There is zero contemporary evidence, firsthand or secondhand, to suggest Edward VI and Barnaby Fitzpatrick had any sexual relationship.

None. Not hinted. Not rumored. Not even in hostile sources.

So why do people today introduce a sexual layer that never existed historically?

Well here’s the precise mechanism behind that confusion:

1. Modern audiences misread physical closeness as sexual

In Tudor childhoods, especially among boys raised together:

• sharing a bed

• bathing together

• being touched, tickled, carried, or comforted

• sleeping in the same room their whole upbringing

• being nude around each other

were normal, non-sexual parts of life.

To a modern viewer, especially someone from TikTok or fandom spaces:

“Two boys naked in a bath = sexual tension.”

But in the 1500s?

It was nursery routine supervised by attendants.

The sexual reading comes from modern norms, not Tudor ones.

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2. They assume emotional intensity = romance = sex

When Edward writes to Barnaby with warmth, or when chroniclers describe them as unusually close, modern audiences interpret this through:

• 21st-century language norms

• the “love = sex” assumption

• media that portrays deep bonds as romantic

But Tudor emotional expression used more dramatic language.

Calling someone “my beloved” or “my most dear” didn’t imply sexual desire.

Today, people flatten that nuance.

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3. People project queer readings onto all intense same-sex bonds

TikTok and fandom culture have a strong trend:

• If two men show love → they must be secretly lovers

• If two men cried for each other → must be romantic

• If two men shared a bed → must be sexual

This is part of a broader cultural movement to reclaim erased queer narratives — but it sometimes leads to:

assuming sexuality where there was none.

It’s not malicious; it’s overcorrection.

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4. They misunderstand male friendships before the 19th century

Before modern masculinity norms tightened, it was normal for men to:

• hold hands

• embrace

• express devotion

• write emotional letters

• call each other “the love of my heart”

None of that was coded sexual at the time.

But modern viewers — especially younger ones — come from a culture where:

men aren’t allowed to be affectionate with other men unless they’re lovers.

So they sexualize historical intimacy because they can’t imagine a non-sexual version of it.

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5. Lack of education on wardship and childhood norms

Most people don’t understand that Barnaby was essentially:

• Edward’s foster-brother

• raised in the royal household

• treated as a companion-in-training

Their shared childhood activities make perfect sense in the Tudor context.

But without that context?

People jump to sexual conclusions simply because the situation looks “intimate.”

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6. They are influenced by modern media tropes

The “prince and his loyal companion” dynamic is a major trope in fiction.

Fiction makes it romantic.

So modern viewers import that trope into real history:

“Beautiful prince + devoted friend = must be romance.”

But history doesn’t operate on TikTok storytelling logic.

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7. No historical rumor = no sexual relationship

If there had been sexual behavior, the Tudors would have:

• gossiped

• recorded accusations

• weaponized it politically

• used it in court intrigue

• noted “improper familiarity” in correspondence

But across:

• Edward VI’s journals

• Cecil’s papers

• ambassadorial reports

• council records

• household accounts

• Fitzpatrick family papers

• Ormond correspondence

• Elizabethan retrospectives

there is not one suggestion of sexual misconduct.

For the Tudors, even a hint would have been scandalous.

The complete absence of rumor is strong evidence they were simply boys raised together with a deep, fraternal bond.

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8. It erases Barnaby’s real marriage, his wife Joan, and their daughter Margaret

When modern audiences insist on sexualizing Barnaby and Edward’s childhood bond, it unintentionally pulls attention away from the real, documented, adult relationships in Barnaby’s life — especially:

• his wife, Joan Eustace

• their daughter, Margaret Fitzpatrick

It creates a distorted picture where Barnaby is viewed through a single speculative lens — instead of the rich, complicated reality of a man who:

✔ married

✔ had a child

✔ managed a politically significant household

✔ navigated alliances

✔ maintained loyalty to the Crown

✔ ran a lordship in one of the most turbulent regions of Ireland

By framing him as someone who must have been romantically or sexually devoted to Edward, modern reinterpretations often sideline:

• Joan’s place as his partner

• their documented domestic life

• Margaret’s existence as their daughter

• the emotional reality of his adult responsibilities

Instead of spotlighting Joan and Margaret — historical women already underrepresented in the record — the sexualized reading increases the overshadowing.

And ironically, it reinforces the very issue modern audiences claim to resist:

erasing real women from history.

Most importantly, this projection collapses Barnaby into a stereotype, rather than acknowledging him as a fully dimensional man whose loyalties, affections, and identity were broader than a single childhood friendship.