, still choosing her. Still calling her home.
The moment passed, and reality returned.
They turned to leave. Maleficent moved to step forward, but pain surged through her burned leg like fire reawakened, and she cried out, stumbling. Diaval lunged to catch her, arms steady, eyes sharp with alarm.
“What is it, mistress? What’s wrong?”
He scanned her swiftly. Blood had begun to soak through her leather at the left side of her back. And her left calf, wrapped in scorched, blackened fabric, reeked of charred flesh.
“You need help. Quickly. Turn me into a horse again.”
Maleficent nodded faintly. Her voice caught in her throat as she whispered the incantation, and with a shimmer of green, Diaval transformed once more. Aurora helped her godmother mount the broad back of the dark stallion, then climbed up behind her, arms encircling the fae protectively.
Maleficent’s wings hung limp on either side of Diaval’s flanks, dragging against the horse’s body with every step. Preserved by her magic through years of severance, the wings had finally been restored to her, but the muscles that once bore them were weak, unfamiliar with their weight. She could not lift them. Could barely feel them. The exhaustion ran too deep.
Aurora couldn’t help herself. In awe and quiet reverence, she reached out and brushed one of the dark feathers with her fingertips. The wing jerked under her touch, and Maleficent inhaled sharply.
“I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” Aurora recoiled, guilt flooding her voice.
“No…” Maleficent exhaled. “No. It’s alright, beastie. It’s just…” She hesitated, her gaze distant. “The last person who touched them… took them from me. I suppose I’m unused to feeling them again.”
She tried to pull the wings back in, but they resisted her will, flaring slightly before sinking once more like fallen sails. The sight was both magnificent and heartbreaking.
Aurora gave a soft hum of understanding and leaned gently against Maleficent’s back. Though she had been asleep for hours beneath the curse, the ordeal had left her weary in soul and body. The run to the castle, the fear, the heartbreak, it had aged her in ways that sleep could not repair. Her eyes drooped, but she fought to remain present, not yet ready to let the world slip away. Half afraid she would not wake again, stuck slumbering once more. What if the curse was still active somehow?
Maleficent, too, leaned forward, pressing her brow against Diaval’s thick equine neck. Every breath she took was a battle against the dark fog of unconsciousness creeping in as her blood dripped out slowly, her magic nearly exhausted completely.
They reached the thorn wall at last, tall, brambled, alive with ancient magic. With the last dregs of her strength, Maleficent raised a trembling hand, and a coil of emerald mist slithered outward. The vines parted reluctantly, like old guardians uncertain whether to admit her.
The thorns closed behind them as they passed, sealing the human world out once more.
Diaval came to a halt before a massive, ancient tree, their sanctuary. A tangle of branches, roots, and woven moss formed the nest that had been their home for years. He knelt, lowering his body gently so the girls could dismount. Aurora slid off and helped her godmother down, guiding her to the soft cradle of roots.
Maleficent leaned heavily on her staff, pausing only to wave a hand in quiet command. Diaval shifted back into a man, landing on hands and knees with a grunt. He rose and quickly assisted Aurora, and together they lowered Maleficent to the moss.
“I think… that is all I can bear,” Maleficent murmured, voice barely audible. Her head rested in Aurora’s lap, and her wings sprawled around them in a dark crescent.
“I have you,” Aurora whispered. “Just rest now, godmother. Nothing will harm you. I promise.”
She smoothed the feathers near her with careful hands, each stroke steady, soothing. Maleficent’s eyes fluttered closed at last, the rhythm of her goddaughter’s touch lulling her into a fragile, dreamless sleep.
Diaval rose quietly. “I’ll gather herbs. There are a few that will ease her pain… though time will do most of the work. She just needs rest, and her magic will return.”
Aurora nodded, her fingers still brushing through feathers. “I’ll watch her. Both eyes, if I must. Be quick, Diaval.”
He disappeared into the mist, his footsteps lost beneath the hush of the trees.
Alone again, Aurora looked down at the sleeping figure in her lap. Maleficent, her godmother. Her protector. Her curse and her salvation. The strongest being she knew… now barely clinging to consciousness.
A faint grimace lingered on Maleficent’s face, even in sleep. A trace of pain. Of memory.
Aurora smoothed another lock of hair from her brow.
“You’re safe now,” she whispered into the silence.
But even in the heart of the Moors, surrounded by the magic of old, the scars would remain.