A/N: Just a little something for APA. Thank you so much. You know what for. :)

Inspired by the simplest prompt of all over at OTP Prompts: Imagine your OTP's wedding rings, engagement rings, or promise rings.

I don't know how much wedding rings cost back in the day, nor how extravagant they could be in terms of design (the ladies upstairs all seemed to have simple ones, so I may have taken liberties with descriptions...). I read that valets could make up to thirty pounds a year, so I tried to cost it from that (though I'm not sure how true that is, either).

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

A Symbol of Love and Commitment

He'd fixed the date for the wedding, but there was still one more thing that he needed to do before he returned to Downton.

John limped down the streets of York in search of the perfect ring to encompass the promises that he was about to make to Anna.

He'd been sent the one from Vera, of course, after her death. But he did not want to insult Anna by giving her Vera's old cast-offs, as if she was nothing more than a replacement, when she was the whole world to him. This was a fresh start; he wanted to mark it as such.

Stopping outside a jeweller's, he peered into the window at the selection. All incredibly expensive, but there had to be something that he could afford. Anna had told him not to spare any expense with getting the wedding day booked. He would spare no expense with buying his fiancée a ring.

The proprietor's face, beaming when he heard the jingle of the bell, soon fell when he realised that a working class man was standing before him.

"Oh," he said with disinterest. "Can I help you, sir?"

The honorific was nothing more than a thinly veiled insult, but John ignored him, shifting his weight onto his left leg to relieve the ache that had started in his knee from his long day. "Yes, you can. I'm looking to purchase a wedding ring."

"A wedding ring, eh?" the proprietor said. The look he gave him clearly showed that he thought he was far too old to be getting married. Nevertheless, he motioned the way towards the back of the shop. John followed.

"I believe that these will be more suited to you," said the man.

Cheaper, he meant. Not fit for a rich aristocrat. John ignored him, leaning over the faded display case.

There were countless rings of gold, so many that it almost made his eyes hurt to look at them. Ones run through with intricate patterns, ones with so tiny a stone that it was almost impossible to see it. But those weren't the ones that drew John's eye.

The ring sat in the middle, a hidden gem amongst the masses. Exactly like his Anna. It was plain and smooth. No design tarnished its front. John knew that some women liked the extra extravagance of a wedding ring, with it being the most expensive item that some of them owned. They liked to show it off, to flaunt how it had cost three months' wages to obtain. But Anna was different. Anna was understated and unassuming. Anna wouldn't vaunt the ring in the same way that other women might. The simplicity of its design matched her, matched them. Anna didn't need profligate gestures of love and romance. She had been happy to court him in the shadows, to hold his hand in the shelter of the trees, to kiss him in the darkness of the courtyard. Their love had not been paraded around for everyone to see. It had been cultivated and nurtured like a delicate blossom that bloomed and thrived with life, had often been passed over for more interesting courtships. Their love was steadfast, enduring, simple. This ring would embody that.

"I'd like that one," he said, pointing to the ring.

The proprietor's lip curled. "It may look simple, sir, but it's rather expensive. Are you sure that you wouldn't like a different one more to your budget?"

"That's the one I want," he said, unfazed. He hadn't bought her an engagement ring, knowing that there was no way he could when he was still married, and their union was being conducted in such hurried, secret terms that there was no time for him to do so now either. But he would not give her a subpar symbol of their commitment to each other.

Standing back as the man wriggled out the ring and began to pull out a box, he let his eyes wander around the rest of the shop. The dark mahogany surfaces let him know in no uncertain terms that this was a place for finery. In truth, he did feel a little out of sorts here, as if he'd stepped into a play that he had no right to be a part of.

His eyes landed on the sign behind the proprietor's head.

Engravings.

Inspiration struck him suddenly. He could have the ring engraved. There was a little, niggling voice in the back of his head that was worrying that the ring was too like the one he had presented Vera all those years ago, even though he knew that it was the one that suited his Anna best. An engraving would set it apart from the one that Vera had worn. It would make it special, unique to them and their relationship. There could be a thousand rings similar to this one out there, but this one would still be Anna's and no one else's. He liked the sound of that.

"Excuse me," he interrupted before the man could ring in the amount due, "but how much do engravings cost?"

"An extra shilling per letter," he answered, in a manner that suggested that he wouldn't be able to afford it. John stared him down defiantly.

"I'd like an engraving on the inside of the ring," John said. "I want it to say 'John and Anna Bates', and the date on Friday."

"That's quite a substantial addition."

"And one I am more than willing to pay. Can it be done today?"

"It can," the man admitted reluctantly.

"Excellent. I have some other business to attend to. I'll call back in later this afternoon."

"Very good, sir. I'll add the extra cost to your bill."

John waited while this was accomplished, then handed over the money. He left the shop with an added spring in his step. Today had been very productive indeed.

The sun streamed in through the grimy, curtainless windows. He groaned as it hit him square in the face, coaxing him back to the waking world. He didn't want to. It was so soft here. He had never been so comfortable, so warm. Prison was never like this. He didn't want to return to that reality.

But then he felt a slight stirring next to him—someone tangled up with him in the bed sheets—and it hit him with sudden clarity, like a religious epiphany. He was in his very own bed, in his very own cottage, with Anna snug as a mouse beside him. Suddenly, waking up did not seem so much like a chore, and his eyes flickered open to take in his surroundings. He was starfished naked on his back, barely half of his right side covered. Anna lay curled up over his left side, her head pillowed on his chest, her arm thrown across his torso and her leg snaked over his thigh. She had the sheets pulled tight around her, soaking up their warmth. He couldn't help but smile at that, moving carefully to press a kiss to her temple, unable to resist but unwilling to wake her. So she was a cover-snatcher. That was something he hadn't discovered on their wedding night. He would have to hold her extra close at night if he had any hope of retaining any warmth himself.

The glint of gold in the corner of his vision drew his attention. Her wedding ring, reflecting the bright light of the sun, proudly visible on her loosely fisted hand. Slowly, John moved his right hand to pick hers up, gently unfurling her fingers so that she didn't wake, eager to get a better view of the band for himself. It had been so, so long since he had properly had the time to scrutinise it. On all of her prison visits she had worn gloves, hiding that concrete tie between them from view, and in the days since he had been home at Downton, the hustle and bustle had left little time for them to simply take notice of the little things that they had missed about each other.

But now…now they had all the time in the world.

He marvelled at the size of her hand in his as he brought them together. So small and delicate—his looked like a clumsy bear paw in comparison with hers. They were beautiful too, scarred and marked from various mishaps over the years in service, slightly roughened from hard work, but so perfectly Anna that he was hard pressed to swallow past the lump in his throat. Contrary to making him tougher, prison seemed to have made him more sentimental than ever.

The sight of the ring drew him in more than anything.

It was strange. He had never taken much notice of a piece of metal before. Indeed, he had never given any thought to what a husband might feel upon seeing it on his wife's finger. With Vera—and it felt so wrong to be thinking of his first wife while he was lying naked in his marital bed with Anna—he had barely noticed it after the moment that he slid it onto her finger, it becoming a staple, and then a contemptuous, part of his life. Out and about, no thoughts had ever crossed his mind if he had caught a flash of gold on a woman's finger. It meant nothing to him.

But this…this meant the world.

He shifted slightly, enough so that he could engulf Anna's ring finger in his whole fist. It was cool against his skin, no doubt from the time that her hand had spent peeking out from beneath the sheets. Perfection. He sighed in contentment, his eyes sliding closed once more, focusing on the contrast of soft, soft skin and unyielding metal against his own flesh.

Never again would he underappreciate the beauty of such a symbol of love and commitment. He would treasure it, love it and honour it until he drew his last breath. In the years to come, he knew that it would be his greatest pride. That Anna was his wife, that she had stood by him and accepted him for who he was, grievous faults and all. That her wedding ring would be the physical evidence of just what they meant to each other.

He imagined the scene now: a normal day up at Downton Abbey. Anna, sitting in the servants' hall with a pile of mending, perhaps humming under her breath as she was prone to do when she was content. The others surrounding them at the table, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Molesley, Miss O'Brien and Thomas, every single one of them. Anna's status would be there for everyone to see: Mrs. John Bates. His wife, and the connotations that went along with it. His lover. The dearest person in his heart, a heart that took every sole beat for her like a clock tuned to its master's hand. She was his creator, the one person who had set his heart ticking frantically again.

Strangers who didn't know her would catch a glimpse of the glint of gold on her finger and know that she was someone's cherished wife. They would look at her face and know the sheer happiness that it brought her—for although he would never understand it, John had slowly started to accept that in some dumbfounding way he made Anna very happy indeed. The days since his release had proven that. Never before had he seen someone so radiant, so full of the joys of life. Blooming brides couldn't hold a candle to the way that Anna's entire face lit up whenever she set eyes on him.

Yes, the only visible symbol of their love. There could be no other marks, nothing less than professionalism up at the big house. But every time he saw it he knew he would be transported back to the previous night, of their bodies moving as one, sweaty and slick and oh so needy, twining, gasping, kissing, loving. Memories invoked with just that small band of gold. No longer would men and women in the village greet her with a jovial, Miss Smith; now Mrs. Bates would roll from their tongues as they tipped their hats at her.

In years to come, when they had both departed the earth, their love and their legacy would live on, in the eternal circle of her wedding ring, inscribed inside with their names and the date of their joyous union.

The sudden, more sombre turn of his thoughts was interrupted by a stirring at his side. Anna was waking up. Stretching out her limbs like a lazy cat after a good doze, she turned her head more fully into him, her cheek pressing heavy above his heart.

"Good morning," he said, his voice scratchy with ill-use.

"Very good morning," she whispered, a smile spreading across her features. He shivered at the implication, her bare breast brushing shyly against his side. He nudged his chin against her temple, encouraging her to look up at him. When she did, her blue eyes still smoky with sleepiness, he couldn't resist bending down to meet her mouth. She met him more than halfway, her neck craning to reach. They lingered chastely. John savoured every moment that her mouth was pressed to his. God, he would never tire of kissing her, never take that sweet pressure, the warmth and moistness, for granted ever again after going without for so long under such strained circumstances.

At last they broke apart. Anna's smile was enough to light the tired and squalid room.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

John realised then that he was playing idly with her wedding ring, sliding the slightly loose band of gold up to the first joint of her finger and back down again. A little shy at being caught out, he dropped her hand.

With boyishly averted eyes, he said, "I was just marvelling at how a beautiful creature such as yourself ended up as my wife."

"Good luck, I suppose," she responded cheerfully.

The best of luck, he thought. She shifted a bit more now, pushing herself away from him, rising up. He couldn't stop his eyes from falling to her breasts…then lower. She laughed at the path of his eyes, moving so that she was hovering above him. Her tousled hair tumbled like a golden waterfall around them, the ends tickling his chest.

"Up here, Mr. Bates," she purred, cupping his cheek and forcing his eyes upwards to meet with her own. Now the cool metal pressed against his cheek. She laughed again, probably at his expression. He had never felt quite so bowled over in his entire life. It wasn't the first time he had seen her naked, but it was the first time he had had her this way in their own space, a home of their own if it didn't quite feel homey just yet. Relaxed, comfortable in their shared environment.

Her fingers trailed over his features. He heard the scratch of his stubble as she rubbed her thumb over the line of his jaw. He felt it low down and flushed, suddenly bashful at his response. But she didn't seem to mind in the slightest, settling her weight more fully over him and making him groan aloud at that wonderful pressure.

"You looked as if you were in another world when I woke up," she remarked. "And…" She blushed herself now, smoothing her fingers over his collarbone, just shy of his chest hair. How he wished she would move lower. "And I have to say, I liked the way you were playing with my wedding ring. It felt nice."

"Nice?" he questioned. It hadn't occurred to him that it would have such an effect on her. But if that was the case, then he wasn't going to complain. It certainly had an effect on him. Men lamented the loss of their youth when they married, the excitement and the passion, their ability to seduce and move on whenever they got bored, but for John, the excitement was only just beginning. It was as if he had been born again, as if everything that he had lived through so far had led up to this moment, exalting in the light of Anna's smile. He had found his religion.

And, he thought incoherently as her fingers twined through his, a prelude to the way that their bodies would be connected in other ways soon enough, the warm band of her wedding ring pressing against his skin, he had found the world's most powerful aphrodisiac.

All in a symbol of love and commitment.