crown to cutlass (pirate au) || DNF

❥5 | execution

george is on carriage to the place, his hands in cuffs. george gets sent to wait in a room in the castle and then, he hears footsteps come down, dream. 

A day had passed, and now George found himself seated in a rattling carriage, the wooden wheels creaking over the uneven cobblestone roads as it made its way to the court. The air inside the carriage was thick with tension, silent save for the occasional clatter of hooves against the stones or the low murmur of the driver outside.

Across from him sat a guard, dressed in a dark, weathered uniform. His eyes were sharp beneath the brim of his hat, and he kept his pistol clutched firmly at his side, as if expecting George to make some kind of escape attempt. But George did nothing. He simply sat there, his hands resting loosely on his lap, gaze turned outward to the window beside him.

Outside, the town moved by in a blur, familiar streets and homes fading into the distance as they moved further from the manor and closer to the towering structure of the court. George watched with a detached sense of melancholy, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't quiet. The weight of what was about to happen pressed down on him like a vise, but he had no energy left to fight it.

He had accepted it now. The inevitability.

The world outside seemed both vividly alive and hopelessly distant, the marketplace filled with people carrying on their day, oblivious to the fate of the man sitting behind the glass of the carriage window. George saw a group of children playing with wooden toys, a merchant arguing with a customer over the price of spices, and a couple strolling hand in hand. Life continued on, indifferent to his impending doom. It was strange, he thought, how little the world cared.

The further they traveled, the less familiar the streets became, and soon, the carriage entered the more solemn part of the city, where the court stood. The buildings here were taller, darker, looming over the streets like specters. The sky above was dull and overcast, casting everything in a grayish hue, as if the world itself was mourning.

George glanced back inside the carriage, his eyes briefly meeting the guard's. The man said nothing, his face impassive. He had a job to do, and George was just another prisoner to him. He wasn't cruel, nor was he kind—just a cog in the machine that had been set in motion long ago.

George's gaze returned to the window. His mind drifted to Liz, to Tommy, to the quiet days spent in his study when his only concern was the paperwork or the politics of the town. He thought about the elixir of life and the fleeting promises it once held. Now, those things felt like remnants of a distant past, a past that no longer had any bearing on what lay ahead.

The court was close now. The towering structure loomed at the end of the road, its stone walls cold and unforgiving. Soon, he would stand trial for crimes he hadn't committed but was powerless to disprove. The punishment, he knew, would be severe. Execution, most likely. The new king had made it clear he wouldn't tolerate any perceived treachery, and George was an easy scapegoat.

The carriage slowed as they approached the gates of the court. George didn't move. He continued to look out the window, watching as the guards outside prepared to escort him in.

George stepped out of the carriage, his boots landing with a dull thud on the stone pavement. He glanced around briefly before the guard beside him motioned for him to move forward. With a heavy sigh, George began his slow walk toward the court hall, the towering stone structure looming above him, a fortress of law and judgement.

The large wooden doors creaked open as George was escorted inside by the guard, the cool air of the court hitting his face. His heart pounded with each step, though he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to show any weakness in the face of what was to come. The court hall was vast, with high ceilings and rows of benches filled with a mixture of onlookers, officials, and guards.