A/N: I thought I'd shift some focus to the Branson family a little for a chapter, and maybe look at Tom a bit more closely, so here's a chapter for him and his family.

Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. You think we'd establish this earlier, but in case we haven't, what's a reminder now and then?

Enjoy~

After Mairead and Sybil left with Isibéal, it became clear that the meal was nearing its close.

James Walsh was the first to depart, and no one challenged him as he rose from his seat. He offered to take his dishes up to the cottage, but a cold glare from Kieran stopped him. And so the young clerk gathered his things from the back of his chair, tipped his hat to the two Crawley sisters first, then to Tom and his mother, and left.

Good riddance, Tom thought, watching James go. He kept his expression as neutral as he could, at least until Lady Mary and Lady Edith excused themselves, claiming that they had an early ferry to catch on top of being "rather exhausted."

He knew he wouldn't gain any favor with the Crawley family if he lost his temper in front of them, especially over a topic such as the Easter Rising. It would only reaffirm Lord Grantham's opinions of him, if anything, and would be another strike against his cause.

His cause.

What was his "cause?"

Tom had always said his cause was Ireland's independence from England, and many of his views were the same as those preached by William Pearse and Michael Collins, that much was true. Did he want a free Ireland? Of course he did, but more specifically, he wanted an Ireland that had won her independence with as little bloodshed as possible. He knew people— men and women alike— who were more than eager to die for a free Ireland, and once upon a time, he had been one of them, along with Sam.

And why not? They knew all about the Irish blood that had been spilt across the centuries in the name of freedom at places like Limerick, and the Flight of the Wild Geese that followed, the rising in the late eighteenth century, which had been memorialized in a song that both of them had known by heart, once upon a time. Wasn't it the highest honor to die for one's country? Or did that just apply when England decided it did?

Tom had once sworn he hated the English, from the Queen to the lowest pauper. As far as he was concerned, they'd all done his people nothing but harm, discriminating against Irish Catholics during the Ascendency by denying them their inheritance and barring them from a majority of professions, even if they did allow Catholics to practice freely. The blight had been what just about did the country in, and Queen Victoria barely cast a glance their way. These were the wounds that had been inflicted upon Ireland by the lion that was England, and Tom knew they were still fresh and open in some parts of the country.

Sam's dislike for the English had died down when he met Isibéal, and perhaps it had disappeared completely when they were married. Tom found the same thing happening when he met Sybil; her mild manner and never-ending selflessness had quieted his abhorrence of everything to do with England. She'd given him a strange kind of hope, and he remembered what it said in the Bible, about loving one's neighbor, something he'd never considered, not until he met Sybil.

His cause had been Ireland until then, but when Sybil came downstairs in those blue trousers of hers, Tom realized that he loved her, and she became his cause. He would do everything in his power to defend her—to defend them— and that was what Sam had decided too, that Isibéal was a more worthy cause than Ireland.

"Well that went well," Kieran remarked, breaking the silence that had settled over the remaining Bransons like a dusting of snow. "Why did you think inviting James Walsh would be a good idea?"

"You seemed in support of it," Tom's mother remarked, "so I don't see why you're botherin' to complain."

"I didn't know he'd be as pro-British as he was just now, an' I thought Mairead might like t'have someone other than Isibéal t'talk to, seeing we all know how that'd end up going."

"Whatever y'say Kieran. All we can do now is hope it didn't spoil Tom's wedding day, and the Lord knows Their Ladyships are going t'have a few tales for their father, 'bout how unruly us Irish are. I'd say y'owe Tom, Sybil, and Mairead all apologies, then maybe this day won't be curst all the way."

"Don't bother," Tom said, spotting Mairead as she and Sybil made their way to where the dinner had been set up, no doubt to collect the dishes. "You'll just owe me a favor when I ask it, how about that?"

Kieran shrugged. "Why not?"

"It's a deal then. Don't you dare forget."

"I wouldn't dare, though y'owe me for driving Mairead here from the church, don't forget that either."

"Y'would've done that anyways, y'scheming bastard."

"Tom," his mother said, narrowing her gaze. "I raised y'better than that, I hope, that you'd use such language. I hope you don't talk like that 'round His Lordship."

"Listen to your ma, Tommy boy," Kieran teased, though he didn't escape his mother's glare either.

"Both of you, cut that out 'fore the ladies get down here an' hear you." Tom's mother stood and went to go collect the plates from Lady Mary and Lady Edith's seats. "Sybil may've married a good practicing Catholic, Tom, but she's still Protestant and not above a divorce."

"Moira, there's no need t'make such a point," Tom's father said, pinching the bridge of his nose, an attempt at relieving one of his frequent headaches. "Religion's been a problem long enough. Be glad your son got married, or that Alice wasn't here t'stir up trouble."

"I was just saying Tom better watch his language. Nothing more." She shifted her focus from her husband and sons and fixed it on Sybil and Mairead. "Where've you two been? Weren't going t'make me take this up m'self, were you?"

Mairead gave a quick shake of her head. "No Aunt Moira," she said. "But there's someone up at the cottage t'see Tom and congratulate him and Sybil."

"Who?" Tom asked, furrowing his brows. "Everyone's left, and I can't think of anyone we invited who didn't show at some point."

"I have a feelin' she invited herself, if my guess is right," Tom's father commented.

"Isibéal's with her in the cottage, so she doesn't come down here," Sybil offered, looking to Tom with confusion written plainly across her features, etched into the delicate furrow of her brow and apparent in the way her lips pressed together.

"Let's go see her then," Tom said, forcing himself to speak evenly, so he didn't seem to be anticipating the inevitable. Perhaps if he could keep everything calm, it wouldn't be as trying an exchange as it promised to be.

"Moira, perhaps you ought t'stay, make sure everything stays put," Tom's father suggested, surveying the table.

"But it wouldn't be polite would it?" she challenged. "We haven't seen your darling sister in years, and we can take most everything up in one go if we all pitch in."

"Aunt Moira—"

"Not now Mairead. Now, everyone take what y'can and we'll be on our way. Knowing Alice, the second the wind blows the other way, she'll be gone."

A/N: What a chapter! Though I suppose that's nothing compared to what is going to be served up next.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned, because things are about to heat up.