---
Now it's fresh in his mind and he knows he won't be able to stop thinking about it.
---
He listened to his footsteps as they echoed through the hall. His hands were covering his face, hoping none of the maids would see him cry. It's only Tuesday morning.
The remainder of the day, he stayed quiet, still, and wrapped up comfortably in bed. Well, it should've been comfortable. He felt like the sheets were on fire. The anxiety in his chest was paining his whole body. What does he do now?
The rest of the week was going to be painfully slow with dark, shameful glances being constantly thrown at George. He will do his work, nod his head, make people happy. Comply.
Tuesday had quickly subsided into a miserable Wednesday. Wednesday passing quickly into a quiet Thursday.
Friday was not any different. Still a day of what seemed like endless discomfort and disappointment.
He was fencing today. He was physically incapable of much, but excelled in this sport. He'd joust at his opponents and disarm them with ease.
His mother wandered out to his training facility, face rather pink, eyes rather red. She was wearing what were considered her comfy clothes and a pair of sturdy boots. George hadn't seen her like this in years.
"George. Come, now. We're heading into the village."
"Now? How come? Won't father be displeased?"
"Just follow me." Her tone was stern, demanding.
George removed his protective gear and was dismissed by the supervisor of the lesson. He hurriedly trailed behind his mother, back up to the castle. He was instructed to quickly change and did so into comfy, casual clothes; much like his mother was wearing.
It was a short walk to the village and his mother was shielding him the whole time under a patterned shawl. He presumed it's because of being seen and he henceforth decided not to mention his previous trip to the village.
What hadn't yet crossed his mind, was the slim chance he could see the boy he'd been craving all week. The brunette was instead focused on his mother's flushed face and tear-stained cheeks. He knew that his father tended to argue, but he didn't know to the extent in which it made his mother cry. It was blatantly obvious but her weak smiles told George he should ignore it.
"Mother, why is this all so sudden?"
"I see the way you look out the window, George."
"What are you talking about?"
"Who is she? Do you meet her often? I'm sure you're aware of your future arrangement, so I'm not going to question further. I just hope you're safe."
The boy paused and shook his head.
"..It's a he." George whispered.
His mother stopped.
"It's a boy? That you're seeing?"
"Yes. But I wouldn't say seeing. I saw him once. Please, please don't tell father. He'll hate me. He can't know."
His mother brought him in for a hug. She combed through his dark hair and kissed the top of his head, sighing.
"It's okay, George. I understand. And I won't tell your father. But you know I can't help with the testimony.."
"I understand, mother. I do. But I need to find Dream."
"Dream?"
"Yes, it's the boys name. He's a village boy."
"I guessed that. The name sounds familiar, though. We can go in, I'll do some light shopping. I'll meet you by the jewellers at sunset, okay?"
"Yes, thank you, thank you."
George began to run, he couldn't waste any time.
"George?" his mother shouted.
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
He nodded and continued on his way. Those three words haven't left his mouth for years and his mother could never understand why. He wasn't unaffectionate, he was just distant sometimes.
It's just the way he was.
So, when he was young, his mother came up with a way for him to convey his love without actually saying the word. If George wanted to say, 'I love you', he says, "evoluoyoot". (ee-vol-o-yoot)
'Love you too', backwards. His mother wasn't feeling very creative sixteen years ago. But that still stands for George. He still says it when he means to.
He made his way to the Well, praying he was going the right way. He'd been here once before and was convinced this was the way there. When he saw the water spout, he smiled to himself.
Now he'd wait.
He had four hours before his mother wanted to recoup, leaving him four hours to pray and hope that Dream would find him. This was around the same time they met on Sunday so chances were, Dream may make his way here.
Chances lowered when a dark, angry crowd surrounded the sky, shadowing the village beneath. His hope slimmed even more when the sky started spitting violent raindrops at himself and the bustling people around the brunette.
George stood as the people rushed by, barely taking a second glance. His eyes darted around, hoping to finally meet the emarald green ones he so desperately wanted to see. No, he needed to see. The water gathered on his eyelashes, weighing them down but he held his eyes firmly open, not wanting to miss Dream for even a split second. His pale skin became wet and his clothes began to soak. But he remained stilled. The rain became heavier, the clouds only darker. How much longer could he wait? He'd wait until he was forcefully dragged away if it resulted in him finally reconnecting with Dream.
He paced the muddy path, almost slipping due to the sudden wetness of the earth. What did he look like right now?
Drenched and cold, shaking and sore.
Had he missed his chance?
His eyes were scared, scared he'd missed someone he was born to love. His hands were held together tight, trying to savour warmth in this dreadful cold he'd stumbled into. His hair was damp and dark, flopping over his eyes but he didn't care. George's cheeks were red with anger and frustration after letting himself get so attached to a boy he'd spoke to merely once.
Yet he stayed where he was because George had something that he claimed he would never lose.
Hope.
It got to the point where he went round, describing the man of his dreams, pun intended. People shook their heads again and again, no one knew who or where Dream was. George sauntered back to the Well, determined to find him. He'd be there.
He'd be there.
Right?
It was dawning on him that he was running out of time, but he didn't care. He just needed to see the blonde curls, though due to the rain, they'd most likely seep into a deeper, darker brown. He just wanted to see him, to know he was okay.
But George has no control over this situation. Just like he feared.
He did end up being forcefully dragged away by Palace guards after he refused to return home hours after his mother requested. She didn't tell them why he was there, making an excuse about clothing to the king.
George ended up bathing, as instructed by his mother, and then crying into his beige sheets, wishing he'd tried harder to see Dream.
He screamed into his pillow, yet no sound arose from his mouth. His voice was hoarse and raspy and he could barely speak. He was hurting. And he let himself hurt.
A soft hand stroked his back as he cried and he heard his mother's voice over his muffled screams.
"We'll go back next week, George."
_____________________________________
YOU ARE READING
Our Fallen Kingdom {DNF}
Fanfiction{COMPLETED} George has a lover. One not approved by his father, the king. Why are they not approved? George is being forced to marry for the sake of the kingdom. Will he fight for what's right? Will he love for himself, or for the sake of his famil...
