Chapter Text
[Rapunzel]
The world around them shines brighter in her eyes. She can’t help but soak in the fresh breeze, the scent of green and the bright warm rays from the sun. The longer they rode the hotter the air seemed to turn. It irritated her skin, but Rapunzel was feeling too happy to care for the discomfort. As they trotted along, Willas watched her with a marvelling eye. He had never seen her so free before- never seen her so incredibly bright and full of life.
They travelled mostly in silence, only occasionally sharing words about their brothers or something fascinating found on the road. They were perhaps, half way through their travels when Willas finally approached the topic of her dream thief again.
Rapunzel couldn’t help but be amused at how long he restrained himself.
“Enlighten me again on how you and this thief of yours became acquainted?”
She smiled and wistfully replied with her usual truth.
“He did what none had ever dared before and stole into my heart without care of his life. And when he left I gifted him my love for he was the first to show me the wonders of the world beyond my tower.”
Again, Willas frowned at her words and eyed her suspiciously.
“You look confused,” she teased with a light giggle.
“I suppose you may say as such. It is simply the fact I cannot recall a time you’d left our gardens. And what do you mean by ‘the first to show you wonders of the world’? Did Garland’s gifts from beyond our garden not please you?”
Rapunzel only smiled with innocence in reply causing Willas to roll his eyes with a huff.
“Must you play with me while we travel? I worry about you sister, and your riddles are more stressing than they are fun.”
She only gave an idle hum and continued to look ahead.
Just when Willas believes she will not answer, she speaks. Rapunzel does not look at him, instead she stares upwards at the clear sky, closing her eyes and basking in the warm sun rays peeking through the leaves.
“There is no need to pretend any longer Willas. If my riddles were truly so troublesome would you have followed me? I am older than you know and wiser than you think. Why do you insist on playing a fools game with me?”
And when she opens her eyes to look at him, she spies how his eyes have sharpened. The previous air of easy conversation no longer present. Instead, there is tension between them. An atmosphere of suspicion and consideration. A strained standoff between two roses grown from the same garden.
Yet, one has thorns as sharp as blades while the other blooms under the kiss of the sun.
[Willas]
She is toying with him, leading him by his nose and dancing with grace while he stumbles like a fool. He both is insulted and impressed by her sheer arrogance of the act. Yet, lately he is coming to understand that his sweet precious little sister is more than she seems. She is likely to possess more cunning and wit than any of them graciously assumed.
Fine.
If she wishes to no longer play as the darling sister he treats her as, he will no longer pretty his words.
Margaery smiles sharply as she watches Willas straighten and smooth out his expression.
“The man you painted. Do you know of his name?”
She smirks and he grins in response.
“Shall I tell you a story brother? The story of a child who grew to be a man. He wanted plenty but had so little and sought to achieve his dreams on his own for however long.”
Willas, despite his attempts to hide such expression, is far too curious. Margery’s smirk turns into a wistful smile so warm and bright; he thinks her to be glowing.
“This is the story of a thief who dreamed of riches and an island to call his home. A story about a Princess stolen from her home and raised in secret for her golden gift.”
Willas feels the sudden brush of the cool breeze against his skin and shivers. The air around them feels charged with a presence he cannot name. Beside him, his sister continues to stare wistfully into the distance, as if caught in a memory too sweet to abandon.
The light that bounces off Margery’s hair captivates him, but he cannot help but feel cautious.
Somehow, he knows the story she offers to tell him will change him in a way he is unsure he can handle.
….. But it is only a story and Willas, at his core, is a scholar.
“Tell me this story then, sweet sister,” he prompts and the glow of her eyes as she smiles at him sends his heart racing.
“There once was a thief who many came to know as Flynn Ryder…..”
[Eugene]
It’s official, he has no idea where the bloody hell he is. The horse beneath gives a snickering huff and he digs his heels into it’s side in retaliation. The beast comes to an abrupt stop, as if to threaten to throw him off it’s back. Eugene barks out a half-crazed laugh and pats the bloody beast’s side.
“Am I cursed to be stuck with animal beasts who know nothing but attitude?” he dramatically bemoans to the sky.
The horse beneath him snorts and Eugene is certain the beast is thinking snide responses to his words.
That or he has officially lost his mind, though the possibility isn’t as worrisome as he thinks it should be.
“Talking to a horse is perhaps the least insane thing I’ve done since waking in this life,” he muttered.
The beast beneath him gives another snort and Eugene pats it’s neck in thanks for the reassurance.
For lack of anything else to do, Eugene decides to contemplate all he knows about this new life he’s woken up to. He estimates he’s been aware of this world for six months minimum, or perhaps he should be saying six moons as this world would say.
“It’s a strange world, certainly, wouldn’t you say?” he absently asks the horse beneath him.
The copper beast gives another huff.
Eugene wonders if he should be blaming magic again. The adventures he’d survived with Rapunzel in their younger years certainly swayed his beliefs on it’s existence. There’s only so many ‘magical wars and curses’ he could deny before conceding defeat to it’s existence. Although not as sceptic to it’s existence as he’d once been, he was never too keen to place trust in the unpredictable force.
“But when your wife is pretty much Magic incarnate, it kind of says a lot about you, doesn’t it?” He absently muses out loud.
The beast beneath him rolls its eyes as it’s rider once again has a one-sided conversation with himself.
Eugene is too caught up in his thoughts about his wife to care about the mindless rambling he’s doing. Six months ago, he’d woken up in bed of some dingy run-down inn with his clothes blood stained and his wrists slit. The last real memory he’d had before waking in this world, was his wife and still born daughter’s burial. They’d only just sealed her coffin when his eldest son informed him he was sailing for Arendelle for war support. Then there was his second son who’d cried at his feet, begging him to eat.
“Arman had his mother’s heart you know, and her eyes.”
Again, the horse let out a huff.
Eugene thinks of his sons and wonders what men they grew to become. He wonders if Orion returned home safe from Arendelle and became a beloved King as his mother had been as Queen. He wondered if Arman pursued his dream of adventure across the seas discovering islands as he’d often imagined.
He hoped Cass and Varian took care of his boys after whatever it was that happened to him.
“You know, I don’t even know my name in this life!” he suddenly realises.
Eugene blinks.
“Holy shit.”
There in his hand is another scribbled note in his own handwriting. Eugene turns to his horse only to find the beast chewing on dry grass and staring back at him with blank disinterest.
“Don’t look at me like that!” he snaps, annoyed by the judgement.
When he finally reads the scribbled note he finds only a name is written.
“That’s it!” He screeches with a furious growl.
It’s official, he’s completely lost his mind.
And yet…..
There is a small part of Eugene that hopes beyond reason that there is a reason for his awakening. A small, nonsensical, part of him that desperately prays to whatever magical force that brought him here that he will be handsomely rewarded once his purpose is fulfilled.
“I swear to the heavens if she does not greet me in the end, I’ll destroy whoever put me through this,” he vows.
He blinks and doesn’t even startle at the bloody corpse at his feet or blood splattered note in his hands. He reads the scrawl and scoffs out a laugh before getting to work on robbing the dead.
“But who names a child Vorian Aertaris!?” he complained as he pocketed the gold he stole.