Oh look a writing excerpt!

Been reading A Storm of Swords most of today, which has put me in a bit of a medieval mood. When I was taking my creative writing class this spring, we had to write a few pages of our final project. Not knowing what I was going to do, I wrote the first few pages of a fantasy medieval political drama action adventure thingy that was kind of like Game of Thrones but not really. I wrote it in about 30-45 minutes one night, so it's not the best and probably has lots of typos, but if you want to read it go ahead.

The faint hum of violence hung in the air after the night’s storm. The ground squished with each footstep the girl took, flecks of mud splashing the hem of her dress. A tree in the town square had crashed from the winds, which had started the horses in the stables enough to have knocked open one of the door locks. Some of the night’s watch had to gather a horse or two that had scurried off early in the morning. The girl felt sympathy for the horses, because she knew what it was like to be trapped. Her family was among the poor of this tiny hamlet, a place few had known existed. She heard the tales as a small child of princesses and heroes, and fell asleep each night dreaming of what it would be like to be one. Each morning, however, she was faced with the same cold reality of poverty.
The hamlet was buzzing with excitement this morning. Not the kind of excitement one feels from parties or other celebrations, but the curious, morbid excitement of fear. For today, the girl had heard while she was doing her chores, was going to be a hanging. The bottom of her stomach had fallen out. Such an event was occurring far more frequently than ever before. The victims hanged were not just murderers or thieves anymore, but good men who suffered only one transgression that before would have been so minor.
The girl hurried forward in the rapidly growing crowd. The hum of the gathering grew louder with each additional person, until it became deafening in the girl’s ears. Not far away from her she could see the stocks and the nooses hanging down. Her eyes clung to them, hypnotized as they swayed with the damp wind. Above her, the sky was an electric blue, and the cotton clouds sailed along, ambivalent to what happened so far below them.
The crowd hushed. Up the steps came a man dressed in the colors of the town guard’s captain. In his hand he carried a scroll rolled up into a tube. Following them, with loud footfalls, came the prisoners. First, a man who looked as though time and stressed had aged him considerably. Following him, his wife, the sides of her head adorned with a shock of gray. Finally, came the son, a boy no older than fifteen. The girl’s jaw dropped slightly, though she had the self-control to lift it back up. The eyes of the boy seemed so calm, and yet, there was a fear deep inside of them.
“The prisoners,” began the captain, reading from the unfurled scroll, “have been found guilty of the failure to pay taxes, an assault on the king’s guard, and treason. By our laws, these crimes have the punishment of death. I hereby declare this to be so, by order of the king, in the Year of Our Lords, 567.” As he spoke the hangman pulled the nooses around each other their necks. When he finished his speech, the captain made a subtle, yet noticeable motion. The hangman pulled the lever.
A ripple of shock and unsettlement went through the crowd. The girl cast her head down. All she wanted was to leave this place, to go back to the time of fairy tale princesses and heroes. It was a time of desperation. It was a time when heroes were needed once more.