[For Thomas] Changing Seasons

[happyfalcon]

There was no doubt, it had been hard. In the weeks that followed, Anne only got a few fleeting looks at Thomas Wyatt. Every once in a while they were able to steal fleeting kisses of the briefest touch of fingers at banquets. The letters they wrote were far more significant. Poetic verses, promises, sweet words - both were exchanged in equal passion.

But recently, Anne's happiness had taken a drastic drop. Henry had been pressuring her lately, wanting to make his relationship with Anne more public. She had refused, coyly at first, then logically. Her argument had been that, while he was married, it wouldn't do to have them both seen in public together. Henry had agreed at first without question. Recently though, he had started to grow annoyed. This would have been fine, except that Thomas Boleyn was beginning to feel the pressure as well, and was pressuring Anne to accept the king's public advances.

What else could she do? As the days grew darker, Anne turned to the only person she could trust without question: Thomas.

Anne wrote a letter, quickly and carefully when she finally had a free moment:

Dearest Poet:

Would that I could write of my fondness for you now; to tell you, as I often have these past days, that it is you that I love more than any. Alas, today I write to you with the gravest matter - The Lion seeks to show off his prize to the jackals that surround him. To show that the falcon is his, and belongs to no other.

What shall the falcon do, dear heart? You know well of the others that surround it, and the dangers the falcon faces should it refuse The Lion - though it wants nothing more than to do so.

I hope, dearest love, that you and your most brilliant mind are able to manifest some solution.

Until then, Poet, as always you have my heart, and my happiness lies with you alone.

Sincerest love,
~Brunet

Hopefully, Thomas's crafty mind would identify the new characters she developed to avoid dropping names. The Falcon, herself; The Lion, the king. What could she do? What should she do?

Slipping out of her chamber, folded letter in hand, Anne stepped down to their designated spot. No guards, no prying eyes in sight. Still, Anne kept the letter in her sleeve until she reached the left urn. Pretending to drop a bracelet, Anne dipped down to retrieve it, slipping the letter into the urn swiftly in the time it took to grab the bracelet and stand up. She continued on without a word.

Hopefully, Thomas could reply to her soon.