There's a Party Here in WeaselTown
"Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence."
– Helen Keller
The common man.
Since time immemorial, many have wondered about the true secret of success for how the common man could live his life. Every man, woman and child all held goals and wishes. It was the indelible nature of man to live well and content, and more often than not, to aspire to reach for something greater than themselves. There was always an abundance of surprises and opportunities for one to seize in the journey of their dream, to guide their hearts and let fate decide the lives they saw.
Such was the world humanity now lived in, a world filled with color and hope. It held delightful animals, with brightly colored birds that sang a hopeful song at the breaking dawn and majestic horses that charged across the wild plains as free as the wind. There were countless wonders and treasures to behold, whether from the roaring waterfalls in the Arendelle Mountains to the sparkling waters of the vast Seven Seas that shined under the moonlight. The world brought wonder, hope, joy and dreams to all. There were nights where the stars that could be seen as clear as crystal, so inviting in their promise of flight and freedom, made one's spirit soar and imagine the impossible. The world had a defiant grandeur about it, as if its regal beauty and the terrible forces of nature were challenging man to conquer it in pursuit of the horizon and the mysteries therein.
What lies beyond the horizon?
What's on the other side of the sky?
Go and find out.
This was the thirst of man. A burning desire that awakened in the heart to go further than any had ever gone; to sail the greatest ocean in a grand ship with billowing sails or to climb the highest mountain peak to reach for the clouds, and to uncover sights and places no other had found. Many ancient spirits and Eternals that had walked the earth for eons would claim that humanity was too curious for its own short-lived good, too aggressive and adversarial. But in truth, it was actually a competition with life itself. However it may appear to others never truly mattered. What was truly important about the nature of man was that it was linear. Every time a man made a venture or endeavor in life, a hundred different things could happen next. But the point was that you never knew what would happen. You try to anticipate, set a plan for all the possibilities as best as you can, but in the end it all comes down to taking one step after another and to see what happens. With each new step, the journey in life begins to take shape and you never knew what that shape was until it was completed. In fact, life would not be worth undertaking if you knew what was going to happen.
The simplicity of this truth would baffle many, mortal and otherwise. Mankind valued its ignorance of what was to come. It was the unknown that defined their existence. Humanity constantly kept searching, not just for answers to their questions, but to find new questions. They were a species of explorers. They explored their lives, day by day, and they explored the world to expand the boundaries of their knowledge.
Many could live the lives they always wished for, taking steps into a wonderful future. With peace across the lands, man always could reach for greatness and surpass it.
And our story begins with one such individual who recognized and understood this wisdom, and cherished the freedom it gave. A man that appreciated that it was the freedom to choose how to live his life that made him human, and never allowed anyone to tell him otherwise. Someone who thirsted for treasure and adventure, to seek out the greatest thrills and live every excitement in life to the fullest!
Provided that he survived his encounter in the upper-district of Weaseltown-ahem, Weselton, with a particularly angry shopkeeper.
~o~O~o~
CRASH!
"Get back here with my boots!"
'Okay, maybe I should have waited until after he closed. I never do the obvious thing!'
Flynn Rider, boots in hand, quickly dashed up the stairs three steps at a time with the upset shopkeeper trying to catch up.
Reaching the top and rounding the corner, Flynn slipped through the first door he saw. It was an attic room filled with extra wool, silk and fabrics needed to stock the tailor shop below. Not breaking his stride, he rolled underneath the sewing table in the center of the room before righting back onto his feet with barely a falter in his step. His sharp eyes swept over the room in under a second looking for an escape before settling on the open window in the upper rafters.
The window was high up out of the thief's reach. Stacking fabrics and silk would make a rather unstable tower to climb, which was not an appealing thought. But knowing he only had about fourteen seconds before the angry fella could catch up, he doubted he had the time to arrange enough of the room's furniture to climb up.
BANG!
'Okay, FAST angry fella.'
The irate shopkeeper burst into the attic, red in the face as his maroon longcoat. Now that he could get a closer look, Flynn could see that the man was actually a big fast angry fella. It was a surprise that he was able to fit through the door, let alone be able to sew threads so delicately with those giant hands of his.
"Can't pay the price like an honest man, so you resort to stealing?!" he bellowed.
If anything, Flynn looked offended. "Five hundred gold coins for a pair of footwear? Now that's robbery!"
The shopkeeper bared his teeth and puffed out his chest, which somehow made him even larger. "This is my shop! I can make my wares whatever the hell kind of price I like!"
Glancing at the sewing table between them and the man's broad shoulders, Flynn got a sneaky idea before he remarked "And in a just world, I might agree with you. But this is not a just world, this is Weselton."
The shopkeeper snapped. "You're a dead man!"
The shopkeeper's arms swung for the thief, only for Flynn to casually lean out of reach as the man was cut off when he bumped hard into the wide table and knocking several delicate items off.
"Whoa! Step lightly there, my friend. You might hurt yourself."
A vein pulsed in the frustrated man's forehead as he roared and then lunged forward to climb over the table to get at the smart-mouth… which was exactly what Flynn wanted him to do. Moving swiftly, he leapt onto the table when the large man came forward, then leapt on the man's shoulders to get a boost up and then out through the window!
"Wait, what the- HEY!"
Flynn expertly slid down the tile roof, wrapped his hand around the prominently hanging 'Perfect Fit- We'll Sew You Up Good!' advertisement sign and swung down to the cobblestone street.
"Thanks for the business!" he called back as he took off into the crowd.
If anyone had looked up towards the attic window, they would have seen the angry shopkeeper who was tall enough to reach the window as he tightly gripped the window sill.
"STOP THAT M-"
Thunk!
The window had abruptly dropped shut and closed… on his hands. The sound of his yelp of pain was muted by the closed window. To any onlooker, it would look like an angry man soundlessly shouting expletives behind the glass like an idiot.
Then he disappeared from the window altogether in a manner that suggested that the table underneath him had collapsed under his weight.
'I did warn him that he might hurt himself.'
As Flynn ran through the streets of Weselton with his latest spoils of victory in hand, he felt his heart practically humming with adrenaline and thrilling exhilaration. The rush of the evening air was most invigorating to his jubilant spirit and he couldn't help but laugh with pure excitement!
'This is the life! Going someplace dangerous, stealing something expensive, and mocking the bad guys!'
He reveled in the adventure that was his life. Being able to see new lands, reaching for treasures no one else dared, answering to no man, and never knowing what other surprises would be waiting for him just around the corner! Ah, the raw stink of possibility and adventure! Letting his heart dance, outsmarting knights and kings, and the delight of getting away with it!
And the prizes that fell into his hands! Truly magnificent spoils and rewards from such a daring life to be had! It was the purest example of the wise old term 'fortune favors the bold'!
Flynn Rider was not a common pickpocket or street urchin. He was something entirely different. An ordinary thief would slink away into the shadows full of fear. That prospect was boring. But if you strode away with your spoils while bursting with song proudly, then what you are is a legend!
Flynn's thirst for extraordinary adventure and the promise of riches had first awoken twelve years ago shortly after his ninth birthday. He had been born in the kingdom of Strihaven, or at least as far as he could remember, and was raised in an orphanage. Back then, he had a different name. Eugene Fitzherbert. (He always swallowed uncomfortably at the thought of that name). While he never knew his parents, the orphanage's caretakers were kind and looked after him and the other kids. He had always been the one to laugh loudest and worked hard to make the other children smile. Every child had a different story and it wasn't long before he had become a natural charmer with others. Everyone felt at ease around him and found themselves being open and straightforward with him. And whenever he grew excited, everyone around him felt it too with a sense of growing anticipation, as if something grand was approaching.
That sense of eagerness all started on the day that the nine-year-old orphan came across a book that changed his life forever, the story of a legend who inspired him to become the man he was today. 'The Tales of Flynnigan Rider.' From the very first words, the boy was instantly captivated.
Many generations ago, far away to the west, lived a great man of fortune and adventure. A man unlike any that came before. An exemplar of great courage and bold exploits that had many times changed the course of history. Until one fateful day when he vanished from the world without a trace and his name became legend. The name of Flynnigan Rider.
The words were so profound and inspiring in their story of a great man; he spent many late nights with a candle as he reread the stories of the great Rider over and over again. It was the tale of a man who never stopped dreaming of adventure and setting out to live one every day throughout his lifetime, so immaculately adorned in fortune as an individual of distinction. In his vast travels, he had fought pirates, tangled with ancient sorcerers, vanquished monsters, and challenged myths. There was nothing he couldn't do, nowhere that he couldn't go. He never considered anything to be unfeasible, especially after he had done it himself. He spoke of the impossible and made it real. The world was his to grasp, and he never stopped reaching.
Do you have the courage, the will to excel in all that you do? the book had asked.
And when the young boy read the tales of such marvelous adventures to the other children, the sparkling twinkle of dreams and wonder dancing in their eyes awoke something inside him. Something incredible.
A life unlived is no different than death. But as a well-spent day brings a happy sleep, so a life well-used brings a happy end. A life without regret is a life well-lived. Feel the limitless freedom in the air that surrounds us as your inner self yearns to break free and become a part of it. The sun piercing through the skies, a thunder cloud roaring to be heard and an unstoppable wind that cannot be contained as it rushes for the endless horizon. Harness that very spirit, and there is nothing you cannot do.
At that moment, he understood what the book meant, what the legend was trying to tell him.
A journey of a lifetime is a journey no one else will travel and no else can judge; a path of happiness and hurt, where the challenges are great and the rewards even greater…
That was when a new Flynn Rider was born. He knew he would never truly be able to replace the great Flynnigan Rider, but he could still proudly take up the mantle and become just like the man his idol was. Strangely enough, the very moment he had decided upon this course in life, he suddenly staggered and felt lightheaded like an unseen breeze swept past him. It was like a wave of something powerful and liberating washed over him. He felt different, as if something deep inside him had been changed forever like a river joining with another. Everything around him seemed brighter and it filled him with an excitement he had never known before. It suddenly felt as though the world was open before him, both as a welcome and a challenge.
And he began right at his home in Strihaven.
~o~O~o~
Years ago...
Even when he was only six years old, three years before he first found the book that changed everything for him, he always noticed how the orphanage caretakers always immediately quieted their discussions when either he or one of the other children entered the room, and when they resumed in hushed whispers behind held hands when they thought they couldn't hear. But even at that young age, he had very sharp hearing. For once, that was not a good thing. Combined with his notice of the poor amounts of food, the tattered blankets, windows covered in grime, and many other things that no one ever got around to fixing, his suspicions had been confirmed.
The orphanage was running out of money.
Strihaven was by no means a poor or impoverished kingdom of ill fortune. As a member of the renowned Alliance, Strihaven had prospered steadily. However, the monarch of the realm, King Willard of Strihaven, also known as the 'Fox King', was not known for compassion or generosity towards the common people either. Moreover, the orphanage of Flynn's upbringing resided in one of the kingdom's more overlooked and insolvent regions, which left a disturbing number of families in the streets. More children kept pouring into the orphanage, and while most of the caretakers promised to look after anyone that came under their wing, they did not have the coin to provide for them all. As time stretched on, the children grew thin and dressed in rags.
What broke Flynn's heart just as much was the crestfallen look in the blue eyes of Astella, the founder and lead caretaker of the orphanage and the legal guardian of all its children. Just standing in front of her gave everyone a sense of calm and motherly comfort, a kind presence that made you feel as though you were falling asleep, warm and loved, feeling utterly safe. Not to mention that, despite how much trouble Flynn got into with the other caretakers, Astella was the only one who could always put him in his place with just the look in her eyes that never failed to give a cold shiver of anxiety. It was too much for even his sly nature.
But the twinkle in her eyes was fading, along with most of the color in her hair from stress and despair. While she still always put on her usual soothing face with full upturned lips to keep everyone assured that everything would be fine, the young boy could see through it. Her smile didn't reach as high anymore and her skin no longer held her pure rosy hue. There was worry, anxiety, and fear in Astella's fragile eyes. The boy saw that she didn't know what to do anymore, and neither did he.
One night, the young Flynn grew too hungry to sit still anymore. He slipped outside into the night in the desperate hope of finding some food to fill his growling belly. He didn't care if he had to look on the ground or even in the garbage. Then he came across a food stand in the marketplace. Even though he had no money, the sight of such fresh and ripe food was too much for him to resist, and his tummy agreed. Holding his breath as quietly as possible, he approached the stand without the merchant even knowing he was there. Quick as a fox, he swiped two apples and a loaf of bread and then ran as fast as he could. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious before!
But when he sneaked back into the orphanage, he saw once again how hungry everyone was while he had filled his belly. At that moment, he knew that he had to keep trying. He needed more food, not just for himself anymore but for everyone else. The very next night, he slipped out once again and went to work. He soon learned that he was easily ignored or passed. Most grown-ups never even noticed him, and he used it to his advantage. Night after night, once everyone was asleep, he would sneak out and return several hours later after being painstakingly careful to lift food without being seen. He brought back cheese, milk, bread, fruit, and sometimes a little corned beef.
Of course he didn't tell anyone! The young boy was well aware that his means of feeding everyone was less than legal and had no intention of getting anyone else involved. Rather clever for his young age, he always made sure to leave the food in a sack by the front door, easy to be found as if left by an anonymous donor. As Astella and everyone else could finally start eating well again, some of the more faithful caretakers believed that there was a guardian angel watching over them and the children. The young boy couldn't help but flush bright red at the indirect praise, feeling his heart glow at being thought of in such an adoring manner by bringing food to them.
It wasn't long before he became much more versed in the art of his craft. At his young age, he couldn't do any work that would get him nearly as much money as a grown-up would. Smart and clever, he knew that if he was ever caught, it would mean more than just himself being punished as everyone back at the orphanage could be implicated as well. And just as important, he would no longer be able to help provide food for them. Therefore, the young boy understood that discretion was paramount in this work. Being a small child worked well in his favor, as few paid any attention to simple street urchins.
Regardless, he had too much depending on him to rely entirely on the chance that no one would look twice. He could not afford to make even a single mistake. Failure to not be seen would show him no mercy or sympathy, nor would it be considerate or fair. He had to learn to walk the streets freely; seen, but unseen. To blend in and become invisible. So he dedicated himself to practicing what he could do with the determination that only a child could possess.
Soon enough, he had realized that while everyone was eating healthy again and carefully rationing the food to great effect, it still wasn't enough. The orphanage was still in a terrible state of disrepair. The other children still wore patched rags, huddled around candles to keep warm, slept in torn blankets and weak beds. Worst of all, some of them were in need of medicine. Such things could only be taken care of with money.
This was something he handled far more delicately. While he quickly picked up the craft of pickpocketing easily enough and turned out to be quite the natural for it, he had to choose his 'marks' carefully. After seeing how much Astella and the children suffered from having nothing, he wasn't proud of taking from others. He remembered how cold and hungry he had felt, and refused to make anyone undeserving experience that same hardship, especially with the difficult lifestyle most people had within his district of Strihaven. It was much simpler whenever he went for food since he took extremely little, as no one would notice a single missing apple or two slices of cheese gone missing from a single stand. It was why he spent more than a few hours during his late-night adventures, since he collected a cumulative amount from multiple food markets all over the kingdom. But when it came to money, he only lifted from fat merchants that were well-off or the occasional noble, both of whom could easily afford the loss of a single purse of gold coins and their lives would go on with hardly a hiccup in their finances.
As time moved on, he was soon old enough to walk out in broad daylight, though not until after a lengthy process of convincing Astella that he could take care of himself without a chaperone! But since he was now without the more innocent and inconspicuous appearance of a young child, the prospective thief went through a complete revision of his ability to hide and blend in. Despite his growing developments, his build still worked to his advantage. He was tall, but neither thin nor thick and he could now adjust his height by several hand-spans depending on how he carried himself. He quickly learned that posture was everything. His sharp eyes had noticed the distinction between the proud bearing of a nobleman and the subdued posture of a simple peasant. He took this observation to heart, teaching himself about his shoulders and hips, the size of his stride and the vigor of moving his arms, how to hold his head and how to merge into a crowd and change without anyone noticing. He practiced by transforming from the appearance of an orphan to a mere apprentice on an errand to a sickly boy with no money— all in the same day without even changing his clothes. The pinnacle of his self-testing came when he walked right through the personal space of a well-dressed noble, and the man didn't even glance his way!
Still, he intended to take himself even further, as the words of Flynnigan Rider pushed him ever on.
A single-minded man who sees only his goal is never able to truly live his life. You must also carry an awareness of the world around you, of both opportunities and danger. The obstacles in your path define the path. What stands in the way becomes the way. Your senses are the key; sight is not your only tool to perceive the world. The ground beneath your boots, the smell on the breeze coming your way, and even the manner of the wind picking up the tails of your coat. Rely on all of your senses equally and the world will reveal itself to you.
Always remember that observation is the most revered attribute of the mind, for it is where intelligence is born. Appreciate it, cultivate it, and you will be as wise as any scholar and as sharp as any hunter.
As Flynn pondered this particular lesson one night during practice, it suddenly felt as though a hidden part of his mind woke up and he was aware of everything. His senses took in everything around him, soaking in sights, sounds, scents. He was aware of the heavy steps from a nearby patrol of guards, exhausted from the day's events as they complained about their captain's drinking problem. He was aware of a small nest of birds above, chirping happily as their mother brought dinner. He was aware of the fresh steam in the air from a nearby blacksmith finishing his latest work. He was aware of the wind's current, there would be a storm tonight and the orphans would need their blankets. It was unlike anything he experienced before as all his senses seemed stronger than ever, melded together like a fuse. Overjoyed and taking it as a sign that he was on the right path, Flynn dedicated himself to exercising his senses in entirely new ways. Weeks that turned into months of such practice and honed experience had left behind nothing but polished instincts and a rather unique sixth sense that become practically autonomous, acting like an inner hawk watching through his eyes that looked out for him and picked up on even the slightest hint of danger.
However, puberty soon provided the thief with yet another prospective trial. His frame seemed determined to avoid the plain yet peculiar gangliness of most boys his age. Instead, his skin had turned fair with a natural creamy tan, thick wavy locks of hair as rich as stirred chocolate, a naturally chiseled jaw and cheekbones and honey brown eyes. Whatever other developments he went through, he started attracting the attention of almost anything feminine that happened to catch sight of him. Many girls watched him, giggling and smirking at him from behind their hands.
A natural charmer already, he took great joy in exploring relations with the fairer sex. His warm and enticing voice, along with how he soon proved himself a master wordsmith when it came to charm, never failed to make a girl melt. An alluring wink that tantalized the senses and offered a promise of sweet delight, his smooth disarming smile where the whites of his perfect teeth always seemed to sparkle. The young thief's charm and handsome looks always turned them to butter in his arms, blushing and breathing heavily.
It was yet another skill among many that Flynn passionately devoted years of practice to. Throughout his growing experience, he practiced every trick he learned as a man obsessed.
Anyone can find strength and skill if they devote the effort and time to it. A warrior can exercise, an assassin can practice and a sorcerer can study. Training, experience, instinct; these were all important qualities for anyone that when properly honed and polished to shine, one would have the potential to overcome any obstacle. But even these qualities were powerless without one crucial string of elements.
Conviction. Will. Motivation.
Without these qualities, no amount of training in the world would make a difference. The right inspiration, like a mother bear fighting to protect her family, allows one to challenge the odds, surpass their limits, and overcome the impossible. Throughout his childhood and self-training, Flynn Rider's only teacher was his drive and motivation was to protect the orphanage that had taken him in and gave him a home. His desire to feed and provide for those he cared for fueled his training to become a master thief. Acting nonstop upon this motivation throughout his self-instruction for over a decade gave him a strength and vigor unlike any other, and it affected the core of his training so profoundly that his skills as a thief evolved beyond precedent.
By the time the prospective thief was in the prime of his teenage years, his efforts for the orphanage bore fruit. They had food, medicine, and money in their pockets again. He had taken only a few amounts at a time during his capers, but they added up over time with Astella's careful management of the gifts from their 'guardian angel'. The gold he swiped from the pockets of nobles was especially bountiful for them. But Flynn's yearning for excitement could not be restrained. He didn't want to be confined to the realm of Strihaven, he knew there was no future for him there.
A life without regret is a life well-lived.
More of Flynnigan Rider's words came back to him.
Put your faith in what you most believe in. When the day finally arrives that you find a way to live that you can truly be proud of, you will be thrust into your own grand adventure. You will find the treasure that makes the adventure of life worth living and fighting for.
Whatever that would be, he knew in his heart that he would never find it in Strihaven.
Only the fearless can be truly great; he who is willing to take the first step to face the surprise of the unknown and make the leap of faith. If you want to discover what can make you great, then you must take the helm and chart your own course. Seek the desire of yours that is greater than yourself. Never stop reaching for the day when you can test your true potential and show what you are made of.
That was the dream he wanted more than anything. He could see himself standing out there as an admired man of great renown and great vision, riding atop a majestic white horse while dressed in fine threads suiting his life achievements as a thousand gold coins spilled from his pockets like drops of rain. A hero, an explorer and an adventurer. There was no telling what greatness awaited him out there in the world!
But he still had to leave the orphanage behind, and saying goodbye to Astella was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. He explained as best he could how he was finally ready to go out into the world on his own, and make his own life. His fortune was out there somewhere.
To this day, Rider still had no idea how the woman knew all along that it was him bringing the food and money for all those years. How did she always know? While Astella did not exactly approve of theft, she told him that intent was the only thing that mattered, and his actions were not for avarice or gluttony. His entire childhood of thieving was to help others, and knew this would forever define him for the rest of his life. He would never become a depraved or immoral man.
But Astella, bless her heart, still worried for Flynn. While his heart was in the right place, not everyone in the world would see it that way. But he was undeterred, resolute in his dream to seek out his fortune. She warned him that there was always a distinct line between what one wanted and what one needed. To that end, one didn't need a fortune to stride on and be content in life. He understood that sentiment well enough, but in the end it wasn't simply about what he needed. Flynn wanted food that wouldn't make him ill. He wanted walls that would keep out the winter winds and summer heat. But more than that, he didn't want to live a stagnant life. He didn't want to spend his days staying in one place, and certainly not a plain ordinary job like a spinster's apprentice or the steward of some random knight. If he did, then he would never be able to go anywhere or do anything meaningful with such a life. Instead, he wanted something that was worth dedicating his life to, something worth fighting to achieve or obtain. He wanted adventures that would give him cherished memories that he would treasure throughout his life.
He could see in his mind's eye a ship surrounded by sea with no land in sight, and without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come that promised the potential of the unknown. To stand at the helm of your destiny. That was what he wanted. He wanted to walk through the royal gardens of Glowerhaven and bask in their aroma. He wanted to taste the best food in the sunny kingdom of Corona, made by cooks using the finest ingredients from all over the world. He wanted the warmth of a smiling, beautiful woman in a cool set of silk sheets, a night of dancing to Seahaven festival music, to stand atop the peak of an Arendelle mountain and feel the summer sun on his face for as long he could. He wanted to climb the highest castle tower, ride the river, gaze up to the stars… and most of all, he wanted to see, do and have something that no one else ever had.
In his eyes, Astella could see a light that she had never seen before. He was a strong bird that was trapped in a cage, yearning to break free and stretch its wings at last, to soar through the sky where it belonged. This was the path his heart wanted, and after some consideration, she touched his shoulder gently and kissed him on the cheek, encouraging him to follow his heart.
But Flynn Rider was not about to leave empty-handed. He may have intended to leave the orphanage behind, but not without ensuring that they would be set for life and no longer have to worry about their future. The orphanage that had taken care of him and he provided for in return had chafed under King Willard's policies long enough. The hawk instincts that now lived permanently in Flynn's mind chirruped in agreement. It was time that the Fox King paid for it… right from his very own treasury.
And what better way to start a lifetime adventure than heading off into the sunset with a king's ransom?
Less than thirty-six hours later, the palace alarm had rung out and the news spread like wildfire. Word was all over the kingdom as everyone couldn't stop talking about the story of how a thief had somehow infiltrated the king's palace completely undetected. The main suspect was described as "skilled and extremely attractive." He had made off with three sacks stuffed with gold and the king's prized diamond necklace that held at its center a sapphire the size of a man's thumb. Furthermore, if the rumors were to be believed, the thief had also stolen the heart of King Willard's latest wife as well. The foxy king and his guards had barged in on the man escaping out the window of his wife's private room, her cheeks blushed redder than a ripe strawberry and giggling like a schoolgirl.
There was such commotion about the kingdom of Strihaven that no one noticed a large chest filled with gold being delivered to an orphanage. When the head caretaker had asked, the delivery service was in fact part of the crew of a very happy traveling jewel merchant. Apparently, a handsome stranger had offered the jewel merchant a valuable necklace as payment for passage aboard his ship and the rest of his payment to the merchant was to be delivered in gold to a specific orphanage.
Every man is born as just a man. But if you make yourself more than a man, if you devote yourself to what you most believe in and never allow anyone to stop you, then what you become is legend.
For the next seven years, word had spread across the kingdoms of a ghost of a thief making off with royal treasures and prizes from a noble's private collection. Other captured criminal elements spoke highly of a striking man calling himself Flynn Rider. Nothing expensive was beyond his reach, no matter how impossibly fortified the treasure was, and he would then slip away into the crowd with a smile. His ability to sneak into the most guarded of treasuries or offices and getting whatever document or jewel he sought was legendary. He always seemed to have the most accurate of information and had a knack for feeling where to go for the next lead when searching the trail of something. Even more impressive, it was exceedingly difficult to get a statement or a description of the man from the populace. What no one knew was that the thief had subtly distributed much of the wealth he stole to most of the citizens of the kingdoms and nations, not as bribes but gifts. Every potential witness remained tight-lipped, as no one wanted to be the one to turn in such a well-loved figure that gave much-needed gold away to everyone for free. Furthermore, most of the female population remained especially adamant about not sharing anything about the dashing rogue. He seemed impossible to catch.
Many truly began to wonder if the legend of Flynnigan Rider himself had returned.
~o~O~o~
Today...
Alas, there were some lands that would not allow one to rise as Flynn had and would instead shackle the human spirit in chains.
From a distance, the city of Weselton seemed picturesque in appeal. A city bursting to the brim with noble wealth and clerical influence, surrounded by a circle of rolling hills and trees with a wide blue river snaking through the basin. As a major conduit where all forms of trade and finances were conducted, the docks at the bay were a remarkable sight. Ships arrived every hour, practically overflowing with valuable cargo.
Weselton was a central hub for trading imports and exports from numerous regions, and with so much important business and visits from people of major influence, it had quickly grown since its foundation into a city larger than most average kingdoms.
From then on, cobblestone streets stretched for miles everywhere one could look. The city was dense, more so than most kingdoms, buildings were built almost on top of each other; wall to wall and roof to roof. The architecture was grand and extravagant, with rows of houses built closely together, decorated facades, and arches leading to inner courtyards and markets. The streets were chalk full of stands: spices, fruits, weavings, cloth, fish, carpets, breads, fishhooks, everything the mind could imagine. Weselton had an overabundance of merchants trading their wares, to commoner and noble alike. From the way the people chatted, haggled and bantered on the streets, it easily appeared to be the place to live where fortunes were to be made and life went on.
However, under the surface, the truth was far more disconcerting.
The city was enclosed by high stonewalls and ramparts, with high-reaching watchtowers and reinforced gates and long-range cannon bastions leading into the city. The defenses were clearly designed by someone who was paranoid about keeping the city under control and protecting his power.
At the upper class ring, the air was filled with the delightful aroma of a thousand perfumes. The affluence and prosperity of the region shouted out at everyone, from the sprawling estates on either side to the cleanliness of the cobblestone road underfoot. As a conduit for the most influential figures in all the lands, only the true elite of society were permitted to live here. Most composed of either nobles or the most successful of merchants and businessmen that were as rich as royalty. The sweat and blood of the Weselton commoners were all exploited to line the pockets of the wealthy. They reaped all the fruits of the working class and barely left any scraps for them. They were content to sit comfortably in their overly lavish homes, having tea and crumpets and making small talk while the rest of the city struggled to make it through the seasons.
Parents cuddled their bone-thin children on the streets, begging for loose change and scraps while the rich stuffed their faces with fine wine and roasted goose turkey. Many women were forced to turn to 'less-than-dignified' professions for a handful of silver coins while the upper class wore a king's ransom in fine clothing or jewelry around their necks. What little meager savings were earned by the common folk was barely enough to keep bread and water on the table, let alone water to bathe or warm blankets that weren't patched and sewn over many occasions.
The worst of times came when the nobles would throw a ridiculously extravagant party over birthdays, personal holidays or even some nephew's wedding anniversary. The expenses that went into the decorations alone could fund the construction of a hundred residential middle-class houses. No less than thirty carts filled with food and other cooking ingredients would roll into the event, each cart carrying enough food to feed either one noble in a single night or twenty peasant families for a month.
And tomorrow, the Duke of Weselton himself was throwing the largest party in a decade.
Of all the nobles in the city, none were more greedy or conniving than the Duke. His royal sovereign had made him the governor of the city which was the most thriving colony of the kingdom. He was a shrewd politician and never hesitated to use anything to aid his own selfish ambitions. He had a lifetime bad habit of mixing personal gain with more humanitarian goals, flat-out refusing any project or treaty that didn't somehow favor himself. The Duke also never missed a chance to show off his wealth and influence to impress other individuals of authority.
The Duke's ball, his latest project at dazzling others, was to be hosted at his very own mansion with the finest of food, the most exotic dancers and anyone of importance from near and far was invited. Nobility, merchant lords, admirals and rumor persisted amongst the staff that even members of royalty might attend.
Most of the common people had to ration what little food and money they had six months in advance as if they were preparing for a year-long winter. The cost of the party was astronomical and while the Duke still paid for some of the finer and more expensive things (to impress the local lords with his own wealth), he still levied most of the fees to the commoner's debts and taxes to him.
Regardless, many in the city expected that the money spent by the newly-arriving nobles from other lands in local businesses, inns and markets would help shoulder some of their rapidly inflating taxes and dues during the days prior and after the ball. Until then, with the ball only twenty-four hours away, most of the city guard were diverted to the harbor ports to escort the newly arrived dignitaries while the rest were assigned to the Duke's castle. Most of the city grew still in anticipation for the event. Many put on the best clothes they owned and readied their finest wares in preparation for the chance of any wandering nobles or tourists. Still, when the full crescendo of the Duke's ball would reach its peak, most of the important figures would be at his castle and far from the local businesses. No one expected anything else exciting for the next few days.
'Or so it was it believed,' Flynn smiled to himself.
Despite appearances, Flynn was anything but a fool and was in fact as clever and quick-witted as they came. Certainly, not when he had already been in the city for almost a week. With all the different kingdoms and cities he had visited in his adventures, it wasn't until he arrived here in Weselton that he had found a place that was so relentless in taxes, regulations and restrictions over the people. It was as bad as it was for his childhood orphanage back in Strihaven, if not worse.
He tried his very best not to gag as he overheard a nearby town-crier spout propaganda about the 'generosity' of the Duke and how everyone must always trust the word of their lords while also to continue their 'contributions' to the Duke.
Flynn was a cheerful, optimistic and free-spirited young man. The possibility of trouble rarely bothered him, and often simply made things more exciting. The number of things that could actually make him angry could be counted on one hand. Gross abuse of power and neglect of the common people was certainly one of them. He had traveled through many kingdoms in his recent years and while there had always been a few poor folks who had not done well in life and felt mistreated by those in power, most of those nations had very kind and respectable monarchs and nobility who treated the lower class well and with fair treatment before the law and more.
And yet, here he was in Weselton watching a homeless man get yelled at by two formerly arguing noblemen.
He had drifted off so he didn't see how the argument started, probably because the homeless man strayed too close to the men than they could tolerate. But Flynn could see where it was going. The noblemen, twin brothers apparently, had been arguing with one another over some petty dispute and now had combined their former bitterness for each other on the man. They were to quick assault him verbally with cruel insults ranging from his perceived lack of work ethic, his unkempt state of dress, calling him a 'lowborn hobknocker' (whatever that meant), and also to how his mother was most likely a diseased woman of ill repute. The bum stood up to most of this, giving a visible wince at the mother comment, and tried to apologize for his incursion on their precious personal space. The men would have none of it.
The verbal assault had intensified and now the men were threatening him with their canes, raising them in the air as if they were prepared to beat him. As luck would have it they didn't need to, the commotion had alerted a nearby city guard officer.
When the portly officer arrived he listened to the complaints of the twin noblemen, who had calmed down rather quickly and spoke with a well-educated vocabulary of the grievous crimes committed by the bum. They also nonchalantly spoke of their stature in Weselton, their close partnership with the Duke himself and how they held his ear, who funded the police almost single-handedly. The officer, hearing what he needed to, turned towards the bum and pulled out a set of hand shackles and told the bum to put his hands behind his back.
The homeless man put his hands up and started to back away, eyes scanning for anyone to help him. The crowd of people just watched silently and the group of other homeless men and women had scattered long ago, he was surrounded and alone in this fight. When the officer pulled out his truncheon and tried to grab the bum he jumped back out of reach and bolted, trying to make it to safety. He didn't make it three feet before one of the noblemen casually extended his cane and tripped the man. Falling to the ground and gasping for air he held his crushed stomach as he tried to stand back up…
... only to have the officers' truncheon smash in the back of his head.
The bum fell to the ground again and tried to crawl away when the officer brought the truncheon down again and again, the blows crushing the man's already weak body. Flynn looked at the noblemen, who stood next to each other and watched the spectacle with pleased little smiles. He watched the crowd of people, parents pulling their children away from the scene and people just watching in stunned silence. He looked at the officer, whose face was twisted in anger with eyes that hinted of glee. Then he looked at the bum, who was looking back at him, with eyes pleading for help. Flynn was distantly aware that his hand was reaching to his waist where a sword would normally be, wishing he still had a sword and had not set it aside days ago for fear of drawing unwanted attention. Instead, his hand was clenching so hard that his nails were threatening to cut into his palm. Flynn could feel the inner hawk in his mind level its full gaze towards the nobles and the officer, narrow and penetrating, aching to bear its talons and bring justice for the bum somehow.
By the time the officer had stopped and the bum was finally cuffed and taken away, the crowd had dispersed, the men in their fine noble clothes returned to their conversation, this time remaining civil and calm, and Flynn was long gone, having had enough.
And over in the distance, he could hear the town-crier speaking of the Duke's generosity.
Today in Weselton, his old desires for freedom had surfaced again with a vengeance. The image of the poor helpless man getting beaten by the whims of the noblemen still fresh in his mind's eye, Flynn Rider had had enough. It was time to put the rest of his plan into action. He just needed to make one last stop to complete his list of everything he needed. The fine boots from the angry tailor were yet another piece to his plan.
After all, how could one possibly attend a royal ball as one of their guests without proper formal wear? Legends weren't born from idleness after all!
~o~O~o~
There was an old saying that Flynn had come to respect immensely whenever he laid out his preparations. Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. He didn't care for overly complicated plans. They weren't very flexible and relied too much on variables. They varied. Instead, he preferred the much simpler plans that favored his style of not only having plenty of room for adaptability, but also took care of themselves. Not to mention being far more fun!
Flynn smiled at the memory of the plan he had employed for his last major caper back in the palace of Glowerhaven. Now that was fun! While the plan had been far from subtle, it was so simple that no had ever suspected him and he was even able to walk out the front door. The king himself even saw Flynn out personally! They didn't even realize that their prized ruby-encrusted horse saddles were missing until the next day, and they didn't deduce who the culprit was until he was already many leagues out of the kingdom.
For here in Weselton, the plan was a little trickier and much more risk, but still easily within his capability with the right preparation. The Duke was a man that worked tirelessly to impress others, and this party was his biggest endeavor yet. At a ball as prestigious as this one with so many influential figures present, nobles always loved to look their absolute best. They would be wearing all kinds of expensive items, medals and jewelry, as well as money pouches from their carriages and ships.
Instead of having to go through all that hard work of having to journey to so many different kingdoms, Flynn could now walk right into a room that had all of those wealthy nobles in one place! He could only imagine the travel time that he would save!
Of course, he would have to get in somehow. With all the effort he had put into this esteemed event, the Duke had spared no expense with security, not to mention whatever guards the visiting nobles had brought with them. Sneaking wouldn't work, he would have to walk right up to each one to pick their pockets. He needed a disguise.
'At least I won't be wearing a servant's outfit. That would clash with my eyes!'
Most nobles wouldn't look twice at a common servant, and none at all would lower themselves to look a low-born peasant in the eye. The guards, however, were a different story. They would be watching everyone closely… except the lord nobles themselves. Therefore, Flynn sought to use the status standing to his advantage and dress as a noble himself! He would be welcomed into the party with open arms and the guards would work to protect him. Even better, the guards knew better than to scrutinize a noble too closely.
A noble must have style, an outfit that should be tailored and razor sharp, like your wit.
Therefore, Flynn had spent the past week traversing all around the city, getting a single item from each shop in order to leave as minimal a trail as possible. It would be awfully suspicious if someone walked into to a sewing shop a few days before the ball and asked for an outfit to look just like a noble would dress, wouldn't it? Some parts of the outfit he paid for, others he quietly slipped out the back door with. It took most of the week for his multiple orders of clothing to come through, especially since all of the female tailors and blushing seamstresses wanted to take extra time in taking Flynn's measurements, but the result was well worth it. Putting each piece altogether, he had a very convincing imitation of a Glowerhaven outfit of maroon-and-white velvet with silk threads of gold trimming here and there to project the undertone of comfort and wealth.
Once again, a simple plan! Dress up nicely enough, walk in, take their purses and then walk out and call it a night. The thought was mouth-watering!
Still, there were to be an incredible number of nobles attending. Flynn knew he would be walking into a castle with the highest concentration of authority in one place in several decades. These were the people that controlled the very infrastructure of society. They had their hands in everything from economies to politics to military. Even with his disguise, his immaculate ability to blend in and the element of surprise on his side, he couldn't just waltz in there without a trick or two up his sleeve.
Which was the goal of his final stop before he would head out to attend the party. He had heard of a smith named Boganti with an especial proclivity for what he was looking for. Apparently, this man used to provide gunpowder and other small munitions for the Southern Isle's navy. He had experimented with the gunpowder to help make explosive cannonballs that would detonate after penetrating inside a ship.
However, everyone that Flynn had asked scoffed at the very mention of Boganti, and spoke of him with distaste and aversion. No one thought very highly of the man, and few ship captains wanted to purchase any wares from him. Apparently, after over ten years of loyal service, the Southern Isles navy decided to void his supply contract and then dropped him like a forgotten piece of armor.
Flynn remembered his home at the orphanage and the hard times they went through. He wasn't surprised that some people had just as poor luck and unfair treatment in their business. As he approached the workshop, the faint smell of used gunpowder drifting from within, he resolved that he would certainly treat the poor man fairly. If the man could still provide what he needed, he might even pay him!
~o~O~o~
Any sense of sympathy and comradery that Flynn felt for Boganti was forgotten the moment he entered the workshop. The door opened with the gentle jingle from a silver bell attached to the frame to announce a potential customer's arrival… and the thief suddenly turned green as he was immediately assaulted by an overpowering stench that abused his poor nostrils mercilessly and blinded his senses.
'Gods on high! What is that?! Did a sea serpent or some other monster throw up sewage in here? Or rotten haggis dipped in horse manure? Or is it… alright, shut up before you make yourself sick. What's the matter with you?'
Scrounging up every ounce of his willpower to keep his breakfast from coming back up to say hello, Flynn lifted his head back up with his eyes still watering and beheld the rest of the bizarre shop. An open fireplace threw odd shadows in every corner. An entire wall was hidden behind a row of cupboards holding a collection of jars of assorted sizes filled with varying gunpowders, liquids and grain. The worktables were overflowing with opened books and parchments, vials of strangely colored fluids standing next to a mortar and pestle, a strange apparatus that seemed to be boiling something greenish simmering over a small but intense fire. Finally, there were a number of puddles scattered all over the stone floor of a substance that Flynn absolutely refused to try to identify, let alone step in.
"So that's what's making that charming stench…"
"Stench?! Impossible!"
With his legendary skills and instincts that he had refined to be constantly aware of his surroundings, Flynn could count the number of people that could sneak up on him on one hand. An aging Boganti had just made the list when he seemingly teleported out of nowhere at the thief's side. Even the inner hawk in Flynn's mind was startled!
"GACK! What the devil-?!"
Boganti gave no reaction to Flynn's shout of surprise and simply carried on. "I have no stench! I bathe eight times a day! It's the only way to keep those invisible crabs from drinking all of my sweat!"
…What?
"What?"
Boganti blinked as he observed Flynn with cloudy eyes. "Wait, what are you doing? You-you can't stand there! That spot is reserved exclusively for my minotaur friends, it's where they can hear the singing from the blue whales that swim through the river! You are clearly not a minotaur, your nose is too small!"
That was the reason that told Boganti that he wasn't a nine-foot mythical horned monster? Ooookaay… now he realized that the Southern Isles Navy actually had a good reason to stop doing business with the man. Clearly, he had spent far too much time cooped up in his workshop while running experiments and breathing in the fumes and gas from this much gunpowder both fresh and decayed. Seriously, how could you keep breathing in this stuff and expect to stay mentally healthy?
Regardless, Flynn did his best to keep a beseechingly polite smile. "Uh, nice to meet you. Listen, a little bird told me that—"
Boganti's wide eyes suddenly grew ever wider. "You can talk to birds? Do you also speak their language? Wait, you don't sing do you?"
Before Flynn could even begin to try to think of a response to that, Boganti suddenly held up a bowl of something unmentionable rather uncomfortably close to his face, along with a fork. "Would you care for a bite of hákarl?"
Flynn had suddenly discovered the cause of one of the ungodly smells in the warehouse, and it was now three inches away from his poor nose. Eyes watering, he could only croak, "Uregh… what's in that?"
"Fermented Arendelle shark meat!" Boganti answered brightly. "It stimulates the senses and I've been told that it helps very nicely with a singing voice! Don't worry, it's only two months old!"
"…I'm good."
Boganti shrugged. "More for me!"
Flynn could only watch horrified as the man stuffed his face. "Maybe you should step outside every once in a while, and get something much more, uh, fresh to eat. Have you ever heard of chocolate ice cream?"
"Did my wife tell you that? She's been dead for twenty years. Don't listen to her." he dismissed.
Considering the fact Flynn had only just spoken to Boganti's wife when asking for directions about twenty minutes ago, he couldn't help it anymore. He let out a small chuckle as his nerves calmed down. Despite the man's obvious insanity (and terrible stench), he was clearly harmless and rather amusing in his own way.
"Alright Captain Crazy, is there anything here that can help me with making a lot of noise?"
"Captain?!" Boganti turned red with indignation. "How dare you! I'm an admiral!"
Flynn stared blankly for a moment before he suddenly got a clever idea. Then he snapped into a military salute. "Sir understood sir!"
The thief swiftly shifted next to Boganti's right side and put a hand around the crazed shopkeeper's left shoulder in a friendly manner before conspiratorially pointing to the man's other side. "Look there, admiral! Invaders! Coming across from the western front!"
Boganti looked at the blank wall Flynn was pointing out, and his eyes widened in alarm. "Good heavens!"
Flynn snapped back into a dignified military stance with his back straight and spoke with a respective tone. "I am on a secret mission from His Majesty the King, God save him, and I am in need of your support, sir!"
Boganti nodded, his eyes hardened in determination. "Anything for His Majesty! Now tell me how I may be of service."
"Admiral, I have a plan, but I could use something to serve as a diversion, perhaps something very loud. Do you have anything that can temporarily stun a large group of people, a harmless manner of crowd control?"
Boganti silently rubbed his chin in deep thought. Then his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Something powerful but nonlethal, you say? I have just the thing!"
After darting over to his cabinet and rummaging through his wares and tossing a number of them over his shoulder, which Flynn casually dodged, he came up with a waxed vial that held a clear liquid.
"There's the little devil!" Boganti declared triumphantly as he began to mix the substance with a few powders. As the mixture started to boil, he looked back to the thief.
"I can see why the king entrusted you with this mission if you were able to make here both alive and remarkably unscathed! No other soldiers have been visiting me to requisition my explosives because they keep getting attacked by those seagull assassins!"
Did he just say seagull assassins?
The thief suddenly recalled a memory from a month ago…
~o~O~o~
Flynn was just about to board the ship that was sailing to Weselton, as he had decided to make a rather hasty departure from King Eric and Queen Ariel's kingdom of Seahaven.
Just as he placed his right foot on the boarding ramp (Not the left foot obviously, horrible luck mind you), he spotted a particularly odd seagull that flew over his head. It was a rather strange seagull that seemed to be wearing half of a coconut shell that had somehow been modified into a helmet.
And then the seagull crashed into a window, plastering himself eagle-spread against the glass, before slowly sliding off.
Flynn didn't know much about animal intelligence, but that particular seagull was clearly an idiot.
~o~O~o~
"Uh… yeah! Those crafty and intelligent birds are always up to something shady."
Boganti nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! The people in these parts just can't stand them!"
"… I thought it was the nobles that the people can't stand."
"Who do you think controls the nobles? Those infernal sneaky little birds! They think they're so clever, but remember that I speak the language of birds! Just like you!"
Flynn nodded sagely.
Boganti abruptly turned back to his mixing pot and stuck his head into it to look at the contents more closely. As if on cue, there was a small flash and a loud pop as the pot belched a large explosion of smoke. The man simply pulled his head back out no worse for the wear, although he seemed oblivious to the fact that his face looked as though it had been a sooty chimney he had pulled out of.
"It's perfect!" he cried. With that, he took what looked like a cannonball and poured some of the pot's contents into it before screwing it shut with wax. It looked like a bomb.
"Don't worry, it's perfectly safe and completely harmless! That is, unless…" Boganti's eyes suddenly widened in horror as he looked back at the thief. "Unless… are you a mermaid by any chance?"
Flynn blinked once. Then he blinked twice more before the bizarre words finally set in. "I'm… pretty sure that I'm not."
To say that Boganti looked relieved at the answer would be a monumental understatement. He looked like he was about to faint from sheer relief. "Thank goodness! You see, this is filled with ambergris gas. Merpeople go crazy over it if they smell it. One whiff of it and they'll be fawning over you for a week!"
"… Uh-huh," Flynn wryly answered. "You mean to tell me that mermaids exist?"
"Of course they do! Once when I was shipwrecked with a few friends, a kind-hearted merman named Archimedes brought us food and water!"
"Riiiight… well, I can promise you that I'm not a merman. No fishtail or anything last time I checked. But anyway, what about humans?"
By the time Boganti finished explaining the effects of ambergris on actual people, Flynn could hardly stop grinning.
"You might be able to use this in your mission."
"Oh god, I hope so!" Flynn eyed the black sphere in hand with glee before pocketing it. "This will do perfectly!"
"I can promise you that it will serve you well, soldier!"
"Yes sir! You have done me a tremendous service and you have my thanks, sir." Flynn smiled. "But remember, this is a top-secret mission from the king himself. No one else is to know about it lest our enemies discover it! This meeting never happened and you and I never spoke, no matter what anyone else says. Can you imagine if those birds were to find out?"
Boganti blanched at the thought before visibly steeling his resolve. "You can count on my discretion, lad!"
"Don't fail the king!"
"Never!" Boganti held up a fist. "Make sure to use the ambergris in good faith!"
"Oh, I can promise you they won't know what hit them!" Flynn Rider proclaimed as he handed the man a pouch of coins and left the shop.
"Good luck, my friend!" Boganti called out. "If you should explode, feel free to come back and tell me all about it! Everyone else has!"
~o~O~o~
It was time. The party was tonight.
After dressing himself in the fancy maroon-and-white velvet outfit of fine-spun wool, cotton, and silk that he had spent the last week putting together to imitate Glowerhaven nobility, Flynn Rider set off to acquire a horse. Anyone of true importance would be arriving in style and riding a horse above everyone's height would fit perfectly. In order to blend in, he ironically had to stand out.
With his new 'noble' clothes, the guards were surprisingly eager to recommend a good stable for the 'visiting lord'. They directed him to the finest stable in the city, one whose breed of horses were sought by everyone from simple farmers to illustrious nobility, due to their swiftness and endurance along with their tame but spirited nature. Seeking a horse of distinction to fit in amongst the nobles, he settled on a fine cinnamon brown horse named Triks with silky black hair that glinted in the light.
Luckily, the merchant at the stable was a fair man. Since his horses were of such quality that they were highly recommended by the Duke's associates, he preferred to offer a nice discount to nobles in order to keep a good reputation amongst the upper class. The price went even lower when he learned that Flynn was interested in Triks. Apparently, Triks was a supple and nimble horse from Vorhaven that demonstrated a unique intelligence for horses. While he wasn't wild or untamable, he was difficult to sell because nobles preferred horses that were completely docile and didn't look at you with a keen eye. Thus, he was named Triks for 'tricky'. Oh, how appropriate, Flynn Rider thought with a smile.
If he didn't know better, he could have sworn that the horse winked at him.
Flynn set up the saddle with a practiced hand, briefly pausing as he considered running back to his local cache to use the ruby-encrusted saddles he had made off with from his caper in Glowerhaven to show off. It would look fancy and extravagant enough, but he decided that he shouldn't stand out too much, not to mention that word had likely spread that the ruby saddles of Glowerhaven were in the hands of a certain legendary thief.
He intended to sell them soon enough and making the saddles too public would—HEY!
Just then, a small boy who couldn't be more than six or seven was wildly playing tag with another boy and bumped into Flynn and kept running without so much as an apology. If Flynn's back wasn't turned while he was fixing the saddle, he certainly would have seen it coming a mile away, but even when late…
Flynn didn't even think. He moved on pure instinct and reflex before his conscious mind had even registered what had happened. In less than time than it took a person to blink an eyelid, his hand had already shot out, grabbed the boy's wrist, and twisted it to reveal the pouch of gold that had been attached to his waist only two seconds ago.
His momentum abruptly halted at his wrist, the boy's feet slipped out from underneath him and fell on his backside rather comically with a grunt. He stared up at the man holding his wrist securely with wide, startled eyes. A brief moment passed before the boy's eyes changed from surprise to petrified terror. He had been caught in the act of trying to pickpocket a noble, the punishment of which was losing the very hand that committed the theft.
His face turned paler and paler at an alarming rate, and his friend was no less frightened as he watched. Nobles were anything but forgiving when you stole from their own person.
"P-Please! Sir, I didn't—I mean… please don't call the guards! I—!"
To both their surprise, the 'noble' simply smirked and patted him on the shoulder. "Better luck next time, kid. Just remember that the sun can give you away if you stand out. Working amongst the thick crowds, however, would serve you far more."
The boy sat in stunned silence, unable to believe what was happening as the handsome man simply took back the pouch and let him go. The noble reattached it to his belt, hoisted himself upon his horse, and looked back to the boys.
"Hey, make sure that you watch the Duke's castle! They're having a party tonight, and you might just catch a good show."
And with a click of the tongue and a light jab of the heel in the horse's side, Flynn took off at a fast trot towards the upper district.
~o~O~o~
"Did he just… did he let you go?"
"I-I think he did."
The other boy broke out of his stupor after another moment. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! I told you it was stupid to try to steal from a noble!"
"Stop calling me stupid! And it was your idea!" shouted the boy right back.
"Well, we're lucky he didn't turn us in. We better not try that ever again… but I'm just so hungry," he whined.
"Me too…"
"… how much did we pick up tonight? Do we have enough copper coins for a bowl of soup?"
"Not much, just some lint and, uh…" the small boy froze when he reached into his pocket. As if the laws of gravity had only just now noticed it, his pocket suddenly slumped towards the ground with an extra load of weight. When he checked, he found a handful of silver coins.
"How did all these get in there?!"
Then he checked his other pocket and found yet another large handful of silver coins!
"Whoa…" breathed the other boy. "I've never seen that much money before…"
They would eat well tonight and many, many other nights after! Maybe they might have more than just soup tonight? Maybe even cake? Lots of cake.
~o~O~o~
'Showtime.'
The wealth of the upper district shouted out at Flynn. Most of the mansions here on either side of him had fairly large tracts of land, but the dwelling that was his destination dwarfed them all. Situated on the edge of a sprawling mass of land, the Duke's castle loomed over its neighbors arrogantly. Beyond the gargantuan citadel set behind steep walls and metal gates, a vast expanse of woodland, empty plains and even a few small hills formed the rest of the estate.
Oh, he was going to have a lot of fun here.
As he approached through the first gates, he sighted the first set of guards. While their armor was polished and their lances poised, their stance was slouched and relaxed. These were the more rank-and-file guards assigned to the outer gates for the simple job of keeping the common riff-raff out. Flynn seamlessly adjusted his own posture as his horse drew closer, lifting his chin and held the reins with a graceful air of comfort, every inch a noble that was, of course, invited by the Duke.
The guards didn't even look at him twice.
'That was easy.'
Now he was in the courtyard, where the signs of festivity greeted him. Up high, strung on ropes spanning the square were lights and lanterns that would bring colorful ambiance all around in the pleasantly chilled night of April. There was an oasis of a large and beautiful fountain in the center. It was filled with men and women of richer clothes than any Flynn had ever seen; the richest of the rich were here. Dancing swept all over the square, violins and horns and other strings sounding over the stomping click of feet as men and women circled around each other, clapping and bowing, and twirling.
As one of the very few who had just arrived inside the courtyard on horseback rather than on foot, Flynn stood out easily and felt a number of eyes turning in his direction.
'Remember what you learned in posture, appearance, and what people see. Brilliance and extravagance start with attention to detail.'
He slipped himself off his horse with practiced ease and stood dignified and confident, with his shoulders held back and prominently displaying his pristine outfit.
Noble clothes, noble man. Noble posture, looking down the nose. A strut and swagger in the hips, heavy footsteps that carry a presence.
Seeing the new arrival, a stablehand attendant wearing the signature black and dark burgundy colors of Weselton approached Flynn respectfully and offered to take his horse. Perfect. On the outside, Flynn glanced carefully at Triks, appearing as if he were pondering whether he should hand his prized horse off to the help.
The man picked up on this immediately. "Not to worry, milord! We want to make sure that you feel nothing but the finest treatment and comfort during your stay here in our city, and this generosity of course extends to your magnificent steed as well. If you wish, I will personally see to it that he receives fresh hay and fruit as well as a good scrubbing that will leave him as clean as a mountain spring!"
"See that you do," Flynn returned cordially with a polite smile. "My steed is in your care. And please be quick about getting him to your stables." His apparent desire for expediency was only a cover for his need to have his horse comfortable and ready for later in case he needed a fast getaway. Regardless, Triks whinnied in appreciation as Flynn stroked his mane before providing the reins to the attendant and then turning to approach the castle entrance.
'You are a noble, a man of influence, status and authority. An equal. Here at the invitation of the Duke himself.'
Flynn stepped into the guest line smoothly, less than a foot away from over half a dozen people whose shoes alone were more expensive than the homes of most commoners. The greatest thief in all the lands was standing right next to them and they had not even the faintest clue. After a few moments, he was next in line for the clerk.
"Name?"
'You must sound distinct, to speak with an eloquence that lets everyone know just who is in charge.'
"Um… Count Mathis Gladstone of Glowerhaven, no guest," he answered, and his cultured tone, while seamless, sounded so contrasting to his usually cheerful attitude that he half-expected the guards to draw their swords and demand his immediate arrest on the spot.
The man's eyes narrowed, and then he extended a white-gloved hand with his palm open in expectance. "I'm sorry, but we haven't had any visitors from the Alliance in several decades. Do you have an invitation… my lord?"
The chirruping of birds and insects suddenly seemed to drop away as Flynn swallowed subtly. He felt the hawk in his mind stir uncomfortably. His invitation? He didn't see any of the other nobles hand over any blasted invitation! Then again, Glowerhaven was a member of the Alliance of Four Kingdoms. Relations between the Alliance and the Duke of Weselton were beginning to sour, and a noble from such notable and reputable kingdoms that had tense relations with the Duke would have to be invited instead of simply waltzing in.
"My invitation… right, of course."
Did he really have to use it so soon? Perhaps he might have underestimated the Duke's desire for security. Flynn reached into an inside pocket, the same pocket that held the bomb from Boganti…
… and pulled out a pristine stamped envelope with a wax seal.
The clerk took the envelope and snapped it open to read the invitation. Suddenly, his eyes went wide at the sight of the signature written in emerald-ink next to the stamp of the Duke's personal crest.
Hastily handing the invitation back Flynn, the clerk magically went from curt and impatient to well-mannered and polite in under a second.
"Your grace! The Duke mentioned that representatives of your kingdom might be arriving, but we weren't certain, you never before sent any replies to the invitations!"
An awed murmur swept through the crowd as they looked to Flynn with a new level of admiration. Flynn's sharp hearing picked up snippets of their whispers. In all his travels, he had heard many times beforehand that the Duke had been trying to worm his way into the Alliance for the past twenty-five years but to no avail. Their reputation amongst other lands was far-reaching and getting the chance to do long-term business with them would open many doors of opportunity. The Duke had done everything in his power to curry favor with them. He learned whatever their monarchs craved in goods and luxuries, and then worked tirelessly to have them delivered to their palace gates with his best wishes as a 'gesture of good faith'. The finest orchid jams for Queen Ariel of Seahaven, the latest fashions for King Benjamin of Glowerhaven… the list went on.
Not to say that the Duke had any success in his attempts to curry favor. Flynn's very own home of Strihaven was a member of the Alliance, and King Willard the 'Fox King' seemed particularly adamant on thoroughly searching every delivery from Weselton and was said to have long maintained a rather angry line of correspondence with the Duke for many different reasons. The mountain kingdom of Vorhaven outright ignored the gifts on their doorstep while Seahaven and Glowerhaven merely accepted them with a polite and formal smile but nothing more. The Duke had even less success with sending them invitations to any prestigious events he hosted.
For one of their representatives to actually arrive to attend the Duke's personal ball after over two decades was unprecedented but far from unwelcome. Of course, Flynn had learned from a blushing maid that he had 'acquainted' with that the real Count Gladstone was still at his mansion all the way back in Glowerhaven and never once had any intention of attending the Duke's ball. That made it all that much simpler for Flynn to make off with the Count's invitation during his earlier caper there. If the Count was that disinterested in attending, he still probably hadn't even noticed the invitation was missing!
The clerk continued to sputter in shock. "I-I-I'm sorry that I did not recognize your colors and—"
Flynn smiled and held up a hand to calm the man as he spoke in his false noble accent. "Good sir, please relax yourself. There's no need to worry yourself on such a night of revels and festivities!"
He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the attendant from earlier had scrambled to turn Triks around and take him to the VIP stables instead. Triks smiled cheekily.
The clerk seemed to regain his composure. "O-Of course, my lord! But sir, I must ask of you if His Majesty of Glowerhaven will be attending as well as you?"
"A thousand pardons, but I cannot make promises above even my station on the behalf of my lord and sovereign."
The clerk hid his disappointment well but composed himself with the count standing before him. "Just as well, I suppose. Please your grace, do enjoy the party and our noble Duke's generosity!"
A genuine smile spread across the face of Flynn Rider. "Oh, I'm certain that this will be a night to remember…"
Hello again, everyone! Now that the prologue is done, I hope you've enjoyed the first official chapter of the story as we take a deep look into one of the two main characters and his adventures. As I've said, I've always enjoyed the 'dashing rogue' archetype like Han Solo and Captain Jack Sparrow. Now to anyone that might think that this portrayal of Flynn Rider is OOC, I personally do not see it. This is exactly how I, and many others, understand his character and personality as someone who lives how he chooses. A life of risk and rewards! Someone who was inspired by his storybook idol to rise from nothing and live a life of adventure. What I have done here is simply brought Flynn's character to life in a way never done before, giving his character the full potential to shine!
Also, the character Boganti the crazy chemist is my own shout-out to a similar character from the Smuggler storyline in Star Wars The Old Republic, a storyline that helped inspire me greatly and offered a major in-depth understanding of Flynn's kind of character.
I must also make it clear that there are NO promises of a fixed schedule of updates. If I am to make the best possible Tangled novelization for all of you, then I must devote the proper amount of time, effort, and attention to my writing. While there will be a noticeable amount of time between updates, I can safely say that the results are more than worth it! This new chapter will be an exception, for while it may be exactly one week after the prologue was published, I wanted to catch the fresh momentum I had started and I also felt it fitting to upload the next chapter that was focused on Flynn Rider on St. Patrick's Day, a holiday that celebrates a culture filled with leprechauns. Such clever, mischievous and lucky creatures, much like Flynn Rider.
The characters and events of Tangled and Frozen are owned by Disney. Credit for the Alliance and its member nations goes to DarkDragonFires12, my friend and partner in this story-verse. Everything else is mine.
Please, read and review! Until next time!