bitter water // dreamnotfound

nineteen

even with the entire kingdom on fire with panic and uncertainty, tommy's family remained the exact same.

He foolishly anticipated them to maybe, just maybe stop berating him for every small thing he did now that there was something else to fret about. They never let him breathe. That’s one of the reasons Tommy was never home; he didn’t want to be home. He’d rather spend the day away from his family and get in trouble later than have to live out his days in a destructive household full of hypocrites and parents who didn’t care adequately about their son.

He rebelled so often because their rules were absurdly strict. Behind the turbulent, mischievous 16-year-old’s persona, there was a heartsick child. He didn’t know what to do other than cause disorder. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.

Tommy knew that his parents just wanted the best for him. He knew their intentions weren’t as corrupt as he made them out to be or like he described to others. However, they never made an effort to be there for him when he lacked comfort. They fed him, clothed him, and said they’d keep him alive. That was it, that was the limit. He needed more than just that. He wanted hugs and to be told that yes, he was alright. To be told that he’s not isolated in his feelings and that he wasn’t wasting away his life looking for an ounce of emotion to gladden his dreadful days of mundane torture.

He was uniformly told that he was a curse to their family. That he should “act like the other village boys. Help with farmwork, feed the cattle, listen." He didn’t want to listen. Listening would lead to a life opposite of what he desired.

He didn’t resent the village. He didn’t harbor any hatred towards the kingdom, he just wanted a different family. A house that would permit him to make his own decisions, grave or not, and to let him learn from them. His current family gave up on him. Told him he was a lost cause. They let him get into trouble, just endlessly rebuking him for his actions and never teaching him anything; never actually doing anything about it.

They told him he was worthless and that he was going to end up shot dead by a guard archer with an arrow for speaking his mind. Yet still, he was expected every single day to praise his parents repeatedly for feeding him scraps and providing him poorly stitched together items of clothing. He didn’t even have a bed. When he was actually home, he never rested in a sufficient place.

Piles of discarded cloth that barely held warmth and chilled bales of scratchy hay would have to satisfy; he didn’t have much of a choice.

Sometimes, Tommy wouldn’t sleep at all. He’d skip first and second sleep. Not because he wasn’t sleepy, but because he couldn’t stop thinking.

---

George remained coiled up in a snug ball in the nook of a cell, his forearms wrapped tightly around his legs, hugging them to his chest in a desperate attempt to stay warm. The space felt like it was set right in the center of a lake in the dead of winter. His hands were numbed due to the scarcity of heat, his cheeks and nose reddened and his frame slightly shivering.

They were insensitive enough to deny him a blanket, even a thin one. It was a castle, the number of extra blankets they were bound to own made him sour.

He was awaiting a trial. They gave him two options when he was brought down into the dungeon. The first one was to wait until the next available trial date arrived, which was expected to be an entire week away. He’d have to waste his week in the frigid dungeon, no permitted visitors, one meal a day. The second option was to surrender and give in to his execution.

As much as George’s will to keep pushing was nosediving, he wanted at least one opportunity to withstand. He still wanted time to one day triumphantly grow that rosemary.

Option number one was chosen.

The warden didn’t mind, seeing as he was far more peaceful than the jester. George was completely soundless, didn’t vocalize a word, never begged or pleaded for much, didn’t try and pull anything like Alex had. However, that didn’t mean the warden had any empathy towards him, no. He still considered him to be stubbornly stupid.

“You’ll probably rot in this dungeon before you get that trial date. Besides, the chance of you actually winning that trial is almost one to none. It would be much simpler to just fess up.”

George didn’t want to feel defeated yet. He had gotten this far without getting killed. “I know everyone thinks I did it.” His voice was trembling from the freezing air and faint from his nervousness.

The warden shifted in his seat. “Correction. Everyone knows you did. You don’t have to keep lying, it’s so easy to see through your bullshit. Pretending you didn’t do it and continuing to say you didn’t is only going to get you in deeper. Your initials were literally on the dagger.” His tone was certain and hateful. Like he knew exactly what he was talking about and wasn't afraid to quarrel on it.

It was becoming tiring trying to explain to every person he came across that he didn’t do it. “For
the last time, I did not kill the fucking prince! I make weapons and armor to order, someone- Prince Clay! He ordered it from me and he’s the one that murdered him, why won’t anyone listen to me!?”

The cocky warden sprang to laugh. “Seriously!? That's your story?”

“It’s not a story, what the hell!?”

“What a colorful imagination you have there. Not a soul is going to believe you.”

“He came into my shop wearing a dark green cloak, boots, glo-”

“You can live out your fantasies in your head all you want, but I have no interest in listening to them.”

George promptly gave up on his effort to avoid feeling defeated.

---

The sorrowful queen sat solemnly in the courtyard, grazing her fingertips along the rose bushes. They were gorgeous, but their thorns pricked her fingers. Niki didn’t pay mind to her bleeding fingers, all she could reminisce about was Eret.

In the back of her mind, she was cognizant that she was in physical discomfort. She knew it, she recognized the feeling, but it didn’t hurt near as much as her thoughts did.

Her eyes were fixated on the cobblestone walkway that encircled the courtyard, completely zoned out as her fingertips continued to brush against the rose thorns.

She couldn’t weep anymore. She had already done that too much. Now, she just felt hollow. A piece of her was entirely absent, sending the remainder of her into a dysfunctional state.

She failed to protect him. She vowed to shield him with everything she had in her, and she lost.

Niki snapped out of her zoned out state and cast her eyes towards the droplets of red soaking into her sleeves.

author’s note //
random little history fact reference thing in here but that first and second sleep thing in tommy’s part was a thing that most people in the middle ages did :)
They’d basically go to bed at sunset and then get back up at midnight or one/two am and study or pray or do whatever they had to do
some would continue to stay up after that (like monks) and others would go back to sleep until dawn, hence the second sleep part
just a cool little thing :D

also sorry for the lack of updates recently- my school decided to be jerks and remove everything off our laptops so i no longer have access to discord and wattpad on my laptop >:'( though i did finally get the last part i needed for my pc so i do now have access again haha