@bransonvevo also requested this one, and asked if it could be set in a certain fic universe involving a certain Irish butler ;oP so here’s a “variation” of that.  We’re too early to see where things will go presently in that story, so I’m not saying that this is a “definite” future scene, but it certainly is a possibility.

Anyway, not that I think this will surprise anyone ;o) but there will come a point in SoES, when a certain couple will become lovers, and so this moment takes place after that has happened…

With his trousers back on, Tom rose from the bed and reached for his shirt, wincing slightly at the stiffness of certain muscles, but not regretting the reason behind the stiffness.  He looked back down at the bed and smiled at seeing her sleeping face.  God, she was beautiful…and he envied the peace she seemed to have.  He forced himself away from the bed and walked across the room, doing up the buttons on his shirt and tucking it into his trousers.  As buttoned the cuffs on his sleeves, he paused and gazed at the small, framed photograph of a lovely dark-haired woman, who resembled Sybil ever so slightly.

“My mother…”

He turned at the sound of her voice.  “I didn’t mean to wake you–”

“It’s alright,” Sybil murmured, smiling at him and with the sheets still clutched tightly to her body, slowly sat up in the bed.  “That’s my mother,” she explained again, indicating the picture.  “Olivia Hayworth-Levinson.”  She smiled at the picture, a slight hint of sadness in her eyes.  “She died when I was very little.  I don’t remember her much–but I’m grateful for the photograph.”

Tom nodded his head in understanding.  “My mother died when I was a child as well,” he found himself telling her.  “I wish I had a photograph of her,” he sighed.  “But I am grateful for what I do have.”

She sat up and tilted her head with interest.  “What’s that?”

He smiled to himself.  “Her claddagh ring,” he answered.

She frowned.  “Claddagh ring?” she repeated, her voice stumbling over the foreign word.  He smiled and nodded his head, and then dug into his pocket, and Sybil watched as he removed a tiny gold band, attached to a light gold chain.

“I keep this with me at all times,” he explained.  “I’d never forgive myself if I lost it,” he sighed. 

He showed it to her, and Sybil reverently held her hands out to examine it.

“What do these symbols mean?”

“The crown means loyalty,” he explained.  “And the hands are for friendship.”

She nodded with understanding, and then her cheeks grew pink as she ran the pad of her thumb over the heart.  “I think I know what this means,” she whispered.

Tom’s own heart jumped, but he didn’t say anything, simply nodded his head in confirmation.  “There’s a special way to which you wear it, as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Well…” he took the ring from her…and feeling bold, took her left hand in his.  “If you’re looking to give your heart away, you wear it with the heart on the ring, facing outward.”

Sybil held her breath, as did he, as he slid the ring down her finger, just as he had described.

With her eyes locked on the ring, she somehow managed to ask, “And if you wear it the other way?”

He squeezed her hand tenderly.  “Then that means your heart belongs to another…or as I like to think,” he added after a pause.  “That you carry the heart of another with you.”

She lifted her eyes to his, and their gazes locked for what felt like a sweet eternity, though deep in his heart, Tom knew it would never be long enough.  Not with her.  Not ever.