The brambles rose up high overhead in all directions. Thistles and thorns scratching and biting those who dared to come closer. There were no flowers on the bushes, only grey, withering petals that floated, seemingly from no-where, to rest on the ground. The grass underfoot was not lush and green, not even was it struggling to grow. The soil from which it sprouted was hard and cracked, as though this were a desert, scorched by the sun and in turn the grass was brown and sharp to step on. Crunching with each footfall.
Using his hands and feet he kicked and pulled at the thick foliage, skin torn and bloody. Thorns clung to his limbs, dirt settled into his clothing. He got no-where. His sword had been ripped from him earlier in the day, one branch deciding he was no longer worthy of such a weapon and drawing it into it's depths with it's roots. Now, as he began a steep climb up the angry wall of greenery, he was thankful for the reduced burden.
Sweat seeped through his heavy leather jacket. The chest plate and armored pants trapped the salty fluid and he could feel it itch as it trickled down his neck and back under his satin shirt. The air was dry as he climbed, dust settled into the creases in his skin and under his nails; angry blemishes stood out against his arms; thorns, stinging nettles and angry wasps all contributing to his discomfort.
It seemed like hours though the clouds did not move across the sky. Finally, dripping with the sweat of his labor, the man found the elusive edge of this towering bush. High up here the wind whipped at his golden-brown hair, his white clothing fluttering out behind him. Crouching against such a strong wind, he looked up and saw a door, surrounded by wild, climbing limbs of ivy. The door was made of wood. The paint that covered it was pale blue, though it was cracked and peeling and mostly hidden by the ivy that stuck to it.
The man stood, catching his breath and straightening his clothes. He had spent so long dreaming about this moment. He had heard stories of so many other Princes, many his relatives, finally finding their happy endings with a beautiful princess that they found locked in a tower. This was his destiny, he was sure. This was what Charmings were meant to do, why they existed in the first place.
They were to find a poor fair maiden, trapped and alone, either by magic or circumstance and rescue her. Sweeping her off to some land far, far away so that they could protect her and keep her from harm.