Eleanor, in the body of Anne Boleyn, was roused from her restless slumber by the sound of armored footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. She looked out of her window, the sky was gray, with raindrops falling and blurring the view outside, like tears from heaven—everything still seemed so different from her timeline.
"Why the hell am I still in this place?" Eleanor muttered to herself, her voice trembling.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at the strange device clutched in Anne Boleyn's delicate hands, the same mysterious object that had brought her here. She knew it held the key to returning to her own time, but the symbols on the dial were like a foreign language to her, mocking her ignorance and her predicament. She turned the device over in her hands, desperation clawing at her.
"Come on, Eleanor, think!" she muttered under her breath.
But before she could make any progress, a sharp knock on the door startled her, and she quickly tucked the device into the folds of her gown.
Swallowing hard, Eleanor composed herself and called out, "Enter."
Eleanor shivered as the heavy oak door creaked open, revealing Sir William Kingston, the Tower's Constable, standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.
Sir William's voice cut through the stillness, a blend of authority and regret, "Lady Anne, by order of His Majesty, King Henry VIII, you are to be taken to the Tower of London to await trial for treason, adultery, and conspiracy against the crown."
Eleanor's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing for an escape that did not exist. She rose from her bed with quiet determination.
She met Sir William's gaze with unwavering composure, "Sir William, I shall comply with His Majesty's wishes and face whatever lies ahead with dignity."
The guards flanking Sir William, their expressions a mix of duty and sympathy, moved closer to ensure compliance.
One of the guards, his tone gentle yet firm, implored, "Please, my lady, let us make this as easy as we can. We have strict orders to follow."
Her wrists were bound with shackles, and Eleanor maintained her composure, her eyes reflecting a blend of resolve and resignation. The guards, their faces somber yet respectful, stood ready to escort her.
With no time to spare, she followed the guards, trying her best to maintain her composure. She knew that any misstep could lead to suspicion and danger.
She was led out of her room, her gown brushing softly against the chilly stone floor, making a quiet sound. The guards accompanying her made loud clinks with their armor.
Finally, they arrived at the Tower, and the cold stone of the Tower of London seemed to seep into her bones as she was led through its foreboding gates. Clutching her cloak tighter against the chill, Eleanor's mind raced with memories of better days, now shattered by the sharp ring of iron keys.
"Lady Anne, you are to be held here at His Majesty's pleasure. You will be questioned in due course," The guard's voice cut through her thoughts, his words as cold as the steel at his belt.
Eleanor's gaze, sharp and defiant, met his. "I will answer as I must," she said, her voice betraying none of the fear that clawed at her from within.
The guard grunted, leading her down a narrow passage. They stopped at a heavy door that creaked open, revealing the cold, stone inside that felt damp and gave her a shiver, far colder than she was already feeling. "Wait here," he commanded.
Before Eleanor could say a word, the doors closed heavily behind her, the bang echoing through the empty halls and in her heart.
************
Time slowly ticked by in the Tower, with only the sound of dripping water echoing in the dark corners. Anne(Eleanor) was held here, a prisoner awaiting trial.
Despite the prisoners at the Tower being held in different sections or cells due to their gender differences, they were occasionally brought together in shared spaces, such as during court proceedings, religious services, or gatherings of high-ranking prisoners.
During one such event, precisely a religious service held within the Tower's chapel, Anne(Eleanor) found herself in the presence of other high-ranking prisoners.
She recognized one of them at once: Henry Norris, the King's former right-hand man.
Norris's eyes narrowed as he took in Eleanor's presence. "Ah, the Queen," he said, his voice tinged with the irony of their shared downfall.
Just then, Sir Francis Weston, his face etched with the pain of a man who had lost everything for his beliefs.
"Lady Anne," Weston said with a respectful nod. "We find ourselves in God's cruel jest, do we not?"
Eleanor, still grappling with her surreal situation, managed a response. "Norris, Sir Weston. I never thought to meet you here, in such dire circumstances."
Sir Weston sighed, his eyes reflecting a soul in turmoil. "Nor I, my lady. Yet here we stand, pawns in a greater game. Tell me, do you truly seek to overthrow the king?"
Eleanor felt a chill. "I have no such desires, Sir Weston. My only desire is to survive this madness."
Francis Weston looked at her intently, as if searching her soul. "Survival is a slippery thing in the court of Henry.
Norris's gaze was gentler, though no less troubled. "Well, my lady," he said, dipping his head in a show of respect that the Tower's walls could not strip away. "Here we are after all."
"Tell me, how does this place find you?" Eleanor asked.
However, a guard abruptly interrupted their conversation. He entered the room, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor as he approached Eleanor, holding a bowl of watery porridge.
The guard's voice was gruff as he handed the bowl to Eleanor, "The session is supposed to be over. Here's your meal. Make it quick."
Eleanor accepted the bowl with a nod, and the guard left as quickly as he had entered, his fading footsteps leaving behind a deep silence that seemed to increase the tension in the air.
The heavy silence settled over the room until Eleanor broke it, her voice carrying a mix of defiance and resignation. "Well, they accuse me of bewitching the King and plotting against him. What about you, Master Norris?"
Henry Norris, sitting across from her with a stoic expression, visibly clenched his jaw before responding, his tone filled with bitterness. "I've been accused of Treason. They claim I've turned against the King, the very one who has favored me. They accuse me of having an affair with you, My Lady. The irony of it all is painfully bitter."
Turning to Sir Francis Weston, who sat nearby with a demeanor of quiet dignity, Eleanor posed the same question. "And you, Sir Weston?"
Sir Weston's gaze met hers, his eyes reflecting a sorrowful resolve. "My steadfast belief is my so-called crime. I know this for sure," he replied with a dignified sadness. "I couldn't forsake my principles or go against my faith, even for the King."
Eleanor's voice was so quiet it was almost silent. "Is there any hope for us?"
Weston thought for a moment. "Luck is always changing. Today we're down, but tomorrow, who knows?"
Norris added in a low voice, "All we can do is pray and hope for the best."
Weston wasn't sure. "But can prayers really save us from the King's anger?"
However, Norris believed they could. "Faith is what keeps us strong," he said.
They shared their worries, regrets, and a tiny bit of hope. Their talk stopped suddenly when the door swung open, and a serious-looking servant entered the room.
"Lady Anne, it is time," the servant said with a bow. "You must come with me for questioning. The King awaits you." He said.
Eleanor stood up, her heart pounding. She looked back at the others. "Wish me luck," she said, hoping for either a miracle or just a bit of kindness. The King had requested to question her before her trial began.
Sir Weston looked at her, understanding the tough spot they were in. "We're all in the same boat now," he said.
Norris's voice was gentle but firm. "I hope you find your way out of this mess."
Eleanor, still trying to adjust to her new reality, nodded hesitantly and followed the servant through the grand corridors of the palace. They moved through the palace without speaking much, except for the sound of a faraway bell tolling, reminding her of time passing and her upcoming trial.
As they approached the throne room, Eleanor's heart pounded in her chest. She knew that in this timeline, Anne Boleyn faced grave accusations and imminent danger. She had to play her part convincingly, or else she would meet the same fate as Anne Boleyn.
In the throne room stood the King's interrogator, a man named Audley, with eyes as cold as the stones that walled them in. "Eleanor, you are accused of heinous crimes against the King. What say you in your defense?"
"I am innocent of these charges," Eleanor replied, though her voice trembled. "I have been a loyal wife and servant to His Majesty."
The interrogator leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Loyalty? You stand accused of adultery, witchcraft, even treason. How can you deny such things? Yet there are men who claim otherwise — men you've been seen to favor."
"I have only ever sought the pleasure of His Majesty, my husband," Eleanor replied, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her.
"The king desires the truth, and he shall have it," Sir Audley said. "You know the consequences of treason."
Eleanor's mind raced. "I have nothing to hide. My conscience is clear."
One of the men by Audley's side, a stout figure with a pointed beard, stepped forward. "What of the poet, Smeaton? He confessed to being your lover."
"His confessions were made under duress! He is just a naughty musician with no claim to my affections," Eleanor countered.
"And what of the device we found amongst your belongings? The one with strange markings?" Sir Audley's eyes narrowed.
Eleanor tensed. How did they find out about the device and how could she explain to them that it was a time travel device and that she's a time traveler? Do they even know what time travel means? They would probably have her burnt at the stake for witchcraft if she ever tried to explain it to them.
"It is but an ornament, a gift from abroad. It holds no meaning."
King Henry VIII sat upon his throne, his gaze piercing as it remained fixed upon Eleanor, now inhabiting Anne Boleyn's body.
"I've had enough already! Lady Anne," the King's voice boomed through the chamber, interrupting the interrogation.
Eleanor's shoulders quivered as she turned towards the king, seeking his understanding.
"I... I plead innocent, Your Majesty. You must believe me," she urged, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to sound composed.
The King's eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in his gaze. "Innocent? I must say, the evidence against you is damning. Guards, take her back to the Tower! She will face proper trial in due course."