The Tudors: The Swan & The Crow.

Stress Between Two Souls.

The roads rough, the temperatures dreary, and the atmospheric circumstances bleak. A certain fear dug into those riding with The King into the path leading back to London. Faces are covered in white-clothed masks to keep the sickness from spreading as they venture on to their destination.

The Sweating Sickness started in the west and began to spread through the country like a wildfire. In such a short time. Sooner or later, the whole government would have to shut down, at least temporarily. Henry had been known for his fear of illnesses and death. Obsessed with it even. Thomas Cromwell understood that fear better than anyone. Especially for his son, Gregory.

Long ago, he lost his wife and his daughters. That terrible nightmare relives in his brain. Needled behind his eyelids with every blink. The poor soul hoped he would never have to live through such a term again, but God had other plans.

With a shaky sigh, Thomas raised his gaze to study Philip Valentine's backside. Recalling the events days before to ignore the harsh memories of his darkest past.

"I'm thinking of my daughter."

Philip's voice raddled Thomas's brain. A father desperately coming to a simple diplomat about an issue. An issue Thomas couldn't quite bear deep down.

Alas, Thomas didn't blame Sir Philip for his reasonable worries and disheartened decision. After all, Valentine is only preparing the future for his only child. Despite spending half his lifetime allowing Elizabeth to be as she pleased. Still, this is the reality. One not even Elizabeth could escape.

"Marriage," Thomas whispered lowly. Low enough for no one too close to hear. The word rolled off his tongue like melted butter. Stinging his lips like a honey bee.

An image of Elizabeth marrying a man she hadn't had the pleasure of fully meeting made Cromwell wince in volatile discomfort.

How can he deal with this? After allowing his heart to bleed for her. How?

With the palm of his cold hand, he pressed the corner of his temple. Blue orbs flutter shut, feeling yet another headache beginning to grow. The realization that perhaps this choice of memory wasn't exactly ideal either.

"Thomas?"

Elizabeth's soft vocal cords coo beside him suddenly. Removing his hand from his head, Thomas snapped his bewildered gaze onto Elizabeth Valentine. She wore a look of confliction as her gloved fingers squeezed the reins attached to her horse. Thomas had forgotten Elizabeth, now part of the privy council held similar levels of privileges such as he. While Anne Boleyn ventured with her most loyal servants, Elizabeth no longer belonged at her side, but by The King's.

How beautiful she is. Her riding clothes a light grey. Hair tucked underneath a matching riding hat. A caul underneath to keep her hair from the back of her nape. Amongst the anxiety-ridden men, Elizabeth is a sight for sore eyes. The very thing that could make Cromwell light up.

"Beth..." Thomas simply muttered, hiding his true feelings.

"You haven't spoken to me in days." Elizabeth confronts, watching Cromwell remove his meeting gaze to face forward. She gently tugs her mask downward, revealing pinched lips. "Are you angry with me?"

Angry? No. Never that. Cromwell carefully placed his wandering peepers onto Charles Brandon. He rode behind Henry with his head held high. As if to mock Thomas without trying. Philip chose the least honourable person. A title couldn't possibly be the true reason for Valentine's decision.

Just as Thomas removes his attention, Brandon surveyed over his shoulder to flash his rival a toothy grin. Their exchange short-lived by a curious Elizabeth.

"Thomas -"

"Lady Elizabeth, if I were you, I would cover your mouth and nose to prevent catching The Sweat."

Taken aback by his cold expressions, Elizabeth recoiled. Cromwell's voice is cold like iron. For days, the young woman questioned his disappearance. On edge by the ghost of their time together. The anxiety of the first and only man she had fallen in love with, retracting his sentiment.

Still, Elizabeth hoped his sudden change of mood only came due to the grave news. She carefully restores her mask over the bottom half of her face.

"You haven't said much to me in the last few days. You're doing it again, but this time, this time your frigid shoulder feels disturbing," states Elizabeth carefully. She lowers her gaze to watch the grey ear of her steed twitch.

"And it shall stay that way," Thomas spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

Elizabeth swallowed her confidence down completely. Whatever bothered Cromwell, bothered him to the point of vulgarity. With her green eyes now flushed with anger and mouth ready to burst out with aggravation, Elizabeth tug on the reins to signal her horse to slow down.

"You do not have to treat me as if I am some kind of whore, Mister Cromwell. A woman whore I have never been! The least you could do is give me the satisfaction as to why you obstruct me so and not treat me as such -"

"You know what, Lady Elizabeth?  Perhaps you should speak to your father about this issue. For I have no patience to explain your betrothal -" Thomas, realizing what just came from between his lips, pulled his guilty gaze onto a perplexed Elizabeth. Face like stone, the young maiden turned her attention away from Cromwell to glare at her father.

Marriage. The very last thing she thought would cross her mind. The last choice she wanted for her mortal body. To belong to a man she held no emotions for - made Elizabeth's crawl. Philip had been the one to press the idea of choosing her path. Away from the normalcy of society. How dare he and how dare Cromwell to change his attitude just because her father wished something destructive.

No longer in the mood to speak, Elizabeth simply rides further up. No more of giving Cromwell her undivided attention.

~♡~

This chapter was short and bad.
I'm going to be editing this story before I post a new update. It is getting worse :/