Disclaimer: I only own this plot, though I would love to own Tangled.
MQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQ
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flynn was having more and more difficulty staying awake. He hadn't slept well the night before, when Granny insisted they set up camp, even though Flynn knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without Rapunzel there. Now, that was coming back to bite him in the butt as he fought to keep his eyes open, with little success. Max at least had the decency to not move too fast, for fear of having Flynn fall off his back and be lost in the brush, though Flynn was sure that at least would wake him up fully. That or a nice stiff drink, but he doubted that Granny had anything like that on hand.
Sighing heavily as he once more almost fell off of Max's back, Flynn watched the ground beneath the horse's hooves and tried to think of something other than the pain in his chest. Also not an easy task, but it was much easier than the task of trying to stay awake, it seemed. In fact, he found himself focusing on individual blades of grass quite easily, even with the horrible aching in his chest that seemed to be spreading down towards the scar where Gothel had stabbed him all those weeks ago. Weird…or a bad omen. He couldn't quite decide which it was.
Granny watched him closely, as though afraid that he would do something stupid and jump off of Max's back. Like he was that desperate. Flynn was way too determined to just find Rapunzel to throw himself anywhere, especially not off of the back of a moving horse. Max might just trample him out of spite if he did that. Stupid horse.
"How close are we?" he asked, though it came out much more slurred, like he'd been drinking. Or hadn't had a decent sleep for nearly thirty-six hours. Either one was a good enough excuse for why he couldn't speak coherently.
"Closer," was all Granny said in response. "But they're still moving."
"Of course they are," Flynn growled under his breath.
This was just further proof that good things never happened to him. Or, if they did, they didn't last long. Just look at his childhood. Everything good that had ever happened to him when he was a kid had ended quickly and painfully. Frowning to himself at that thought, Flynn tried to force his mind away from his childhood, but that didn't work. Against his will, he found himself thinking about all those years at the orphanage.
Flynn had grown up always knowing that he wasn't wanted. His mother had died giving birth to him and his father had never wanted to claim him, because a bastard son was the last thing that anyone of noble blood wanted to admit to having. From the time he was about three and could understand when older people were talking about him specifically, Flynn had known that he was the subject of a lot of gossip. Most of the people in the village where he had been born knew exactly who his father was and why he was being raised in an orphanage. The one thing he had heard repeated over and over in reference to him was that "no one wants the bastard child of a Lord who couldn't keep his hands to himself." He'd learned later in life that there was never any statement that was more fitting for his life than that one.
No one wanted him, except for Mrs. Miller, and even then, after several years, she started to feel the strain of keeping him at the orphanage while other kids found new homes, even if it meant that they went to those homes as servants. By the time Flynn was eight, he had decided that nothing was worth suffering the embarrassment of being the local pariah, so he had run away. Of course, he had not been so eloquent in describing his reasoning then. That had only come with age. A part of him wondered if Mrs. Miller was even alive anymore. And what about all those little kids he would read to from the time he learned how to read at age six? Had they found a better life for themselves?
Shaking his head firmly, Flynn forced his thoughts away from that. Now was not the time to be worrying about kids that he would probably never see again. He had bigger things to worry about, after all, like getting through this journey without falling off of Max's back or dying. Especially dying. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Again. It had been bad enough the first time.
Running a hand through his hair so that it all stood on end, Eugene Fitzherbert prayed for the first time in years. Just let me find her and get us out of this alive.
MQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQ
The scrap of lace was enough to wake Flynn up a lot more than anything else. Dismounting so hastily that he stumbled when his feet touched the ground, he rushed to the small bush where the lace was caught up in the branches and clutched at it as though it would magically make Rapunzel appear in front of him. That didn't happen, but for a brief moment, it felt like the pain in his chest receded ever so slightly. It was still warm, but that could be from being on a bush in the sunlight for hours. Still…it was something, and it had been on Rapunzel's nightgown at some point in the recent past. She couldn't be too far ahead of them now…
Looking back at Granny, Flynn saw the old woman giving the bit of lace a calculating look before urging her mare forward. Tucking the lace under his vest, Flynn remounted Max and followed after Granny, his heart lighter than it had been since he discovered Rapunzel was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. They had to be on the right track now. Had to be.
MQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQ
Gothel was starting to get very irritated, and it was really getting on Isabelle's nerves. She understood that the pain Gothel was suffering because of the distance between Flynn Rider and Rapunzel's body was probably not the most pleasant of experiences, but did the old bat have to take it out on Isabelle?
Apparently, she did indeed have to do just that.
"How much farther?" Gothel snapped darkly.
"If we continue at this pace, allowing Rider to follow us," Isabelle said through gritted teeth, "we should arrive at our destination tomorrow evening, perhaps a little sooner. Don't try and rush this."
"Don't tell me what to do," Gothel snarled.
Isabelle decided that now was as good a time as any to turn the other cheek and just be quiet. Because she knew that if she said anything now, she would end up killing Gothel, which would in turn kill Rapunzel. While she certainly didn't care for the young Princess, Isabelle didn't have anything personal against her, and would much rather not have to kill Rapunzel. For one thing, it wouldn't do to have the entire kingdom trying to kill her to avenge the death of their Princess.
So for now, Isabelle would just have to endure all of this griping from Gothel.
MQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQMQ
Author's Note: Wow…I really did not expect so much of this chapter to be Flynn thinking about his past. Speaking of which! I'm already working on a fic that tells all about how Eugene grew up to be the Rogue we know and love. I'll start publishing it once this story is done. Or at least this arc of the story, we'll see which comes first.