Author Note: What an adventure, eh? Little did I know how long this project would take, but I have to say it has been a wonderful learning experience and, furthermore, has given me more characters over which to dote over and think about. While this story has finished, I do intend to write more on Tom's Story and Forthcoming Blessing and Family Life. I just probably won't update nearly as much, which, I know, isn't saying a lot considering my updating problems in the past. But I also want to let you all know I am applying for grad school and hoping to continue my writing career. You all had a large part of that, and I appreciate your constant support. Thank you for reading, reviewing, faving, following, and for continuing to check up on me during my long hiatuses. I hope to hear from you all again as I work on other stories. Thank you again for all you've done. I appreciate every bit of it! :) God bless you all!

Soli Deo Gloria

Disclaimer: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

Darkness and confusion surrounded him. Men were marching on all sides, their forms barely distinguishable in the smoke from the cannons. Another loud blast hit his ears, and then there were other forms, other men, bursting forth from behind the tents and houses of the camp. He gave an order, and the soldiers around him started attacking, swords flashing in the gloom and pikes driving forward. He had his own sword out as well, and the shield on his arm felt heavy even as he lifted it to defend himself. But his mind was clear, and he could easily see the face of the man he struck down. He was young, unshaven, and scared.

It took two blows before he fell.

He turned, yelling out another order and directing his comrades to take a nearby house. A shadow lurched into view, larger than the one he had just dispatched, and suddenly knocked him to the ground. His helmet fell off, and he was staring up through the haze at another face, grief-stricken, angry. And then he felt a sharp pain shooting up his right side. He looked down as a long, shining blade cut through the straps of his breastplate and disappeared into his body. Mist filled his vision.

How could this happen? Not like this. It wasn't part of the plan. It wasn't part of his future. How could it happen like this?

"TOM!"

Thomas jolted awake.

"You all right?"

He blinked, glancing around the carriage compartment. His cousin was lounging across from him, tricorne hat cocked jauntily on his head and a book in his lap. Despite his nonchalant posture, Frederick's voice was concerned.

Thomas shook his head. "I'm fine. Just a bit—"

"Bad memories?"

"A bit sore," he replied, patting gingerly at the wad of bandages under his shirt.

"Doc said you'd be tender there for a while," Frederick said, straightening in his seat.

"Yes, well a knife to the side is nothing to laugh about."

His cousin nodded. "Especially since you were unconscious three days. Will you tell her?"

"Eventually. I don't see any reason to bother her with minor things like that now. After all, it's not as if I died."

"You nearly died," Frederick pointed out.

Thomas shrugged, fiddling with the hat in his hands. "Yes, but she doesn't need to know that."

"Goliath, when she finds out, and when she realizes you didn't tell her, I'm fairly certain the monarchy will be in danger again."

"I just don't want to worry her," he said.

"Gals like to worry about us. It's when we don't tell them things they get mad."

"I'll think about it."

"Good. You've got about fifteen more minutes before we reach Lord Brian's house."

Ah yes, Lord Brian's house. It had been at least two weeks since his injury. The field medics had taken tremendous care of him but, now that he had recovered enough to travel, protocol required the examination of court physicians. And that would happen almost immediately once he arrived at the palace.

At the present time, however, he was taking a little side-trip which he had not mentioned to his parents. Aside from himself, the only people who knew about it were Frederick, Lord Brian, and the coach driver. And while he had made the decision lying in feverish delirium on that cot in the medical tent, he felt it was right. After all, there had been only one person he had thought about every day since his departure. One person he had consistently written to, no matter what occurred on the battlefield. He needed to see her again, to hear her voice, to feel her embrace. He needed to be reminded of the best of humanity.

"It was awful up there, wasn't it, Freddy?" he asked quietly.

"Wouldn't call it a picnic, that's certain."

"To see all that death and hatred—all that fear. I can't imagine facing that again."

His cousin smiled. "Well, good news for you, you're not going to."

Thomas could not return the smile. "Yes, but you are. And the other men are still up there. James and Daniel, Ed, Rod, Walter. All of you fellows will still be fighting and killing—and I won't be with you."

Frederick closed his book and sat straighter in his seat. "You've got bigger fish to fry, Goliath. You know that."

"Freddy, will you be all right back up there?"

"Sure I will."

"Honest?"

"I'll try. How's that?"

Thomas nodded, replying, "Best you can promise, I suppose."

Frederick reached over and clapped him on the knee. "Listen mate, you recover and just work your hardest getting those Midlander chaps to agree to something. Groan a lot, fake a limp, make 'em feel right sorry about you getting hurt. Get us help, and then maybe we can finish up this pesky war."

"And then you'll come home?"

His cousin smirked. "Well, I might swing round here just like you're doing, but yeah. Then I'll come home."

Thomas allowed himself a grin, asking, "Does Frieta know you're on furlough?"

"Nah. I'll be scooting downtown to surprise her though after we drop you off. She'll be at the post office sending off her weekly letter. She'll be so angry I made her waste a stamp." He laughed.

"She'll be happy," Thomas predicted.

"Hope so. Tad nervous, to be honest. Do you feel the same about Kitty-cat?"

"No. I just want to see her again."

Frederick nodded. "Righto. Almost there, I'spect."

The carriage rolled to a stop by the front gate. Thomas got out and put on his hat, looking up at the house. The driver started the horses again, and soon Thomas had begun walking down the path. Unbeknownst to him, his short trip was observed by the next-door-neighbors.

"I say, dear Edna, look who it is!" Edith Marigold exclaimed.

Edna Marigold hiccupped in surprised. "The prince is back? My goodness, but only last week Jethro said he was away fighting those dreadful rebels up north!"

"Mind you, the dear boy looks like he's on a mission right now. Oh, do you think he's going to propose?"

"Edith, do you really think so?"

"How could he not be? You know how he and Katie adore each other," her sister said, watching as Thomas knocked the front door.

"I do hope we'll be invited to the wedding," Edna replied wistfully.

"Darling, the entire kingdom will be invited. He is the prince, after all."

"Yes, but the entire kingdom has not been able to watch it all happen. Perhaps we'll be able to get a front row seat?"

"Shhh—look there's Lady Marie. She's letting him in!"

"Quick, Edith! Let's go and see if the curtains are open, though Katie's probably in the kitchen. Lord Brian had all those gentlemen over earlier."

"You're right. Hurry!"

Catherine rinsed off a plate, wondering how her father's fellow dairy farmers could possibly eat so much food in one sitting. It had been a good half-hour since the men had left and she was still doing dishes. She had almost finished drying the plate when a sound of footsteps alerted her to someone's presence in the door of the kitchen. It was a familiar noise—the loud, solemn thud of dress boots. She sighed in exasperation.

"Daddy, you know how Mother hates it when you track in mud from outside. Why didn't you take your boots off?" Catherine stuck her arms back into the sink, keeping her eyes turned away from the figure in the doorway.

Thomas just watched her continue to work, not saying a word. Her long, brown hair hung, uncombed, down her slender back. She blew absently at her bangs whenever they got in her eyes. Catherine also had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, soapsuds clinging to her exposed arms. She was scrubbing so vigorously that her whole body shook. Each movement she made flicked more water out of the sink and onto the floor.

Her green eyes were narrowed in concentration. Her face was pink and sweaty from the heat of the dishwater. She wore a simple, blue dress, a white apron tied around her waist, and he could see that she was barefoot. Apparently, she had been barefoot all morning, because faint patches of dirt lingered on the soles of her feet.

All in all, the prince thought he had never seen anyone more attractive in his entire life.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?" Catherine turned to look at him, and her frustration turned to shock.

Thomas entered the room, smiling. "Hello, dear."

"What—how?" She dropped the dish she was holding, and it rolled away to bump into the table leg. "This has to be a dream. I've dreamed this before and—and—this can't be real."

He shook his head. "No, this is real. I've just arrived home."

She came over slowly, laying an uncertain hand on his chest. She gasped. "Oh my goodness—you're here. You're really here."

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. Her knees went weak, and she had to clutch at him for support. He put an arm around her waist. She couldn't say anything for a moment, and when she did, it was a whisper.

"I can't believe you're back."

Thomas smiled. "Well you should, because—oh, please don't start crying."

"Why can't I cry?" she demanded, wiping her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were coming and how else am I to react? Oh Tommy, I could've made you apple pie—been properly dressed instead of covered in soap bubbles and—"

"I don't care about soap bubbles," he murmured, stroking her cheek.

Catherine closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her like he always did.

She was disappointed, however, when Thomas stepped back.

Catherine frowned. "Why'd you stop?"

"Because, I have a question for you," he answered.

"A question? I haven't seen you for five months and you expect me to—what—what are you getting on the floor for? You'll ruin your uniform and—" Her eyes widened once she saw the small, diamond ring he had removed from his pocket.

Thomas cleared his throat. "I knew, as soon as I got home, that there was something I had to ask you. And I didn't want to wait."

"Oh."

"Cat," he said calmly, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She gazed at him, speechless.

Thomas shifted on his knee. "My life is yours. Everything I am, everything I ever wanted to be, belongs to you. Because I trust you completely. And I love you completely. And I really, really want to marry you."

"Even—even if I'm barefoot, half-Midlander, and I throw books at your head?" she asked, sounding on the verge of tears again.

He grinned. "Yes, especially that."

"All right. Yes, I'll marry you."

Thomas's grin broadened, and he accepted her hand, sliding the ring onto her finger. Then he rose to his feet and took her in his arms. Catherine grasped the back of his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent. He felt wonderful—strong, solid, reliable—all the things she had so deeply missed. His hands were cradling her lower back, and with some surprise she realized that her feet were no longer touching the floor. Thomas had picked her up.

Catherine laughed and drew back a little to kiss him, several times. His beard tickled her face and his response was anything but meek. Corona's nobility would certainly not approve. But she did not care. She did not care even if the whole world saw. She was going to marry this man.

The End