The Rise and Fall of Thomas Cromwell, God's Most Obedient Servant (Tudors)
Fandom: The Tudors (TV)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1014
Warnings: Character Death
A/N: Written for Stephanie in the 2009 Yuletide Challenge, and archived here.
It started with a sneeze.
Thomas never knew whether incense made him ill on a purely physical level or if it was his soul's way of protesting-even at such an early age-the pomp and bombast of the Catholic Church. Either way when he reflected upon it in later life he took the reaction to be an omen of his future crusade against the evils of Catholicism.
When he was growing up, Thomas knew that there was a prince of England who was about his age. But Thomas was so small and insignificant, and the prince so very important; a gift from God to the people. To the entire world the Tudor family name meant strength and power. The Tudors meant England. In comparison, the Cromwells meant nothing, and Thomas was well aware of it.
By the time he had grown into a man, he resented the reinforcement of his insignificance by the Church. He spent time abroad, learning what he could about the world. He searched for God in the decadent palaces of the Holy See, in the eyes of the men he slayed while working as a mercenary, in the everyday transactions he witnessed in the marketplace. But it eluded him at every turn. Luther's reformation, when it came, was a transformation. A breath of fresh air and a flame of new hope. Suddenly, Thomas knew that he had found his calling. To rid England-the world-of papal control would be the path to salvation. Both his own and the Christian world's.
When he returned from the continent and found himself in Wolsey's employ, Thomas thought of the post as a solitary stroke of luck. After all, he was of obscure stock, hardly worthy to be at court in any capacity other than a servant, and Wolsey was a wealthy and powerful master. He could hardly dream that his good fortune could increase. But at the first sign of weakness in Wolsey, at the King's good favour, at the Boleyn's friendship, he left the Cardinal to die. He told himself that Wolsey deserved to pay for his sins--another abuser of the Church's power for corruption and greed--and hardly thought of the matter again.
When the Boleyns offered him a path to everything he desired, Thomas took it. He knew that he was being manipulated, but he took comfort in the fact that he was using their position just as much as they were using his. At least he was aware of their intentions, while the Boleyns remained too haughty to consider Cromwell's own motives. To them Lutheranism was the means to an end, and if papal control was loosened in the process it was simply a perk. To Thomas it was an obsession, a revolution. There were times when he wanted to sneer, or to rage at Thomas Boleyn; the old fool. But he and Anne were too valuable, and Anne seemed to show some sense, at least. Being treated as no more than a tool was humiliation he would have to endure. Even so, Thomas knew that through careful diplomacy and quiet negotiation he was slowly becoming an important man. Titles or no, he was becoming powerful.
And the titles did come.
His feelings of invincibility began the night that the King confided in Thomas his plans to be rid of Queen Anne. Later, when he faced his own stay in the Tower, Thomas would come to regard that day as the turning point in his life. The transition from confidence to recklessness, from appointing a Queen to disposing of one-it had all rested in his hands. So he went to church and prayed. At the time he believed that asking for forgiveness was good enough. That penance was not owed, but that he was simply collecting on his destiny, a path set out for him by God.
In the time after Queen Anne's execution, Thomas hardly paused to reflect on his own actions. He was too busy draining the coffers of the monasteries and amassing his own wealth to take stock of what the fall of a Protestant queen for a Catholic one meant. He understood it, of course: he was not a stupid man. But he had learned to play the king like an instrument. It was he who had raised himself up from nothing. It was he who was held foremost in the King's esteem, even before women-such disposable creatures. It was he whom the King had trusted with his "Great Matter". It was he who had found Cranmer, most beloved by the King. It was he who had raised Anne Boleyn through shrewdness and cunning, and he who had taken her down again at the King's request. It was he who had side-stepped the political and religious manoeuvrings of more important men. It was he who held more power than any other servant to the King. And just as quickly it was stripped from him.
He was not such a fool as to believe that he had made no enemies. But he had thought the Duke of Suffolk to be a foe more easily overcome. He had believed there to be a mutual respect between them, a line that would or could not be crossed. He had become too complacent, too arrogant.
In a way he understood that his demise was part of nature's order. He had risen higher than anyone had ever thought possible. He had curried more favour and wielded more power than God had planned for him with his humble upbringing. Perhaps on some level he had believed that he would be permitted this small amount of hubris. That as a devoted servant of God, as a crusader for reform in the Church he would be spared from the everyday cruelties of man and God.
But as he watched the approaching sword, the bumbling executioner and the jeering crowd, Thomas questioned for the first time whether reform was indeed the path toward righteousness, or if all that he had fought for was for naught. Or if, perhaps, God had finally abandoned him once and for all.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1014
Warnings: Character Death
A/N: Written for Stephanie in the 2009 Yuletide Challenge, and archived here.
It started with a sneeze.
Thomas never knew whether incense made him ill on a purely physical level or if it was his soul's way of protesting-even at such an early age-the pomp and bombast of the Catholic Church. Either way when he reflected upon it in later life he took the reaction to be an omen of his future crusade against the evils of Catholicism.
When he was growing up, Thomas knew that there was a prince of England who was about his age. But Thomas was so small and insignificant, and the prince so very important; a gift from God to the people. To the entire world the Tudor family name meant strength and power. The Tudors meant England. In comparison, the Cromwells meant nothing, and Thomas was well aware of it.
By the time he had grown into a man, he resented the reinforcement of his insignificance by the Church. He spent time abroad, learning what he could about the world. He searched for God in the decadent palaces of the Holy See, in the eyes of the men he slayed while working as a mercenary, in the everyday transactions he witnessed in the marketplace. But it eluded him at every turn. Luther's reformation, when it came, was a transformation. A breath of fresh air and a flame of new hope. Suddenly, Thomas knew that he had found his calling. To rid England-the world-of papal control would be the path to salvation. Both his own and the Christian world's.
When he returned from the continent and found himself in Wolsey's employ, Thomas thought of the post as a solitary stroke of luck. After all, he was of obscure stock, hardly worthy to be at court in any capacity other than a servant, and Wolsey was a wealthy and powerful master. He could hardly dream that his good fortune could increase. But at the first sign of weakness in Wolsey, at the King's good favour, at the Boleyn's friendship, he left the Cardinal to die. He told himself that Wolsey deserved to pay for his sins--another abuser of the Church's power for corruption and greed--and hardly thought of the matter again.
When the Boleyns offered him a path to everything he desired, Thomas took it. He knew that he was being manipulated, but he took comfort in the fact that he was using their position just as much as they were using his. At least he was aware of their intentions, while the Boleyns remained too haughty to consider Cromwell's own motives. To them Lutheranism was the means to an end, and if papal control was loosened in the process it was simply a perk. To Thomas it was an obsession, a revolution. There were times when he wanted to sneer, or to rage at Thomas Boleyn; the old fool. But he and Anne were too valuable, and Anne seemed to show some sense, at least. Being treated as no more than a tool was humiliation he would have to endure. Even so, Thomas knew that through careful diplomacy and quiet negotiation he was slowly becoming an important man. Titles or no, he was becoming powerful.
And the titles did come.
His feelings of invincibility began the night that the King confided in Thomas his plans to be rid of Queen Anne. Later, when he faced his own stay in the Tower, Thomas would come to regard that day as the turning point in his life. The transition from confidence to recklessness, from appointing a Queen to disposing of one-it had all rested in his hands. So he went to church and prayed. At the time he believed that asking for forgiveness was good enough. That penance was not owed, but that he was simply collecting on his destiny, a path set out for him by God.
In the time after Queen Anne's execution, Thomas hardly paused to reflect on his own actions. He was too busy draining the coffers of the monasteries and amassing his own wealth to take stock of what the fall of a Protestant queen for a Catholic one meant. He understood it, of course: he was not a stupid man. But he had learned to play the king like an instrument. It was he who had raised himself up from nothing. It was he who was held foremost in the King's esteem, even before women-such disposable creatures. It was he whom the King had trusted with his "Great Matter". It was he who had found Cranmer, most beloved by the King. It was he who had raised Anne Boleyn through shrewdness and cunning, and he who had taken her down again at the King's request. It was he who had side-stepped the political and religious manoeuvrings of more important men. It was he who held more power than any other servant to the King. And just as quickly it was stripped from him.
He was not such a fool as to believe that he had made no enemies. But he had thought the Duke of Suffolk to be a foe more easily overcome. He had believed there to be a mutual respect between them, a line that would or could not be crossed. He had become too complacent, too arrogant.
In a way he understood that his demise was part of nature's order. He had risen higher than anyone had ever thought possible. He had curried more favour and wielded more power than God had planned for him with his humble upbringing. Perhaps on some level he had believed that he would be permitted this small amount of hubris. That as a devoted servant of God, as a crusader for reform in the Church he would be spared from the everyday cruelties of man and God.
But as he watched the approaching sword, the bumbling executioner and the jeering crowd, Thomas questioned for the first time whether reform was indeed the path toward righteousness, or if all that he had fought for was for naught. Or if, perhaps, God had finally abandoned him once and for all.