Once, he was a raven. Before there were worms, wind andwings. Now he is a man, he is wingless, but that is no matter, for now there is so much more. There are secrets to listen to, places to fly and people to watch. There are all these things because he met her, the one whose wings were stolen. And he pities her. Because even now with heavy limbs, heavy bones, heavy heart, Diaval can't imagine not being able to fly. So he agrees to be her wings, not because he owes her, even though he does, but because she needs wings. He would give anything for her. All for her. Even if they are a poor substitute that come in the form of a raven-man.

So even though he hates it, hates being wingless, he does it. For her (all for her). Because at least at the end of the day he can change back. Even as a human, as a dog, as a horse, he can feel the feathers reassuredly rustling under his skin, can feel the shifts in the air, instinctively moves to face the currents even though they won't lift him into the clouds.

But she can't.

She is wingless, but she doesn't let that stop her. Her right to rule the Moors didn't stem from her wings, but her power that is evident in every step, in her strength, and her righteous anger only fuels that. So even though the Moors are darker, are unhappier than before, she is obeyed. Because she has proven she is powerful without her wings and that makes her even more feared.

So the once-raven-now-man flies, and he listens. He tells her of the goings on the big castle of the man-king's newborn baby, and for the first time she smiles. It's all teeth and anger and a promise of revenge, because that's all she has left, now. A hardened heart and revenge. The pixies, once hers, are going to bless the human-king's baby. Diaval feels her anger. At the king and his baby, this baby that has his love.

She loved the man-king once.

He took everything. Because wings are everything. (Not hearts, Diaval tells himself. Wings.)

And the pixies are blessing his everything, his baby, hislove.

She still can't bring herself to hurt her once-love, her man-king, so she curses his love. The baby is cursed, and the man-king is humiliated and strangely angry. Because even ravens have vengeance, the back and forth balance of retribution and he isn't quite sure why the king is angry, because he took her wings, and any raven would do much worse than she did. Wings are everything. They are, they are, he whispers in his mind. But Diaval is not quite human enough, this not-quite-man-yet-not-raven, so he shrugs the king's continuing anger off as another human-oddity that he will never understand and continues to be hers. Always hers. Her wings, her ears, her eyes.

The years go by, and as a raven Diaval can find the amusement in baiting the iron-humans, in destroying their things, as a man he understands the pain a heart can cause. And as a raven-man he has intimate knowledge of revenge. He was never a fighter, a killer before. Ravens are scavengers, carrion-birds, but for her he would tear them apart. And so he does, even taking on the form of a dog, for her. All for her.

Change comes in the form of a blessing, or a curse, of a small blonde girl, a name like the sun. She brings light and joy to where there once were shadows, but without wings there is still an aching loneliness in her. Because no matter how much he wanted her to be happy, he served her and no servant cannot bring joy, only serve, and so the duty falls to the small slip of a child.

And the child does what Diaval could not.

She smiles again, learns to love again. But it's not enough. Even though she would give up her revenge in exchange for the light of her world, it's not enough. Nothing can take back a righteous curse, not sorrow, nor joy. No matter how much she loves her, the sun is cursed.

And her heart shatters.

When he was a raven Diaval had never known of love and hearts, because all there is to a raven is food and fear and flight, and no matter how much he wants it, no matter that he would give up his wings for her (all for her), he has never had to fix a broken heart before, and he does not think he is up to the task.

This is it.

They both know they are signing away their lives when they enter the castle, but she loves her little blonde sun, her blessing, his curse, and he would do anything for her. So she enters the castle with an embittered, hardened heart, a raven-dog-horse-man fluttering behind and a sliver of hope that comes in the form of a young boy, with youth and hope and a belief in true love and happy endings in his eyes.

It doesn't work.

And the sky falls from her eyes.

A woman broken.

Even when she lost what she thought was her true love, even when she lost her wings she was still strong. She wouldn't let one pitiful mortal break her.

But it is love, and the loss thereof that finally does it.

So with the sky falling, she imparts the last thing she has.

A gentle kiss.

And a true love awakes.

Sky blue eyes open, all is forgiven and it seems like all will be right and they will get their happy ending.

The curse, the child did what Diaval could not, and her heart is returned.

There is still the battle to be had.

And the raven-man-dog-horse-now-dragon, rages. There is fire and chains and iron. He fights with all he has, all for her, but it is not enough. It never was. He thinks all is lost, but then there is roaring power, and then there are wings. Her wings are returned.

And he is happy for her, he truly is, but he can't help the splinter in his heart, because now she has wings, what use is he? The curse has again done what Diaval could not, because he was only a poor raven-man substitute, she has returned her wings. And if he can't even serve her well, can't make her smile, can't fix her heart, can't find her wings, then what use is he?

He is cursed. Half raven, half man, never enough of one or the other. Too much heart for a raven, not enough for a man.

The man-king is dead. Fallen, for no man has ever had wings. No man should ever try to battle the sky. But Dival does, so what does that make him? And that is the crux of the matter, isn't it? Diaval is a man, yet he is wings. He is a raven and he is not. There is no place in this world, mortal or Moors for a not-man-not-raven with wings.

At least he still has wings. (Perhaps when this is all over he can fly far enough away to stop this aching in his heart.)

The Moors are back as they were, this is their happy ending, isn't it?

There is still a splinter in his heart.

But even with her love, her sun, she smiles, at him, at him, and then they're above the clouds, and they are flying, and his wings are his again. Not hers. Even though he willingly gave them to her, now she has her own and they can fly together. No longer mistress and servant, wingless and winged, they can fly. Together. Even though he isn't needed he is still wanted.

He was a raven-man-dog-horse-dragon for her, all for her, but now he just is.

Because there is more to life than wind, worms, wings.

There is Maleficent.

AN: As a linguistic student going into exams, this is a mess, both liguistically and as a creative piece, but for my first fanfic I hope I have done the film and Diaval credit.