Yippee, exams done! I will try to update a chapter a day for the next ten days or so, but I don't know how well this will work out… Thanks for everything, you're great. I spent my first afternoon of freedom feeding ducks and trying to pen this chapter, I meant it to be shorter and lighter than the previous, but it did end up quite long and dark… hope you like it anyways.

Noon30ish: thanks a massive lot as usual! I actually do whip out the artistic license on many things; I simply don't mention them in the footnotes since that would take forever :P (stone career in tropical ground on post volcanic site? Totally legitttt..). For scientific notions, as you've probably guessed, I have some idea of what I'm doing. For historical/mythological/literary points, I generally know the gist of things, but I did end up having to google Aztec gods, mining in Mexico and a few others. What's tricky but fun to write with the steampunk AU is that it spawns from graphic and costume arts, so the detail in description is crucial. Also, it has to be close enough to actual historical reality, socially and culturally, so a bit of research is needed there. So yeah, just to describe to everyone reading this what writing in this kind of AU is like, hope that inspires you to play around with it… J

Chapter 7, where Maximus and Augustus have a thing for apples, a frying pan wildly appears and Rapunzel doesn't quite know what she wants.

Disclaimer: *insert disclaimer*

CW: very mild sexual content, mention of implicitly racist artwork, [unquiet characters, frying pans, more deviations from canon]

A day without the Gothel had to be a good one.

And a good day had to be a barefoot one.

A silent as a mouse creeps, Rapunzel Corona ran down the sleepy corridors of the Crownsworth Manor. The first morning lights drifted dimly through the thick gold-trimmed curtains, projecting pools of a dim purple glow onto the cold ceramic floor. The short train of her lilac velvet dress, arranged in a tasteful sophistication of flowing folds, hardly brushed the black and white tiles. From under her simple brown leather corset bloomed a loose white shirt, like a lily just born on a fresh misty day, embroidered in vaguely iridescent crystal drops of morning dew.

It was a foggy morning indeed. As Rapunzel stepped into the elevator cabin – the very first elevator cabin in the whole of Camfordshire, her father would endlessly repeat – she saw the estate outside through the one glass wall. A thin blanket of white had fallen over the emerald hills, the endless grassy spreads and the forged ruins in the distance. The young woman cranked the handle to close the lift's heavy iron doors, cast into flowing vegetal motifs. When she lowered a lever, the weight was simply released by a constellite-powered mechanism. A number of chains and pulleys softly creaked against each other as the small cabin was lowered to the ground floor.

As she exited the lift, the familiar scent of damp hay immediately filled her nostrils. While her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she found her way through the stables to her stallion's box. Augustus was a small, earth-brown horse crowned with a single white star between its eyes.

"Good morning, Gus-Gus," she fondly murmured.

The young woman gently groomed its mane and side, before feeding it an apple that was eagerly devoured, with an enthusiastic neigh.

"Whoa, somebody's happy!" called an amiable voice behind her.

"Flynn! You came!"

"I could hardly sleep, my body clock is still set to the time of Eastern Extremesia. The private zeppelin that took me here is one of the fastest we have, you know."

"Hopefully you won't doze off during the day then," she gently mocked.

Both exchanged an amuse glance. Rapunzel noticed he had swapped his colonial clothes for a more reasonable riding outfit. A dark blue asymmetrical jacket displaying two lines of Corona-Sun shaped buttons covered his shoulders. The ensemble was completed with vanilla breeches, riding boots and dark leather gloves matching his elegant top hat. The heiress put on her own boots over woolen cream and gold stockings. She rolled up her simple, long braid with a pin and adjusted a flowery hat over her head with her scarf.

Flynn playfully patted the side of his Maximus, a clever dappled stallion he had grown up with. Between the two spacious boxes was Major's, Ella's mount. The slender gray horse was too busy munching on some straw it hardly noticed them as they swiftly rode out.

Strands of untied golden hair whipped at Rapunzel's face as they galloped through the mist. The damp cold completely awoke her and cleared her thoughts. They hardly needed to talk as they rode. Of course, the rest of the household was still in bed. Miss Ashcroft was no morning person, especially when Mother Gothel was not around. The earliest servants were probably starting to stir in the kitchens. That had been Rapunzel's best chance to talk to a jetlagged Flynn in private. Through the thick air, she could distinguish the silhouette of the Crownsworth Manor, its brick courts and its limestone façades, its bridges over the Wellis, its numerous chimneys puffing a waft of steam into the gray air, crowned by the rounded shape of Flynn's docked zeppelin, all faded into the shadow of an impressionistic fairytale.

"Hey Punz! Your hat!"

Rapunzel pulled Gus's reins to turn around. In her thoughtfulness, it had escaped her notice that her hat had caught onto a low branch of one of the giant oak trees on either side of the path.

"My apologies, I meant, Mistress Corona, I believe a certain oaken branch was jealous of your delicate headdress…"

"Mister Ri… Fitzherbert, I am infinitely grateful for your precious support. I ignore how I would ever fare without you…"

"Mistress Rapunzel, allow me to return this beautiful object to you. The tint of the lavender brooch truly complements your fair hair and brings out your emerald eyes…"

"You flatter me, Mister Fitzherbert. I cannot accept such compliments from a gentleman as accomplished and distinguished as you."

They laughed heartily at these caricatures of themselves, of courtship and politeness, amidst the foggy park, far away from the house, the servants, the Gothel, the rules and the conventions. They laughed like back them, as if the mist had erased the passage of time since they ran and played around the oaks as children. As Rapunzel tied her hat back onto her hair, they started off at a more leisurely pace, riding side by side.

"Do you always ride like a man, or is it only to spite Mother Gothel when you send her away to Dovehaven?"

"Only when I wear my mother's cropped crinolines, which is mainly when no-one is there to stop me," she admitted with a lingering smile. "Or maybe when I want to impress you."

"Impress me? I don't think that's necessary. Seeing how much you've changed lately impresses me far enough. You've blossomed into a beautiful flower, Punz. But I can see through the rich velvets, the petty hats and the frilly shirts that you're still that young, witty, optimistic friend I used to know."

"Truly? I'm not sure I can say the same about you. You've grown well, evidently. You look handsome and confident, successful in affairs amongst the Companies as well as the ladies… tell me, what do you think about Ella?"

"Miss Ashcroft? She is undoubtedly comely, polite, gentle… with these manners and that smile, she could win any man's hand she desires."

"The Gothel gives her chores: mending clothes, washing up, cooking with the servants, cleaning the ashes in the chimney, even though Father would rather use the constellite stove… Ella is a deeply brave and patient soul, Flynn. Given enough time, she will have any man's heart."

"So you do believe in our union? Did you bring me out here to give your support?"

Rapunzel suppressed a sigh. The years had frosted a picture of a dreamy, innocent-looking blonde child into his eyes. He hardly saw the influence of the Prussoroman nurse and the passage of time had etched onto her skin.

"Maybe, maybe not. I believe a man certain degrees of freedom in his life. Certainly, there are external conditions imposing a few things, but the choice yours and only yours to make."

"You have been taught well in the rhetoric arts, I see. In my place, what would you do now?"

The heiress thought for an instant. Then a flicker of malice lit her green gaze.

"I would catch that before he does."

She tossed an apple from her saddlebag into the air, towards Maximus. Caught off guard, the horseman clung onto the reins, nearly falling off as the horse pounced to catch it. Oh, Maximus was an oversized dog that was far too fond of apples, and Punz knew him too well…

"Does my life really have that little importance to you?" he panted, once he had somewhat calmed his stallion down.

"Maybe, maybe not," she repeated wittily.

She felt his warm breath on her neck as he slowly approached her from atop his horse. An agreeable wave of heat ran down her back.

"By the way, I believe this is yours?" he whispered, handing her a flat, round object that exactly fit her palm. Flynn must have snatched it away from her sleeve when he had returned the hat. Oh, the sneaky thief. The golden metal box, attached to a similar chain, was marked with her family's emblem. Inside was a small constellite watch that doubled as a compass when she turned a minuscule handle. The delicate golden cogs in their regular, precise motion were painted with miniature planets, moons and suns. The lid was a slightly incurved mirror.

"You still keep it with you?" he asked, with some surprise. "I was just curious to check what I thought it was."

"Unfortunately I don't really hide constellite in it to complete the planetarium globe any more. Mother Gothel considered the globe too dangerous to stay in the house, so it got moved out. But I still keep it close by, it reminds me of Mother."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's all right, Flynn. But back to Miss Ella, will you propose to her?"

"Would you?" he repeated flatly. "This has been arranged by your father, and clearly, with the Gothel's support. I trust he knows what is best for his foster daughter. Eventually, we'll get to know each other, and she'll get used to flying around the Southern Isles of Eastern Extremesia. With time, it will work out, Punz. Trust me."

"Trust you? It hardly regards me. My only concern is your evident reluctance."

"Punz, you don't need to worry for me, I…"

"How does it matter? We've arrived."

The young woman gracefully dismounted, copied by her childhood friend. Maximus and Augustus were tied to the dried out fountain, covered in fine cracks, fallen flowers, damp moss and dry lichen. Only the bright metallic sun of Corona crowning it showed that the ruin was counterfeit.

"I'm still too small, you'll need to help me on," she pleaded.

He courteously lent her a hand to climb over the fountain's edge. As she pressed her medallion onto a discreet orifice, on the column that supported the iron sun, a stone panel swiveled at the feet of a naiad's graceful moss-covered statue. She seemed to indicate the secret entrance with her dry jar, a mysterious smile sculpted onto her lips. Of course, every Corona had some token that could unlock the door, which served mainly as an attraction to impress distinguished visitors. Smiling at the memory of the olden days, both young people sank into the secret passageway and onto the darkness.

Rapunzel took Pascal into her hand as he shed light onto the small corridor through his multicoloured nematic crystal skin. The chameleon automaton playfully licked her finger with his torsional-spring copper tongue. Flynn gave it a seemingly affectionate pat. After a short walk, they reached a larger subterranean space. On the grotto's wall was a mosaic identical to that by the main entrance alleyway. Jerome and Evelyn Corona, in their most sumptuous attire, smiled while holding an infant Rapunzel, her bouncy golden locks as well as her emerald eyes gleaming in the darkness along with the pearl, diamond and gold details of their garbs and jewelry. Pascal's light rapidly dimmed, overpowered by the fluorescence of the pool of golden lilies. The ceiling was opened by sunnier times to allow the flowers to feed from sunlight. The blossoms, named by her father after his only heiress, had been craftily engineered to glow in such a continuously bright fashion.

"They're even more stunning than I remembered!" exclaimed Flynn, awestruck by their brilliance and beauty.

"These lilies will never cease to amaze me."

"You mean these rapunzels?"

He knew her annoyance at the flower's name only too well.

"Oh, why do you have to," she teasingly wailed.

"To be fair, it's kind of a running joke across the ocean."

"Really?"

"Well, only amongst the small circle of informed people, but rumors spread fast…"

"Is any of that spreading your doing?"

"Maybe, maybe not," he echoed with a touch of humour.

Oh, his distance, his manners, his jests. Eugene knew how to make his way into a locked heart. Flynn knew where to steal the key to her heart. Rapunzel knew every smirk of his lips, every cock of his brow, every frown of his Grecian nose. But underneath he was a changed man. So similar, yet so different. So foreign, and yet so familiar. One of them might have been ice, the other steam, even though she could hardly assign who was which, but she and Flynn were made from the same stuff. She wanted to explore the darkness beneath his polite skin, expose the mechanics and clockworks of his mysteries to the harsh light, feel every nook and cranny, every tooth of every cog and gear. Release the steam trapped under the ice and reveal the icicles under the mist, and finally belong to him. She wanted him for herself, and herself alone.

Quite unaware of her disquiet thoughts, the young tradesman followed her through another corridor in the labyrinth underground. Each step released the fond memories of Crownsworth and the carefree times, where pretense was a fleeting game and masks could be blown off in laughter at any occasion, like a swirl of spring flower petals. She had been a princess, he had been her prince, climbing up her high tower with the sole rope of her golden hair. And then his touch at her juvenile blonde braid tickled her, and then he was Flynn, she was Punz and they laughed until they could hardly breathe. Before he knew it, they had reached the Eastern Salon.

The subterranean resting room was painted in frescoes of Eastern Extremesia, tawny silhouettes garbed in bright feathers yielding offerings of gold and constellite to finely dressed men bearing the golden sun sigil, on a pale backdrop of angular pyramids, rainbow-coloured zeppelins and blurred rainforest. On the trompe l'oeil columns creepers of all forms climbed like snakes, while bright garish fruit poured from golden cornucopias. Rapunzel and Flynn hardly had time to contemplate any of it, before a swarm of dozens of flying creatures tumbled from the ceiling right towards them.

"Ouch!" Flynn yelped as one of the clockwork bats from the precious Corona collection slammed into his shoulder.

Immediately, Rapunzel drew her golden locket and pulled a button near the chain. A metal handle unfolded around the watch face in an intricate swivel of delicate golden gears, while a large golden disc expanded around the mirror lid like a flower opened its petals. Wielding the frying-pan-like object with rapid strokes, she cast away the automata dashing at them. And somehow managed to hit herself in the head with her weapon in the process.

As the last robots flew past them, Flynn had to make an effort not to burst out laughing. He remembered Mrs. Corona's answer on why a frying pan in her daughter's toy: "And why not? Remember, in your darkest hour, to go fry yourself an egg." Mrs. Evelyn had been an eccentric and fashionable woman, a speaker of silly lines aspiring poets believed as universal truths, a powerful patron and a dedicated wife, as well as a caring and gentle mother. But Flynn snapped back to reality.

"Are you… are you all right?"

"Y- yes," she stammered.

He softly parted her golden locks to check out her temple. With a gentle gesture, he massaged the skin to avoid the appearance of a visible ecchymosis. The Gothel would have been furious. She withdrew slightly at his touch, as a tide of dizziness washed through her. She wondered whether that was the impact's effect or his fingers'.

"You saved me, O noble princess," he whispered dreamily, recounting their childhood dreams.

She simply smiled back as they moved on. Through the small salon was the entrance to the tower, that magnificently fake disrepair that stood to remind and warn all that Time took all in its passage, and ever so slightly more importantly that whatever the Coronas wanted, they would have. The base was a stone-floored circular space, a large ovoid wicker swing hanging against the wall, padded with thick white cotton cushions wide enough for both of them to sit on. A single golden rope connected the basket to the top of the tower, and folded back down to the floor. Jerome and Evelyn Corona had meant to install the second elevator in Camfordshire there, but their architect, some man renown around all of Cornucopia, had protested, arguing for the symbolic value of heroic physical effort amidst the impermanence of human things and the wild forces of Nature. Mrs. Evelyn had only accepted because it was a nice story to tell her guests.

Discarding her riding boots onto the ground, Rapunzel climbed onto the swing by Eugene's side. She tucked her feet into the cushions and leaned against his shoulder. Through his jacket, she could feel his warmth pouring onto her arm. Oh, distracting sensation. With a practised gesture, he yanked at the rope, bringing to the top in a few pulls. They were heavier than they had been as children, but his strength had also grown over the years. Rapunzel found herself vaguely disappointed at the brevity of the ride.

Her bare feet treaded over the old carpet, releasing a chorus of dusty and dreamy scents. This had been one of their favourite hides as children, ideal for their princess-in-tower games. Over the recent years, it had only received few visits. The blinds were closed, and even though thin linear beams filtered through, it was specks of bright indigo light that illuminated the room.

"So here's where you moved the planetarium!" the tradesman understood.

It was a sphere as tall as half a man, an old version of Jerome Corona's own Earth globe that followed him everywhere in his travels. Brass continents were marked in the finest detail with roads of ground and rail, cities and counters, isles and peninsulas, harbours and zeppelin ports… The surface was delicately covered in a web of dashed lines, miniature mountain ranges and rivers and regularly spaced letters. The slow rotation was operated by a beautiful clockwork system, each little brass kink of a gear visible beneath the ocean's glassy, subtly wavy surface.

But the most striking was the light. Blue dots of raw constellite had been deposed onto the surface, projecting an indigo night sky onto the semispherical roof. In their younger days, the preceptor's son and his closest friend had worked at mapping the stars from the manor, and recording their work onto the globe. It was only natural to mark each celestial body with a fragment of constellite, the stuff of stars - 'borrowed' from the vast parental collection – that in turn printed a bright, slowly revolving star onto the dark vault of the room and the mysterious backbone of the Universe. The household was always hostile of the children playing with pure unprotected constellite crystals, especially the clumsy and precious little Rapunzel – Jerome Corona had been too busy to seem to care. The mineral, in its original form, was prone to sudden releases of the energy it stored, into rather powerful explosions. Usually, it was only handled when carefully shielded into some container. However, Punz seemed to have her way with it. At her touch, the crystals were never violent. Flynn even swore that they slightly grew into tiny dendritic fractal flowers as she had them bind to the surface of the planetarium. Logically, the Gothel rejected the presence of such a hazardous device in the manor, so she had it moved out. Flynn thought it was not such a bad idea.

As always, the two of them stood silent, gazing at the constellite-lit sky, tracing the trajectories of each speck as it slowly moved its way around them with bewildered eyes. The Corona heiress and her mentor's son had been taught that constellite formed from what the sun fed the earth, from the growth of plants and animals and their death, then the deposition of their remains deep under layers of sedimentation. At sufficiently extreme conditions of pressure and temperature, in the absolute subterranean darkness, these remnants rapidly crystallised into a translucent mineral that could capture and store the energy of photons. It was only when mined and first exposed to the light that the constellite gained its characteristic indigo gleam. And now the stuff of stars' light was returned to the greatness of the sky. A puny makeshift darkness, in the cramped rooftop of a tower in ruins, perhaps, but at least it was theirs, and it revolved around them.

"In all these years, I never forgot how simply magnificent this is," he commented. "All that time spent with you shall live on, as long as our planetarium rotates on its springs and gears."

It sounded like a phrase he had learned, but adapted in his own fashion, and that was beautiful.

"I want to see what the stars look like on the other side of the ocean," she said, almost matter-of-factly.

In the darkness his hand found hers.

"You shall see, someday, no doubt. It is a difficult luxograph to take, but I may get experts to try their best."

"No, I want to see it from my own eyes. I hardly believe in the luxographs and their chocolate rivers."

"That was an illusion from your funny little mind. What you see is hardly the truth."

"But at least it will be part of my night sky, my universe, and I will believe in it."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Flynn, take me with you. Your zeppelin is the fastest Corona & Sons has. Show me the stars as they appear in Eastern Extremesia."

"But… your father? And the Gothel? And Ella?"

"How do you care? It's just about you and me. About the people beneath this night sky."

And she completed with a simple, innocent-sounding, ladylike and pointless word:

"Please."

"I should not."

"Please."

"I cannot."

"Please."

"I shall not."

"Please!"

"I… oh, all right. Rapunzel Corona of Crownsworth, will you be my wife?"

Still holding her hand, he was down on one knee, pulling out a ring from his jacket's pocket. She barely distinguished the blue-diamond-studded golden shape through the obscurity. Royal blue was the colour of the Ashcrofts. Oh, the traitor, the criminal, she jubilated. Constellite stars danced on both their hands, faces and bodies. Slowly, she retracted her fingers from his. In the short silence that followed, they could almost hear the planetarium's clockwork engine ticking on its orbits.

"You are a liar, a scoundrel, and a smoldering traitor, Eugene Fitzherbert, and I hate you. For every minute of the rest of my life I will continue to despise you. I will never marry you! But... if you accept to be my Flynn, I will come with you."

She paused for an instant, letting both of them weigh her words.

"I'll be your spouse. I'll be your shadow. Just let me have my Flynn, and you and I will be together, forever, just like you want. Everything will be the way it was, when we were children. I promise. Just — let me — have him."

Of course she was lying, but could she really speak the truth? Could he truly accept had she said she intended to fix him? To make him someone he had never been, because she loved him for all of that? Could she open to him the contents of a mind she hardly knew or understood?

In the semi-obscurity, the answers hardly mattered, for he was her to fix, to play with, from that instant. From that very instant, whatever Mother Gothel may have said, Flynn was hers, Eugene was hers, and the Universe was hers. The Earth might rotate against its axis, and revolve around the sun, but the whole of the galaxy and the cosmic infinities revolved around her, slowly and inexorably in darkness, on sophisticated machinery of lead axles and golden gears, and around her alone.

Fun fact: Yes, Augustus 'Gus-Gus' is the mouse from Cinderella, that becomes a horse for a while. The CinderVerse saved me on that one. Nope, I don't want any (alive, present) OC's in this story. Just because I am annoying. That being said, the whole apple business somewhat reminds me of Augustus/Gus Coverly, of Tom Stoppard's wonderful Arcadia. Yes, that's the not-at-all-subtle shout-out I was referring to in the first Rapunzel chapter (and in this one). Crownsworth itself is inspired both in name and appearance from Chatsworth, even though with fabrics somewhat reminiscent of Stourhead and an underground gallery that is not too unlike Parque Güell in Barcelona. Hope that gave you Wanderlust ;)

Announcement: Prize for all reviewers for this chapter! You can give me the name of any object you want to figure in the next chapter in your comment. I promise to write it in. Be creative! (This story is rated T, please choose accordingly. A living person/being does not count as an object.) And like every time, R&R, F&F, please, please (constructively) review.