Before the events of Tangled there was a young boy growing up in an orphanage. He had the biggest dreams and the kindest heart. This is the story of Eugene Fitzherbert.



     “Which story would you like me to read tonight?” I pulled the book off the shelf and flipped it open. It was sturdy and thick with tales, but tattered and worn from years of use. Flynnigan Rider sure had a lot of adventures.

     “Desert Island!” Jack clambered onto my knee and looked up with his joyful brown eyes.

     Nick rolled his eyes, “We heard that last time. Could we please hear Jungle Escapade?”

     “Village Boy!” Alric cried.

     At eleven years old, Nick and Alric were the second eldest, and twins. They both had light brown hair and eyes, and were in every way exactly alike, both in personality and looks, except for the fact that Alric had a freckle on his left cheek.

     As soon as Alric mentioned “Village Boy,” Nick was automatically on board, “Ooh yes, that one! Please, please, please?”

     Soon every boy was jumping up and down wanting to hear Village Boy. Removing Jack from my knee I flicked through the pages until the story was open on my lap.

     “Okay, here it is.

     Flynnigan Rider dropped his pouch onto the mangled countertop and a few coins spilled out.

     “I’ll take your finest sword.” His lips moved with such confidence, the type of confidence that demanded to be noticed.

     The bladesmith didn’t even look up from his latest project, “I don’t sell to rapscallions.”

     Flynnigan pulled a knife out of his belt. He drove it into the wood with a purpose and stared menacingly at the bladesmith. Finally looking up from his work the man with soot streaking his face made his way to the workshop front.

     “I told ya kid, I don’t sell to-”

     The stocky man raised his eyebrow dubiously as wordlessly Flynnigan pushed forward his sack of coins, “This should cover it.”

     Greedily a pair of stubby fingers wrapped around the weighted material. Tying the bag to his belt the bladesmith stepped out the back. A few moments later he peered back around the doorframe, “You coming, kid?”

     With sureness Flynnigan followed and the workshop opened up into a large display room. Removing a sword from the pins it rested on, the man held it out as if it were fragile. On the contrary he stated that it was the strongest, sharpest sword he had ever created, and he placed much emphasis on the fact that it was not a toy. Flynnigan’s expression was one that suggested the man was dim.

     After placing the sword in a sheath the bladesmith sent Flynnigan on his merry way. The young man was quite delighted with his new purchase as it allowed him to maneuver quicker through his daily duties.

     As he passed a fruit stand he removed his sword in one swift movement and adroitly sliced open a bag of apples. As an apple fell he kicked it back up and it landed gracefully in the palm of his gloved hand. Flynnigan barely broke his stride as he continued walking, munching on his apple.

     “Hey, you! Stop!”

     Flynnigan spun on his heel to see a man running through the crowd carrying the split bag of apples. A little way away was the stand owner stepping out from behind his stall. Flynnigan saw an opportunity to do some good for the village.

     Running after the man he lightly dodged the village people, which wasn’t that difficult as the crowds parted to let him through. The man was not in the slightest very fast and Flynnigan caught up to him within moments. However, the thief noticed the young man on his trail and veered a sharp right. What the man didn’t know though was that Flynnigan knew this village like the back of his hand. He ran straight passed the alleyway to the corner of the street where various ropes and anchors were on display. Judging the strength of a particularly thick rope dangling from the balcony he grasped it firmly with both hands and pushed off from the corner of the building. Swinging around into the next street he leapt from the rope and landed in front of the alleyway, cutting off the thief. The thief surrendered with a heavy sigh.

     Flynnigan dragged the man back to the fruit stand and handed the bag of apples over.

     “But you stole an apple! I saw you!” the thief cried.

     “No, I didn’t. I don’t steal,” stepping aside, Flynnigan revealed the two shiny gold coins that were still sitting on the wood top, “Now push off, and don’t steal again.”

     He shoved the man away as the stand owner thanked him profusely. With a nod of his head Flynnigan turned on his heel and headed back to his daily duties. As he once again passed through the crowd he realized that he was being stared at. Girls giggled when he looked their way. Men looked impressed and somewhat intimidated. He rounded the corner with his head held high and smacked straight into a young brunette.

     “Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to-” the young woman apologized as she picked up her basket of breads.

     Flynnigan smiled and leaned against the wall, “There is no need to apologize, fair maiden. I am not hurt and hope you are not either.”

     The young woman laughed nervously as she looked up at him. Her eyes were a bright green and her cheeks were rosy and tan. She was the epitome of beauty.

     “In fact, I should be the one to ask for forgiveness, so I am here offering my sincerest apologies. And may I just say hi. How you doing? The name’s Flynn Rider.”

     “Gretel,” the beautiful brunette replied.”

     “Ooh,” Nick started making kissing noises in the air and Alric was quick to follow. The boys laughed as they started chanting “Flynn and Gretel, Flynn and Gretel.”

     Off in the distance we could hear the gallop of horse hooves on compact dirt. Within seconds Miss Lotte was rushing into our room.

     This was general practice. Whenever we heard the hooves of the kingdom patrol we had to hide. They were the signal that there was a criminal on the run. There was never any reason to panic as long as we stayed indoors – our home was nestled deep amongst the trees which rendered it almost invisible at night – and the sound of hooves just meant that we had to be on our guard.

     Miss Lotte huddled us all together and blew out the candles. There in silence we stayed as the light pattering became a roar of horseshoes. The neigh of horses sounded close; they had never come this close before. Jack huddled closer to me as the guards yelled outside.

     “Over here! He went this way!” the thundering once again diminished, however since it was dark Miss Lotte couldn’t find the matches and so we all fell asleep huddled up to one another, with The Tales of Flynnigan Rider lying open on the ground, unfinished.

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