Rapunzel woke up to the familiar feeling of a small scaly foot on her face. She yawned. "Good morning, Pascal," she said, blinking.

For a moment, she felt the grass under her and the lack of a pillow beneath her head, and was confused. Then, the events of the previous day came back to her, and she sat up, getting her bearings. Yes, she was still in the area where she and Eugene had settled down for the night. The satchel was still right next to her. Eugene was—

She looked around. Where was he? He had been right across from her when they had gone to sleep the previous night. Now, though, there was only an indent in the grass indicating where he had lain.

A brief feeling of panic came upon her, and her hand went to the satchel. It was still there. She patted it, and, sure enough, the crown was still there, too. She relaxed, and with that feeling of relaxation came one of guilt, too; she shouldn't have doubted him. But, then again, he was a thief…but she thought she had come across something else in their discussion last night…

Her feelings were complicated. She couldn't dislike him after the events of the previous day, but it was hard to forget that, once this was all over, he would take back the crown and resume his old ways.

Well, that wouldn't be for a few more hours, at least. She stood up, looking around. "Eugene?" she called.

"Still using that, are you?"

She jumped slightly and turned around to see him approaching her, two small items in his hands. "It's your name, isn't it?" she said.

"It was."

He looked almost solemn, so Rapunzel endeavored to change the subject. "Where did you go off to?"

"Just getting some breakfast." He tossed one of the items at her, and she caught it. It was an apple—a particularly good-looking one, too. "Sorry if I worried you."

"Oh, it's fine. Thanks."

She bit into the apple. It was indeed a good one, and she thought of Maximus with a pang, hoping that he was all right. Even if he was, though, he was likely to be concerned for her—as were her parents and everyone else at the castle. She sighed, thinking of them.

Eugene raised an eyebrow, looking up from his own apple. "Not to your liking?"

"What? Oh, no, it's delicious. I'm just…just thinking."

"Hm. About what?"

"About my parents and my friends. They're probably worried sick right now."

He shrugged. "Probably. But they'll be fine once you get back."

"Yeah."

They finished their apples in silence, and Eugene tossed his core into the woods. "Well, let's get a move on."

Rapunzel nodded, and picked up the satchel. The sooner she got back, the less everyone would be worrying about her.

Of course, the less time she would spend with Eugene, too.

That nagging feeling of worry that had come to Tara the day before was back. Ever since the queen had asked her if she knew where Rapunzel was yesterday afternoon (with a worried expression herself), Tara had begun to wonder if something was wrong. She hadn't seen the princess since then—not that she saw her every day, but it wasn't uncommon for Rapunzel to come into the library, or for Tara to get a glimpse of her in the halls. Was it possible that something had happened to her?

Unfortunately, Tara's information-gathering resources were limited, and she could only keep doing her job while hoping to pick something up from surrounding chatter—and have faith that, if something had happened to Rapunzel, there were people who could take care of it. Which most likely meant Marcus.

The captain was another person she hadn't seen in a little while—but she knew that he had been hard at work trying to track down the thief of Rapunzel's crown. People had been talking about it, and praising him for his efforts. Still…they didn't know what she did, that Marcus had been briefly crippled by his failure, and, for all she knew, was vulnerable to it again. Was it possible that, if something happened to the princess, he would find himself unable to act again?

She shook her head. That didn't seem right. For one, she knew that he cared about Rapunzel—even if they weren't in love, she had seen him go out to her on the balcony on the night of her birthday, and the fact that Rapunzel was able to pick him up with the right words on the following day spoke to their friendship. Tara couldn't imagine Marcus standing aside if Rapunzel was, in fact, in danger. For another, she had heard how determined he had become in the past few days, and she didn't think that that determination would go away so easily.

She had to have faith in Marcus. Yes, he had his flaws, but she was coming to terms with that. Like she had told him herself, everyone made mistakes, and no one could expect him to be an exception. And, after all, Marcus was the captain of the royal guard. He would not have been appointed to the position if the king and queen did not have full confidence in his abilities.

"Tara?"

Tara was brought out of her reverie by the voice of one of her supervisors, a tall thin man who, like her, sported a pair of glasses. "Yes?"

"Could you go down to Sir Thatch's study and remind him that he has a small handful of books that were due to be returned yesterday?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Thank you. If I recall correctly, the titles were…ah, what were they again…?"

"I think I remember, sir. They were the ones concerning the recent mathematicians?"

"Those were the ones, yes."

"I delivered those to him. I'll recognize them."

"Will you? Excellent. Responsible as always."

She smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"Well, you know me, I give credit where credit is due. But do get on that, won't you? I expect you may have a bit of a hard time prying them out of his hands."

She let out a laugh. "I know what you mean, sir. Is anyone else waiting on those books?"

Her supervisor sighed. "No…so it's likely you'll be returning empty-handed. But I'd like you to pay him a visit in any case."

"Of course."

She made her way to the doors and exited the library, walking down the hallway in a route that she had become familiar with over the years. Sir Thatch did, indeed, like to take out books from the library, but returning them was a different matter. She fully expected him to tell her, when she asked for them, that he needed them for another few days, and would it be possible to extend the loan period? Her supervisor might not be too happy, but it was the policy of the library to accommodate such requests, unless the books in question had been requested by someone else. Since that was not the case with the current ones, there wouldn't be anything preventing her from allowing such an extension.

She got to his door a few minutes later, and was raising her hand to knock when she heard voices on the other side. At first, she wondered if she should wait—she didn't want to interrupt whatever was going on—but she soon realized that, if she waited for Sir Thatch to be done with his conversation, she could be standing outside his door for hours. And she had other work to deal with. So she brought her hand to the door and rapped on it.

"Oh, just a moment," came Sir Thatch's muffled voice from his study. "Who is it?"

"It's Tara, sir."

"Tara! One moment…"

She heard the usual sound of him shuffling around, navigating the giant mess of the room, before the door opened. "Good to see you, Tara," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to remind you that you have a couple books that were due yesterday. My supervisor was wondering if you were done with them."

"Ah. Er, which ones would those be?"

"Those were the ones on the mathematicians."

"Ah, yes, those. Er, just a moment." He retreated into his study. "Please, come in."

Tara stepped in, and her eyes fell upon Thatch's guests, who were sitting in chairs that were barely squeezed into the surrounding mess. They were both men, most likely other academics. One of them she didn't know, a man who looked older than Sir Thatch, whose wrinkled head was almost entirely devoid of hair. The other one she did know—but wasn't happy to see. It was Lord Basil, a haughty man with slick black hair and a goatee, both of which had streaks of grey in them. He had been one of the people who had glared at her for dancing with Marcus on the night of Rapunzel's birthday—which may have been in part due to the fact that he was married to Lady Olive, one of the castle's biggest gossips. Upon catching his hard gaze, Tara felt herself go red, and she turned back to Sir Thatch. "Do you need help finding them, sir?" she asked.

"No, no, I've got it." He paused. "Although…if those are the books I think they are…I may need to borrow them for a little longer."

Ah, there it was. "That's fine, sir."

"Thank you, Tara. I knew you'd be accommodating. And so…" He pulled out a medium-sized volume from the mess on his desk. "I don't have to send you back empty-handed. I believe I have used this one to the extent that I plan on using it." He handed it to her…then looked at it. "Wait…oh, no, I'm sorry, not this one." He turned back to his desk. "I apologize, just give me a moment."

"Of course, sir."

As Thatch continued to root through his belongings, Tara tried to decide if she should acknowledge the others' presences. Some of the nobles didn't like interacting with people of the serving class like her—and she was fairly certain Lord Basil was one of those people—but she had no way of knowing what the other one thought. He looked friendly enough…but it was hard to tell.

Fortunately, he solved the problem for her. "Tara, is it?" he said, getting to his feet. "You work in the library?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Yes, I may have seen you there once or twice…or maybe it was someone else." He scratched his head. "Anyway, I haven't had the opportunity to introduce myself." He held out a hand. "Sir Fuddleston."

Tara fought back a laugh, and managed to pass off her smile as a simple polite reaction. "Pleased to meet you," she said, shaking his hand. "I apologize for interrupting your conversation."

Sir Fuddleston sat back down. "Not at all," he said. "It's good for us to take a break every now and then, collect our thoughts, make sure they're all there." He smiled. "Maybe even give the conversation a chance to take us in a new direction. Maybe once we've restarted it, we'll focus on something different, like—"

"The recent conduct of Captain Marcus," said Lord Basil. His voice was smooth, but highly aristocratic, and did not give off an appealing vibe. "I had just mentioned how he is acting remarkably unlike a true captain of the guard should."

By his expression, Tara guessed that he was saying this to get at her, and resisted the urge to clench her fists. "Oh, you only made a passing comment about that," said Sir Fuddleston.

"That doesn't mean it does not hold with my beliefs," replied Basil, keeping one eye on Tara. "Crushing people's hopes, letting a thief get away with the princess's crown, and now he may have let her get lost in the forest."

"He's only human, sir," said Tara.

Basil narrowed his eyes. "If I wanted your opinion, girl, I would have asked for it."

"Now, don't be like that, Basil," said Thatch, looking up from his desk. "She's entitled to her views."

"Which are obviously biased," Basil retorted. "You know that the captain has a flawless reputation with the young women." He paused. "Especially those of the lower class. It's a classic case of desiring power; they don't have it, so they conjure up fantasies in which it is given to them."

"Really, Basil," said Thatch, his tone reprimanding, "there's no need to attack Tara like that."

"It's the truth."

Tara steeled herself. "Not quite, sir."

Basil raised an eyebrow, though she could tell he was concealing anger at being contradicted. "Oh? How so?"

"I don't think the captain is flawless, sir. I know he has some faults."

"Indeed? And you are still willing to defend him?"

"Of course. He's our captain."

"That means nothing."

"It means he was appointed to the position by the king and queen, who believed in them, and if we can't trust their judgment, then whose can we trust?"

Basil smiled. "You do not believe that his appointment was a result of his parentage? His father was captain; it would not have gone over well if he had not been appointed, regardless of his skill level."

"I disagree, sir."

"Yet you have nothing to back it up." He leaned forward. "I recommend you reexamine your views before speaking out again."

"I can back it up. He has had many successes in the past, and even if he has had a few failures, isn't that bound to happen to everyone? You can't expect him to be perfect; no one is. Why should we seize onto every little fault and blow it up? He's got a hard job, and we have to remember that."

Basil bristled. "Watch your impudence, girl. Don't think you have an understanding of what it means to be a—"

"Basil!" said Thatch sharply. "Calm down. If you wish to argue with her, then kindly do it elsewhere. I do not appreciate this kind of dialogue in my study."

Basil narrowed his eyes until it almost looked like he was squinting, but folded his arms and became silent. "Here we go," said Thatch, picking up another book. "This is the one I was looking for." He gestured to Tara. "Allow me to see you out."

Tara knew that wasn't necessary, given that she was only a few feet from the door, but she nodded, guessing that Sir Thatch had something else in mind.

She was right. As soon as the pair of them had stepped out, Sir Thatch closed the door and looked at her. "I apologize for Basil's behavior," he said. "His wife is still upset about the events from Princess Rapunzel's birthday, and he may be taking it out on you. Though I have to say, you did a fine job of standing up for yourself."

"Thank you, sir."

His gaze grew more serious. "Although, I hope you meant what you said. You must know that there are some things to the captain that you may not find appealing."

"I do know that, sir."

He looked at her curiously. "Hm. Your tone suggests you may know more than I imagine…" He shook his head. "Nevertheless, I will repeat my warning from the other day; you must be careful of your feelings, for they may lead you to an unfortunate circumstance. Even if Captain Marcus is not to be engaged to the princess—and I will admit even I did not see that coming—he is much more likely to choose someone closer to him in class. My views on these matters are not as strong as Lord Basil's, but I am aware of the general situation, and that is my opinion on it."

Tara nodded. "I understand."

"Good. But, also like I have said, you're a strong person, and you'll get through it. Now, I'm sure you have more to do, and I must continue my own discussion."

"Of course, sir. I will tell my supervisor that you wish to keep those books for a longer period of time."

"Thank you, my dear. I hope to see you soon."

"I hope so too."

He smiled at her, then retreated back into his study, and Tara found herself wrestling with her feelings yet again. Logically, she did not doubt Sir Thatch's statement—Marcus was unlikely to go for someone like her. But that didn't mean she should think less of him. The incident concerning his depression had given her a new view on him, and that was that he was a human, with his own set of strengths and weaknesses. He was still kind, charming, and, for the most part, determined. If there was a problem, he could still throw himself at it. And besides, if he didn't have any faults, he really wouldn't be that interesting. So even if Rapunzel was lost in the forest—which may have just been speculation on the part of Lord Basil—Marcus was the man to set things right. After all, who else would?

Flynn continued to lead the princess through the woods, his ears more alert for the sounds of the guards—just because he was on better terms with the princess didn't mean running into a guard was a risk-free situation. Could be just the opposite, in fact—if a guard saw him with Rapunzel, he'd probably assume that Flynn had kidnapped her, and might try to shoot him on sight. Fortunately, the route that he had chosen was proving itself to be, as he had hoped, guard-free, and he was able to pass the time chatting with Rapunzel in a relatively relaxed frame of mind. It was just the two of them—Pascal the chameleon had dozed off, for whatever reason (Flynn suspected he, also, had struggled with sleep the previous night). "So how's it living with hair like that?" he asked at one point. "Probably gets all over the place."

She nodded. "It does, if I'm not careful and it's not braided."

"Braided?"

"Yeah. There's a way to braid up my hair so that it only goes down to about my ankles."

He snorted. "Only. You're the only person who would say that."

"Well, when you've lived your whole life with such long hair…"

"Why is it so long, anyway?"

"Because of the flower, apparently."

"Flower?"

"Right. My parents told me that, when my mom was pregnant with me, she got sick. So she was fed a magic flower that cured her, and its power must have gotten into me."

"Oh, that's right…doesn't your hair have magic healing powers or something?"

"Yep."

He grinned. "That's impressive."

"It's allowed me to help all sorts of people. If they get hurt or sick, I can heal them."

"Bet that keeps you busy."

"Yeah. I was really busy when I was younger—got called to help all over the place—and so my parents decided that people could only ask for my help in really serious circumstances, or when I don't have a whole lot to do. That way, I'm not constantly exhausted, and the doctors in the kingdom have something to do."

"Sounds fair."

"Yeah. And it's all thanks to Miss Gothel."

He raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"This woman that I know. She's the one who taught me about my powers."

"What? How did she know?"

Rapunzel shrugged. "She's smart. She knows a lot of stuff."

"Uh-huh." There was something about her that struck Flynn as mildly suspicious—but then he reminded himself that he was hardly one to judge. "So, what, is she one of the studious castle nobles or something?"

Rapunzel shook her head. "No, actually. She lives alone, out here in the woods. I come to visit her every so often. She says that she likes her privacy, but…I can't help but wonder if she gets lonely."

Flynn flashed a grin. "I wouldn't worry about that. I think she's fine."

"Really? How do you know?"

"Well, I've got some experience with people who are more the loner type myself."

Rapunzel raised an eyebrow. "What, you mean you?"

"That so hard to believe?"

"Well…I actually wonder if you ever get lonely."

Flynn was about to dismiss the idea—but then images came to him, similar to the ones from the previous night…how he had always had fun with the other kids in the orphanage, how their smiles had always made his day…

He shook his head. That was all behind him now. "Nah, loneliness isn't a problem for me," he said.

He wasn't sure if he had convinced her, though. And, truth be told…he wasn't sure if he had convinced himself.

(~~~~~~~~~~~~~)

A/N: If anyone knows where I got Sir Fuddleston's name from, a big kudos to you.

This chapter may have been a little dull…but things will pick up soon.