Wow, I've been on a fanfic writing roll lately! I've had a lot of time I guess. (Four day weekend, ya know?)

This story came from an idea I got from the TVTropes page for Tangled. It said that "Fitz-…" was actually a surname meaning "the bastard child of…" and I found this a great back-story for Flynn. This is also somewhat inspired by Annie.


"Will you tell me the story again, Nan?"

A thin hand paused at the candle its owner was just about to snuff out. The woman sighed, frowning down at the boy's large brown eyes with her own tired grey ones.

"Again, Eugene?" She groaned, only to be given a rapid head nod.

Nan sighed again, kneeling down to the floor in front of the sitting boy. Though she was by no means a very old woman, her body, much like the building of the orphanage itself, had grown withered and crinkled beyond its years, bones cracking from the pressure of the tiny hands and mouths she served day after day. Feathery chestnut hair hung escaped from her messy bun, framing the crow's feet invading the skin around her eyes.

He has asked for this story countless times. He could tell it to her, really. But no matter how tired she was of repeating it, she loved the handsome little boy sitting cross-legged in front of her far too much to refuse.

As quietly as she could, in order to not disturb the countless other children shivering in their moth-eaten cotton blankets, she began.

"It was a stormy, rainy night, far too much for anyone to be out. Even the rats had found shelter in their holes, so I never would have thought any person would dare to venture out into the kingdom streets. I was just about to go to bed when, with a crash of thunder, a sharp knock sounded at my door."

A smile forced itself onto her lips when she saw, as always, his face light up in excitement at this part.

"I opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever was disturbing me. But, to my surprise, there stood a young woman, bulge on her stomach telling me she was with child."

Eugene lost his small breaths, just for a second. "Mother," he whispered, and Nan nodded back at him.

"She was rather pretty, no more than seventeen. She had brown hair, braided, and large brown eyes that quivered with worry. 'It's coming,' she told me, 'and I had nowhere else to go.' I quickly let her in, shivering and soaked to the bone, leading her to the upstairs room."

A pearly white, breathtaking grin filled the boy's face. "Where I was born."

"She told me what had happened; she was a maidservant of the father, the great knight Sir Herbert, who had died in battle not a month before. Though he had promised to give the child a home somewhere, his widow would have nothing of it, and threw her out into the cold."

Eugene's smile fell. Nan knew he hated this part, and she hated telling it to him. He always wanted the full story, though, and if she tried to leave it out, he would cross his little arms, stamp his little foot and demand she continue. He was always consoled, however, when she continued to his birth, when his face brighten once again and melt her heart away.

"Oh, the racket that was made! Her cries filled the orphanage, and the other children banged on the door, wishing to know what was happening! I worked all night, getting that baby out, but when I did, why, I had never seen a more beautiful child in all my life."

"And you still haven't." Nan couldn't help but chuckle at his proud smirk.

"And I still haven't. The girl, for she never told me her name, looked at him with such love and affection it broke my weak old heart in two. But alas, it was all too much for her, and her own heart beat for the last time that night as she passed onto heaven."

"Just say she died, Nan. I'm plenty old enough for the 'D' word." The boy was somewhat right, Nan noticed. The first time she told him this story he was but three, and she couldn't bear to come right out and say die to such a small child. Eugene was older now, true. His soft baby fat had just begun to wither away, replaced by faint young muscles. Still, he wasn't yet completely hardened by the world, and she was going to avoid that word for just a little longer.

"But just before she left, she said her little son's name: 'Eugene. So that all may remember he is of noble blood.' For you see, Eugene means—"

"Born of royalty."

"Born of royalty, indeed." Nan pressed her lips to the boy's dirty forehead, finally blowing out the candle. "Good night, Eugene Fitzherbert."

The boy curled up under his worn blanket, gripping his greatest treasure: The Tales of Flannigan Rider. The book, worn and faded from years of admiration and covered in smudges from dirty fingers, was the brightest light of the orphanage, giving the run-down children inspiration and hope every time Eugene read its words.

The book had been given to the boy by a kindly old bookseller when he was seven. Eugene had brought back a stolen atlas (well, in reality he had stolen it for a dare, but was quite guilty afterwards. Not quite guilty enough to confess, though). In gratitude, the man bestowed upon him the best adventure story in his shop, even helping him in learning to read it. Ever since, Eugene had spent the nights telling it to all the other children, and his literacy has made him something of a leader to them all, along with his strength and speed. Nan was especially thankful, as learning to read had greatly improved his grammar and speech. She never was able to teach to the orphans all on her own, and it was nice to have at least one child who could speak properly.

Nan gently shut the door to the orphan's quarters and retired to her own room, just big enough to hold a single rickety wooden bed and a tiny pot of coals. The woman barely had enough room to slowly sit down on her rough hay mattress.

"Oh God, please relieve my weary bones of these aches." she moaned, lying down on the creaky frame and closing her dry eyes.


Sunlight drifting though the small windows of the orphanage illuminated clumps of dust inhabiting every corner. Eugene's eyes blinked open, sleep still hanging over him in a heavy fog. The other children moaned in protest, some covering their heads back up with the blankets. The beds, or rather, flat straw-stuffed mats crushed together in disarray, cluttered the floor like a handful of sticks fallen from the hands of a careless child.

"Get up, ya lazy slugs!" The oldest boy, Armond, barked as his muddy bare feet leaped onto the bed beside him.

"Get offa my bed!" the girl inside, Lissie, bellowed, kicking at his legs with her own pudgy feet. Armond grunted, scrunching up in nose. Snorting, he spat a glob of brown slime in her squealing face.

"Shut yer yap, ya floozy."

"Don't call her a floozy!" Eugene jumped out of bed, marching over to the laughing boy. "She isn't even seven, you dog! Get off her bed before I make you!"

"Aw, Lissie's little hero is gonna get me off 'er bed." Armond jumped up and down, littering the blanket with clumps of dried dirt. Before the he could react, Eugene dove strait into his legs, sending him crashing onto the sleeping boy behind them and landing in a heap of limps and elbows.

"Hey!" He shouted, but it was lost in the chorus of screaming children as Eugene and Armond rolled on the ground, caught in a whirlwind of punches and shoves. The girls screeched in disgust, dancing out of the tumbling boy's way.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The cries rang through the wooden walls of the orphanage, until they travelled to a certain groaning woman's chamber. She growled under her breath, marching over to the orphan's room and tearing open the door.

"Get off each other and shut up or I'll send you to the woods!" Nan shouted, ratty curtains of hair almost covering her face. In the blink of an eye, the children were silent. They stared at her with wide eyed shock as if she had just caught them with their fingers in the jelly jar.

"Eugene started it!" Armond fell to his knees, sobbing and gripping his chest, "I-I was just trying t' get outta bed a-and then he came over an' started hitting me real bad…"

Nan's attention drifted over to Eugene, his arms crossed and eyes rolling off to the side.

"…And I think he broke my nose! See, it wiggles!"

"He's lyin', Nana." Lissie poked her nose out from under the blanket she had been hiding under. "Armond was being mean to me, and Eugene went and stopped him."

"Quite violently." Nan raised a sharp eyebrow at him, his head hanging limp.

"It was the only way, m'am."

"Uh huh." Nan shook her head slowly, placing her fingertips to her forehead. "Eugene, Armond, extra chores tonight."

"But—"

"No buts. Come on, children, time to eat."

The boys slugged behind their fellow orphans, glaring at each other all the way.

Gruel. Of course it had to be gruel.

Eugene mashed his "meal" with the back of his spoon, wrinkling his nose. Someone out there was having smoked ham with brown sugar glaze, spiced apples and poached eggs, and he was having a lump of grayish…something. To be honest, he had no idea. How did he, the son of a knight, get stuck eating some mystery food (if it was even food) to keep from starving?

It was that moment, that exact moment, that Eugene had a great epiphany. A lantern lit in his mind, like a gift from God himself. He had realized his great life's ambition.

To be filthy, disgustingly, atrociously rich.

How he would get there, that was the problem. The folks out in the city weren't exactly jumping to hire any orphaned child. He pondered in silence, ignoring his peer's shouting and dodging the flung spoonfuls of food. The single orphanage clock ticked on as the meal progressed. His gruel grew cold as he was lost in thought, making it all the more disgusting (if that was even possible), but he still got no answer.

Finally, the meal time had ended, and Eugene's gruel still sat uneaten in his bowl. He scrapped it out the window and bounded towards the room of the only adult he really knew.

"Nan, how can I get rich?"

"…What?" The woman gave a startled jump at the boy standing in her doorway.

"Rich. I want to be rich. But how can I get there? I've thought and thought and thought, but I can't think of anything. It seems there's nothing that can get poor people like us rich."

"Isn't that the truth." Nan mumbled, combing back her hair with her fingers. "Eugene, I have no idea how you can become rich. To be completely honest to you, our lives are always going to be difficult; always going to be a struggle to earn a living. That's the way life works."

"It's not fair." The boy slumped onto her bed. "Life's not fair."

"You, my boy, have just learned a great lesson."

Eugene huffed, glaring up at her, "I hate that lesson."

"We all do, honey. We all do. Now get out, you're not supposed to be in here."

As Nan watched the orphan go, she couldn't help but let her heart sink. To think, if his father had just waited one more month to die, or if the man's wife hadn't been so cruel, he could be living a comfortable, if not happy, lifestyle. Could she really blame the wife, though? If it had been Nan's husband that created a child with another woman, she wouldn't dive to save him either. But surely there was an alternative to simply casting the mother out to die! Now, instead of being a healthy, content young boy proud of his noble blood, he can only curse at the man who brought him on this Earth only to be treated like another piece of trash.

The boy had a heart, however, despite all he's lived with. Even if he did his best to hide it at times, Nan could see it clear as day. That heart could be a great lover one day, if he'd only let it.


"And with a slash of his sword, Flannigan had defeated the champion at his own game! Raising his fist to the sky, he…"

Little eyes stared up at Eugene, wide with excitement. Whenever this forgotten boy cracked the spine of his only belonging, suddenly, it was if he was a god. His words lifted their spirits, charmed them like snakes, brought them to a peace and quiet no other force could ever hope for.

"The king, amazed and overjoyed with the skills of this simple man, bestowed upon him his greatest possible gift: a sabre, laced in jewels and adorned with gold. 'Go, and use this great weapon against an even greater opponent.' Flannigan, leaping onto his horse with a single sweeping stride, galloped into the cheering crowd and was lost to the sunset."

Eugene looked up at his followers with a grin, "Well, I guess that's the last of tonight's chapter."

Groans filled the room.

"Just a little more?" The youngest girl, Mary, pleaded. She folded her hands, staring up at him with shiny blue eyes. "I wanna know what happens next!"

"Not unless you want less tomorrow." Eugene tucked his book inside his bed. It was not at all a terribly safe place, but it was all he had.

"Oh my gosh, its tonight!" Lissie sang in delight, catapulting herself towards the window, the entire thing covered by her six-year-old face.

"What's tonight?" Mary asked.

"The lanterns for the lost princess!" The girls sighed dreamily; the boys groaned in boredom.

"So what?" Jack, a boy just a year younger than Eugene, snapped. "They come every year."

"But they're so pretty!" A pair of red braids, belonging to the one of oldest girls named Catherine, squished against Lissie to get a peek. "And maybe this year the princess'll see 'em!"

"Get offa that window." Jack's twin (they were usually found together, which often gave Nan a terrible time trying to tell them apart), Phillip, continued, "It ain't like ya can see anything from there anyway."

"Yes I can!" Lissie pressed her nose to the cracked wood, "And they're so bright! And pink!"

"The princess has been missing for years now." Eugene lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, "the chances that she's still out there are slim to none."

"Yeah!" With a cackle, Jack yanked at one of Catherine's fiery pigtails. She let out an ear-splitting shriek, spinning around to tackle him to the ground. Her long nails bit at his face, but Jack continued to shout past them, "I bet ya…she's either…dead…or a…slave…in some…desert country!"

"Yeah!" Phillip piped, ripping a snapping Catherine off his brother, "I bet ya she got sold t' some king and now serves him wine and gives his camel water!"

"That sounds like fun!" Lissie slid down from the window, landing with a thump on the beds. "I wanna give a camel water!"

"But then he whips ya if ya spill any!" Jack launched himself onto Lissie, pinning her screaming to the floor, "And then leaves ya to dry to a crisp in the sun!"

"Jack, how would you know? You've never even been to a desert country." Eugene grabbed his color, peeling him from the little girl. Lissie face turned bright pink, her eyes cast to the ground.

"T-thanks, Eugene." She stammered, fingering her dirty blonde hair. Eugene, however, had his attention turned toward Jack, who straitened his collar with his nose stuck in the air.

"I heard all about them from Kitterma."

"Kitterma, the batty fortune-teller man?" Eugene flopped back onto his mat, "Oh yes, how can we ever question somebody that has long conversations with his walking stick?"

"It's a window into the spiritual rear!"

"You mean spiritual realm?"

"Uh, yeah."

"The truth is, guys," Eugene sat up, looking over the orphans, "nobody knows if the princess is alive or not. It's just a mystery. So why don't we forget about it for the night and go to sleep?"

Reluctantly but obediently, the children straightened out their mats and cuddled into their blankets. Silence filled the room, the only sound some soft snoring. One by one, sleep conquered all of the orphans, all except for one; Eugene, lying back in his mat closest to the window, watched the floating lanterns dance through the night sky. They flew throughout the kingdom, fancy free, without a care in the world or a ball and chain to hold them back.

Could the princess really see them? Of course not. That would be ridiculous. Ideas like that are for the mind of a dreamer like Lissie or Catherine, not an intelligent lad like himself. But…if the princess really was out there, did she know of her royal title? Was she like him, of noble blood but unable to live with the honor she was born with? Did it taunt her like it taunted him? Or was she clueless of her lineage, living like a normal girl, thinking she's a normal girl?

Eugene was not the type to pray. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he did. But that night, under the light of the lanterns and the cover of his own mind, he prayed. Please, he asked, that if the lost princess is still alive, may she be returned to her parents and her home.


TBC

Thanks for reading the first chapter! This will probably have around 4-6 chapters, depending on how it all works out. I have the plot already planned, but you never know. Please R&R, if you have the time (or patience).