The King's Pain

Disclaimer: I do not own Tangled, and I'm sure no one is surprised. Even without knowing me, you can tell I own nothing.

He still remembered what it was like to hold her.

Her small body – so, so small that he could fit her almost whole in his palm – would be warm against his chest. Her bright blond hair, a gift from the sun itself, would gleam in the light and tickle his cheek when she moved. Her sweet, babyish bubbles of laughter would reach his ears, and every time he'd swear it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

It wasn't something to be proud of, the remembering. Not something worth of being even noticed, because it wasn't an accomplishment. It wasn't as if he could forget. He didn't believe it possible, not for him, not for any other father in the world. From the moment your child was born and started to amaze you, you memorized every single thing about them: their faces, the precise color of their eyes, the first time they opened said eyes, held your fingers, smiled. Everything. And then you never forgot.

Even on his darkest moments, when another birthday had come and passed and lanterns had filled the sky and his baby girl was still missing and he thought maybe it would be better to just forget, he knew it would be impossible. His own body remembered her. His arms still knew how they had to fix themselves to fit her; his ears were still tuned to the sound of her cries at night. So tuned, in fact, that sometimes he would wake up in a hurry, swearing that he had heard her crying, only to find that was someone else's baby that happened to sound like her.

He knew that was stupid; eighteen years had rolled by. She would no longer be a little girl, but a woman. A beautiful woman, like her mother, from whom she had gotten her eyes. And, if her personality as a baby had remained, as sweet and refreshing as a day of spring.

He often wondered about her, about how she was doing. Was she still under the care of that horrible woman or had she managed to escape, but never found her way back? Did she have many friends or boyfriends? Was she alive?

And, of course, as soon as that question had appeared, he would shut it out and silence his mind, for he refused thinking that. She was alive. She had to be. He would know if she wasn't, would've felt it. There was no possible way she could've stopped living without killing him too. There just couldn't be.

Right now, his kingdom awaited him. It was that time again, time to send the lanterns to the sky and hope she was seeing them and coming home, even when hope got so hard to keep. He would stand there, with his wife, and try to look strong, even if he knew, and everyone else knew too, that he was broken. But his wife would hold his hand tight, and his subjects would be silent and respectful, and he was thankful for both those things, more than he would ever be able to express, even to himself, like a sailor can say how thankful he is for a calm weather.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine what would happen perfectly: he would walk outside, on the balcony, to the staring faces of all the people he was responsible for. He would be jolted slightly by the cool night's air, as always happened, because somehow he always managed to block from his mind how cold the wind would be. He would hold a lantern with one hand and his wife would it with one of her hands, and it would be an almost exact picture of what happened eighteen years ago, except it was night other than day, there was no baby on her arms and they would feel as if in a funeral, rather than a joyful occasion. And when they had launched their lantern, everyone would do the same, and he would look up to the now golden-filled sky and hope for a miracle.

So far, he hadn't gotten one.

It was in this that he was lost in thought about while his wife straightened his medallion, that bore the symbol of the sun, the actual symbol of his kingdom and the metaphorical symbol of his daughter, and that's what brought the tear to his eye. He heard his wife's sigh and felt her put a hand in his face, and only then did he look at her, and saw in her eyes her own grief and pain and knew that she understood, was the only one that could ever understand, and even though that didn't help him, it made him feel a little less alone.

They reassured each other and lent each other their strength, like couples are supposed to, and walked outside, together, as they had always been and would always be, because he loved her and he was determined to never let something he loved be taken away from him again. And all the while, there was only one thing, only one name, going through his mind:

Rapunzel.

You know, I'm actually kindofsortof proud of that? Funny. That never happens.

I had the idea lying around – in my head – for a while, but only today, after watching Tangled (for the fourth time), did I wrote it down. I'm thinking about writing one for the Queen too, but only if enough people like this. Otherwise, I will just mark it complete.

Reviews are more appreciated then I can put in words, be them good or bad. If someone liked, I want to know, and if they didn't I want to know too, and why, so I can improve.

And that's the end of my first time ever appearance in the fandom of Tangled. I quite liked it.

Hanna.