First Tangled fic. Takes place when they first arrive in the main village surrounding the castle.
Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer- I own nothing
The only thing Eugene Fitzherbert could truly thank his mother for was the ability to read.
"I can't give you much, 'Gene," she always used to say, on those long winter nights when they would huddle in their little one-room hovel and her big, brown eyes would fill with apologetic tears, "but I can give you that."
It wasn't until her death that he realized how little she had given him, aside from the reading thing. She had bore him and she had raised him as long as she could, and those were the two things that made him resent her the most.
There were some days that made him hate her. He hated her for letting him live, for letting herself be seduced by the wealth and privilege that had a hand in making him. What kind of life for the bastard son of some obscure, out-of-the-picture nobleman was there, anyway? His life was whittled down to two options; a life of hard, back-breaking menial labor, with a peasant wife and a brood of brats running all over the place, or a life of crime.
He chose the latter, even though he knew it would break his mother's heart.
Still, he made it up to her by mentally thanking her, every day, for teaching him how to read.
It was useful during his first days on the streets, when other guttersnipes and middle-class workmen would pay him to read everything from bills to letters to proclamations the King's men would nail to trees and bulletin boards.
It was his lifeline in the orphanage, when his world was so hopeless that all he could do to cheer himself was read one of the few books the orphanage had- -most of which were Flynnigan Rider books, but that didn't matter because they were his favorite anyway- -which turned into his way to cheer the other kids, too.
When he became a thief and abandoned his old life, he always knew which wanted posters were his, how much they wanted for him, who was looking for him.
So reading... It was something he took pride in. He was the orphan who surprised the world with his vocabulary and intellect; he was the thief who wooed easy women by quoting Shakespeare and using words like 'luminous' to describe their eyes, and 'nuance' with the other women that he liked but didn't necessarily want to sleep with. It was as important to him as breathing and attaining that life-long dream of an island abounding with all the things he was denied in his life-money; a luxurious, sturdy house; safety.
He loved books enough that, like most things he loved, he never shared them with anyone. All of those women he wooed never knew how much time he spent at the local bookstore; his accomplices and bar-buddies scoffed at his showing off with big words and rumbled with laughter when he would change tactics and make fun of the very scholars he sometimes wished he could join.
There was a lot the world didn't know about Flynn Rider.
It was supposed to stay that way.
But now... Well.
"Where do you think we should go now?" Rapunzel asked, practically vibrating with excitement as her huge green eyes took in as much as they could. She still had a little cupcake frosting on her cheek as she flitted from roadside stand to stand, smelling bread and trying on hats and longingly staring at lanterns for sale. He had already bought her a flag, food, chalk, and the services of the little hair-obsessed girls (who didn't actually want payment, but they were cute enough that he tipped them anyway).
Everything about that day was unorthodox for Flynn Rider- -who had recently gone back to Eugene, for Goldie's sake- -so it wasn't entirely surprising that he led her to his favorite bookstore.
Her hand was warm and small in his as he expertly navigated the cramped streets of Corona's capitol, her voice excited as she exclaimed over everything she saw. His face was sore from smiling and his throat ached from holding back amused chuckles that somehow managed to escape anyway.
Even though all he had drank that day was water and some hot chocolate Rapunzel had insisted they get because 'Pascal has never had hot chocolate before!', he felt drunk.
He felt drunk on the excitement in the air; the adrenaline that came with avoiding the royal guard; the feel of Goldie's hand in his; the smile on her face.
When they got to the bookstore, he felt drunk on the comforting smell of paper and ink. The friendly smile on the proprietor's face when he recognized Eugene as the little orphan he used to be and not the thief he had turned into.
Eugene felt drunk on the way Rapunzel asked him what books to look at; the way she leaned her head on his shoulder as he read his favorite stories to her; the way she chuckled at Flynnigan Rider's antics; the feel of her hair, soft on his cheek; how she managed to smell like summer and sunshine and the forest all at once.
He felt found, and that, more than anything, made him feel like it was all just an alcohol-induced hallucination that had come to him in his dreams.
When Blondie heard the music outside the bookstore's door and pulled him up, green eyes sparkling with the need to do this new thing that she had never done before right now, he decided that, on this day, he would be thankful to his mother for more than the ability to read.
For once, he was fully happy to be present. To feel the beat of the earth beneath his feet, the excitement in the air. To be here, watching Rapunzel as she spun and the setting sunlight made her glow. To be alive.