Another one from Season One, this will (probably) be my last season one Tudor Musing. This is from the perspective of Thomas Wolsey as he travels to London where he will await trial. This borrows a little from Anne of the Thousand Days as well as The Tudors. Please read and review.

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I thought that I'd crushed her. I thought that I had taken that little upstart's dreams into my hands, and squashed them as though they were gnats, inconsequential day dreams of the child of a minor nobleman. I was wrong.

I should have let her marry Henry Percy. Though he was the heir to an Earldom, now an Earl in his own right, and she was only the second daughter of Thomas Boleyn, I should have used my influence to change the King's mind, and let the two young pups marry. After all, who am I, Thomas Wolsey, to criticise anyone for ambition? My father was just a butcher, and yet look how high I rose; no one knows better than I that ambition and sheer determination will get you as far, if not further, than money or power? And yet I forgot my humble background, I only thought of my current position – Archbishop of York, Chancellor and member of the Privy Council.

Because I thwarted Anne Boleyn's plans and broke her betrothal so that the King could bed her, I am undone myself. She swore she would be revenged on me, and she has been. Henry no longer seeks my counsel or advice; every time I go to him for our supposedly private meetings, she is there, tempering all my advice with her own cynical observations. I underestimated her, and now I am en route to London, where I will stand trial for treason. Henry has forsaken me, as I was unable to give him what he wanted. The first time I have failed him, and it will be the last. This will be my last 'progress', and it is not a royal progress, but one of a traitor. My escort is the very same heir to an Earldom who I threatened to have whipped like a kitchen boy for impertinence, whose heart I broke when I sent for his father to break up a betrothal between two young people in love. Married to Mary Talbot, who hates him, he has aged much more than his sometime sweetheart. Now, Henry Percy, current Earl of Northumberland, looks like a man in his 50s, despite not yet being 30; his health is bad, the skin around his eyes looks bruised from lack of sleep, but it is the eyes themselves which haunt me as I lie awake at night. Eyes that once looked upon the world with joy and optimism now only contain bitterness and pain.

I did this to him, so I must deserve all I will get. But still I am fearful of what awaits me in London – Henry in a rage is a fearful sight, and now that he, like the lion, knows his own strength and power, he will be unstoppable. Though it is cowardly, I find that I do not have the courage to face my final test; nor do I have the desire to give Mistress Boleyn the satisfaction of seeing me executed like a common criminal for treason. Thus, I will take the coward's way out, though it is forbidden under church law. I forsook God's law a long time ago, though, so perhaps this will be a fitting end.

Thanks for reading, now please review - constructive criticism is always appreciated.