happyfalcon | [For Thomas] Changing Seasons

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.

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"My Anne," he repeated, closing the gap between them by wrapping himself protectively around Anne as she lied partly over him. Wyatt's chest heaved and his breating was heavy; it was the most satisfying sensation.

"You're amazing," he said after a while, playing idly with her hair and twisting it around his fingers. "How is it that you're so amazing?" Though it wasn't a question that needed to be answered.

Reaching for her chin, Wyatt tipped Anne's head up to kiss her softly. "Can you stay like last night? Say yes. Say yes and we'll slip under the covers and keep each others warm."

Anne breathed heavily, catching her breath while she pressed against him. Her face buried against his neck to take in his scent. It felt so good to have him hold her. Anne's entire body still tingled in pleasure.

"Because you're so amazing," Anne whispered. "For every man, God makes a woman that is matched to him. I am amazing because you are as well."

She tipped her head up to kiss him back. This just felt so right, there was no other place in the world that she was meant to be rather than in his arms.

"I'll stay - I'd be miserable if I went back to my bed now," Anne kissed him again. "I love you."

It amazed her again, the thought that she had denied him, denied the happiness he brought her. Anne was convinced: If he hadn't come to her masquerade that night, she would have died long ago.

"Even so, I believe God took special care in creating you. I've made mistakes that hopefully you'll never make just to match me."

No courtier was without blame and Wyatt himself had engaged in behaviour that was short of exemplary. But he had already mellowed down some and would willingly continue to do so if it meant having Anne by his side.

And if it meant hearing her loving words... he'd do anything. Wyatt squeezed her hard. "I love you, Anne Bole- Wyatt. Anne Wyatt," he corrected with a silly smile. "Anne Wyatt sounds about right."

He let go of her but only to push aside the blankets on his side of the bed and then he picked her up and lowered back down on the sheets. After a bit more tugging and pulling of the covers he was able to get them both under the blankets.

He sighed contently as he pulled her against him once more. "In bed, I am your husband and you're my wife."

Anne smiled and nuzzled him more when he squeezed her. But when he changed her name so, she couldn't help looking up to meet his gaze. It did sound right - it sounded so perfect, her name paired with his. She'd barely had a moment to contemplate that than he was picking her up and lowering her onto the sheets again, adjusting the covers so that they could lie together.

But once they were under the blankets and he held her again, Anne cuddled against him. Both hands came up to rest against his chest. She smiled as he spoke again, unable to stop saying 'Anne Wyatt' in her head over and over again. As content as she was to be his bed wife, Anne couldn't help wishing that the title could extend beyond the bedroom.

"My husband," she repeated, loving the sound of the word as she looked upon him. Anne leaned up and brushed her lips against his. "If I'm allowed to use the word at all to refer to you, my Thomas, I'm happy."

The words alone gave her hope. Surely someday she truly could call him her husband? But if not, she would be content to be here with him, as she had been since they'd begun this affair.

My husband. That also sounded so right. Wyatt's hand moved up from Anne's waist, tangling through that long hair and stopping at the nape of her neck. Eyes falling shut, he pressed his closed lips to hers and held that position. He could have fallen asleep like that, kissing and comfortable, the scent of her in his nose. But eventually Wyatt drew back his head and looked at her.

"I should like you to call me your husband, but meanwhile I am equally happy to be your Poet. In letters at least."

Back in London they would again have to seek solace in written words if they weren't able to see each other like this. Wyatt very much hoped Anne could find a way to his chambers now that holiday season was over and the court settled into a more routine way of life.

But first there was still hours left of this night and even if they would soon fall asleep, they could at least do so in each other's arms.

Anne leaned up into him, happy for the kiss, happy for the embrace, happy to just be with him at all. Her eyes wandered as he pulled back, taking in all the details of his face; the lines of his smile, each hair of his beard, the sparkle of those blue eyes. All were recorded in her mind, memorized.

"Husband, Poet, all are synonymous with you. You are what gives those words meaning for me," Anne whispered.

She leaned up to kiss him again, both lips closed over his own. After a moment she pulled away and rested her forehead against his. She just breathed for a bit, content to take in his heat and his scent for as long as she could.

"Did you mean it?" her eyes glanced up to him. "Before, when you said...that we're meant to be together?"

She believed it wholeheartedly. In London, when things were difficult again, Anne only wished to herself that the rest of the world could see that - that she wasn't meant to be with Henry, that she was meant to be with Thomas. Well...of those who knew or had figured it out, most were in agreement with her on the former...but not for the purposes of the latter.

"Anne, you can believe me when I tell you that I wouldn't risk so much if I didn't truly believe we're meant to be together." That was painfully true.

"I take no pleasure in putting you in danger, my love. For that I must repent each night before I lay down to sleep but I trust God hears my laments. We're not doing this to spite others but to be true to ourselves. And to what should be."

He was being very serious, evident surely in the tone of his voice.

Anne reached for his hand beneath the covers. Her fingers laced with his and she leaned up to kiss him again.

"You're not putting me in danger, Thomas. This whole affair is of no small risk to you as well," Anne pointed out.

She didn't like thinking about it, but if they were found out surely Henry would find some charge to arrest Thomas, even perhaps having him executed. God forbid her father found out, there would be a thousand ways he'd have Thomas taken out of the picture, and none of them were pleasant. Not remotely.

"I love you - I'm willing to take any risk for that."

[For Thomas] Changing Seasons

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