Author: eralkfang
Fandom: Tangled
Pairing: Rapunzel/Flynn
Rating: PG
Summary: Proposing to Flynn doesn't take the first time.
Notes: Set after the film, so spoilers abound! At the end of the film, we get two stories about how Flynn and Rapunzel decided to tie the knot–so here's making them both technically correct.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Oh!"

When Rapunzel finally thinks of it, she feels a bit stupid–it's so painfully obvious, but then again, it's been a busy year, what with reuniting with her parents, her hair growing (albeit still brown), and all that tutoring to fill in the gaps in her education. Better late than never, she supposes, and turns to the man she's holding hands with. "Eugene, when do you want to get married?"

"Married?" It comes out of Eugene's mouth about half an octave higher than normal.

Rapunzel smirks; she loves catching him off-guard. "It's where we throw a party, kiss in front of a big crowd, and pledge undying love to one another. Or so I've read."

"I'm pretty sure we've already done that," Eugene recovers nicely. "Haven't we already done that?"

Rapunzel rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

He shrugs. "I think we've got plenty of time for that."

"I know." She squeezes his hand and draws closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "I just want to make sure we've got all of it."

But she can tell he's a bit uncomfortable with the idea, so she doesn't press the subject. For a while.

A few months later, she pulls back from a kiss, out of breath and face red. He reaches up from under her to pull her back down; she pins down his arms and leans down, just enough that her hair brushes his cheek. "Marry me," she says, feeling wonderfully dizzy.

He groans and opens his eyes. "Why?"

"Because you love me." She swoops down and pecks him swiftly on the lips. "Because you want to be with me forever." She nips at his jaw. "Because you're all mine." She lays a hand on his chest and beams down at him.

"Of course I do–and I am." He tugs, gently, on a lock of brown hair. "I'm always going to love you, married or not. What's a ceremony going to change?" He puts his hand over hers, pressing it to his heart.

She has to kiss him then–naturally, the subject is forgotten about pretty much immediately.

From then on, it becomes one of their running jokes, like how he still calls her "Goldie" or how she'll occasionally call him Flynn when she's teasing him. Every once in a while, she'll ask; he'll romantically evade the question; and then they kiss and forget all about it for a few months. After all, she thinks, he does have a technical point–they don't need to prove their commitment to each other like that.

But that doesn't change the fact that she wants it. Or the fact that they do need to get married at some point.

She's well aware of her duty as sole heir to the crown of Corona. During the first year, she couldn't bring herself to spend too much time indoors–but when she could, she haunted the royal portrait gallery, a hallway on the west side of the castle. After so many years of her family consisting of two, it was utterly novel for her to see such a well-maintained family history–from the kindly elderly woman who founded the royal line, to the foreign Prince Consort who introduced the green eyes into it, all the way down to her parents, smiling beatifically down from their portrait. Next to their portrait is a simple tapestry with the sun crest on it, a placeholder for her own portrait–the portrait of Queen Rapunzel.

And she wants Eugene in that portrait alongside her. He's just as much a part of her as all of this family history. But he won't be in there as her… whatever he is now.

About four years after her first proposal, she wanders the royal portrait gallery, trying to identify different court painters by technique. Her hair, which she's never cut since the day Eugene did, falls to her mid-back. She idly braids a small lock of it as she wanders up and down.

"Kind of spooky, isn't it?" comes a voice from behind her.

Rapunzel leans back into Eugene without looking at him. "No," she murmurs. "No," she repeats, in a louder voice. "Not at all."

"All the great kings and queens of the past, staring down at you…"

"Watching over you," Rapunzel corrects. She takes his hand. "Careful, Flynn. That's my family you're talking about."

"And that's what scares me," he chuckles into her hair, pressing a kiss to her head. She laughs, too. They simply stand and sway for a moment, looking up at all that history.

And then she gets it, and it's just as blindingly obvious as the moment she realized she'd forgotten to propose properly. "Come here," she says, even as she's already leading him down the hall. They pass the tawny, green-eyed Prince Consort and Rapunzel's great-grandparents. She leads him to the end–past the end, until they're standing in front of the tapestry.

He looks up in silence for a moment, contemplating the tapestry. "What exactly am I supposed to be looking at here?" he finally asks.

"When I am Queen, my portrait is going to go there." She squeezes his hand. "Our portrait is going to go up there."

She feels him tense up under her hand; she reaches up her free hand to touch his cheek and gently make him look her in the eyes. "What is it? Why are you scared of that?"

"Rapunzel, just… just look at them all." He sweeps a hand to the left, and she peers down the hall. The effect is staggering; she suddenly remembers being so overwhelmed by it the first time she set foot in the room. "They're great leaders, and artists, and diplomats, and… and does a thief really belong up there with them?"

He looks small, looking up at her family, with something like sadness broad across his face.

"No," she says. He looks at her, stricken. "You're right. A thief doesn't belong up there. But you do." And she kisses him firmly to reinforce it.

Her birthday is the week after. They still send out lanterns into the sky on her birthday in celebration of her return. She's antsy all day, as she always is–her mother laughs kindly at her and she sets herself to cleaning to burn off the excess energy, to the amusement of the maids. By the time the sky begins to dim into a glorious sunset, she's serenely excited as she steps out onto the balcony with her parents–and, of course, Eugene. The balcony is crowded with friends; Big Nose's adopted son is balanced on his shoulders and Mariah is practically glowing over her hugely pregnant belly.

Every year since she's returned, she's made a speech on her birthday–something short and hopeful. So she's taken aback when Eugene steps up in her place. She glances at her parents. Her mother has an excellent knack for hiding her emotions, but her father finds it difficult–something she's inherited. He's beaming. They're clearly in on this.

"–to steal from our beloved princess, but there's precious little I can steal now that I'm a law-abiding citizen," Eugene says, falling into public speaking easily. She rolls her eyes at such an obvious joke, and she can hear her father chortle; he, bless him, has always laughed at Eugene's jokes, funny or not. "I was trying to think of the best thing to get her for her birthday. I thought about it for weeks until I realized the answer was staring me right in the face… every morning when I shaved." He grins, a big, cheesy Flynn Rider grin. Rapunzel laughs, despite herself–she remembers the first time he tried it on her, to no avail. "But all kidding aside… Rapunzel?"

With all the grace she can muster, she sweeps to his side, taking his offered hand lightly. She smiles at him askance. The grin is gone; he's smiling softly at her now. "Yes, Eugene?"

He gently brushes her hair out of her face; a warm shiver goes down her spine. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, he's down on his knee, her hand in his.

Before she can react to or even really process what she's seeing, he asks. "Will you marry me?"

She stares at him in silence for a moment–the crowd gathered below goes just as quiet, save for one or two uncomprehending children asking their parents what's going on. She opens her mouth to speak. She closes it.

And then, at last, she says, "I asked you first!" As it comes out of her mouth, she wants to cringe–she sounds like a child, not a woman.

But the crowd roars with laughter, her father loudest of all. "Of course I'll marry you!" she shouts over the crowd, yanking him up for a kiss–several kisses, in fact, peppering his face with them. He laughs low in her ear and she doesn't want to ever let him go–she can see the portrait now, their proper places beside each other secured. For a brief, dizzy moment, she wonders if her royal authority will allow her to paint the portrait.

It does.