There never were two unlikely fellows such as they who met nose to nose beneath the glamour of the Greek Pageant, a friendship forged through escapades upon foreign lands, trust built on experience and dire need, Thomas Wyatt went to Charles Butler in the same way as he had always done — despite his still new, gilded position as Boleyn’s husband. Though, if he were to listen to his inner demise, was he not but a lap dog put on trial before the council found some reason for him to be removed? Well, even if that was the case, Thomas was in a fever for life’s worth, often ignoring the sleight of rumour or danger in order to wax lyrics to his wife, to his step-children and finally to his bundle of friends. When approached, Thomas lifted his arms to embrace Charles, his sing-song escapade fortunate to witness.
“How that fire warms, forged. Tools comfort, enable. Utile as physics, reason & the average! Never sought, bulwark against child-based instruction —” he called, wavering from side to side. “As if molecules & virtues perform for the naked eye, reason reduced to the refutation of old testimonials!” Taking Charles’ shoulders, he held him apart from himself, his smile as glad to see him as if he were reunited with the sons he had lost. “Ah, my Lord. How pleasing it is to see you here, and as the God’s Hammer himself! Shall I show you my thunderbolts? Anne had them crafted for theatrics, but I do not know what to do with them. So have one as some token of our friendship.” @charlesbutler
