Disclaimer: I only own this plot, though I would love to own Tangled.

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Prologue

"Eugene?"

Looking up from his book—yes, he was just as surprised about the fact that he was reading as anyone else would be—Eugene smiled fondly up at Rapunzel as she moved to sit down on the arm of his chair.

"You promised to tell me about your childhood someday…" she said slowly, almost shyly. "I thought…this is someday…"

Sighing a little, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. "I guess I did make a promise," he mused. "Well…it all began on the night of a big storm, twenty-seven years ago…almost to the day…"

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The room was filled with the cries of a young woman giving birth, and Mrs. Agnes Miller was at her wits end trying to get this remarkably stubborn baby out of the womb and into the wide world. Her dark, graying hair hung limp around her face as the middle-aged woman bent down over the poor girl.

"Just a little longer," Mrs. Miller urged her. "You can do this, pet. You just have to keep pushing."

"I can't…I can't!" the girl sobbed, gripping Mrs. Miller's hand tightly. "I'm so tired…I can't do it."

"You have to!"

With Mrs. Miller urging her on, the girl sat up slightly and screamed in mingled frustration and pain as she continued to push, trying to safely bring her baby into the world. Beside the girl, Mrs. Miller held her hand tightly and continued to encourage her.

"Not long now! Not long now!"

But the girl didn't seem to hear Mrs. Miller, as she simply continued screaming in pain. Finally…after what felt like an agonizing eternity, the sound of a baby's shrill screams filled the air. The young mother collapsed against her pillows as Mrs. Miller walked over to where the young midwife's assistant was holding the newborn baby. It was a boy, and a very healthy one at that judging by his loud shrieks. Taking the tiny boy in her arms, Mrs. Miller rocked him gently as she moved to show the baby to his mother. Unfortunately, the girl was too tired to reach up for her baby, let alone hold him. All she could manage was a weak smile as she watched Mrs. Miller and her tiny son.

"He's beautiful," the young mother whispered in a raspy voice.

"Yes, he is, pet," Mrs. Miller agreed. "The most beautiful baby I ever saw." Handing the baby back to the midwife's assistant, Mrs. Miller turned her attention back to the new mother. "How are you feeling?"

The girl didn't answer. As she stared down at the poor young face, Mrs. Miller was sure that she couldn't speak, even if she wanted to. Reaching down to gently brush the girl's deep brown hair away from her sweaty forehead, the older woman glanced over at the midwife, who was shaking her head and frowning, which was never a good sign. Blind panic clutched at Mrs. Miller's windpipe as she and the midwife looked at one another. Once more, the old midwife shook her head.

Now the panic was replaced by disbelief and anguish. Turning to look down at the young woman again, Mrs. Miller clutched the girl's hands in hers and felt hot tears burning her eyes. "Edith?" she called softly. "Edith…can you hear me?"

The girl's eyes—dark brown, just like her hair—opened slightly as she met Mrs. Miller's gaze. "I'm not going to make it. Am I?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Against her will, Mrs. Miller found herself sobbing as she shook her head.

Edith simply looked away again. "Take care of him for me…my precious boy," she whispered, her voice trailing off weakly.

Mrs. Miller couldn't bring herself to answer as she held Edith's hands tightly in hers. She was almost certain that she could feel the life leaving those delicate hands, but such an idea was preposterous, of course. Still…when she looked up again, Mrs. Miller saw that Edith had passed on and was no longer with them. Sobbing loudly, the poor woman gathered the body of the young woman in her arms and held her for a moment before the midwife pulled her away.

"The child needs you right now, Agnes," the midwife said firmly. "Go see to him."

Unwillingly, Mrs. Miller made her way down to the kitchen, where the midwife's assistant was bathing the still-squalling infant. Now that the child was clean, Mrs. Miller saw that he had a shock of dark hair, much like his mothers, but that nose…that nose belonged to the baby's father. White-hot anger flooded Agnes Miller as she thought of the man who had fathered this child, and she almost couldn't bring herself to draw closer to the baby. But Edith's last request was still fresh in her mind.

Take care of him for me.

Agnes Miller had never broken faith with anyone before, and she certainly wasn't going to start with going against young Edith's dying wish. She would care for the boy, just as she cared for all the other orphans in her home. Walking over to stand beside the girl bathing the baby, Mrs. Miller sighed heavily.

"He's a healthy lad," the girl—Mrs. Miller believed her name was Hannah—commented with a smile. "And he'll grow up to be quite handsome, too."

"Yes…like his father." Mrs. Miller couldn't hide the venom in her voice as she said this, and Hannah stared up at her in shock. But she offered no explanation, and so Hannah did not press for answers. Taking the baby from Hannah, Mrs. Miller smiled down at the baby. "A fine lad, indeed," she murmured. "You go on home, lass," she added with a sad sigh. "Nothing more to be done here that can be done without an undertaker."

Hannah's blue eyes widened in shock before tears began to roll down her round cheeks as she hastily gathered up her things and went to find her mentor, leaving Mrs. Miller alone in the kitchen with the baby. He had stopped screaming by now, but every now and then he gave a little whimper of hunger. With no mother to nurse him, the poor babe was no doubt starving. Thank heaven little Lydia Kemp down the road had just given birth. Mrs. Miller quickly sent one of the older boys to fetch Mrs. Kemp and sat in her old rocking chair, doing her best to soothe the hungry baby as she waited.

Lydia Kemp was a pretty, fresh young woman of about nineteen, with brilliant red hair and deep brown eyes. She entered the kitchen with a flourish, her newborn baby girl held in her arms as she walked over to where Mrs. Miller sat.

"I just heard about Edith," she said after greeting Mrs. Miller. "I am so sorry. I'll be glad to nurse the little boy for you. Hear," she added, holding out her own child. "You take Mary and I'll feed him for you." After a moment of cautious juggling of babies, Lydia sat in the other rocking chair, holding the tiny boy to her breast as he suckled. "What a fine boy," she cooed. "I'm so sorry Edith couldn't see him properly." Glancing up at Mrs. Miller, Lydia cleared her throat delicately. "Has…does the father know yet?"

"I haven't told him yet," Mrs. Miller said shortly.

"But you will." It wasn't a question. Lydia calmly met Mrs. Miller's gaze for a moment before turning her attention back to the feeding baby. "You know better than to go over there and barge in with the baby," she continued. "It won't do you or this place any good. But the man should at least know about the boy." Her tone was a little biting as she said this, but Lydia didn't look up or glower. "Just be careful about how you do this, Agnes. The children still need you."

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Rain lashed at the windows of Rosewood Hall, but it was easy to forget that in the warm library, with a large fire roaring in the grate and piping hot tea resting on a tray beside the large overstuffed chair. Lord Herbert Morris sat with his feet to the fire and sighed in contentment as he pulled down a large book, perfectly ready for a quiet evening to himself. That is, he was before his valet came into the room.

"Forgive me, my Lord," the man said as he bowed respectfully.

Sighing dramatically, Lord Herbert closed his book pointedly and glowered at his valet. "What is it now, Francis?" he demanded testily. "I certainly hope that it is not one of those pesky farmers come to beg for money."

"No, my Lord," Francis said in a placating tone. "But there is a woman here who demands to see you. She says that you will know who she is."

Rolling his eyes and sighing again, Lord Herbert stood up and followed after his valet. Better get this over and done with now so that he wouldn't be pestered later, he thought sourly.

Lord Herbert was a handsome man of about thirty, with dark hair and finely formed features. He was also possessed of a dazzling smile that had rendered every girl from a scullery maid to a visiting duchess witless and love-struck upon seeing it. Smoothing his hair and well-trimmed beard, Lord Herbert entered the large hall where he received all of his tenant farmers and other lower-class callers.

The woman who had demanded to see him was an older woman, though not too old. She looked to be perhaps forty at the most, with her brown hair starting to go grey in some areas, but her brown eyes were still sharp as she met Lord Herbert's gaze unflinchingly. In her arms was a bundle of some sort, though Herbert couldn't begin to guess what was inside of the bundle.

"And what might I do for you?" he drawled lazily, letting her know just how irked he was at being interrupted without outright saying it.

The woman was not impressed, as she simply adjusted the bundle in her arms and glowered at him. "I have brought you your son, my Lord," she said scathingly.

For a moment, her words did not sink in. Then Lord Herbert threw his head back and laughed loudly. "My dear matron," he said condescendingly. "You must be mistaken. I would know if I had a son of any sort."

"Well now you've got one," the woman snapped. "Just born this morning, to a woman you wooed and claimed to love. This child was born to Edith Miller," she added with a snarl.

She watched with satisfaction as the color drained from Lord Herbert's face. How could this have happened, he thought wildly as he stared at the bundle in the woman's arms. He had seduced the Miller girl, yes, but could a child have been born out of that? Apparently so, as this woman held the evidence in her arms. And it was a son, to top it all off. Not just a bastard, but a bastard son.

"Well?" the woman demanded. "Aren't you going to look at your son? At my grandson?"

Oh…so this was little Edith's mother. That explained so much, he thought with a frown. Glancing once more at the bundle in Mrs. Miller's arms, Lord Herbert set his jaw and straightened his back. "Take the bastard away," he said coolly. "I want nothing to do with him, or with you."

Agnes Miller was starting to see red as Lord Herbert turned and left the room, all self-righteous contempt and pompous superiority as he did so. Gritting her teeth in anger, she looked at young Francis with venom in her eyes. "You best make sure he doesn't forget that this child exists," she snarled.

Francis gave her a look of sympathy that soon turned to stony anger. "Believe me," he said with a shaking voice. "I certainly won't let that happen." Bowing politely to Mrs. Miller, the young valet turned and left the room to follow his master.

Once more alone with her grandchild, Mrs. Miller looked down at the now-sleeping baby and sighed heavily. Gently stroking his soft cheek, she felt tears once more filling her eyes. "It's all right," she murmured. "At least I'll be here to take care of you. No matter what your father says, you'll always be my little Prince…Eugene Fitzherbert."

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Author's Note: Here it is! The long-awaited story of young Eugene Fitzherbert and his transformation into the loveable thief Flynn Rider! And for fans of my story Flower Glow, don't worry, I am writing the sequel to that. It'll be called Let Your Power Shine, and I'll be posting it very soon. Enjoy!