Author's Note: Ahem. So this has been longer in the works than I anticipated... well over six months longer. Sorry about that. I also apologise for the fact that we are still essentially in the re-telling phase; however, in comparison with the previous chapter, this one covers less time (as it is portrayed in the film), and is perhaps more of a character study. I'm not too sure how I feel about the rather unwieldy language/tense/voice issues, but we'll see; I'd be interested to hear any further views on this.

As for 'A Lover's Discourse': there is more! It shall be posted! Eventually. Life has been fairly hectic for quite some time, and I'm a bit of a pedant.

Many thanks to those who've read/reviewed so far; as ever, your feedback is much appreciated. Thank you.

Rapunzel has never felt so alone. She's watched Eugene sleep before, but this is different. He lies too still, too quiet; there is no rasp of his breathing, no rise and fall of his chest.

And then there are his eyes. She'd been fascinated by his eyes since she first saw them; a warm, rich, hazel brown, flecked with gold, they were quite unlike hers or Gothel's. If the eyes were indeed the windows to the soul, she fancied she'd seen Eugene's, and it was as beautiful and conflicted as its owner.

Now, though, she can see it is gone. Eugene's eyes remain half-open as he lies in her lap, but now they are empty, depthless. Rapunzel holds him to her for a minute or two before his unblinking gaze becomes too much to bear. Gently, she closes his eyes.

There is a faint sheen of perspiration over his skin, Rapunzel notices, new bruises and scratches on his body. Where had he been? Gothel had made it sound like a foregone conclusion that he would be put to death. Would hanging have hurt him less? The memory of him trying, and failing, to right himself remains sharp in Rapunzel's mind. How he'd clutched at his side and fought for every breath. The pain was etched on his face, she recalls, as he tried to push her away, when he still could. He gave his life for hers.

If Eugene had known that yesterday would be the last day of his life, would he have wanted to spend it differently? It was all her fault. She had forced him to take her to the Kingdom to see the lanterns. She had made him run up and down the streets with her, made him dance when he didn't want to. Had some guards spotted Eugene while they were in the square? Was that what had happened? She has so many questions, and now there is no one to offer any answers.

What should she do with his body? He is heavy lying in her lap; God knows, trying to shut him in a closet was difficult enough, she thinks with a faint smile. How can she get him outside? Should she? Rapunzel shudders as she recalls an incident from her childhood she'd tried to repress. One Spring, Gothel had brought back rabbits to skin and stew. Rapunzel had shrieked in disgust and alarm at the sight of their limp, bloody little bodies. She'd tried to heal one of them, but it was too late. She'd refused to eat the poor things, but couldn't bear the idea of letting them be thrown away, either. After a few days they'd started to smell. It was then that Gothel had had to explain death to Rapunzel. This, she said, was what the Bible meant when it talked about ashes to ashes, dust to dust. She would have to take the rabbits outside and bury them. It was the Christian thing to do.

The Christian thing to do. Rapunzel has read the Bible so many times, has found so many questions, inconsistencies, but over the years she learned not to ask. The Christian thing to do often seemed a rather arbitrary decision from Gothel herself. That first night in the forest Rapunzel had felt the first stirrings of desire, not for Flynn, but for Eugene; she couldn't be sure, but she'd thought that perhaps he liked her, too. It hadn't seemed so wrong until Gothel had appeared from the shadows, casting doubt on Rapunzel's own judgment. Carnal desire was wrong, she'd been told; she'd just never really known what it entailed until that day. Sitting beside Eugene, by the fire, Rapunzel had felt drawn to him, to know more about him. To know him. She'd held his hand when she'd healed him, and it had felt good; it had felt right. Then Gothel had come and drawn up those feelings of doubt and guilt. When Eugene had returned with his firewood, Rapunzel had felt driven to distance herself from him, and settled herself for the night on the opposite side of the fire. What might it have been like instead to have lain beside him, to have felt his arms around her? Now it is too late.

Rapunzel allows her hands to smooth over Eugene's shoulders. With the clasps of his jacket open, she is afforded a view of the exposed span of his chest. She's seen it once before, on that late afternoon, when they'd dragged themselves, soaking, from the riverbank. Their clothes had been drenched, and they'd stripped off what they could, leaving them to dry in what was left of the sunshine. Rapunzel had been self-conscious as she unlaced her dress and stays, but she'd almost forgotten once her attention began to wander to how Eugene was faring. He'd tugged off his boots first of all, before unfastening his belt and slipping off his jerkin, giving it a thorough shake and hanging it from a sturdy-looking branch. Then he'd grasped the collar of his shirt and tugged it over his head.

Rapunzel had given herself away when she let out an involuntary gasp. Eugene's body was so different from her own, and so different from what she'd expected. He was slim but strong, broad shoulders tapering in to a narrow waist. Dark hair spread lightly over his chest, a fine trail snaking down his belly.

He'd raised his head, and for a moment, their eyes had met. Rapunzel had almost wished the forest would swallow up, she'd been so embarrassed. She'd expected him to lord it over her, to make some crass comment, but to her surprise, he hadn't. He'd just pulled a sort of lopsided grin, shaken his head, and hung his shirt up to dry.

They'd not spoken of that moment, that look. But Eugene wouldn't, really; that was something Flynn would do. And Flynn was gone.

Now, so is Eugene.

Rapunzel cannot quite believe that she is managing to remain this calm. Her heart is thundering inside her chest, but she can't seem to move. She just cradles Eugene's body in her arms and wishes there were some way she could turn back time.

At least, Rapunzel thinks, he seems peaceful now. His body is relaxed, his face seemingly unperturbed. She holds him close.

Of course, he doesn't respond. Rapunzel shifts and catches sight of the mirror shard that lies beside her on the floor. The one that did all this damage. The sharp edges of the glass have sliced through Eugene's hand as well as her hair; there's a cut on his left palm, right where he'd hurt himself before. Opening old wounds.

Still, it's the other wound that's the real problem, isn't it? Gently, Rapunzel unfastens Eugene's jacket and pushes aside his shirt, exposing the skin of his stomach. His side is slick with blood, yet the wound itself seems so small. How can this have ended a man's life?

Carefully, Rapunzel rearranges Eugene's clothes, and tries to wipe her hands on her skirt. The light outside has turned cold; is it the world reflecting her sadness, she wonders, or has time simply passed without her realising? She can feel tears beginning to prickle at the corners of her eyes. She can't cry. It feels as though if she cries, then it's really over; he's really dead.

Will anyone miss him? It seems unlikely that the authorities will. In fact, for all his good looks and easy charm, it didn't seem like anyone really liked Flynn Rider. But what about poor orphan Eugene Fitzherbert? Surely he must have had some friends, acquaintances, someone who will miss him? Or perhaps not. It seems awful to think that even after having known one another for less than a week, she might be the only one to mourn his death.

Rapunzel doesn't realise that she's started to sing again. Although she knows now that the incantation was a mechanism of control, it's become almost instinctive, a comforting ritual. In the square yesterday she'd watched as a young mother soothed her fractious infant, singing a simple lullaby as she rocked it to sleep. Perhaps it's for herself, or perhaps it's for Eugene, but she means every word.

Heal what has been hurt

Change the Fates' design

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine…

Was Eugene ever truly hers? Yes. In those last few moments, clasping his hand, his head in her lap, Rapunzel had felt true honesty from him. If this were a fairy tale, those whispered admissions would have made everything better; Eugene would have had his arms around her now, instead of having them lie limp and bloodied at his sides.

You were my new dream…

…and you were mine.

Past tense. He knew he was going to die, stupid, brave, stubborn Eugene. He knew he was going to leave her all alone.

Alone.

…what once was mine

is hers no more. The song is done, and he is still gone. Pressing her forehead against Eugene's, Rapunzel feels the tears coming thick and fast now, and she doesn't think she wants to try and stop them anymore. Clutching Eugene's body to her own, Rapunzel squeezes her eyes shut and sobs.

Perhaps that's why it takes her so long to realise that something very odd is happening. The gathering gloom of the tower has been broken suddenly by shards of bright, golden light. It seems to spring forth from the site of Eugene's wound, the shards bending and twisting into long, glorious strands that fill and illuminate the entire room. Then as soon as they appear, they are gone, dissipating like vapour into the air.

Despite this extraordinary event, Eugene remains still in Rapunzel's lap as she searches his face for any signs of change. There are long, tortuous moments before she sees his eyelids flutter, and he draws breath once more.

'Rapunzel?'

If I manage to keep this pace up, I might finish this story in... oh, six years' time. :p I was once told by a tutor that I should try and write like Graham Greene, and turn out 500 words every morning; I said I preferred to write like James Joyce, who turned out one perfect sentence per day. ;)