Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The secretary only raised his head as Sybil entered the anteroom. His face was blank, and even though she generally did not care about formalities, the fact that he did not get up to greet her was a noticeable insult.
“Mister Wonse, good morning,“ she said, cheerful in any case. “I would like to see his lordship.“
“Good morning,” he replied, at least giving her a polite nod. “You do not have an appointment.”
“Yes, but I'm sure he'll see me anyway. It's rather important.”
“And as you can surely appreciate, his lordships activities are as well.”
Sybil took a deep breath, her smile faltering only the merest amount. “Can you please go and ask him? It is an important, personal matter and I really need to talk to him.”
Wonse studied her for a moment and then got up, his face impassive as he went to the door of the Oblong office and disappeared inside.

A few moments later he came out again, gesturing for Sybil to step through. She kept her smug smile to herself, instead concentrating on the nervousness coiled up in her belly, which slowly untangled as she walked towards the Patrician's desk. He had already gotten up and came around, bowing and kissing her hand.
“Lady Sybil, what a nice surprise. Please, take a seat,” he waited until she had sat down to take his own place again.
“Thank you,” Sybil heard the door closing behind her, and relaxed a tiny bit. “It's very kind of you to see me without an appointment.”
“It is no trouble at all. What can I do for you?”

“Well …,” she cleared her throat, and looked down at his desk, the papers pushed into neat stacks, a pen thrown down beside its holder the only sign of disorder. “It's … I have met someone, someone who has grown very dear to me. And ...”
“You are talking about Captain Vimes,” Vetinari interrupted and she felt her cheeks burning as she nodded.
“And … and I would like to ask him … to marry me. I realise it's usually done the other way around, but …,” she looked at him now, not quite sure what to expect. There was no smile on his face, but his eyes seemed kind.
“Congratulations,” he said softly. “But should you not ask him first, before spreading the news?” Now a smile appeared, fleetingly.
“You know why I am here,” she said, feeling a bit helpless at his reaction. She really had not been able to imagine what he would say, or do, but now it seemed she had to say the whole piece. “If you … I mean. We are not … we have never really talked about it, but there has been a promise and while … I don't think it is an option for both of us, it seems rather wrong to just assume what you think.”
The Patrician put his right hand in front of his mouth for a moment and then steepled his fingers, the kindness not gone from his eyes. “Lady Sybil,” he said. “I do have the utmost respect for you. And while we don't see each other very often, I consider you a friend,” she was about to say something, but he raised his hand. “A friendship that is very valuable to me, but is no more. No less, either. Our parents made a promise that I do not believe either of us took ever serious. You do not need my permission to marry whomever you want. But let me express … as your friend … concern about your choice.”
She needed a moment to take in his words fully. “Concern?” she asked finally.
“Surely you know that Vimes is a drunkard?”
“I do, yes,” she said, feeling a pang of irritation. “I also know that he has behaved himself only in a kind and gentle way towards me. I'm sure that if I ask him, he would drink less.”
“That is a rather bold assumption. An addiction is not easily cast aside.”
“But I'll take care of him. He does not have anyone to take care of him and … I'm sure it won't be easy, but I do not frighten of the task.”
“Commendable. He is also prone to rage, and he is practically married to his job.”
“Practically, I am married to my dragons,” a smile appeared on both their faces. “Like I said, he has not shown me any unkindness.”
“You thought it through then,” Vetinari said, the smile lingering.
“Yes. And even if … the heart wants what it wants, does it not?” she asked, feeling another blush covering her cheeks. There was a flash of … something in his eyes and then, he got up and walked over to the window, his back towards her.

“I suppose,” he said after a long moment. “It seems it will rain today.”
“It smelled like it, yes,” she said, not quite sure what to make of the sudden change in topic.
He nodded and then turned, the soft smile back on his face. “I do wish you all the best, Lady Sybil. And if Vimes has any sense in that thick head of his, then he'll surely go along with everything you want. He will be able to count himself very lucky indeed.”
“I would be the lucky one,” she said. “I mean … I never wanted to marry, and then I met him and … sorry. I don't mean to babble,” she sat up straight. “Thank you, Havelock, for your consideration and your kind words. If he says yes -”
“When,” Vetinari said.
“You will be invited.”
“I am looking forward to it. Now, I hate to throw you out, but I do have an appointment soon ...”
“Oh, of course,” Sybil got to her feet in a moment. They looked at each other and then she walked over to him. “Thank you, again. We should meet for tea sometime, I would love that,” his beard was soft as she kissed his cheek, her hand resting on his arm for a moment.
Vetinari bowed his head.

There was a swirl of emotions as the door closed behind her. Most he tucked away safely, the lifelong practise easy by now. What stayed was a strange yearning in his chest, for something he had once wished for.

It was true, the promise had been made by their parents, once upon a time. And Sybil surely had never taken it serious … but he had. Or at least … well. He had been 15, young and inexperienced and Sybil, even back then had been kind and fierce, following her own head and heart. She was something special. He had felt admiration, and maybe even something that could be called love. The thought of marriage had seemed an alien one, but with her … But there had been more important things and the present had become the past.
Of course even Sybil would not have been able to love a tyrant. She liked him, and they were friends, but if she knew the things he had done, still did at times …

He moved abruptly, taking the papers he would need for the meeting with Doctor Cruces. He could still smell her perfume, all the way down to his waiting carriage.

“Thank you“ the Patrician mumbled absentmindedly as Drumknott laid today's stack of letters on his desk. Out of the corner of his eyes he noted how the man bowed and quickly retreated.
The Patrician sighed as the door to the Oblong Office shut behind him without any sound. The man was dutiful, hardworking, and thus everything a good secretary should be. A great secretary … well, a great one should have some initiative. Like Wonse had shown. At least … until he had shown too much. It was, the Patrician reflected, a fine line to walk indeed. Still, after all the exciting business with the dragon he was willing to settle on a good secretary for a while. And maybe Drumknott would turn out to be more than he seemed at first glance.
He finished reading an intelligence report from Quirm and laid it down with another sigh. He took a sip of water and stared out of the window for a moment, until he caught himself and took the letters, quickly working his way through them.

To his credit it should be said that he only blinked when he got to the letter at the bottom of the pile. He slit it open with his letter opener¹. The gilt-embossed envelope had been written on by hand, the letters drawn in big loops. Of course Lady Sybil had taken care of the invitations … He peeked inside, years of cautiousness even now guiding his fingers as he slipped out the card, noting that there were no traces of a powder or other strange substances.
Of course, what he should have guarded himself from weren't any poisons, but the actual words scrawling over the paper.

He put the card down and got up, wandering over the window.
There it lay, Ankh-Morpork, sprawled out under his eyes, as far as he could see in the morning mist. And it lived and worked and that made it worth it, and if his heart felt strange, it did not matter. He had waited for this moment ever since she had visited him. The possibility that Vimes would decline her proposition had been negligible, not even Vimes would sabotage himself like that.

He knew that this … feeling … ache … whatever it was his heart was doing right now would pass eventually. Maybe this would be good. Not now, not in a week when the wedding was to be held, and not for some time afterwards. But after that, it would be good. Or at least better.

Samuel Vimes was not a man women chased². That thought had given him much comfort over the years. Still, he had known that this day would come. Sam was a good man, an honest man, and in that goodness and honesty he was more enticing and pulchritudinous than anything else the Patrician had ever seen. Sam was one of a kind, and one of a kind was always special.
It had not been an easy decision, quite the contrary, to push Sam away all those years ago. But pushed he had – and necessary it had been. Someone in his position could not have any weaknesses. And it was an irony, though a well-guarded one, that Sam still was exactly that to him.
Another irony was that Sybil would marry him. His first friend, his first love. The two people he genuinely cared about, despite his best efforts. And somehow, even through the pain and ache, the thought that they would take care of each other was comforting.

So, he would follow the invitation. He would pick a wedding gift – something to annoy Vimes, because one had to allow for small pleasures –, he would dress in his best choice of dark blue (black was not a colour for a wedding after all) and would attend the ceremony at the Unseen University. And if he was not cheery for the occasion, no one would think about it twice. That was something else to be said for the reputation he had carefully crafted over the years.
He returned to his desk, made a note for Drumknott – answer with a yes –, and then took up another intelligence report from Quirm. Maybe he could impress on Sybil, carefully and subtly of course, that Quirm would be a wonderful place to move to. Incidentally, it would also remove a weakness that could be exploited.

After all, suffering swamp dragons were to be found anywhere.

A fine instrument, probably the sharpest knife to be found in all the palace – it had opened a few assassins. Although there had been no need for that particular use for quite a few years.¹
Or at least he was not chased by women who wanted to marry him. Villains and bandits and criminals, of all sexes, were another matter, and of course, in their case the chasing usually went the other way.²