So, this chapter took me forever to write, despite the fact it's not that long. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for everything.

Chapter 10, where the recommended soundtrack is of course the (amazing) titular song.

Disclaimer: #insert

CW: mild violence

And at last she saw the light of the New World's sky. Their wooden barge sailed through the night, the sails wrapped against the mast in the calm of the windless air, causing the smallest of perturbations onto the perfect reflection of the firmament. Very quietly the motor rumbled deep under the water's surface, ever so slightly disturbing the silence. Rapunzel clung to the figurehead, a messy blonde braid softly beating her calves. She was draped in a simple puff-sleeved cotton dress, in the fashion of the Colonies of Eastern Extremesia, Pascal dimly glowing over her shoulder. The heiress and her betrothed had flown across the ocean in merely two sunrises and two sunsets aboard Corona & Sons' fastest airship. For greater discretion, they had landed on the Spaniard island of Pedazo and hired a barge to reach the mainland. A crew of Flynn's business acquaintances was due to greet them by steamcar in the small port of New Salamanca, far from the eyes of Corona & Sons.

"What time is it?" she mouthed softly, fumbling with the buttons of her watch-mirror-compass-frying pan.

"Midnight. Look before you."

Flynn's hands delicately turned her shoulders towards the shore. And the she saw them. Little by little, from the land, golden lanterns were released, rising in the nocturnal air. They drifted upwards, diffusing gently, wavering delicately, colliding soundlessly. Each was cylindrical, as high as one's forearm, wrapped in a thin layer of paper, each identical, and yet unique, glowering in a different hue of gold, rose, or pastel lilac. From tight flocks they spread into trails of constellations, filling both sky and sea with their light. Bewildered, Eugene and Rapunzel stood admiring as their boat floated amidst the paper stars.

"What are they? Why tonight at midnight?"

"That's a part of the First Weselton Exposition, hosted by the Duke of Weselton and sponsored by the Company of the Southern Isles. The idea is to show off the novel long-lasting constellite, with some new doping method which yields a characteristic yellow colour. Some of the Andersen underlings must be boasting about finding it before the Coronas."

"Everything's so… different."

"Yes."

Oh, how warm and real and bright. Could it all be real? Could she believe her eyes? All those years, she had lived watching the stars from the windows of counterfeit decrepit ivory towers, within the frontiers of an eternal gray fog that had suddenly lifted, revealing the skies anew to her curious eyes. Could this be the world? Could this be her world? As each lantern slowly danced into her field of vision, like an indolent flicker of hope, her mind reached out to see it, touch it, become it. And though she was small, she was the silence and the obscurity, the waters mirroring the sky, the cosmos reflecting the ocean, infinitely, and the millions of lights made from the stuff of stars, just like she was. And she stood, shining in the starlight, feeling the Earth turning beneath her.

Nothing was the way it had been. She felt tiny before the immensity. She felt immense before the darkness. As she saw the light, she forgot she was the heiress of one of the most prosperous empires of the Colonies. She forgot she was running away from her family's manor. She could not care less whether he was a hustler working for her father, whether he saw her as herself or as the wealthy only daughter of Jerome Corona. She could not care even about Miss Ella, about Mother Gothel or about the Crownsworth estate. There was just Punz and Flynn under the constellite light, and she loved him, and everything else failed to matter. She was fate, and there was where she believed she was meant to be.

A lantern gently drifted towards her, just above the still waterline, its constellite core visible through the thin paper envelope. She peered inside to see the golden stuff of stars powerfully radiate atop a slender, minuscule helix, coloured in black on one side and white on the other. The yellow light particles, reflected off the white surfaces and absorbed into the black, set it spinning to propel the lantern upwards. Rapunzel gave it a mild push towards the skies. As always, the constellite did her bidding like a tame bird. The warm light illuminated her emerald eyes and the fair strands of her abundant hair.

Flynn could not help smiling at the beautiful tableau. Punz was everything, and the photons emanated from every part of her, shedding light on his unknowing emotions. He might have been part of the plan, part of the universe. He might have been an adventurer after gold and adrenaline. He might have been an opportunist courting one of the most eligible bachelorettes of Cornucopia. He might have had everything prepared at the port unbeknownst to her to achieve his gold-digging plans. He might have been just a piece like another in and engine he could not control. But a cog in a well-oiled machine that spent a lifetime spinning eventually became oblivious of what the whole mechanism had been designed for, if at all. It then started to live and aspire for the beauty of its perfect circular rotation and its subtly intricate imbrication. And there he was, where he was meant to go, attached to a golden axle that was her, set in motion by the sole starlight that shone through her.

"I have something for you," she cut through his thoughts. "I should have given it to you before, but I was scared. And the thing is, I'm not scared anymore. You know what I mean?"

She opened her pocket watch the reveal the object she conserved inside. With a timid smile, she handed back the blue-diamond-studded ring. His hesitant eyes lingered on the small object on her open palm. He noticed something amusing. Then, with a playful smolder, his expert hand flew over hers, causing a warm tingle as his fingers barely met hers.

"What's this?" he asked with genuine curiosity, holding the small seed he had found encased between the diamonds of the ring.

Her green eyes widened as she slightly blushed.

"It's a present from my parents, the last time they had flown together across the ocean. Father had promised a gift to both his daughters, natural and adoptive. We were covered in lace, jewelry and fine silks, we'd run out for things to ask for. Miss Ashcroft wished for the first twig that brushed his shoulder. I begged for the first flower that blossomed on his path. At their return, the twig came back intact, and a new tropical tree was soon planted in the Crownsworth greenhouse. However, the flower withered away, as did Mother's health upon her return to Camford. In honour of her passing, Father never planted the seed from the flower, so I kept it inside the watch to always be close to her. Sorry, it wasn't supposed to end up stuck in here."

"It's quite all right," he fondly smiled at her clumsiness.

Gently he returned the seed that she preciously positioned back into her compass. She had passed the point of hesitation and fear, the point where her world had shifted, and for once she knew what she wanted. She had changed, like a flower that grew and blossomed, so she knew that she could change him. She knew that she could love him like she loved her parents' seed, for the eternity of a stable core and for the promise of a blooming flower. Just above them, two lanterns languidly orbited each other, soaring in a graceful waltz, until they were just specks in a blurred starry sky.

Surprised, he did not protest as her hand took his. She struggled for an instant to slide the ring onto his finger, until he skillfully seized it from her fumbling fingers to tenderly put it on himself. Neither of them interrupted the soft music of silence, contemplating each other with eyes full of wondrous starlight. Now that she saw him, now that he saw her, as what they were, what they had been, what they would be and what they would never be, they were parallel lanterns in the calm breeze dancing around and briefly colliding with each other, revealing what each other's core was made out of through a thin and supple barrier of paper.

Their eyes refused to leave each other, and their hands refused to part. Rapunzel tucked a strand of dark brown hair back behind Flynn's ear. Her slim fingers slid onto the shapely side of his jaw. Quietly, she drew his face towards hers.

Should he? Rapunzel was a flower, after all, pure and youthful, innocent and unique, delicate and mysterious, and he dared not touch her, alter her, change the way she was, radiant in the constellite light, just the way he loved her.

Could she? She wanted them to become one, right there, right then, to eventually break apart with profound collateral damage, jubilating in pain, deflowered and debased, to burn bright like one of those golden lilies and grow back from their ashes and cinders.

As they approached the shore, lulled by the nocturnal tide, the ebb and flow of questions washed through their minds.

Rapunzel's fingers slipped against his jaw as the ship reeled. A lantern collided with the figurehead. Oh, dreadful fate. Another hit the stern. Oh, how crazy fate was at them, how suddenly things had gotten out of hand again. The paper cylinders alone would not have been heavy enough for such substantial impact. A flicker of panic lit in Flynn's eyes as he saw the silhouette of a hook through each translucent envelope.

"Flynn, what's – Ahh!"

With a sickening sound, the barge detached from the water surface and was lifted into the air, suspended by thick steel cables to what appeared as a small black zeppelin overhead.

"What's going on?" yelped Rapunzel.

Flynn looked up to see the crossed daggers sigil on the aircraft's tail. That definitely did not look good. To answer her question, a ladder was dropped directly from the dirigible's belly onto the boat's narrow deck. In a heavy thump that swayed the wooden barge, an imposing dark figure landed before them.

"Who's that?" whispered the blonde young woman, a shiver of fear in her voice.

"He doesn't like me."

From the ladder dropped more men in black combat gear, panels of coalstring and leather tied together with an assortment of copper-tinted buckles, diverse blades and guns emerging from the side of their nail-studded boots, their heavy leather belts, their narrow sleeves and their thick shoulder pads.

"Who's that?"

"They don't like me either."

The last man to fall in front of them was in every aspect identical to the very first one. Flynn looked at them the one after the other, the other after the one, visibly confused that they could have been distinct people.

"Who's that?"

"Let's just assume for the moment that everyone in here doesn't like me!"

The twins walked on either side of the eloped couple, staring down at them menacingly. Even though their scars and rough build betrayed their mercenary past, their matched velvet doublets indicated a higher social status. Their forearms were covered in complex mechanical gauntlets, the little levers, cogs and springs lethally imbricated to deploy blades of a dreadful variety of shapes. Similar equipment was attached to the back of their boots.

"Ernest Stabbington," growled one of them as an introduction.

"No, I'm Ernest –"

"But that's what I –"

"No, you said –"

"I said that y- "

"Ahem," Flynn charmingly intervened.

"We are the Stabbington brothers, at the service of …"

"… His Excellence the Duke of Weselton, trusted friend to Mr. Frederik Andersen of the Southern Isles Company," Eugene finished. "I just didn't know there could possibly be two of you. One is far enough, oh dear."

"Rider, no-one told you to speak," grumbled Ernest-not-Ernest. "And you know what we're after. Where are the crowns? "

"Mmmh-mmmh mmh mmh-mmh-mmh, mmmh-mmh? Mmh –"

"Give him the right to speak, sir." interrupted Rapunzel defiantly.

"Oh, look at who we have here."

Not-Ernest-Ernest seized the frail woman by the arm and stroked a strand of her golden hair with a bladed finger.

"Blonde kilometric hair, still too young to fly away from the nest alone, supposedly distinguished manners. Our indicators were right, this is Miss Rapunzel Corona. Her father would pay a fortune to have her back. And maybe return the collection of crowns and jewellery we got from the savages in collaboration before you escaped with them on your own and flew to the Old Continent, Rider."

"Rapunzel has nothing to do with this! The gold belonged to us by right, the land where the natives buried it was granted to Corona & Sons by the Queen of Cornucopia, and you know that very well. The only reason we cooperated on this business is because Drifters that were a nuisance to you sat right where our gold was. We got you rid of them; do you really expect crowns and jewels on top of that? Now let her go!"

As they rose into the air, Flynn grabbed the closest lantern and thrust it at Mr. Stabbington's face. Surprised, he stepped back and loosened his grip on Rapunzel. The heiress managed to free herself, only to stumble against the side of the barge and nearly fall over. The other Stabbington brother caught her firmly.

"Let her go where? You're in the middle of the sky on a ship that can't fly! You're all ours now."

One of the brothers gestured at his henchmen.

"Radiomessage to Mr. Jerome Corona, tell him we have Rider and his daughter. Ask him to send us all the gold by the next sunset. You, install the periscopes into their barge cabin. Set amplifier parabolas too. Be ready to have luxographs and records for her father. I want to know everything they're up to, by day and night."

The designated man pulled on a grimace.

"Now!"

He ran away like a mouse scurried, amidst the paper starlight.

Meanwhile, in the Corona & Sons zeppelin of Plant Alpha, Mr. Corona sat at the large ovale table. His elbows heavily rested on the oaken wood. One hand clung to the delicate Western Extremesia porcelain handle of his empty tea cup. The other warily massaged his brown eyebrows and the pockets beneath his eyes. He shifted to replay the radiomessage, but could not find the motivation to. Waving at an attendant, he spoke in a numb tone:

"Fill a teapot with the Northwestern Elephantine brew please. Make sure that everything is poured from the right heights in the right order. Oh and, add a drop of the Spirit of Rosalba, please."

"Mr. Corona –" interjected Mr. Dingwall, but he rose a silencing hand.

"Immediately, sir." The servant left the room silently.

At this nocturnal time, the meeting room was nearly empty, save for himself and his trade partner and advisor Mr. Dingwall, a friend of Mrs. DunBroch's. The room was large enough to contain two dozens of people. The ceiling was curved like the inside of a whale's carcass, illuminated dimly by the golden constellite light from the clockwork globe at the centre of the table, the exact replica of the Camford one. Against the wall and on the ceiling were stuffed animal specimens of all colours and shapes, gathered across all known continents. Between bright feathers, patterned furs and iridescent scales shone their lifeless glass eyes, looking down at them dully.

"Sir, you do not have to pay that sum," carefully pronounced Mr. Dingwall. "These Stabbingtons are nothing we cannot handle."

"It is my daughter who has been taken hostage along with Mr. Fitzherbert."

"There is still the possibility to send an elite unit to free them, sir. We should be able to establish their position from the last message they sent, and they will send more."

"The fastest zeppelin we have was given to Flynn Rider for him to leave for Cornucopia with the crowns and jewels taken from the Drifters south of Plant Theta. He must have left it on some lone island somewhere. Without an aircraft that much faster than theirs, I can't see how we can take the Stabbingtons' warship by surprise."

"Oh, but we have one," answered Mr. Dingwall, to his slight surprise. "We are in the negotiation of a contract with Berk Steel, who happens to be the very owner of that little troublemaker that outflew our flotilla over the mines. My indicators send me a luxograph from the Exposition, it is clear that both the ship and the pilot belong to the Berk clan. That could simply be a small term of the contract to ask for the aviator's service and the ship for a day."

Jerome Corona rubbed his beard. It was a well-thought idea. Despite their past experience as mercenaries, the Stabbingtons had probably never faced anything like that particular glider. The extremely small and fast ship would be ideal to simply carry two people away with the minimal amount of blood and confrontation. However, he hardly liked the way Mrs. DunBroch and her men wanted to position themselves as the central hinge of this affair. Elinor was a clever negotiator who could play with the heart of humans to avoid conflict, but she was also ambitious and inexperienced. And that simply made too many intermediates to his liking.

He looked with a critical eye as the tea was poured into a new ivory cup, to his usual taste, carved with detail so fine it appeared translucent in the dim light. Jerome Corona was a man who had risen to wealth and power through a vision and a carefully controlled plan. From his subordinates and technicians to the chromosomes of his windowsill flowers, each part of his engine was chosen and designed to meet his objectives. Many of his supporters as well as rivals sold and bought machines and automatons in this age of steel and steam, keeping them like pet jaguars with the unspoken dread they might grow while eating from their hands, escape from their grasp and gnaw off their hearts during their sleep. Jerome had no such concerns. There was no balance of Nature that should not be played with in fear of retribution, for a man like him. There was simply an engine, an extremely complex and powerful one, his engine. He was playing a game that was at forceful but delicate, and he felt it slipping away from his hands.

He had had it all, until what he kept at once furthest from his hand and closest to his heart was taken from him. His only daughter, Rapunzel Corona. He had lost his wife to an Extremesian sickness, and his daughter meant so much more to him. She was truly the legacy of his body and his mind, and he could not afford to lose her. Suddenly, he thought about Mother Gothel. He missed her touch, her voice, that pinch of salt that made her inky hair even more beautiful. Her calculating ambition had served him with unknowing faith. He could not get himself to blame her, not after everything they had achieved together, and not before what they were about to achieve.

She must have understood the mugger and gentleman was playing against her by wooing Rapunzel. Reaching out to Corona & Sons' competitors to get rid of him as well as get her back, thus renewing her father's approval, was typical of her. That plan was undeniably her doing, and there was no way she would possibly hurt Rapunzel. She must have been the one to inform the Stabbingtons that Eugene and Rapunzel were fleeing together. Which meant that she had already planned the heiress's rescue. Letting that schedule unfold without a hitch was the most efficient way to get out of this affair without shedding gold or blood. Jerome Corona had a slight smile, as the alcoholic tea warmly poured between his lips. Eugene had been a good underling, a rare pet, but his sacrifice was necessary for the engine to continue its route.

"I say we wait before acting," he simply said. "Strike when the time is exactly right, and that is neither now, nor tomorrow."

Rapunzel and Flynn were simply tossed into the barge's cabin, each with an ankle tied with coalstring to the door's hinges. A simple dim candlelight lit up the cramped space. Through the ceiling, a periscope and an amplifying system allowed the Stabbington brothers to spy every of their moves and words. There was no way they could even speak about escaping Heavily, Eugene slumped onto the lower of the bunk beds. What had he done to her? She did in no way deserve this.

"Do you remember when we hid under the bed when we were children, and pretended that was our impregnable fort?" she said cheerily.

Why was she so naïve, so innocent, so positive? Oh, Rapunzel, sweet Rapunzel… But before he had time to protest, she forcefully dragged him under the bed, in the partial shadows of the tumbling sheets. The darkness was near total. He could feel himself gently dozing off. At least, they would sleep away from the Stabbingtons' stare, down there.

The heiress simply opened her closed fist. A tiny light lit up the darkness and the hopeful gleam of her long golden braid. She must have taken it out of the lantern he had thrown at the mercenary holding her. None of the men would have suspected she happened to be so unexpectedly skillful with handling constellite. Then, with a playful smirk, she fumbled into her messy plait to drag out a small pin. And slowly, silently, she started to carve onto the bed's wooden planks just above their faces. Letters. Words. A plan. She had some idea of one, or at least they could make one. In the golden obscurity, far away all eyes and ears, they could start to scheme. Under their new starlit sky, which was low, hard and wooden, they could expand their own universe.

Long minutes later, as she finally fell asleep, the constellite light still shining in her open palm and making her hair shine in an almost surreal blonde light. Now that he saw her, he was suddenly reminded of a lullaby from their childhood, and very quietly he started to hum. The words came back to mind:

Flower, gleam and glow

Let your power shine…

Fun fact: Flynn's zeppelin is about 1.5 times faster than the Hindenburg, which would have taken roughly 3 days to make the journey from e.g. London to Havana. (Yes, the AU planet is as large as Earth – gravity reasons). Rosalba is the Country of the Rising Sun, so the Spirit of Rosalba is the equivalent of sake.

Announcement: you may have noticed I changed the title and synopsis. Thanks to Blooming Snowflake for the suggestion. Please R&R, F&F, constructively comment :)