Author Note: Hope you are all doing well! I officially finished my first year of grad school and will be doing an internship this summer so all's well on my front. Just a lot of work but I was still able to finish this piece so yay on that end! :D I won't be updating this or Forthcoming Blessing terribly often (I know, big surprise) but I'm still interested in seeing these stories out so don't give up on me just yet haha. Anyway, thank you for reading, faving, and reviewing! I appreciate it!

P.S. Can you find the reference in this one? :D It's pretty obvious but it made me laugh!

Soli Deo Gloria

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

The door swung outward, and a short, stooped figure stood in the doorway. For a moment, the brightness of the figure's lantern blinded Thomas and he was unable to discern any features of the tower's occupant. But then his eyes grew used to the light and he found himself staring at an old man with a wispy grey beard, oversized spectacles, and a dressing gown complete with bunny slippers.

"Eh?" the man offered, staring at him through magnified eyes.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Um. Good evening, sir."

The man's bushy eyebrows scrunched up together so that it looked as if he had a large, fuzzy caterpillar crawling across his forehead. "Even'n."

"Could I—um, I've been traveling and I—I saw you had your fire going and I thought…" Thomas floundered, realizing that he had never asked for shelter in his entire life. This part always seemed much easier in the stories.

Thankfully, the old man knew about stories because he just said in a reedy voice, "I've got dinner on the fire. Would you like to join me?"

"Please."

A grin crossed the man's face, revealing that he had only half of his teeth. "Wonderful! I've always liked visitors. Don't get much of 'em. Please come in—watch your head there—the entry's a bit short."

Thomas ducked into the tower and started to climb the steps. The old man closed the door behind him and followed after, his lantern casting long shadows on the walls of the tower. Outside, the wind whistled and rain pelted down. Thomas shivered, glad to be out of the storm but slightly nervous about his host. But, he reminded himself, his knife rested strapped to his belt, so if anything went wrong he could always—

"For such a tall fellow you're going awfully slow. Let'm take the lead." Without waiting for Thomas to stand aside, the man squeezed his way past him and started skipping up the steps.

Thomas hurried after him to avoid being left in the dark. Surprisingly soon, they had reached a trapdoor which the old man hefted up easily. Warm light shone down into the stairwell. Thomas followed him up onto a wide, circular room complete with a fireplace, kitchen area, and two other doors leading off to other rooms. Thomas inhaled a delicious, meaty smell and saw a pot suspended above the flames in the fireplace. There was also a high-backed chair, a table, a stool, a weird, orange flowerpot and a battered wardrobe. The floor was made of smooth flagstones and, when he looked up, he saw the peaked ceiling of the tower leading away into dark rafters.

Thomas continued glancing around, walking slowly forward. There was a sudden yowl and a hiss at his feet. Something orange and furry streaked in front of his legs and Thomas tripped, falling painfully to the floor.

"Oh, watch yourself there! Phillipa's quite inconsiderate sometimes."

Thomas started to sit up, shaking his head. "No, it was my fault. I didn't look where—" he stopped talking, his gaze transfixed on the wall above the mantelpiece.

His host shuffled over, a teapot in his hand. "You didn't hurt yourself did you?"

Not hearing the man's voice, Thomas got to his feet and approached the fireplace, still gazing at the painting on the wall. And then he noticed other paintings—other lines and curls and images decorating every piece of furniture and every inch of wall space. The entire tower had been painted and within every brushstroke he saw his childhood.

"Ah, you've seen the best part about my home! Yes, it's quite nice—pictures of this blonde babe everywhere. It was the first thing I noticed when I moved in." The old man's voice sounded far away, even though Thomas knew he was coming over to stand beside him.

His host continued to speak, "My absolute favorite has to be this one right here though. She just looks so wistful. Don't know what she's looking at, though. Stars, really fat lightning bugs, who knows?"

"Lanterns," Thomas muttered hoarsely, his eyes drawn once more to the painting above the fireplace.

"Hmm—suppose that could be it…"

When Thomas did not say anything, his host squinted at him with concern. "Eh, are you all right?"

The boy nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You're probably hungry. Here, come sit by the fire while I get a bowl for you."

He had been hungry, but his appetite had left him suddenly. Nevertheless, Thomas followed the old man's instruction and took a seat on the stool by the fire. There was clattering over in the kitchen area as his host rummaged through the cupboard. The soup bubbled over the fire and, as Thomas returned his gaze to the painting above, he caught sight of an orange cat slinking back into the shadows. Overall the tower was quite a—a homey place. Even if—well, there was always the possibility that it wasn't—the forest was huge after all. There was bound to be other towers than just—this couldn't be the only one…

The old man came over with two bowls and set about ladling soup into them. He handed Thomas a bowl and took the chair opposite him, smiling. "Eat up, then. It'll warm you a sight faster than just sitting by the grate."

Thomas began to eat, heat spreading through his body as hot liquid slid down his throat.

His host took a few bites of his own soup before he said, "Well, I suppose I should tell you my name, eh? 'Course I can't remember if it is my name or if I just think it is—but now I call myself Anson the Magnificent."

Thomas coughed. "'Magnificent?'"

Anson nodded. "Oh yes. What's the point of having a name if you can't do something fun with it? Speaking of, yours is…?"

"I—," Thomas hesitated, his mind going blank. "It's—uh, Herbert."

The old man wrinkled his nose. "If you're going to lie about it you'd better practice. Because that was just awful."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah. Your business is yours. Although why a young lad like you is wandering the forest this time of night—are you looking for a magic sword or something?"

"What?"

Anson snorted, waving his hand. "Ha ha, just kidding. Anyway, some fellow in a green tunic already took the only magic sword I know of."

Thomas, unsure if the old man was lying or just crazy, gulped down more soup. He glanced at the walls again, unable to keep his eyes from them. Anson must have seen him staring because he set aside his bowl and nodded at the paintings.

"Gorgeous work, whoever did them. Although there are some areas that look a little more scribbly. I wasn't expecting them when I came up here for the first time."

"How'd you find this place?"

"Oh, I was just fishing along the river and I came across the most wonderful picnic basket. I managed to grab the basket, lost my rod, and then it started raining so I had to get to shelter. I accidentally found the cave and then I found the tower. And then I ate the lunch—quite delicious."

"And you just moved in?"

"No one was home and no one came a'calling. And it was a nice tower except for the mess."

Thomas's head snapped over to look at Anson, but his host was too busy reminiscing to notice. "Yes—very dusty with ivy growing all over the place. And there were these glass shards everywhere from a mirror someone had overturned. Sad, really. I could've used a mirror that size. And this weird rope—looked almost like hair 'cept I knew hair could never get that long."

Feeling as if a pit had opened in the bottom of his stomach, Thomas shakily set his soup onto the floor.

"But worst of all was this big ugly stain on the floor by the stairs. It, well—" Anson looked around before setting a hand to his mouth and whispering, "Between you and me it looked as if someone had died here."

Thomas took a deep breath, several memories sliding rapidly and painfully into place in his brain.

Anson raised his eyebrows. "Done with your soup?"

Swallowing, Thomas nodded.

"Right. Well, in that case—"

There was an abrupt crash from the room upstairs and an almost immediate howling noise. Anson sprang up, yelping, "Phillipa's pulled the bookshelf down on her again!"

Without a backwards glance, the old man ran up the stairs.

Thomas stood to follow but then froze in place, his eyes caught once more by the paintings. Unable to help himself, he began to move slowly around the room. He set trembling hands on the furniture, ran his fingers across the wall, and gazed up at the beautifully sketched artwork in the rafters.

"Mom."

It was impossible to believe. But this was it. This was the place of that old story he had been told long ago. The one his father constantly came back to whenever he and his sisters had demanded stories. For years Thomas had believed it. Then he had dismissed it as an exaggeration of much less interesting events. But now he was forced to admit: it was true. It was all true. His mother had been trapped here for nearly eighteen years. His father had died here. Both of them had had their first make-out session right in this room!

"Eyuah!"

With that thought, the panic that had been rising ever since he first saw the paintings reached its limit. Thomas, heart pounding, ran over to the trapdoor. His stomach growled, and he stopped short, looking over at the kitchen area. On the table sat a loaf of bread and a bag of apples. He glanced up towards the second-floor room where Anson had disappeared. He could still hear some thudding noises, as well as the continued yowling of the trapped cat. Anson would probably be a while. Thomas, encouraged by the ease of the theft, started gathering up the bread. He slung the sack of fruit over his shoulder and opened one of the lower cabinets.

It was different than stealing from the palace kitchens. At the palace, he had always felt in some way that the food there was partly his anyway. But here—this man who had sheltered him—it was his food. He paused only once before he shoved his remaining guilt away and grabbed another bundle to tuck under his arm. Then Thomas turned and went back to the stairs.

A minute later, Anson reappeared, his orange cat cradled in his arms. He shook his head and said, "Poor thing. I couldn't figure out how to shift the—hey where'd the lad go?"

The cat in his arms purred.

Thomas ducked under the low ceiling of the cave. Maximus II snorted in surprise, but Thomas shook his head and started attaching the bundles to the horse's saddle. "No time, Max. We've got to get out of here."

Maximus II neighed.

"Yeah, you can smell apples. I'll give you one when we've gotten clear of this—this place."

Moments later, Thomas led Maximus II back out into the pouring rain. He got onto the horse's back and spurred him into a gallop. Soon all Thomas could hear was pounding hooves, the unending fall of rain, and the new bundles of food jostling against the saddle. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than the tower. Because the tower meant that his father had been telling the truth all along. He had not been lying nor exaggerating. He had not been mistaken in his remembrance, and Thomas didn't want to consider what else his father was right about.

He could have gone back home, but the thought of facing his family stamped out the idea immediately. Besides, even if he wanted to return to the palace, he could only guess at which direction to take. And that was not how the story was supposed to go. He had never heard of the hero running away from home only to come back five hours later. Or ten hours. He really didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know where he was. All he knew was that he was wet, and cold, and shaken from finding the tower. And guilty. He felt so terribly guilty. He should not have taken the food. Thieving may have been in his blood, but his father had failed to mention how bad it made you feel inside.

Thomas bent his head against the wind and continued to ride, eyes screwing up against the rain and whipping leaves. Maximus II was adept at missing trees but his master, however, had to press himself almost horizontal against the animal's neck to avoid being knocked off. They did not slow for half an hour, traveling through miles of trees, crossing rivers, and even jumping a low cliff. But both Maximus II and the boy were tiring, and Thomas eased him into a walk. The horse was panting, his sides heaving from exertion. They needed to rest soon.

The land had become rockier and wilder. The hills were too steep to climb in the wet so Thomas turned Maximus II into a long ravine. The horse's hooves splashed through water that had gathered there while Thomas scanned the area for some kind of shelter. Finally spotting an overhang, he guided Maximus II to it and came to a halt, jumping down to lead him into the shadow of the stony knoll. The ground beneath was dry and a welcome change to dampness. Maximus II sank to the earth once Thomas had removed his saddles and let out a soft murmur. Thomas withdrew a few apples and held them out in the darkness, feeling warm lips plucking them from his hand.

"We'll have to ration them," he said, patting the animal's nose when he snuffled for more. "But you deserve those, buddy. You're a good horse."

"Nrhfm."

"I know. I'm cold too."

"Hrnm?"

"I got them from a friend. Besides, since when did you care where your apples come from?"

The horse did not reply, and soon Thomas heard the unmistakable sound of snoring over the noise of the storm outside. He sighed and lay down on the rocky soil, trying to get as comfortable as possible while using his saddle for a pillow. He was exhausted, but the shame in his heart and his shivering limbs made it difficult to go to sleep.

This whole adventure thing was turning out to be a lot more difficult than he thought.

Thomas dreamed of the tower that night. He dreamed of its dark corners and locked rooms. Of its height; its impenetrable and inescapable height. He tried to climb its brick face but there was no hope. His fingers grew numb and bloody. And then he was in the tower, and by the fireplace was a shadowy figure singing before a glowing flower—its ancient voice slipping into light tones of youth. But then the flower vanished, the figure crumpled. A flash of silver and then a mirror burst into a million pieces. The figure whirled around and in place of its face was the grin of a rotting skull.

His eyes opened, and he was greeted by sunlight. Maximus II drifted into view, drinking from the small creek that had formed along the ravine's bottom. The horse's white coat was splotched with crusted mud. Briars knotted his mane and tail and there were scratches on his legs. The head groom in the stables would kill Thomas if he found out what had been allowed to happen to his horse.

Thomas sat up, groaning as the pains from his journey and cramped sleeping position came back in full force. He rubbed his eyes with grimed hands and emerged from beneath the overhang. It was an absolutely beautiful morning. The sky above was no longer rent by lighting or swollen clouds but was instead a clear, vibrant blue. Branches cluttered by leaves of red and gold poked out from above the boulders of the ravine, bouncing when squirrels raced between them. Winter sunshine warmed the earth and cast sparkles across the water in the ravine. A cold breeze full of the fragrance of nature gently blew through the woods.

The entire world had been remade overnight.

"Whoa," Thomas mumbled, coming over to where Maximus II still drank. He had never seen anything like this. Not like this. Not up close, with the birds singing and the forest breathing and the feeling of immensity stretching around him. There were no buildings here. No crowded streets or bustling thoroughfares. No ocean, either, and although he missed the crashing waves the sleepy hum of life in the trees was a fitting replacement.

They had a breakfast of bread and apples, with an unexpected edition of cheese from Anson's stolen stores. Thomas found it easier to ignore his guilt with a full stomach, and he packed away the remaining food in his saddlebags. Then he made an effort to scrub off the mud from his body and Maximus II's flanks. He did not do a very good job, but at least the briars were no longer tangled in his horse's tail. Perhaps they would come across a larger river and he could try again later in the day, but for now a brief rinse would have to do.

It was late morning before they finally started out, taking a leisurely trot through the woods. Thomas did not have a specific route in mind and so he let Maximus II wander. They passed through shady glens and fields budded with the promise of early wildflowers. Songbirds flitted from tree to tree and butterflies investigated bushes. One even landed on Maximus II's left ear and rode with them for some time. The insect departed once they entered another ravine bordered by moss-covered stones. Rainwater sprinkled down from the trees and the rocks, dripping steadily and adding to the music of their surroundings. It was quiet and pleasant. It was everything he had ever dreamed of…

"I wonder if Dad ever went through places like this. What do you think, Max?"

The horse grunted, picking his way up a slope.

"Yeah, I know. Why on earth would he give this up for paperwork?"

He frowned, trying to figure out just how long he had been away from home. It had to be two days at least. Or maybe just a night and a day? At any rate, his absence had long since been noticed. They may have sent out a search party or two, but there was no chance they'd find him in here. These woods covered miles and miles. And, once he made it to Gavin, he'd be able to go anywhere he wanted in the entire kingdom. He'd even be able to go outside the kingdom, if he wanted.

"Max, we could go anywhere we want, you know? We could go to Orae or Gralt. If we went to the coast we might be able to take a ship to the Peninsula. You'd like that—it's a lot warmer there now than it is here," Thomas said, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. "We could even go see the deserts of the Auxurian Empire! I bet it's not half as sandy as everybody says."

"Nrgh."

"Fine, we don't have to go across the ocean. But we do need to get away from here. If Dad ever finds me again I know I'll be grounded for life. And worse—I'll have to be prince. You know how much I hate that idea."

Maximus II neighed in response.

Thomas grinned. "Yeah, and you're not keen on wearing crown prince tack are you? All that frippery with the ribbons—making you look all girly—Max, where are we?"

The horse came to a stop in front of a dirt pathway cutting through the woods. Thomas looked down one end and then the other. There were no travelers in sight, nor was there any indication of what was to be found in either direction. Thomas got off his horse and rummaged through his knapsack, pulling out the ripped pages of his textbooks. He shuffled through them until he found the map of Corona. A single glance told him this would be of no help whatsoever. It had no details, no landmarks. Nothing to tell him where he was or where he should go.

Muttering darkly, Thomas stuffed the pages back into his knapsack and started to march down the pathway. He examined the dirt, trying to see where the majority of the foot traffic was heading, but the rain had washed most of it away. Maximus II followed after him, nibbling at the grass on the side of the trail without concern.

"You know, I thought you'd have a better sense of direction?"

Maximus snorted and continued to eat.

"Aren't horses supposed to have instincts? Or something?"

The horse did not deign to respond and continued to allow Thomas to walk aimlessly down the path, always keeping his master in sight while also getting in his brunch. Thomas picked up a fallen stick and whacked it against a tree trunk in frustration. There would be no chance of finding Gavin if he didn't know where he was currently. Oh, why hadn't he picked up a compass before he left? Clearly he had inherited his sense of direction from his mother.

This brief thought made Thomas remember the paintings in the tower. They really were amazing paintings, reminiscent of those in the old playroom in the palace. He had always known his mother was creative due to the endless sketches she would make of him and his sisters when they were younger. Some of them were still pinned to the walls of his room—silly pictures of him dressed as a pirate or fighting off a hoard of monsters by pelting them with marshmallows. She could cheer him up quicker than anyone else. She had this way of smoothing his hair back and telling him everything would be all right. But then the war came, and suddenly his concerns weren't quite as important as an entire country.

Thomas shook his head and tossed the stick back into the undergrowth. His father would say he was being selfish to think such things. But if it was the truth… was that really selfishness?

There was a sudden shout. Thomas spun around, looking back the way he had come. His ears began to pick up other noises: the soft pounding of hooves and a set of very squeaky wheels. He ran over to Maximus II and started shoving him into the trees. The horse protested with a neigh, but Thomas ignored him. "Shhh, Max. Hush—it could be anyone. It could be—it could be Dad…"

Thomas's heart began to thud fast in his chest and he withdrew into the covering of the forest. The leaves were not thick this time of year, leading to a lack of hiding places. He settled into a crouch beneath a fallen log and hoped Maximus II was behind something bristly. It was too late to go deeper into the woods without making noise, and so he waited.

The shouting grew louder. Thomas could make out words now.

"Wot do you mean you don't reckon Lily-Ann fancies me? Of course she fancies me. All gals fancy me."

"You mean the ones in your head fancy you."

"That's mean, that is. Besides, she told me herself that she'd love for me to visit sometime."

Through the thicket of trees, Thomas saw the shape of a wagon pulled by two horses. Two young men sat in the driver's seat. They seemed to be arguing.

"Lily-Ann only wants you to make her old bloke jealous."

"No she doesn't."

"Of course she does. She's far too pretty to be interested in a fellow as dull as you."

"She is pretty but she is also interested in me. Besides, Lily-Ann really—pudding tops who is that?"

Thomas drew further back, gulping.

"Who is wot?" asked the other man.

"That lad in the trees—oi! Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to eavesdrop?"

"I don't think he heard you."

"Righto, better try again. Oi! Come out or I'll box your ears!"

Thomas, realizing there was nothing else for it, cleared his throat and stepped out onto the road. "Um, I'm sorry?"

The first man, who was slightly taller and older than the other, pulled the horses to a stop with a short whistle. "You should be sorry, you rotter! Wot with—oh, dear. Wot on earth happened to you? Was there a bandit?"

Thomas glanced down at his rough appearance. "What? No—no I'm just traveling. With my horse—" he turned and waved Maximus II back onto the road. "We—we got lost, though."

"Where you heading?" asked the second man, who looked so much like his companion they had to be brothers.

"Um, Gavin."

The first man nodded, murmuring, "At least it isn't Livesley. We've got enough trouble there as it is."

"I—" Thomas started, but was unable to say anything further when the second brother slapped the other on the back of the head.

"Don't say that! Can't you see the poor lad is lost?"

"Of course I can see that—he just said he was lost! And there's no need," he slapped his brother on the head in return, "to go hitting me. You don't smack your elders."

"Oh that's it!" The second brother began to cuff the other, and soon both men had engaged in what could only be described as a slap fight. The horses drawing the wagon remained patiently still, apparently used to this sort of thing.

Thomas cleared his throat again. "Um, excuse me—hey—excuse me!"

"Wot?" the older brother asked, pausing on his way to sticking a licked finger into the younger's ear.

"Would you be able to show me the way to Gavin?" he asked.

"Gavin?"

"Yes, that's where he's traveling you moron!" the younger brother said, struggling free.

"I know that's where he's traveling you—"

"A-hem."

Both men stopped at once and turned to look at Thomas again. Thomas straightened and tried to remember what he had learned about public speaking. He took a deep breath and said, "If you wouldn't mind, I'd greatly appreciate some help finding my way to Gavin. Please."

The older brother frowned, watching him for a long moment. He finally asked suspiciously, "Wot's your name?"

Prepared this time, Thomas answered, "My name is Rider."

The man righted himself in his seat and dusted off his coat. "Well then, Rider, yes, I believe you may ride with us."

His brother rolled his eyes. "Thinks he's clever, this fellow."

"I'm a sight cleverer than you, Peanut-brain."

"Just because Mum's not here doesn't mean you can call me Peanut-brain," the younger brother pointed out.

"Is that right? Well then, Twiddle-thumbs, wot say you to letting Rider come with us?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I want another useless toff traveling with me."

"I'm not useless," Thomas vouched quickly. "I can—I can fish and—and I can gather firewood. Oh, and take care of horses. I'm really good at that."

All three pairs of eyes slid over to the still muddied Maximus II, now intent on tugging a wild carrot from the ground.

"Well, with the right tools I can," Thomas admitted. "But I'll do anything, really! I just need to know how to get to Gavin."

"You've been heading the right way, I can tell you that much," said the older brother.

"So all I need to do is just go straight?"

"It's more like there's a few turns but—tell you wot—we'll get you on the right road and out of the woods if you promise you won't touch our horses."

Thomas nodded, relieved. "Okay."

"And if you'll collect all the firewood because I hate that chore."

"He really does. Mum used to scold him silly because he'd never—"

"That's enough out of you, thank you very much."

The trip out of the forest took only a few hours, but the constant squabbling from the brothers made it feel much longer. The brothers' names were Elliot and Stoll Derrin. Their parents owned a large wheat farm on the outskirts of Livesley. The brothers were on their way back from a five-day trip to the capital, having been sent on an errand to purchase a new plow and millstone. Normally, the duchy they lived in would have been able to provide such tools. Recent surges of refugees, however, had placed a limit on available farming implements at reasonable prices.

"And it's not the duke's fault by any means. He can't control wot people sell things for," Stoll declared fairly.

Despite their cavalier manner of speaking, Thomas found himself engrossed by what the men were telling him. The reports provided to the royal family were much more clinical than these observations from people actually living with the results of the war. Thomas had known there were difficulties, but now he could visualize the problems an additional populace could pose a city's economy. Not only were food supplies dwindling but other items like tools and clothing were becoming scarce. Increased strain rested on the cities responsible for producing and transporting food and military equipment to the north. Most supply issues occurred in the major municipalities, largely leaving the surrounding villages free from an influx of Midlander refugees.

"But it won't be long, Da says. Soon we'll all be fighting for a scrap of bread," Elliot predicted.

"Has it really gotten that bad?" Thomas asked, dropping an armload of loose sticks into the back of the slow-moving wagon.

Elliot scratched his chin. "In some parts of the country it's like that. Doesn't hurt that the crown is sending our best chaps to the north to control those villainous Lock men. Takes away the work force."

"I never thought—"

"How in the dilly-dumpkins did you not know about that though, Rider?" Stoll asked abruptly.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "What—oh—I'm—I'm not from around here."

"Your accent's further south than ours, yes, but you're obviously Coronan. Have you been missing the newspapers?"

"I—" Thomas tried to think of a convincing lie. "I can't read."

Stoll pursed his lips. "Clearly not, otherwise you wouldn't be going to Gavin. Everyone who has seen a newspaper knows that Gavin is practically bursting with refugees who have nowhere else to go."

Elliot nodded. "He's right, you know. Keep a close eye on your belongings, Rider. It's a dangerous city to be in these days."

"I think Max and I can handle it," Thomas replied.

"Perhaps, but you're also going to want to keep a firm hold of your horse. A steed that fine—despite the dirt—is bound to gain the attention of thieves and the like."

Thomas shrugged uncomfortably and went back to picking up sticks from the wayside. He returned with an armload some twenty minutes later, and found the two brothers considering him with strange expressions on their faces.

"Yes?" he asked.

Elliot gestured to his brother. "Stoll thinks you're a recruit off to Gavin to join a regiment. I think you're going to the city to visit family. Which is it?"

Thomas looked between the two. He turned a possible answer around in his mind before voicing it aloud. "I'm going to Gavin to start over."

"Start over?"

"Yeah. You know—make my fortune and—and see the country."

Stoll shook his head. "There's not much to see, to be honest. Our Da's taken us around the duchy a bit and my guess it's probably a lot more interesting where you came from than where you're going."

"Nah." Thomas muttered, scuffing his heel on the road. "It's boring where I live." This was not strictly true, and Thomas knew it, but the type of excitement provided by the life of royalty was not what he sought. He didn't want to be trapped behind a desk all day only to come home and read paperwork by the fire, as he had so often witnessed in his parents. There had to be more to life than that, and he was determined to find it.

They lapsed into silence and, after unloading another armload of fire kindling into the back of the wagon, Thomas got back onto his horse. This allowed them to pick up the pace and in another forty minutes the forest trees began to thin. The sun had gotten higher in the sky by now, and Thomas felt his stomach growling. He wanted to ask when they would stop for lunch, but the brothers were in the midst of an argument about who was going to fit the new millstone into place and he didn't want to interrupt. Instead he reached into his saddlebag and pulled out two apples. He rolled one in front of Maximus II and the other he buffed on his shirt before taking a bite.

He shifted the fruit around his mouth, again admiring the landscape and inhaling the cool, sweet-smelling air. Through the gaps in the trees he could see stretching hills and grasslands. They were called the Plains of Florence, despite overlapping the duchies of Livesely and Gavin, as well as totally encompassing the Barony of Chantill. He had seen them before while on an extremely long coach ride to visit his great-uncle Frederick and his family. Back then they had seemed dull, empty hills rolling past the window of a stuffy carriage. Now, however, as he and the brothers finally broke the treeline and rode out onto the wider pathway, the plains were filled with potential.

"Righto, Rider," Elliot said as his brother whistled the wagon horses to a stop. "This is where we part."

"Isn't Livesely up ahead?" Thomas frowned.

He smiled. "Yes, but we have to go east first. Our Da put in an order at a woodcutter camp for some new beams for the mill."

"Just like anything else these days, you have to go out of town to get quality work for a good price," his brother added.

Elliot shrugged. "At any rate, in order for you to get to Gavin you'll want to take this lane straight all the way down."

"How long will it take to reach Gavin?" Thomas asked, gazing along the lane winding its way through the yellow grasses.

Stoll coughed. "About three days or so, depending on how fast you travel and how often you stop."

His brother nodded smartly. "Yes, and speaking of stopping, if you're in need a roof don't be afraid to visit some of the farms around here. Most of these folks know us and if you mention our names some of them are bound to give you shelter."

Thomas grinned at the men and reached over to take Elliot by the hand. "Thank you. You both have been great."

He squeezed his hand in returned. "Cheerio, Rider. May you find wot you're looking for."

A few minutes later, the brothers had gone, and Thomas turned away from their disappearing wagon to look once more at the plains before him.