#fic:prisoner

In truth, they both felt keenly the fragility of the thread that bound them to one another.  Not a handful of words had kept Briar Rose here. Not a handful of words had returned Maleficent to her usual form.  Each was worried, in her own way, that it would take nothing more than another handful of words to shatter the peace, to remind the other of how very much stood between them, and to prompt the other to ask whether this hazy uncertainty was truly worth the trouble.

The weather turned bitterly cold, and the lot of them fully expected Zenovia to bid them leave, with her preference having been for several weeks prior to asking.  But when she stood before them, ostensibly to do so, she said only, “I’ve never had much of a hand for textiles, but Mistress Kinsale has graciously offered to fashion you both some warmer blankets.”  She flicked her hand in the direction of the fireplace to rekindle the dying flames.  “Good evening.”

Maleficent and Rose watched her go from their opposite ends of the sofa, momentarily distracted from whatever stilted conversation they’d been putting on for the past hour.

“I always thought she really disliked Kinsale,” said Maleficent with a soft kind of amusement. “Something about taking care of myself in the company of such unscrupulous persons.  Seems she only wanted her all to herself.”

Nervous laughter bubbled up in Briar Rose’s chest, and she covered her mouth in surprise.  “Perhaps she changed,” Rose protested.  “Perhaps Kinsale changed, too.”

“That is certainly true on both counts,” Maleficent conceded.  “But to change one’s opinion of another so utterly?  I think I’d pretend I hadn’t purely for the sake of my pride.”

Rose bit the inside of her cheek to dampen her laughter.  “Did you always secretly admire me, then?” she teased, pulling herself up to sit on her knees.  “Or was it purely for the sake of your pride that you thought you might be better off living as a dragon to avoid me?”

“That’s not what I said,” Maleficent turned to her, taken aback.

Rose’s good humour faltered, and the fear of ruining everything came rushing back to her.  She averted her eyes.  “You might as well have,” she insisted.  “And anyway, that is more or less what Kinsale said.”

Maleficent scoffed, but it wasn’t a harsh sound.  Rose felt something in her chest unclench ever so slightly.  “Of course she did.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Rose dared a glance upward.

“Hm.”  The setting sun from the windows cast dramatic shadows upon the hard lines of Maleficent’s face.  She was no longer weak from her brushes with death, nor was she cruelly cut off from her full potential as a sorceress.  Briar Rose sometimes felt acutely that she had been foolish to feel afraid of Maleficent when first they had departed from the Eastern Kingdom, for she realized now that Maleficent had never been less powerful.

“I think it was stranger to realize that I didn’t dislike you, when I had fully expected to,” said Maleficent at last.

Rose let out a quiet huff of laughter.  Perhaps it was the same for Zenovia, she thought to say, but she was not eager to interrupt Maleficent if Maleficent was going to keep saying nice things about her.  She crawled over to the middle seat of the sofa.

“There is much to admire about you, certainly, but—“ Maleficent turned to face her, startled by the sudden closeness.

“But?” Rose wrinkled her nose.

“But,” Maleficent eyed her curiously, “when one is determined to dislike a person, she often ignores such inconveniences.”

Rose sat back on her knees, nervous she was pushing her luck, but she could not hide her growing smile. “Well, in that case, I hope I was dreadfully inconvenient,” she said airily.

“And you remain thus,” Maleficent retorted pleasantly, turning her gaze upon the fire.

“Why?” Rose leaned in again, not quite contented to let the matter lie.  “Because you’re still determined to dislike me?”

“Because—“ Maleficent turned to face her again, but whatever witty comeback she had prepared died on her lips.  Rose had leaned in very close, and Maleficent had turned very abruptly.  Rose kissed her before she lost her nerve, and Maleficent’s soft inhalation told her that she had not erred.

When their lips parted, Rose could see in her periphery that Maleficent’s hands were balled into fists atop her knees.  Encouraged by her receptiveness, and not a little overeager for closeness, Rose adjusted her skirt so that she could swing her leg over Maleficent’s lap and rest her hands upon Maleficent’s shoulders.  

Maleficent caught her by the waist with a soft noise of surprise, eyes downcast and lips parted. She inhaled as though to speak, but could not seem to bring herself to form the words.  Rose wondered whether she had been a bit too bold, and should perhaps apologize profusely and retire to her side of the sofa.

“You are…” Maleficent began unsteadily, little more than a whisper, all but drowned out by the crackling fire.  Her tongue darted across her lips as she struggled to continue, “…very young, you know. And after what you must have suffered at the hands of—  Well. I wouldn’t wish to…“

She did not continue. She didn’t need to.  Rose touched Maleficent’s cheek with her fingertips, and Maleficent looked up, dark eyes fairly gleaming with words unspoken, questions unasked.

“You’re worried about me?” Rose asked her.

Maleficent’s brow furrowed subtly.  Her lower lip twitched ever so slightly.  “Of course I am,” she said, low and fervent.

Rose felt quite suddenly that she might weep, and now it was her turn to cast her eyes downward.  She wrapped her arms tightly about Maleficent and lay her head upon Maleficent’s shoulder, and she breathed in slowly and deeply.

There was a feeling she could not put into words.  Indeed, her every attempt to do so felt paltry and simplistic.  No one ever worried about me then, she thought to say, but that wasn’t quite right. They had worried, certainly, her parents and her fairy aunties, but in a manner which felt distant and foreign, as though she were some unfathomable creature, utterly beyond their comprehension.

No one had thought to mention that perhaps it was wrong of Phillip to come into her bed when she did not want him there, when she did not have the strength to refuse him.  Indeed, she could see now with the benefit of distance that her aunties had believed Briar Rose to be the one in the wrong, had believed that she must have been bewitched or worse.

Of all that had transpired during that time, Briar Rose realized, Rose’s family had believed that her longing for Maleficent had been the most contemptible, the most unnatural of all.

Distantly, Rose realized that she had begun to weep after all, and Maleficent had begun to trace calming circles across her back.  She held Maleficent tighter, buried her face deeper in dark fabric of Maleficent’s robes, sought to blot out every trace of the physical realm until she could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but the warmth of Maleficent beneath her and the soothing, tingly sensation of Maleficent’s fingertips upon her back.

“There is much to admire about you, Briar Rose,” said Maleficent softly, in that voice that felt like a memory of a dream.  “I could never seek to understand anyone who had treated me with such unfeeling cruelty, no matter the intent.  It is….worrisome, to those of us who know all too well exactly how merciless this world can be. But I daresay you shall learn in due course when a person’s cruelty—or a fairy’s—is beyond understanding, and, perhaps more importantly, you shall cease to reproach yourself for it.”

Rose relinquished her hold on Maleficent at last, if only by a fraction, and dried her eyes with her sleeve. She wondered to whom Maleficent was referring—to Phillip, the good fairies, or herself?  But when she met Maleficent’s eyes, Maleficent smiled warmly, and Rose suddenly found that nothing else was quite so worthy of her attention anymore.

Maleficent touched Rose’s face, light as a breeze, and inclined her head in the direction of the windows.  “It’s started to snow,” she said.  “Would you like to go out and see?”

Rose nodded mutely, not a little stunned by the apparent change in Maleficent’s usual demeanour.  She stood slowly, still clutching at Maleficent’s arms.  She was not quite willing to let go of Maleficent entirely, lest Maleficent withdraw from her, as she was wont to do, and Rose spent another fortnight working up the courage to breach the distance between them once again.