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Eternity Chapter One: Maleficent Fanfiction

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            Diaval tore through the bushes rapidly.  If he had been thinking rationally, he would have been cursing his human body that took away his ability to escape from his predator, but he was not thinking rationally.  He was not thinking at all.  Instead, he was repeating one thought over and over in his head: Find mistress. 

            The dogs (how many were there? Five? Eight?) grew ever nearer with their saliva-filled jaws dribbling and tearing ever closer to him. Terror kept his heart alive while he neared the thorn barrier.  Why had she left him in this form?  It didn’t matter.  If he didn’t change directions he would soon be cornered.  If he didn’t find an escape he would soon be mauled.  But he couldn’t tell his legs to stop tearing forward. 

            “Maleficent!” he shouted, using her given name for the first time since he could remember.  “Maleficent, help me!”  She could fight them.  She could scare them away.  He was powerless.  Where was his mistress?

            He heard the dog lunge before he felt the fangs embed in his calf.  Then, he was no longer running.  He nose-dived toward the ground.  They were on top of him in an instant, ripping, scratching, and tearing at his flesh.  He stupidly rolled onto his back to try to kick them away.  In a flurry of white fur, one of them dove at his throat.  He ducked just quickly enough for it to instead latch onto his face.  Blood streamed into his eyes.  Then claws scored across his eyes repeatedly.  He screamed and thrashed against it. 

            He rolled onto all fours and tried to crawl away.  He couldn’t see.  His head collided with something hard and rough—a tree, perhaps?  “Maleficent!” he cried thickly.  “Help, please!”  Another dog landed on his back.  The air whooshed out of his lungs and his arms gave out.  He tucked his knees up to his chest and tried to make himself as small as possible.  They were biting, gnawing, intent on their kill, when the first squealed from a sharp stinging hex.

            “Be gone!”  Maleficent was running.  She couldn’t ever remember running on foot before.  She had walked quickly, certainly, but speed was for winged creatures.  But not now.  Now she was sprinting toward her servant, who was being mauled by some loose farmers’ dogs.  In one sweep of her staff, the largest, a black and tan shepherd, was knocked away.  “Get off him!”  She jabbed at a white dog’s skull.  It bolted after its alpha.  “Go!”  The fourth dog pelted into the undergrowth after its pack. 

            She knelt beside the raven.  “Diaval?” she murmured.  She gently rolled him onto his back.  His tunic was torn to shreds; she pulled its remnants away to examine his tattered chest.  Puncture wounds and gashes littered him.  Blood oozed from each of them.  “Lie still.”  She touched each of them and watched them knit together.  Many of them left angry, red scars that would hurt for several more days. 

            She turned her attention to the defensive wounds littering his arms.  With a few muttered words, they, too, began to heal.  Then she looked to his torn face.  The blood was too thick around his eyes to even see where the wounds were.  She tore off a strip of her gown and carefully wiped it away.  He moaned.  “I know, I know.  I’m trying.”  She examined the scratches across his eyelids where the beast had scored its claws repeatedly.  The flesh mended quickly, but left thick, angry scars across both eyes.  “Diaval, you need to open your eyes now.”  Her voice was low and urgent.

            He complied.  His eyes automatically began to tear at the hot fire that flowed through them.  “Burns,” he whispered hoarsely.

            She bit her tongue to keep from crying out.  His coal black eyes were thick with blood.  “Oh, gods,” she mumbled.  He blinked quickly several times, and the blood seeped out of them, but the damage had been done.  “Can you see at all?  Anything?”  She waved her hand over his face, but he didn’t react.

            “No.”  His word made her breath catch in her throat. 

            Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain began to tinkle down upon them.  She scanned him for more unchecked injuries, but saw none.  “Stand up.  We need to seek shelter.”  With gentle touches, she helped guide him to his feet.  She linked her arm in his.  “Come.  I won’t let you fall.”  He grappled at the air for a moment before nodding.  Her lips curled downward a bit distastefully; she hated being touched, and Diaval knew that.  But his need was much greater than any whimsy of hers.

            She carefully bent the thorns out of the way and regretted leaving him to guard the cottage alone.  If I’d been any slower, he would’ve died.  The thought made her squeeze his arm a bit tighter, and he whispered, “Mistress?  Are you alright?”  His voice was tentative, as though he feared it, too, would be taken away.  He was limping slightly, but not badly.  She made a mental note to look at his leg once they were back to shelter from the storm.

            “Yes, I’m quite fine.”  Maleficent used her powers to bend down the boughs of a weeping willow tree.  “Sit.”  She helped him to the ground, where he sat with one leg crossed under, the other stretched out before him.   She touched his knee, and he flinched, but not out of pain.  With a gentle touch, she healed the bite marks that adorned his calf.  They weren’t as deep as the others on his body; she suspected that he had fallen more out of shock than out of pain when they attacked him. 

            He winced and cringed whenever thunder roared through, and his hands made tight fists in the grass.  Every so often he would question her to make sure she had not left him, until she took his hand in hers, and he was silenced.  It was an uncomfortable arrangement for both parties, but neither complained.  Diaval needed her presence. 

            But his voice eventually came again.  “What are you going to do with me, mistress?”  It trembled like a leaf clinging to a branch in a breeze.  He was frightened.  Not frightened of the unknown, nor frightened of his blindness, but frightened of losing her favor.  Her still, stone cold heart shook a bit.  How terrible—how cruel—did he think her to be?

            “I…”  How was she to answer him?  “I have no intention of doing anything to you, Diaval.”

            “You’re leaving me, then.”  It was not a question, but a quiet conformation. 

            Her heart ached a bit.  She hadn’t felt this ache since she cursed the babe and forced her former lover to kneel before her, to beg.  “I will not leave you.  It is preposterous that you would think such a thing.”  Her hand subconsciously tightened on his.  Diaval would not be abandoned due to his disability that she had caused. 

            His lip trembled.  She found it hard to look in his eyes, knowing that they wouldn’t look back at her.  “But I’m useless to you now.”  He closed his scarred lids and squeezed his arm tightly about his chest as though he were trying to hold his insides together.  Maleficent knew that feeling, that utter helplessness. 

            She cleared her throat.  This would be hard to admit, she knew, but she needed to do it.  She needed to comfort him.  He needed her.  “You are not just my servant; you are also my closest friend.”  She rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand in circles.  “I will not leave you,” she repeated, just to reassure him. 

            His shoulders relaxed.  His voice was as quiet as it’d ever been as he whispered, “Thank you, mistress.”  He didn’t dare tell her that he returned her sentiments much more strongly than she, and that his foreign human body often had foreign human thoughts about her.  So he thanked her, because that was all he could do.  “I suppose this makes…two life-debts, now,” he mused aloud.  “I am quite racking them up, mistress.” 

            “Yes, it appears you are.”  The storm had faded into a drizzle.  Thick droplets occasionally made their way through the boughs of the tree and dripped upon them.  Diaval flinched at each one.  “Come.  We can go back to our tree now.”  The tree she was referring to was the tall ash tree that she had bent into a throne with an abandoned, decrepit castle behind it.  This, however, was the first time that she had called it our tree.  Diaval forced his lips to keep from curling into a wry smile and climbed to his feet with her assistance. 

            He noticed many more things without his eyes.  Every sound, every touch, every scent was a shock to his senses.  His mistress smelled like honey and roses.  He rather liked it.  The rain was much more prominent than usual.  The grass and bushes brushed his legs uncomfortably.  The ground was more uneven than usual.  Roots protruded and seemed intent on bringing him down.  “Are we almost there, mistress?”

            “Yes.  Step up.” 

            His foot fumbled for a hold on the crumbling rocky stairs.  He had never climbed them as a man before, only as a bird.  Then he was falling.  A bit of a stone snatched out from under his foot—he could hear it tumble away—and then her arms were about his waist trying to hold him up, and then he was grappling at her waist for support, and he almost brought them both down before her staff steadied them both.  His heart was in his throat.  He choked on it.  “Mistress,” he choked out.  He quickly removed his hands from her. 

            Her hands didn’t leave him, though, and he could feel her gemlike eyes boring into his skull, even though he couldn’t see them.  “Are you alright?”  He gave a jerky nod.  “Alright.  C’mon, just a few more.”  She had been contemplating leveling the steps ever since the princess had arrived at the cottage (how many years had it been?  Nearly nine now), but now it was a necessity.  This would be a serious health hazard for Diaval until she could restore his vision.  And she would.  She would search charm books and healing spells until she found something that would fix him. 

            She tried to tell herself that her desire to restore his eyesight was only because she still needed him to serve her, and not because she couldn’t stand the idea of him suffering.  She refused to admit her selfish revelation, that she now had an excuse to touch him just a bit more. 

            He struggled up the remainder of the stairs, but they didn’t have any more falling scares.  Even so, she kept her hands close to him, readied to catch him if he stumbled.  By the time they were within the palace, the clouds had cleared, and the sun was setting.  She pushed him onto her bed.  He sat there with a stupid look on his face as her hand left his.  His eyes were directionless; his hands pawed at the soft covers.  It took him a moment to realize where he was.  “Mistress?”

            “Here, Diaval.”  Her voice came from across the room.  Fear leapt into his chest, and he stumbled to his feet.  “Sit still,” she ordered.  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  He could hear her footsteps fade away, and the fear turned to an utter panic.  He was frozen for a moment, but then he was moving.  His feet tangled in themselves, and he collapsed on the floor.  He didn’t realize that he had begun to cry until his cheeks were wet, and he curled into himself to hold in his insides, which seemed to be near falling out from the pain in his chest.

            Maleficent left the door and, in a swoop of her hand, leveled the steps that had nearly brought them both down.  The stones blew away with ease, and she buried the remnants under the soft earth so they wouldn’t pose a danger to any passerby.  She turned to reenter and froze at Diaval’s position.  Her mouth hung open slightly at his vulnerability, his pain.  “Diaval,” she murmured, coming toward him.  Her hands brushed over his shoulders, but the soft touch made him cringe away.

            He gasped for breath.  He was drowning, drowning, drowning in his own mind, drowning in black water.  Air filled his lungs.  He almost wished it wouldn’t have.  “Just kill me.”  His voice was hoarse and desperate.  “Just kill me already.”  His cheeks were hot with tears.  Was this what he was to be reduced to?  A sniveling, blind bird trapped in a man’s shell?  What had he done to deserve this?

            She didn’t say anything more to him, but instead pulled him up into the bed.  He didn’t have the strength to resist.  His clothes vanished, leaving him in his undershorts.  A soft blanket came over his bare shoulders.  Then the bed sank beside him, and he became aware that she was lying next to him.  His sobs shook the bed, and he knew that she couldn’t sleep next to him, so he sank to the floor again and curled there.  What comfort was she?  None, except that he loved her.  And that also hurt him. Because he loved her, and he served her, he was of use to her.  Now he was a burden.  He was another weight on her shoulders. 

            He felt his form meld down to its natural state, and he floated toward her.  Ravens couldn’t cry.  He doubled over into himself while she stroked his ebony feathers.  She carefully tucked him into the crook of her neck, and he listened to her breaths level in sleep.  Soon, his did as well. 

 

            Her hair smothered him.  He tried to caw, but it found itself into his mouth, and he ended up choking.  A very human cough struggled from his lungs, and he realized that she had changed him in his sleep.  “Mistress?” he gasped once he managed to pull her locks from his mouth and face.  His eyelids were stiff from crying. 

            “Diaval, I just went to sleep,” she mumbled.  Dawn had begun to come over the horizon, but she had woken after her bird had gone to sleep and operated on his eyes till the wee hours of the morning.  His arm was slung across her stomach.  She didn’t even care to push it off and yawned.  “Are your eyes any better?”

            He was quiet a moment.  “No, mistress.”  He had no idea what time it was, so he slithered away from her and buried himself back into the pillow.  It was quite a bit colder with the space between their bodies, but he didn’t dare move close to her again.  She sighed in exhaustion and pulled the cover up over him.  The charm books were stacked at the foot of her (their?) bed, all read and tried.  Short of brewing potions, which could be costly and took a lot of time, there were no magical solutions to fixing his eyes. 

            His voice ventured toward her again, timidly.  “What time is it, mistress?”

            “Nearly dawn.”

            Silence ensued for a few more moments before he meekly whispered, “I need to relieve myself.”

            She bit back a groan.  She didn’t want to see him to the bushes just outside, but if he needed to go…  Gods.  She reached over to grab her staff and pushed it into his hands.  “Here.  I got rid of the steps.  If you need help, call.”  She had absolutely no intention of getting out of her bed to take him to pee.  She knew how humiliating it would be for him.  He didn’t deserve that.

             He rolled out of bed and found the floor with his feet.  Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.  He could make his way to a wall and use it to guide himself to the exit.  So that was what he did.  The staff was useless as a walking stick—he was blind, not lame—but if he swept the ground in front of him with it, it would ensure a clear path.  His bare feet made their way outside, where the faint sunlight warmed his face and the cold breeze chilled his bare shoulders.  The ground was dusty.  There were roots and sticks and pebble-like stones scattering every which way.  It was hard to tell whether or not any single thing was a threat to his balance.  He swallowed his fear.  What was the worst that could happen?  He would fall down, stand up, and either call for Maleficent or keep struggling toward the bushes that he knew weren’t too far away.

            He walked on with a bit more confidence in his step until he felt the bushes brush his legs.  He let out a breath of relief that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and slid his undershorts down a bit to relieve himself.  Aiming was, unfortunately, much harder than it used to be, and he ending up pissing on his foot.  “Damn,” he whispered.  He felt dirty, but a puddle wasn’t hard to find, considering the previous night’s rain, and he quickly washed it away, though he was still admittedly quite disgusted with himself. 

            He found the stone wall again and ran his fingers across it until he found a door.  He frowned.  He didn’t remember closing the door behind him.  But perhaps the breeze had closed it.  He wrenched it open and went to place his foot within, but a loud hiss stopped him.  He stumbled backward, and his feet left him.  “Mistress!”  He landed hard on his rump and cracked his skull against a tree trunk.  Since when did the palace have two doors?  And snakes?

            She groggily tripped out of bed and fumbled on the ground before remembering that he had her staff.  She hastily strode out of the castle and began to search for her servant.  He had ended up behind the dilapidated building and seemed to have made an enemy of the mother snake that had taken residence in the basement.  “I’m here, Diaval.”  The serpent dared to draw nearer.  Maleficent waved her hand, and the creature zipped back in the door.  It slammed shut and locked.  “Are you bitten?”

            “No, I’m fine.” 

            She scoured him with her eyes, but his worst ailment appeared to be his wounded ego.  And, of course, his blindness, which had not cured itself from his brief escapade out into the great outdoors.  She hooked her arm in his and took her staff back.  “Up.”  She pulled at him until he stood.

            He winced at the tone of her voice.  “I’m sorry, mistress.”

            “I’m not angry with you.”  None of her negative emotions—anger, frustration, irritation—were directed at him.  None of this mess was his fault; he just so happened to be the biggest victim.  But this would not be permanent.  She would heal him.  Even if it took years for her to find a spell or a potion, she would do it.  She would do it, because he was more than her servant.  She would do it because he was her closest, most loyal friend.  She would do it because of the familiar yet strange feelings that brewed in her chest when she looked upon him.  She would save his eyesight for reasons yet unknown to her.  This was her vow to him. 

© 2014 - 2024 TheSilverTrumpet
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ArchangelNathaniel's avatar
Fantastic story! I'm starting to read another chapter but I'm already in love with it! :D Very well written! :heart: