Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As dusk melted into night, Samuel Vimes, Captain, still, of the Night Watch, dragged his feet along the damp cobblestone, flooded and drowned in the downpour of the skies.

Rain, come down again to wash the world free of its pain, or drown another soul in its rhythmic fall.

It’s been two weeks since that bloody dragon left and, he figured, a few more nights of dropping half-dead in gutters could do no harm. Ever since Carrot came things started changing… and now, the patrician even insisted he hired new men. Unbelievable… but maybe for the best, maybe for the best. He remembered, as a distant memory, the days in which he was still constable, those in which the Watch meant something. Perhaps they could come again.

But a bottle weighed heavy in his hand.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not now.

It bothered him that his mind darted between nightmares of that winged creature when asleep and thoughts about his meeting with the patrician when he was awake. He barely even remembered his name, not now that he was drunk at least, but there was something he’d said… ah, he couldn’t remember.

He’d remember in the morning, he always did, it was routine, no matter how thoroughly he drowned his mind in the warm and acrid alcohol, it always came back.

At least the dragon was gone, and his nightmares got lesser, but the patrician was still there every day. He felt something for the man, probably anger or annoyance, but there was something else, something that cut him like a knife, and yet something that felt warmer, that distracted him from the world if only for a moment.

Sam collapsed in a gutter with the loud clang of the armor as it hit the pavement, and the scraping of glass on flooded stone, as his bottle rolled away.

Story of his life, nothing new… maybe the rain would drown him there and the world would spin onward. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with bloody new recruits…

But something watched him from the rooftops, a shadow moving through the darkness, something that wouldn’t let him drown or die.

As the rain sang on, a black, lithe figure jumped down from the tiles and approached Vimes with care.

Perhaps the commander was not alone in being kept up at night by their last conversation. It doesn’t make sense, you know, when you pass the age of forty and master any subject of discussion, any language or play of words, any phrase and every comeback, and yet a question catches you off guard.

A simple question, the simplest of all, but you have no answer for it… And then it hurts you even more when you realize why you’ve never had the answer:

No one’s ever asked it.

Making sure the man is thoroughly passed out, the stranger tried his best to drag him out of the gutter and under some improvised roof. Then, with cold thin hands clean the mud off his face and hair.

A simple question:

"Do you believe all that, sir?" he said. "About the endless evil and the sheer blackness?"

"Indeed, indeed," said the Patrician, turning over the page. "It is the only logical conclusion."

"But you get out of bed every morning, sir?"

"Hmm? Yes? What is your point?"

"I'd just like to know why, sir."

"Oh, do go away, Vimes. There's a good fellow."

Why?

He’d have an answer for it now, something regarding a certain John Keel and a certain city that he swore to make better. But it caught him off guard at that moment, so much so that he had to invite the captain to leave the room. It felt personal, that question, as if someone actually cared about him… as a person, not an institution. And it hurt to realize how being cared for felt, and that it was a thing that sometimes happened to people and that he could sometimes be part of those people.

How weird, how strange…

Either way, he’d do better if he wouldn’t think about it too much. Right now, he had to make sure that Vimes’ men found him before an assassin or thief did. If he planned to reform the Watch, he’d need the captain.

And maybe there was another reason why he was here, why he feared to be told one day that the Shades got the better of the man and he was no more. Perhaps it was the way he stopped Wonse’s sword and, quite literally, saved his life; perhaps it was the question he’d asked; perhaps it was his likeness to a long passed Sargeant; or simply everything about him…

It was stupid, selfish, he shouldn’t think about it.

The figure climbed back in the shadows and waited there, drenched and cold, until he heard familiar voices. Three watchmen came, two drunk, one not, but even those two more sober than Vimes. They commented about the rain and how smart it was of the man to not collapse in the gutter, since the water flowed and rose, and it was cold and knew not of mercy.

They took their captain and marched away, leaving Vetinari alone in the shadows.

Drowned. The whole world was drowned in cruel sorrow, and it tore from itself to ease the pain. And now the downpour drowned his image too.

It was easy to hide in the rain.

Chapter Text

On the western shores of Klatch, far from the battle, far from the cities, or diplomats, or warships… four men paced around what looked like a giant, broken, metal fish.

And one looked like a shadow.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Vimes stood in the middle of the Oblong Office, eyes glued on the wall, while his patrician looked silently through a pile of books and papers.

“I don’t believe the situation is beyond saving in any form…” Lord Vetinari finally said, pinching the bridge of his nose for one moment. “Yes, Prince Khufurah’s assassination would make negotiations more costly on our side, but I believe everything can still be settled without upsetting nobility of either nationality more than necessary.”

“Yes sir.”

Vimes didn’t meet his eyes. Perhaps he wanted to, but he didn’t. Things have changed ever since the arsenic poisoning, they have changed… and every time he looked at Vetinari in the Rats Chamber, past the axe that partly obscured the patrician, he got a strange feeling in his gut, one he couldn’t chase away.

And now this whole war business… and Rust was going to reform the regiments. Hear that… the regiments.

The dialogue went on, the frequency of his ‘yes sir’s increased, and soon he found himself out of Vetinari’s office with the kind suggestion to go and busy himself with something.

He couldn’t stand the thought of war, or military law, or regiments or whatnot. He’d left the palace only to return to it sometime later, looking for Vetinari, but didn’t find the man anywhere. 

Apparently, he had resigned and fled for Genua, but those were Lord Rust’s words. And Rust could say anything. He handed his own badge over, because if Vetinari was gone he didn’t really serve anyone and he didn’t need a badge to protect his city. He went on to create his own regiment of watchmen, prompted by an obscure letter, and paced around the empty streets with an overbearing feeling of emptiness.

Because Vetinari was gone, simply gone this time… and it took him all the way back to his supposed wedding day. Of course, the wedding hadn’t taken place, of course nothing had changed in his life, except that, from that moment on, whenever he looked at the patrician, he felt that he could never let that happen again.

He could never fail like that again.

He remembered the look on Dr. Lawn’s face that day. When whatever stuff Ridcully had given the patrician faded away, he passed out again, and didn’t wake up until much later. ‘He had lost much blood’, the doctor said, ‘he won’t be able to walk with ease again’, he said, and Vimes spent two days beside Vetinari’s bed and hiding his tears on the edge of the blanket.

The patrician didn’t really talk, he was quiet, horribly quiet. Vimes had hoped for delirium or some other sign of life, but he seldom got any. Rarely, when Vetinari would be conscious enough to notice his presence, he would tenderly caress Sam’s hair and talk to him, like in a trance, asking why he was there and how he surely had more important things to do. These episodes were rare and didn’t last long, but Vetinari spoke in such a tender voice and smiled so sweetly, so devoid of any mask or act, that Vimes couldn’t help but find himself melting into his touch every time.

He had told him something once, the only line he remembered word for word: “It’s funny, you know,” he had said, “when one is lightheaded, their mind shuts up and their feelings become so very clear…”

Sam had turned that phrase over in his head many times but hadn’t really managed to figure the meaning behind it. Still, it clung to his soul and threatened to never let go.

But anyway, the two days had passed, and the patrician had recovered. Apart from a few limping in the first few weeks, he even walked perfectly, so much so that Vimes even wondered if he needed the cane he carried around at all.

If Vetinari had remembered anything he’d said, he surely never brought it up. He thanked Vimes for his time, and everything went back to normal, except for Sam’s mind apparently, for he couldn’t bring himself to meet with Sybil, not until she called him over and he cried in her arms, saying he didn’t know what to do with himself and she said they’d work it out. But could they?

Oh, how could tell Sybil… how could you explain to someone you were supposed to marry how you’ve spent two full days, second after second, beside the unconscious body of the city’s ruler, thinking about him with more pain and yearning than you have ever for anyone else in your life. Thinking he might die… that he might die right there, at the stretch of your arm and that there’s nothing, nothing you can do.

Thankfully he never had to tell, he could read in her eyes soon that she understood. He had no idea what, but she understood something, and that along with how he couldn’t even try to explain things to her killed him even more.

If he just ignored it, Vimes told himself, whatever bothered him would pass.

It didn’t.

Of course, when did things ever go the way he wanted them, but it got better. He could focus his attention on the rapidly growing Watch, whatever else brewed in the city and his daily reports to Vetinari allowed him to sleep better at night.

And then that arsenic incident happened. And now the war… Well, there wasn’t a war yet, but he knew there would be, he saw it on Rust’s face. That was a man who wanted a war, and he was in the position to get a war when he wanted one. He didn’t need cause or reason, he just needed an excuse, and when the Klatchian Embassy burned down he had it.

‘Vetinari fled’, huh? Of bloody course, sure, how else. That was surely what he told them, Vimes didn’t doubt that, but he did wonder what the man was up to.

It made him uneasy, for a while, until he heard that Angua disappeared on a Klatchian ship and put his worries on hold.

He had a fleet to chase, a watchman to save and a war to prevent.

And then he would find Vetinari, though knowing the man, he felt there wouldn’t be any searching required. He’d reappear at some point just as he vanished, suddenly and without reason or explanation.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

As sun rays slid over the north-west coast of Klatch, Lord Vetinari rubbed his temples as the noise of Leonard, Colon and Nobby buzzed around him.

The trip had been a horrible experience so far and, though rare the instances of this, he now found himself in a predicament he failed to find solution to. They were supposed to disembark on the other side of Klatch, but strong, underwater currents managed to throw Leonard’s device off course, and he now knew not how to reach the Prince in time.

He would have to, and he would manage, of course, because he had to. Because he always did. Because Ankh-Morpork could not go to war. It simply couldn’t, it lacked all resources, so he would have to find a way to get there in time.

Plus, Vimes was there… He trusted the Commander to make good choices, he trusted him to pull through most adversity, but this didn’t mean his heart was free of worry. He wouldn’t show it, but it was there.

“I think I can fix the machine,” said Leonard in a cheerful voice, holding some metal bar in his hand. “It didn’t get too damaged when the waves crashed it in the rocks.”

The patrician’s eyes glanced over at the two watchmen who were fooling around some sort of mountain. The waves had thrown them on a rocky coast, the edge of a cliff, there was barely any beach to sit on since not far in the distance solid, stone walls of a dark but dusty hue rose from the ground.

“I’m afraid it won’t do”, he said, cradling his chin in his palm, “given the time lost on detour, we would need to fly to make it there in time…”

Leonard scratched his head and looked at the broken machinery.

“I don’t know, my lord, building a flying device has been my, heh, center of attention for - oh - who even knows how long… ten? Twelve years? Anyway, what I am trying to say is, I don’t think I’ll manage one just from these scraps.”

The patrician knew that too. He got up and offered Leonard a faint smile, while patting down his robes. “I wouldn’t ask it of you. Fix the submersible and we’ll try to make that work.”

He then walked towards the two watchmen who had disappeared somewhere in a cave-like tunnel in the side of the wall. When Vetinari finally reached them, he saw them prying little things out of the cave’s wall, which, he could only guess, looked awfully close to gold coins. Though probably long outdated.

“Klatch is one of the oldest civilizations on the Disc,” he said with a cold voice, which, paired with his convenient invisibility, made both men flinch and jump to face him, “I imagine most of these places can be filled with traps or enchanted runes, so I do so wonder what the two of you are doing.”

With an expression of expectant horror, Colon nudged Nobby with his elbow. “Yes, er corporal… tell… tell his lordship what we were doing, corporal.”

The man swallowed dryly and pulled a customary bow. “Well, yes, we were only, er, helping the mission by… by… well, gathering resources, yes. We wouldn’t want to be stranded penniless on foreign soil. No, Sargeant?”

“Yes, yes, it would be very - unadvisable, I must say.”

Vetinari’s expression was as level as always, which didn’t warm them at all, though at that moment the man was mostly holding back a laugh. He had expected a worse excuse.

“Hm, I see… It seems I did good picking men with such sense of duty then, but I do urge you to mark this problem as secondary and go help Leonard with what he needs.”

The dutifully men exchanged glances. “Of course, sir.”

Vetinari turned to leave when he heard one more scraping noise from behind, followed by a muffled “come now, Nobbs, leave that” and a “just this one and we can-”, and then the floor dropped from under his feet.

Havelock managed to catch himself on the steeply angled wall about 5 meters below the top. Traps… capital.

“Leonard?” he called out. “Leonard?”

Nothing.

He heard voices from below, dimmed by the depth.

“I told you to leave it! Look what you’ve done!”

“What I’ve done? It was just one more coin!”

The portion till the upper edge was too steep and too perfectly leveled for him to climb. No fissures, no minor cracks in the stone, no ragged edges, nothing. Five meters of absolutely nothing. 

His grip on the small, sharp ledge he grabbed was faltering. He couldn’t scale up; he couldn’t stay there more.

“The patrician is going to kill us now… that if we don’t die in this stupid hole.”

“Well, you are the superior officer, so he’s going to kill you.”

“Me!? Me, what did I do?!”

“I dunno, I’m just saying…”

“I can’t believe I shared that sandwich with you three weeks ago…”

“I paid you back in ham for that!”

“It was a month stale!”

The descending wall had a certain slope: not enough to let one climb out, but enough to allow for a non-lethal descent. Whoever built the place had wanted people to be trapped down but trapped alive.

“Leonard!”

Nothing.

Vetinari let go, more or less devoid of other options as his hand gave in, of the ledge and let himself slide down, softening the landing as he reached the ground.

Momentarily, eyes were on him.

He got up and arranged his robes in silence.

“Very well, at least we have found out there are traps,” he said, with his usual patience.

The two men stood frozen before him.

“I suggest we follow this tunnel as there seems to be some light at the end. That, since going up is not an option.”

Colon jumped red-faced before him. “Yes, light! I definitely see light, don’t you Corporal?”

“Barely sarge…”

“Bad eyesight this one,” he said ignoring an elbow that aimed for his ribs and winking at the patrician.

That won him and instant raised eyebrow and made the Sargeant spin on his heels and start marching forward.

“I will lead the way! Worry not, your lordship, I will make sure no more traps await!” 

Something told him that such acts of selfless heroism would save his life, fortunately for him his worry was in vain. The little sourness that Vetinari failed to hide had nothing to do with them whatsoever. He was just tired from the road, and he really couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept or ate.

Perhaps Vimes was right, perhaps he was pushing himself too far sometimes, but so was Vimes himself. The man wouldn’t take breaks either, so why should he.

The city stood paramount to all, that he knew, nothing more.

Rushed whispers cluttered the otherwise silent walk through the neatly carved tunnel, as the not so metaphorical light at the end grew brighter and brighter. And soon its source was revealed.

The three entered a large, circular, arena-like opening. It looked like a room with twelve tunnels leading to it, three far larger than the one they came in through. The ceiling was completely missing, but perfectly vertical walls encircled the entire place.

The tunnel must’ve gone downhill for the walls were far more than 150 meters tall, though they did have slopes and cracks, so they were theoretically scale-able.

Just Vetinari couldn’t abandon the two watchmen here, and he also wouldn’t normally risk falling like this.

“This place is huge…” mused Nobby, walking along the room.

It was Colon’s turn to follow behind. “Do you think it has an echo?”

“Let’s try. Ahem… I am not sorry for that stale ham!”

“Hey you!”

Voices echoed mildly.

“The new constable is a ****!”

“Nobby! His lordship is here!”

He jerked around to mutter an apology. Vetinari waved a hand without looking up, as he was inspecting the decor on the floor. It was clear that something had been there… but most of the stone looked scorched. He failed to think what fire could damage a stone so thoroughly.”

As he paced around, a low, vibrant rumble came from the tunnel before them.

He looked up.

It sounded like a low growl.

Nobby and Colon began carefully drifting towards each other, until they were quite literally pressed in a hug and white in the face. Vetinari stepped in front of them, as if instinctively.

They were people of Ankh-Morpork after all, and they were Vimes’ watchmen. He had dragged them here and really started regretting that decision.

Though that regret started when the floor disappeared from under his feet.

His mind came up with an answer to the question, but he dismissed it the second he thought it.

Whatever was approaching was doing so with deliberate slowness, with calculated pace. The rumble stopped, but the sound of heavy footsteps continued. Too heavy to be human, too heavy to compare to any animal he’d heard. And another sound, a clinking similar to that of wolf claws on rock, just sharper, louder.

Hands clutched the back of his robe, Vetinari straightened his back and raised his head.

They can feel thoughts, his mind whispered, but didn’t dare name the ‘they’.

As light finally cascaded over a large, lilac animal that stepped, slowly, calculated out of the cave, he heard a gasp behind and nothing more.

A dragon.

A noble dragon.

The type that had not touched the Disc for centuries, apart from one unfortunate encounter.

Over 40 meters in length and about six times his own height, covered in purple and lilac scales, with grey belly and bright blue wings.

And cold, icy eyes… just like his.

The creature stood for a moment at the entrance, letting the light fall on it and glisten off its scales and wings, letting them realize its presence.

Fully.

Then it took a step forward. Then another one. And the more it advanced, the more the two watchmen stumbled back toward the tunnels, but Vetinari didn’t move.

He didn’t know much about dragons, about these dragons, because draco nobilis were simply extinct. But, as a man who felt that one never possessed too much general knowledge, he knew some things.

He knew they spoke in ancient Draconian, a language he had fragmented knowledge of. He knew they were telepathic creatures, whatever that meant… And he knew that right now he should not move.

The dragon stopped only when it got right in front of him, its bowed head mere centimeters from his face. A head that, in itself, was longer than an entire person’s body.

Blue eyes regarded him calmly and he returned the same gaze. 

He could feel the dragon’s breath on his skin, or rather against his whole body as a mild draft and there was a certain heat radiating off the scales.

Silence grew thick until a word tore through it like a knife.

‘Greetings.’

He fought with everything he had not to fall on his knees, not to press his hands against his ears, but it would’ve been futile.  A single look back, at the frightened but frozen men answered his suspicion. The voice was in his mind. Dragons are telepathic creatures. Dragons are telepathic creatures…

Vetinari had torn his gaze from the being but now looked back up, regaining a composure he hadn’t visibly lost.

‘Who makes me the honors? For so long I have been solitary…’

He understood the language. How was he supposed to talk. Think. Think loudly. And eye contact perhaps…

‘People of Ankh-Morpork, we hadn’t meant to intrude.’

‘Nobody ever does.’ The dragon’s voice felt echoed against itself and cold. 

Vetinari’s stayed calm and composed. ‘It is a matter of unfortunate circumstance, I admit. I hope we have not caused trouble, though I am willing to try and rectify my mistake.’

‘Yours? It was not you who was hollering earlier…’

‘I had urged these people along, it was my mistake that brought us here.’

The dragon gazed up, for a while, then back at the patrician.

‘Extend your hand,’ it said.

He did, there wasn’t much reason not to.

The dragon lowered its face and pressed its snout against his palm. The texture of the skin was ragged, dry and carried a certain warmth.

He felt the eyes drift over him. Reading his thoughts? His emotions?

From what he knew dragons couldn’t get in your head if you didn’t let them, but they always sniffed your emotions. And lies, they could smell lies from truth. It was not a hormonal thing, like dogs or other animals, it was an intrinsic sense.

Havelock closed his eyes. He couldn’t have really described what he saw, but it felt like clouds rushing around him and centuries of history pressed in a single second flashed through his mind and he forgot everything the second he heard that voice again.

‘You have an interesting mind… Tell me, what is your name?’

The creature’s voice sounded softer now, that he was touching it. To be fair, it still had that echoing effect, each mirrored sound with an edge of its own, but at least it felt softer. It didn’t try to tear apart his consciousness anymore.

‘I fear that, for that, I must first ask of yours.’

A certain glint appeared in its eyes.

‘Valiant. That’s what my riders had called me, what men screamed as I flew by. Queen of the Storms, some said, but I always preferred just my name.’

‘Riders?’

His gaze drifted up, where, on the dragon’s spine, lay what looked like a very old saddle.

‘Ah…’

‘As you see, that position is now unoccupied.’

‘Yes, I see, but I must refuse. I cannot allow myself the leisure.’

‘Leisure?’

‘I am the ruler of my city, I have responsibilities and people to protect, and systems to uphold. I cannot bring a dragon to Ankh-Morpork, though I do appreciate the offer.’

‘Do you know how many people had come here searching for this offer? How many I had turned down? Turned to ash?’

‘That cannot possibly change my answer.’

‘A dragon, human, lives better with a rider. This bond allows for magic to flow better through our veins; their sight is what we seek in flight… I have grown tired of this cave, but I will not sail the skies alone. For far too long has that been my curse…’

‘I am deeply sorry, but I cannot-’

‘Something ails you, what is it?’

Vetinari fought back the thought, the image of Ankh-Morpork in flames, the image of someone he wouldn’t dare picture dead. But the image was sharp, and it cut at his own mind, and understanding dawned on the dragon’s face.

Hurried thoughts filled his head. Half were his, half were not.

He wanted to retrieve his hand, but didn’t actually move it.

Colon and Nobby, who weren’t far from being present against the opposite wall, stood and watched in fear simply because the idea of looking away was far scarier than any other. It was as if, as long as they regarded the creature, they held some sort of control over its actions.

“I think they’re having a staring contest,” whispered Nobby.

“What was that, Nobbs?”

“You know, a staring contest, like what dogs do, to find out who gets the first bite or somethin.”

“Dogs do that?” Colon asked, hardly managing to keep his voice from shaking. “I thought they just fight each other until one gets tired and leaves.”

“No, no, no. They do this.”

“Our patrician is not a dog, Nobby…”

“I know, that’s why he will win.”

“Win?”

“The staring contest, yes. And that lizard will crawl back in its hole.”

“That’s a 40-meter dragon, Nobby. Forty meters. A dragon.”

“Yep, and that’s the patrician.”

Colon would’ve sighed if he weren’t too scared to even breathe. He now remembered he had a wife at home. And maybe they’ve had some falling outs, but right now, if he could see her, he would hug her and cry in her arms. He would kiss the ground of his garden, the floors of the house, the walls, the everything.

Yes, that was the patrician… but that was also a full-grown dragon. They’ve seen a dragon before; they’ve barely survived and now he didn’t feel so lucky.

Vetinari still had his hand on the dragon’s snout and breath rushed against him as thoughts cluttered his head. He fought to clear them, arrange them and restore the order of his mind.

‘Very well,’ was what he managed, ‘you want a rider, and I want peace… I will fly with you out of here, and across Klatch, and to Ankh-Morpork, but you are not to enter within city walls. It would cause panic, and I cannot have that.’

‘I have no intention.’

‘And you are to never, ever, breathe fire upon my city.’

The dragon closed her eyes and bowed her head in agreement.

‘If you lead me, I will obey you, but you will have to speak my tongue. Talking like this, in thought, is far too costly.’

Vetinari agreed and let his hand fall from the dragon. The voice ceased, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could still feel its intentions.

Valiant bowed down with her entire body and placed the ‘wrist’ of her wing as a ledge leading to her shoulder. The patrician passed by her and, with a calm, calculated pace, walked towards the wing.

Then threw one look to the watchmen.

“Come now, I have found us a way out of here.”

He then climbed on the wing and began to scale it.

“We, we, we are not getting on that,” muttered Colon.

“I don’t think that will be needed, no.”

“Then? Er…”

“She will take you in her talon, do no worry, she promised she’d be careful.”

Vetinari touched gingerly the straps that held the saddle. They looked worn down and with faded away decorations but still seemed sturdy as ever. He threw a leg over the saddle to straddle it and inspected the two pairs of handles before him, one closer to the seat, that he could comfortably hold, and one much farther, that he would have to lean over heavily to reach.

“So, we like, will not be crushed to death,” quivered Nobby, now that the dragon approached them and its size suddenly became apparent.

“No, I can assure you that we will meet Leonard again safely and in no time.”

Valiant outstretched a talon and wrapped it around the two watchmen, who were simply too frozen to move.

‘Be careful,’ Vetinari thought, in the few Draconian he remembered.

And the dragon was. She swiftly lifted them off the floor and, holding them tightly, used her free talons to try and scale the walls. The room was big, but it couldn’t allow for takeoff.

To be fair, she could have done it, she had been trained for much more than her companions would believe possible, but now was not the moment.

Vetinari clung to the saddle until Valiant climbed out of the crater and onto solid ground, and led her, mostly with his thoughts, to where he hoped Leonard would still be.

There were rings and buckles on the saddle, it was clear that, ideally, the rider would be in some form secured to it, but he’d have to make it work like this. There was a shape for him to place his legs on the side, and he could just hold the handles for support.

There were also reins, but Havelock failed to see how any human should find them useful, given that it was probably impossible to pull hard enough on them to even attempt at moving the dragon’s head. But they were there, so someone had found them a purpose.

Perhaps they were to show intention, to aid communication.

He unknotted them from where they lay tied to the handles and pulled them lightly, to the left, towards the coast. For some reason, Valiant followed the motion.

When they reached the shore, Leonard was still working on the submersible, it looked almost back to new. A wonder of a man, he was. He didn’t notice them until Valiant’s shadow crept over him and the scientist looked up, dropping the tool from his hand.

“Oh dear…”

With a loud thud, the dragon dropped Colon and Nobby into the sand. The Sargeant immediately got on his knees and elbows and started kissing the dusty sand. He’d never, ever, leave it again. He already had an epiphany regarding nature when that whole business with the golem happened, this one would be his reason for never touching water again. Or caves. Or anything.

“See,” said Nobby, who got up and started patting his clothes. He wasn’t trying to arrange them, no, just checked that his pockets were just as heavy and clinked just as much as last they did back in the cave. “I told you our patrician would win.”

“I’m never leaving the ground, Nobbs… I’m never leaving the bloody ground…”

“He’s like, good at this diplomacy stuff, they say.”

“They’ll have to drag me, bloody-knuckled on the pavement but I’m not leaving the damn ground.”

“And the lizard does look shiny.”

Shininess was, according to the Earl de Nobbs, the paramount quality any form of matter could possess.

Colon raised his head slowly, ever so slowly, to meet his eyes.

“Li- zard?”

“Winged lizard,” he corrected while inspecting a coin.

“Nobby, that’s a dragon! A dragon! Like the one that almost killed Mr. Vimes! Nobby, do you hear me, Nobby?!”

Leonard approached the creature slowly, from its left side, as one would a horse, though it was over six times the height of one. And that only at shoulder…

He looked at it with quiet fascination. He wasn’t looking at a beast, no, he was looking at a work of art that only magic and science combined could birth into their world. A creature he’d read so much about but had never dared hope to see. A wonder of nature and existence itself, that no pencil could ever sketch on paper, that no hand could dare replicate.

When he was parallel to its shoulder, he looked up at Vetinari, who met his gaze with some hidden confusion.

“I had never thought I’d get to see this, my lord. Is it… is it really it?”

Vetinari gave him a wry smile that carried a certain ‘I’ll pretend I know what I’m doing, and it will work out’ vibe. 

“I believe I have found our… flying device.”

“Oh dear…”

“Yes, quite.”

The scientist paced around staring at the sandy ground and rubbing his chin, while Vetinari turned his attention back to inspecting the saddle.

It was well-built, he could see where gilded, embossed decorations faded with time and where expensive fabric and leather had fallen victim to time. It must have been really beautiful once, in colors of gold and crimson.

Valiant stretched her head into the sun and opened her wings slowly, with a soft flutter, until they were fully extended and lain on the hot sand.

Leonard found himself shaded by them.

“Can you… talk with it?”

Vetinari took a moment to think about it. “I have talked with her in the cave, but… I fear it wouldn’t be our status quo for communication really. It’s an interesting thing, you know, I can feel her thoughts, in a way. They aren’t words, more like intentions or emotions, ideas too, they seem to clutter my mind… especially now that I’m up here.”

“Do you think she could read your mind too?”

“Fully? Oh no, not likely. But I’m confident she is aware of my intentions.”

“I have read once that dragons can respond to their rider’s emotion?”

“Yes, that too.”

That wouldn’t be a problem, Vetinari figured. If there was one thing he had full control over it was his mind, and if that were to be his main tool in riding the animal, then it would prove simple enough.

“Tell me, in how much time could you reach Ankh-Morpork with the machine.”

Leonard looked into the waters, then turned back to Vetinari.

“I believe we could manage in a day or so. I have seen a couple merchant boats sail by and they tend to be faster.”

“Wonderful, then you-”

“But didn’t your lordship set off for Klatch?”

The patrician watched him silently and Leonard scratched the back of his head.

“I mean, yes, we are in Klatch, but I meant the other coast of it. What about the Prince and avoiding the war and all that political business you have mentioned?”

Vetinari’s gaze drifted back to the dragon and avoided Leonard’s eyes. Warm sun glistened of the purple scales. He traced a finger along the horns of the saddle.

Leonard watched his movement then scratched his head again.

“I am sure you always know what you’re doing, my lord, but… are you sure?”

“It will be the fastest way - no, the only way fast enough - to the palace at this point. Close to the palace, that is… I cannot possibly enter the city on this.” He looked back at the man below. “I will not risk war, Leonard. Ankh-Morpork can’t fight it, not on this scale. Not on any scale really…”

“Yes, but Leshp-”

“Will sink, yes, but what will it matter? When Klatchian banners cover broken walls and burned buildings what will the island being gone matter?”

“People will be disappointed, but they will… go home, I suppose. Plus, I don’t believe the conflict would ever escalate to that point for a piece of land. Not to burning and destroying, oh my.”

‘Not for a piece of land, no’, Vetinari thought but didn’t say it, ‘sometimes for the sheer joy of it. War for the sake of war alone…’

Leonard truly was a wonderful man, and an important part of that wonder was his complete lack of awareness regarding the actual nature of humans. They wouldn’t do it, he’d say, because nobody could be that cruel. But hadn’t he known that people could be far, far crueler.

“No, perhaps they wouldn’t,” Vetinari answered absently, because how could he say the truth, “but I won’t let our plan go to waste. Return to the city with the two watchmen and see Drumknott when you arrive. I trust nothing shall happen.”

Leonard seemed to consider it, but if he thought something he didn’t say it.

“When I return and deal with the situation home, I will let you design a new saddle for Valiant. If you want. This one seems to have seen better days.”

That brought the spark back to his eyes.

“Oh me? My, I will start sketching the moment I get back then. I am sure there must be some books about dragons around the palace or…”

His voice faded as he ran away.

There was a single “I’m not getting in that thing again” from good Fred Colon, but a quick “Care to join me on Valiant, then?” from Vetinari rendered the man completely silent. No matter how much he hated the sea, everything that involved that greyish lilac creature belonged to the realm of nightmares.

Vetinari watched the three men skitter around the beach when a low sound caught his attention.

It wasn’t exactly a growl, no, it sounded softer and more reminder than threat.

Ah, he’d have to fly…

There were many things the patrician could master on first try and he was inclined to give riding a dragon a chance to join the list. One might say that he didn’t have much choice, but he had the inclination nevertheless.

Valiant wasn’t talking to him now, she hadn’t formed a word ever since he’d climbed on her back, but he could feel - and the word was ‘feel’, not ‘hear’ - her thoughts in the back of his head. They weren’t coherent sentences, but they were clear ideas.

If only he could follow them, perhaps redirect them…

Vetinari closed his eyes, trying to focus on thoughts alone and grabbed the handles closest to him. He pressed his legs against the saddle, breathed in, and opened his eyes.

“Take flight, Valiant.”

The dragon’s eyes widened. She pulled her wings closer for one second then leapt forward and shot into the sky. Two steps, one swift movement and in the next her wings were cutting through the air as she rose higher and higher.

A loud gasp from the ground was the last thing Vetinari heard before all he could think about was the speed and pressure of the wind rushing against his face. He clutched harder at the handles, but the almost vertical ascent made the position difficult. One by one, he managed to grab those further away and lean his body forward.

He had to go east, east… It was a clear day and he could somewhat see the ground. Funny that, right now he also somewhat felt where the east was, as if he suddenly acquired a built-in compass.

The air was growing rapidly colder, and he thanked for the coat he wore despite the climate of Klatch. It didn’t save his face and hands though.

Air soon grew thin, and he felt his body pressed down and yet pulled away at the same time. Vetinari couldn’t even tell if breathing was hard because of the wind or because of the very altitude. He tried to blink the world into focus, but his vision darkened with the height and speed.

It was not the best moment to remember he didn’t know the word for ‘land’.

‘But I don’t need to land, I need to reach the palace.’

With one hand clamped on the handle, he used the other to pull a rein down and to the right.

He thought about the movement in his mind, as if his mere thoughts could direct the being… and they did.

Valiant plunged downward, veering sharply for the east. The wind rush got worse, if that was possible, but at least he’d be able to breathe easier. Somewhat…

The patrician held tightly to the saddle and hoped no diplomats would see a giant dragon playing through the clouds. Ankh-Morporkians would believe said dragon to be just a ‘flashy magic trick’, but he feared klatchians wouldn’t be so easily fooled. Not their elite, at least.

Dizziness enveloped him as the dragon rushed downwards, wings gradually closing more and more.

He couldn’t really feel his body as his mind was too preoccupied with other things. The first being the speed with which the ground was approaching.

‘If this is a test,’ Vetinari thought, ‘it better get us to the palace at least.’

He let go of a few centimeters of rein, then, not to let go fully of the handles, wrapped the rope twice around them in one swift movement and pulled back on them.

Valiant opened her wings with care and darted back upwards, this time in less steep fashion, since Havelock took care to loosen the reins once she did.

“Avris daēlli, Valiant.”

(fly steady, calmly)

Keeping one hand on the handle, he tied the left rein around the saddle and placed his palm on the dragon’s back.

The wind was still drying his eyes and skin, but at least it wasn’t so cold, and at least they moved parallel to ground. But he felt horribly nauseous, and his shirt felt damp at the front of the collar. He would check that later, for he was not taking either arm off the dragon.

Vetinari had to admit, now that he wasn’t plummeting between ground and sky, the flight was somewhat pleasant. It couldn’t quite compare to a good game of chess, but cutting through the air and seeing the world reduced to splotches of color below was somewhat thrilling.

He angled his head upwards, closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. In the air, Valiant’s thoughts were much louder, and they twinned with his own to a certain extent. Even like this, he sensed the picture below, as if he could see through the dragon’s eyes and wondered if the ability was reciprocated.

Most books mentioned how dragons need their riders, especially in battle. Valiant had mentioned something about energy flow but that didn’t matter in a fight, perhaps there was more the connection allowed for. Aside from, of course, the simple fact of instructing what the creature’s next action should be.

Havelock reckoned he could get used to flying, little by little perhaps, even the nausea slowly eased away. He could ask Leonard for some sort of glasses for his eyes, put some straps on the saddle maybe, for he couldn’t even feel his legs by now, and have a very pleasant, little talk with the one person in Ankh-Morpork who had any chance of actually knowing something about dragons.

After a while, Vetinari opened his eyes and let them adjust again to the wind and sun. Somewhere in the distance, the towers of the palace rose tall.

‘Can you try to land in the dunes, out of sight?’ he thought, still keeping his hand on the scales.

The dragon veered slightly and lowered her angle.

Eventually they did land, not too far away from the city, but raised enough sand to stay unnoticed, or rather ignored.

It is a known fact that humans see only what they are prepared to see, what their mind is willing to believe most probable. So, what the klatchians on guard saw was a cloud of sand that looked awfully much like those fairytale creatures that had died long, long ago, if they had ever lived at all.

Once on ground, Vetinari remained seated on the saddle, mostly to recollect himself. His head spun as if the world should have still been rushing past him but refused for some strange reason.

The collar of his shirt was still damp, alongside his chin and neck. When he touched a hand to his lips it came away red. He pulled out a knife and mirrored himself on the blade: a nosebleed. Just a nosebleed, though his cheeks and nose were mildly redder. Perhaps because of the pressure…

The patrician passed his leg over the saddle and slid down the outstretched wing with grace, but when he reached the sand, he failed to not tumble down for a moment. Only now he realized how much his thighs and arms hurt, but it was nothing, it would eventually pass.

He would need a disguise to get to the Prince anyway, so he needn’t worry about the blood.

Valiant’s breathing sounded steady behind him, calm perhaps.

Vetinari allowed himself a full minute of lying in the sand before he got up and brushed himself clean. He stretched his arm to the dragon, and she lowered her head to press it against his palm.

He would have to leave the dragon hidden in the dunes until everything was over, then he would just return to the city with her.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

The next events followed each other quickly, without much ruckus. From infiltrating into the city to creeping behind the Commander to pluck an arrow from his crossbow, nothing much had happened.

He surrendered Leshp and offered to pay war reparations, and the good Lord Rust would have almost skinned him then and there if it were not for Vimes kicking the man down.

That kick didn’t stop the threats, and it wouldn’t stop his arrest back home, but it mattered not, by then Leshp would already be gone and the document he would have ratified - non-existent.

And so it happened. He’d managed to fly Valiant in a calmer manner to the city, being careful to stay out of sight and in the clouds when possible, and left her somewhere beyond the wall, in the place closest to the palace. Then: a small parade through the streets, some comments regarding shackles that Vimes didn’t seem to appreciate, a back-and-forth argument with Rust and Slant, the sinking of Leshp, and so the world clicked back into place.

He made Vimes a Duke, and now sat alone in his office, inspecting his hands.

The rope of the reins left some faint blisters along his palms. It was nothing too bad, nothing he couldn’t care for, but he would need gloves if he were to try and fly like that again. And writing anything would hurt mildly for a while.

As he was still contemplating that, the door to his office was pushed open and Vimes strode it. He had a sour look on his face as he shut it behind himself, then approached the patrician’s desk slowly.

Vetinari particularly disliked that sourness, though he had seen it so often on Vimes that he grew accustomed to it. He sometimes wondered if he could find ways to alleviate it; he liked annoying Vimes into doing what he wanted, but that sour resignation he sometimes carried was something else. Nevertheless, he put on a fancy smile.

"I'm bought and sold, aren't I?" said Vimes, once he reached the desk. "Bought and sold."

"Not at all," said Vetinari, feeling a small tingle in his fingers.

"Yes, I am. We all are. Even Rust. And all those poor buggers who went off to get slaughtered. We're not part of the big picture, right? We're just bought and sold."

There was pain in his voice, intertwined with the anger.

Vetinari was suddenly in front of Vimes, his chair hitting the floor behind his desk.

"Really, Vimes? Men marched away, and men marched back. How glorious the battles would have been that they never had to fight." He hesitated, and then shrugged. "And you say bought and sold? All right. But not, I think needlessly spent." The Patrician flashed him a mild, fleeting little smile to get some reaction, but Vimes only frowned more.

“That doesn’t change-”

“Would you rather I stood by and let Rust and the Prince get their way, send millions to the slaughter?”

The commander bit down on a comment, but kept his stance. Vetinari was right…

“No, I see…”

The silence stretched between them, as Sam wasn’t willing to be first to say something and Vetinari abstained from that position on principle. Eventually, Vimes sighed and waved a hand, not abandoning the frown.

“You disappeared without a warning, played two countries on your fingers and act like nothing happened?”

“I have prevented a war, commander.”

“There have been deaths-”

“Seventeen, yes. Far from the thousands there could have been, and their remaining relatives would receive due assistance, of course.”

Vimes lowered his eyes as if thinking what to say. Having run out of ideas, he began pacing around the room with the same scowl.

Vetinari used the time to lift his chair and sit down again.

“And I’m a bloody Duke now,” he said without either looking up or stopping.

“Quite. I have simply been reminded that the title comes together with that of Commander so, in a way, you have been a Duke for about two years now. Consider it a tardy specification.”

Vimes muttered something under his breath and Vetinari could swear it was the last two words he’d said. The watchman stopped his walk and just remained in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the carpet below.

Vetinari leaned forward slightly. “Is anything the matter, Sir Samuel? You seem truly out of your waters.”

“Where have you been?”

“Forgive me?”

He looked up to meet his eyes. “Where have you bloody been?”

“In Klatch, which I am sure you could-”

“You disappeared without a word. I- have you seen yourself in a mirror, sir? You look horrible… You made me parade you in front of a city in handcuffs for the satisfaction of a man who’d have you flayed if he could. What the hell is wrong with you? Sir.”

“I surely appreciate your honesty regarding my appearance, but I find it’s hardly your place to comment. Regarding Lord-“

“I swear if I pull a corpse out of a grave it would look more alive than you. You are livid…”

“Vimes.” Vetinari placed his hands on the table and offered him that icy stare. “Please attempt and refrain from interrupting me at every chance you get, it will be greatly appreciated. Now, regarding you parading me through the city, I hope I don’t have to remind you that I, just like any other person in Ankh-Morpork, am subject to the city’s law. And if I have committed treason, I will be treated like a traitor, and if I haven’t, which so happened to be the case, you will set me free and Lord Rust will return to his manor and resume his usual, aristocratic life. You out of all people should know that.”

He made a break to arrange the papers on his desk and align them neatly with its margin. “And plus, corpses rarely keep their pallor long after inhumation.”

Vimes fell silent and swallowed dryly. He still kept the patrician in his regard.

Vetinari didn’t shift his gaze but soon realized that what worked so well on every other soul - or whatever placeholder for it his people found - in the city, clearly had no effect on Vimes.

“I do appreciate your concern,” he went on, “I am simply assuring you that it’s in vain. You have done your part wonderfully and I have done mine, a war has been avoided and everything is back to normal. Of course, Klatch would require the usual diplomatic treaties and meetings to settle, but Prince Khufurah is amicable and shouldn’t cause complications where they need not be.”

Vimes still stared at him, blankly.

“Which means you can take the situation as settled.”

No change. Vetinari leaned forward again.

“Is there something bothering you, commander?”

“I don’t know sir, there is this…” he waved an arm. What could he say really? ‘I don’t think you are taking care of yourself, you never sleep or eat enough, you look like you could collapse on the floor right now, etc?’ If he even dared say either of those things, Vetinari could so easily tell him the same applies to him, and he would be right. Plus, why did he even care what the patrician did. For the good of the city, no?

“I don’t know, sir, I’ve just been wondering where you were, that’s all.”

Vetinari gave him a faint smile. I warmed him, somewhat, the fact that Vimes cared. But it was just normal that he did, the city’s wellbeing depended on his, there was nothing more.

“Greatly appreciated, again. Will that be all?”

Oh no, that wouldn’t be all.

“I have talked with Colon and Nobby on my way here.”

“And?”

“They mentioned… well they…” Maybe if he said it quickly, Vetinari wouldn’t hear him. “They mentioned that you’ve found a giant dragon named Carl in the desert and flew with it till the prince’s palace.”

There, done.

Sam recognized that expression on the patrician’s face. It was the one he made when he heard something so inherently wrong in every single way that his mind needed a few seconds to morally recover.

“Please tell me that is not true…”

Vetinari closed his eyes and pushed himself out of the chair. He placed his hands on the table and shifted his weight on them, then glanced absently at his fingers.

“They got the name wrong.”

“What?”

He truly didn’t know how to feel about the prospect of lying to Vimes about this. There was a dragon in this city. He could fool half the population, but not his dear commander.

“I really don’t know how they settled on ‘Carl’, you see? I am at a loss-”

“What?!”

Before he could answer, Vimes lounged forward, grabbed him by the coat and pulled him across the desk so sharply that Vetinari found himself almost bent over the table.

“Commander.”

“You have found a dragon and bloody climbed on it? And- and flown with it? Sir, tell me I have lost my mind, tell me!” And he shook him by the lapels of his coat.

Vetinari grabbed his arms at the wrists but didn’t manage to pull them off his robe.

“Well, you certainly have, Vimes. Unhand me.”

“You flew on a dragon…”

“Vimes.”

Sam let him go in defeat and took two steps backwards as Vetinari patted down his clothes.

“Listen to me, Sir Samuel, I know how you feel about our last encounter with one and, believe me, I reciprocate fully. But do try and attempt to believe that, at least most of the time, I know I am doing. It was the only way to ensure Ankh-Morpork would not be burning right now, and I have made sure it would not harm the city.”

As Havelock talked, a warm feeling crawled up his spine and his vision became spotted. He caught himself on his arm, not to fall on the table. He’d planned to sleep on his way back, but Valiant had brought about unexpected changes in plans.

Vimes glared at him. “It is here? In the city?”

“Commander, please listen…” 

A single droplet of blood fell on the wood of the table. Vetinari stared at it absently, heard the sound of footsteps, then collapsed on the floor.

Vimes rushed to him, picked him up from the thin carpet and turned him around in his arms. With what he remembered from Mossy Lawn, he placed the patrician’s legs on the chair and his upper body on his lap. Vimes twined his fingers in Vetinari’s hair and brushed his calloused hand across the man’s face.

“Wake up, wake up…”

“Damnit Vetinari…”

It didn’t take long before Vetinari blinked twice, slowly, and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Sir?”

Havelock closed his eyes to recollect himself, then opened them again. “I’m sorry, Vimes,” he murmured. “But I can assure you, the dragon would cause no problems… I would rather die alongside everything I hold dear, than harm Ankh-Morpork. You know that…”

Sam forced himself to muster a laugh, still holding the patrician tightly. “I didn’t know you hold other things dear. Did that ‘sheer evilness’ allow you to love something else but your bloody job?”

He took a moment to reconsider, and the way he looked at him then, Sam thought he was not going to forget in a long while, if ever.

“Matter of fact, I think I do, Sir Samuel.”

“Hmm? And what’s that?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say, it’s not really a thing at all.”

“Some… principle?” He sighed.

“No, not quite. Much more than that, actually.”

“Your new pet, sir?”

“Stop that, commander.”

With care, Vimes lowered Vetinari’s legs back on the floor, but still held the man in his arms. Up until the patrician placed a hand down and rolled himself out of the embrace and on the floor, propped on his elbows.

“Is there really a dragon in the city?”

“North-west of the wall… but yes.”

Sam bit his lower lip and then let it go.

“Does it really bother you so, Vimes?”

“Why are you even asking like there’s anything you could do about it.”

“I can do a lot of things about a lot of things, if I have the right reasons for it.”

The watchmen looked closely at the ruler of the city. “For me?”

Vetinari flashed him a fast smile. “For the good of the city. And I ever so happen to take your opinion as paramount in a specific number of aspects.”

Vimes outstretched an arm to straighten the patrician’s collar where it had been folded backwards when he fell. When he finished, he didn’t remove his hand, but rather traced his fingers along the man’s shoulder and down his arm. Vetinari watched the movement very intently, but didn’t comment a word. Neither did he move.

“Well then my professional opinion is that it’s fine, sir.”

“Capital,” he answered, but his eyes were fixed on the spot where Vimes’ hand rested on his forearm.

“What about you? Should I get you a doctor or something?”

“No, that won’t be needed.” He finally raised his eyes to meet Sam’s and offered a mild smile. “I believe the main cause is exhaustion alone. Some rest would be the best medicine.”

“You? Rest?”

“Ah, but look who is talking, commander.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I just… er…” Vimes looked away for a moment as his voice trailed off.

“Do go on.”

“No, forget it… Should I bring you something to eat?”

“That would be so kind of you Vimes, but I think I’ll- ah…” Vetinari tried to push himself up, but stumbled back down.

Sam stood up and grabbed his arm to pull him up. “Maybe I’ll send word to the kitchens to get you something?”

The patrician allowed himself to be hauled off the floor and placed into his chair, then watched as Vimes leaned his weight and hand on the armrest to look down at him.

“I do have Drumknott for that, commander.” It became hard to fight back a genuine smile, but he managed.

“Well hell, I won’t just leave you like this. I’ll go and ask them to bring you something. What do you… eat?”

That question was asked in the same tone of scientific concern with which young children ask their partners how to care for the weird critter they’ve found in a ditch outside.

“Normal human food, and I really hope that didn’t take you by surprise. But a soup would be nice now, thank you.” He smiled.

Vimes scoffed and straightened himself.

“Whatever you say, sir,” he said, already heading for the door. “But,” and he stopped right before opening it, “next time we meet I’ll make sure to serve you with something that is not bloody tasteless.”

Vetinari placed his chin on steepled fingers. “I’m sure you could offend a great number of people with that comment alone, commander.”

“The soup you’re eating would offend them more.”

That was, Havelock had to admit, a very solid comeback. He’d have to up his game.

“Now take some bloody rest and make sure your dragon doesn’t burn any innocent civilian on the streets.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“A! And don’t say there aren’t any innocents in Ankh-Morpork, I’ve realized my mistake. Just make sure it doesn’t burn any civilians. Even the not civil civilians… sir.”

Vetinari smiled and tipped his head.

“Very well. Ah, and Vimes, while you decide how to torture me with the culinary wonders of the world, do add some leafy greens to your own diet. Lady Sybil has been complaining to me that she finds them quite lacking in your repertoire.”

Vimes frowned again. “I don’t see how-”

“A healthy mind in a healthy body, no? And I am sure the Watch needs the clearest of minds.” He turned his attention back to the papers as Vimes grabbed the handle to pull it down. “Now, don’t let me detain you.”

Sam muttered something containing ‘sir’ as he left and shut the door behind himself. The patrician had that infuriating quality of always having the last word in any given situation, and it drove him up the wall.

Left alone in his office, with his elbows on the desk, Vetinari allowed himself a soft chuckle.

Chapter Text

It was a sunny day when, after finishing work at her dragons, Lady Sybil slumped down in her chair and decided to get some well-earned rest. It was true, her rest rarely lasted for long, but a good cup of tea would ease away any worry.

She was still reading the newest article in ‘The Times’ when Willikins entered the room to announce that someone came to see her. Someone who was Vimes. 

Even after the annulment of their marriage, the man, for some unknown reasons she mostly attributed to guilt, insisted on helping around with one thing or another, though it usually included dragons.

It was nice, she figured, but she would have much preferred to talk about it openly and not just have the watchman try to atone himself of some inexistent sin through charity acts. But she knew Vimes, getting him to confront his feelings and, oh, even worse, accept them was a battle few dared charge in.

Either way, now with the breeding season and all, Sybil could really use the help. She’d even asked her old childhood friend, Lady Galia, to come around and was promised that she’d come and not alone. But for now she had Vimes.

Sybil got out of her chair and went to greet him at the door. 

There was another benefit to Vimes’ visits and that was the fact that their “break up” wasn’t really official, or at least not public. So, the man dropping by still saved her from stupid requests from this or that lord asking for her hand. Lords who sought to marry the Ramkin estate rather than her.

Perhaps she could use this period of quiet to find a normal man to settle down with. A man who’d be home for dinner and there during the night, someone who’d be more than glad to muck the pens with her and wouldn’t be just another flamboyant peacock. The problem was, looking for said man implied interacting with the city’s nobility and that put her off greatly.

She opened the door and there he was. He even looked somewhat decent which, in Vimes context, meant not covered in the mud or blood of last night’s arrest.

He greeted her and took off his helmet.

“Oh, Sam, so glad you came!” Sybil bent down to hug him around the shoulders. “I could really use the help now, with so many new hatchlings, let me just grab a few shovels and some baskets of coal and we can go.”

She was already going to the shed which forced Vimes to run behind her to keep up.

“No, dear, wait,” he panted behind.

“What is it?”

“You’ve been working all day; I can take care of it alone. You just go rest.”

Sybil gave him a confused look. She was pretty tired…

“Well, I’ve cleared pens two and three, but four, five and six will need both mucking and feeding. And you can’t give the hatchlings big pieces of coal, just these little crumbs here. Ah, and I’ll come later to bandage Stormy’s wing. Poor guy, got in a quarrel with two dogs again…”

Vimes took the buckets silently, as if something was still on his mind, and just nodded at every request.

“Tell Willikins to come get me if you need something. I will come later anyway, but still. I should go brew some more ointment for scale growth now.”

Once they were both out of the shed, Sybil turned once more to face Vimes, who was secretly thinking about using one of the dragons to light his cigar. He really needed a smoke right now…

“Thank you for the help, Sam,” she said, preparing to go back in.

“It’s nothing really, just thought I could do something. Erm, listen… Sybil, do you happen to have any books on dragons?”

The lady never judged, but that made her stare him down a little.

“I mean big dragons,” he corrected, “like the one that declared itself king about a year ago.”

“Ohh, you mean draco nobilis. Yes, yes, I must have something on them… those were my favorite things to read when I was little. But why, Sam?”

For the first time during their conversation, Vimes decided to avoid her gaze and looked down at his feet.

“You know… no reason really. Just thought I’d learn some more about them…”

Sybil took a moment to just sit in the threshold and watch him.

“Is this somehow related to all that business with Havelock and the war? It’s been three days since everything ended and you still seem off…”

“Related? Why would it be related?” He looked back at her.

“I don’t know, you always get so… skittish when it comes to Havelock, and he’d disappeared for a while. He almost got exiled too… And there had been that dragon here about two years ago. Oh, Sam, please tell you’re not still thinking about that.”

On some particularly dark nights, he was.

“No, no it’s not that… and please stop calling the ruler of the city by his first name.”

“Why? We’re good friends.”

“You seem to be good friends with the entire nobility at this point.”

Sybil shook her head and sighed softly.

“Yes, Sam,” she said with a tone that could be attributed only to pity, which Vimes didn’t particularly enjoy, “most of us know each other well, but I’ve known Havelock since we were children. Plus, he doesn’t mind.

Vimes made a very flat expression, deciding not to ask if she ever verified that. To be honest, some part of him told him that it didn’t need verification, Vetinari always seemed more drawn to people who had other interests than that of the average morporkian. ‘Rich people and their weird customs…’ was all he thought.

“Anyway,” Sybil went on, “I’ll look through the library for you, there must be some books left, and thank you again for the help.”

Vimes turned around at the last moment before the lady disappeared into the house.

“Oh and, could you check if there’s any good bakery around? If it’s no problem, of course… We’ve got some new recruits and all.”

Sybil said she’d write down some addresses, but entered her living room with more questions than answers. Sam didn’t bring pastry to recruits, he particularly didn’t want to interact with recruits. Something was off…

Either way, regarding the books, there were many left on the dusty shelves.

No one would dare throw away anything dragon-related at the Ramkin Estate.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Since dawn, Lord Vetinari has been in the palace gardens alongside Leonard and Valiant. He had flown her there under the cover of night and now the dragon lay quietly on her belly, half-open open wings stretching on the ground, on either side of her, and basking in the warmth of the sun.

The palace staff have been informed that the dragon was just an upcoming magic project of the wizards’, and it would be very unwise to pay mind to it or, oh, even worse, dare mention it. All except Drumknott, of course.

Leonard was scurrying from one side of the creature to another, even climbing on the wings when he needed more height, and inspected the saddle and reins.

“It is really formidable craftsmanship, my lord,” he said, examining the leather harness that wound around the shoulders, belly and tail. “I could reinforce them with something, but I wouldn’t replace them. This isn’t just any leather, it comes from the skin of drakes, creatures extinct now. No, no, I wouldn’t replace it.”

Vetinari caressed the scales on the snout of the creature. Valiant wasn’t paying much mind to either man, the sunlight falling gently on her back, where the lilac turned a darker hue, seemed to elicit more interest.

The good thing about their telepathic connection was, Havelock figured, that not only would Valiant usually mirror the emotions she saw on him, which was always that perfect, calm veneer of a personality, but that he would also understand hers to a certain extent. Such, he could be sure she wouldn’t try to bite his friend’s hand off if given the chance. That was useful.

“Dragons are also extinct on paper,” he said.

“Well yes… but even if we did find a drake, I suspect no one would dare kill it,” countered Leonard. “I can’t imagine someone who’d kill such a unique animal… How did this one survive, though?”

Vetinari left Valiant’s side and approached Leonard slowly.

“I intend to ask the Archchancellor about it, but I haven’t yet figured out a way to do that without disclosing the truth.”

The scientist gave him a confused look. “You intend to keep her secret?”

“For the most part, yes. It would cause a horrible ruckus if people found out there is yet another dragon in their city.”

Leonard shrugged. “You could just tell them she’s friendly. Oh, talking about that, what would she actually eat?”

Vetinari took a couple of the man’s sketches and sat down on the pale blue wing to try and understand them. Leonard suggested he would just change the fabric and structure of the seat itself, without tinkering much with the harness or reins. Havelock saw no real problem with that; the idea of the saddle and straps being made of such a resistant material that it not only withstood decades or centuries of wear in tear but was still in top condition was ideal. It appeased the pragmatist in him.

“I’ve found some old books about dragons in the palace library, though most are quite lacking in information. They can hunt, like most animals, but they can also eat coal like common swamp dragons. And gems, apparently.”

“That would be a large quantity of coal…”

“Yes, it would be, but they seem to have a higher efficiency of decomposing the material. They can get more energy from one gram of coal than we humans can from a tone.” 

A smile crept on the patrician’s lips. “And regarding gems, anything with a higher concentration of carbon works best.”

“So, diamonds?”

“And their derivatives, yes.”

He arranged the papers and jumped down from the wing to hand them back to Leonard.

“I find inclusions just reduce yield.”

Vetinari approached the dragon’s neck and traced his fingers along the cold, purple scales.

“There’s something interesting at the core of this creatures,” he said, without minding much the shadow of a smile on his lips, “something far, far beyond the reaches of our science…”

When he reached the creature’s head, Vetinari removed his hand to get a better look at the bridle.

“I think Klatchian books might hold some insight where ours fail,” said Leonard behind him. “I have learned most things from there, the rest was through trial and error, of course.”

The bridle was made from the same kind of leather as the reins and harness. It was wrapped around the horns, where two dents had been carved in to secure it, and had a single strap hang loosely around the chin. Nothing more.

“The Klatchian books are the one I have studied, though, I admit, there are too few here, in the city.”

There was a piece of sharp metal, with a pinkish glint to it, that was tied to the throatlatch, not far below the horn. It was caught on the outer side of the leather, so it didn’t touch the dragon’s face. Perhaps it would if someone were to pull on the rein, which was connected just below it. Perhaps.

He stretched a hand to inspect it, but the second his finger touched the blade, Vetinari drew back his arm and let a soft gasp escape him.

“Are you alright, my lord,” asked Leonard, tilting his head to look at him.

“Quite right, yes,” said the patrician, still rubbing his index finger against his coat. It had a burning sensation, as if he’d just wrapped it in nettle, but more potent. “Will you come look at this?”

Leonard jumped down from the dragon’s wing and hopped lightly until he reached the patrician. The sensation seemed to fade away but, Vetinari noticed, Valiant opened her eyes and was now watching him with care, without moving her head.

If dragons could feel their rider’s emotions, he wondered if they could also feel their pain. Or maybe they were just aware of its existence.

“That glint… it looks like enchanted nyeri, a rare chemical extracted from plants that can be coated over metal and prevents it from corrosion or decay. I know it’s rarely used, but I can’t remember why…”

The scientist tapped his finger against the scaly neck of the dragon.

“Ah, I know! It’s rare, insanely rare. The plant has been cut down to the point of extinction a few centuries ago, or so I’ve read.”

Lord Vetinari weighed the idea in his head.

“Yes, that, or the fact that it causes extreme pain and irritation on touch.”

He saw Leonard’s face.

“I assume, given a dragon’s scales, it probably doesn’t hurt them much, or perhaps it’s the only way to allow them to feel any rein pressure at all. Either way, I’ll have to find a way to ask Valiant if she wants them removed.”

That seemed to have cleared the situation up for Leonard. 

“You know, my lord, I still hold on to the belief that the plant’s not altogether gone. Maybe there are some remnants in some far away corner of the world, far away from human reach,” he said dreamily.

“It’s highly unlikely…” murmured Vetinari.

“Yes, but so could’ve been said about this dragon, and yet here she is.”

The patrician propped his chin on his hand.

“We have dealt with a dragon before, but that one had been summoned through magic. Regarding Valiant,” he said as his eyes traced the contour of the saddle, “I fear that is not the case…”

He watched as the scientist examined the bridle, with the same amount of excitement that he kept for anything life threw at him. Be it a mushroom sprung after the rain or a creature of fables brought to life, the man treated both with the same enthusiasm.

“Have you read about the times when, allegedly at least, people rode dragons? When it was not more alien to them than caring for some fancy horse breed?” Vetinari asked.

The man gave it some thought. “You mean the legends? I never considered them true before…”

“No, neither did I… They were stories with no real proof or evidence of their retelling. Never did history mention them in other ways beside myths, and yet here we have some undeniable proof before us.”

“Maybe there are books we have no access to?”

Vetinari glided his fingers along the violet scales. “History is molded the way people want it to be, truth being erased from records is nothing new, reality turned to fiction is nothing foreign. Still, I would never believe there is really nothing left… I’ll have to talk with a friend, she might have some insight here.”

Leonard, who had been zoned out of the conversation ever since he noticed an interesting stitch on the leather of the reins, now got up and left to gather the sketches.

“I think I have all I need,” he said, “but I wouldn’t venture to take anything off her, rather just replace some parts of the saddle and harness as it sits now on her back. Will the dragon stay here?”

“For the most part yes. If I understood correctly, I should fly with her on occasion, but that is something I could only do at night. During the day, Valiant could rest here, at least until you finish.”

Leonard gave him an odd look. “If you understood correctly? Can’t you just ask her?”

“Only in Draconian now, apparently. I still have some work on mastering it, my current knowledge is quite lacking.”

“I’m surprised you know it at all, my lord, Draconian is a dead tongue, after all.”

“Yes, but so is Latin, and yet so many know it.”

“But Latin is still used in some form,” said the scientist, “all of biology and medicine relies on it.”

Vetinari laughed softly and offered a kind smile.

“Yes, but the best kind language to know is the one that no one uses at all.”

“Why?”

“Encoded messages, dear.”

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

On the far borders of Klatch, in a fortress shielded from sight or knowledge. A man stood, still dressed in war attire, with his forehead pressed against his hand and sweat tainting his messy hair.

It is not every day that a man holds the greatest country in the world in his hand, just to have it stripped away because of some fancy bastard’s schemes. It is not every day that a man is announced that his own death has been successfully orchestrated and now the most feared of D’regs is finally off his tail. But those have been days in his lifetime and not too far apart either.

Now he must stay hidden, possibly run far, far away from Klatch, start a new life and forget the old. Forget the dreams of glory, forget the dreams of fame. Dreams for which he would have had his own brother assassinated, dreams for which he would have razed down a city, dreams for which he would’ve done so much more, so much worse.

But Prince Cadram was not one of those men.

He was not the kind to lay down and accept defeat as the rope tightened around his neck. He would not have some scag come from Genua and raised to the head of a city full of scoundrels and scum take that from him.

He had… he had Klatch in his hands. If he won Leshp over and got the huge sum for war reparations from Ankh-Morpork, he would’ve had more popular support than his brother could have ever wished for. If he had only gone to war and burned that horrible city, taking everything of value with himself, he would have been crowned as the best of his line. But he didn’t.

The moment he had accepted Ankh-Morpork’s surrender was the moment he had severed his own head.

The patrician must have known the island would sink, he had laid out such a pretty trap and Cadram not only walked straight into it but hailed it as victory. And that ‘victory’ had lost him the war and the country…

Such were the thoughts that troubled the banished Klatchian Prince when his main general, Mr. Osman, entered the room.

“Any advancements on our enemies, general?”

Osman bowed his head upon entry.

“Yes, sir. Your alleged death has been declared official by your brother and news of it have spread far across the Disc. We can start moving.”

The prince lifted his head, just a little, and tilted it without interest.

“Move what?”

“Klatch is still full of resentment regarding the loss of Leshp. Our agents have managed to change the public opinion, make them believe that Ankh-Morpork is the real enemy and conquering it would be not only just but also highly beneficial for the wellbeing of our country. Many of the former troops are regrouping in the city northwest of us, we have enough fortifications to defend the rebellion against the capital until we are ready to fight.”

“And what about the D’regs?”

“Stone walls will hold them back sir. Especially those topped with archers.”

The prince shifted his gaze away and absently scrubbed a stain on the desk with his nail.

“Ankh-Morpork must be mine, General. And Klatch must follow.”

Another bow. “You shall have them, sir.”

“And I want that traitorous bastard’s head.”

“Your brother’s or the city patrician’s?”

“Both.”

Chapter Text

Lady Elizabeth Galia, Sybil’s childhood friend of long, entered the Ramkin Estate as Willikins opened the door and showed her in. She had her long, blonde hair caught in a tight, low bun and wore an elegant and yet travel-friendly yellow dress. Apart from the purse on her shoulder, she carried a letter in her hand.

Once she saw her, Sybil abandoned the tea still on the stove and ran to meet her. Galia stopped in the middle of the parlor and stretched her arms for a hug that remained uninterrupted for some good time.

“The others shall arrive later today,” said Galia, patting down her slightly ruffled skirt. “I just thought I’d drop by earlier.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you did, Lizzy, I made some tea and feared it would get cold. Say, would you help me bake some cookies for the girls? I swear I always get the measurements off…”

“Of course, but I decide what fruit we use.”

“Don’t know about fruits, but strawberries are in season right now. Cherries and apricots too.”

Galia sat down in one of the deep blue velvet chairs. They had probably been there for generations and who knew how much they were worth, but now their legs had become scratching posts for dragons. She liked that. She owned cats herself.

“Apricots will do, maybe a few with the cherry too, but do bring some tea first. I’ve been in that carriage for hours on end…”

“Well, it’s almost ready now. I’ll go get it.”

“Ah, and Sybil.” She waved the letter up and above her head. “You’ve got some mail.”

“Can you check from whom it is?” she asked without turning around.

“Says it’s from the patrician…”

“What, from Havelock? That’s weird he doesn’t normally write people.”

“Hope it’s not some political stuff,” muttered Galia, who had just come for a nice get-together and mucking dragon pens, nothing more.

Lady Ramkin brought the tea and, after pouring a cup both for her friend and herself, sat down in the chair opposite and began stirring some sugar in. Elizabeth opened the envelope but handed her the letter without opening or looking over it. Sybil read it carefully, but the more she advanced through the text, the more her expression passed from ordinary cheerfulness to some sort of stunned excitement, too mesmerized to say a single word. To cope, she just read the whole thing again… for about three times.

“Is… everything good?” asked Galia.

“Yes, yes…” she answered, sipping her tea while still looking at the neat piece of paper. “Say, Lizzy… could you meet the girls alone and send them my most sincere apologies if I were to come later?”

The lady looked around with reluctance. “Sure… But why?”

A smile crept up Sybil’s lips, and it got brighter and brighter. “Oh, I’ll retell you… I promise.”

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Sam Vimes proceeded to the Palace under the warm noon sun. Sybil had given him some books and had even been so kind as to let him take them home, i.e. to the Yard, but once he got there, the tower of unread reports gave him that look that a pile of paper should not be able to give but does nevertheless. So, naturally, he plopped the books on his other desk and sat down to check as many papers as he could until sleep got the better of him.

Yes, he had another desk now, would you guess it… Ever since he became both Commander and Duke people at the Watch, precisely Fred (because he didn’t seem to have better things to do) and Carrot (unearthing reasons was hard with that one…) became relatively insistent that he get a decent living space. Especially now that Pseudopolis Yard allowed for that, so he got stuck with having a nice room. A genuinely nice room…

Him, poor old captain Vimes of the Night Watch sleeping - no, being passed out - in a gutter was now His Grace the Duke of Ankh and Commander of the City Watch and lived in a nice room with two desks, and a red carpet, and a small bookshelf, two armchairs and a nice bed, that didn’t look as if it was made for the size of a teenager and could probably even fit two people in if you tried.

How things change…

Vimes shook his head as his feet carried him onward. Come to think of that, he had a better room than the patrician even, but, knowing that even some places in the Shades surpassed his, that was probably no achievement. He’d seen it only because of that poisoning incident and he still didn’t know how to feel about it.

Eventually, the walls of the palace showed themselves and Vimes entered unbothered through the gate, because those snobbish guards who were so keen on questioning his every move suddenly didn’t want to bother a Duke. 

A bloody duke…

He saw Drumknott skittering around the corridors and asked for Vetinari only to be told: “Well, his lordship is in the palace gardens, but he is busy at the moment, and I don’t it’s wise for you to- Hey! Commander Vimes, come back… Ah, why do I even try…?”

Sam reached the gardens, but before actually exiting the palace, he decided to have the slightest bit of consideration for the man and look through one of the tall, glass windows first. Whatever he saw turned his face a shade paler for a moment.

There was a small white table in the garden, with a customary number of, also white, chairs around it. There was a kettle and three teacups on it, but one of them stood full and untouched, and had probably already gotten cold. Lord Vetinari was sitting behind it, stirring it slowly and absently with a spoon, while clearly looking elsewhere. The other two chairs were empty and away from the table.

But that mild scenery was not the problem, not for Vimes.

The problem was the thing the patrician was gazing at, more precisely a massive dusty-purple dragon, laying languidly in the sun like some giant cat, and the two people who were busying themselves around it. 

One was a strange man that Vimes didn’t recognize, dressed in loose yet, in a way, well-tailored clothes, bald in the top of the head, but carrying long hair all around it. And the other person was Sybil… She just stood there and scratched the dragon’s neck where the creature purposefully tilted its head to the side to allow her access.

He felt shivers go down his spine. He remembered his first encounter with a dragon… the breath, the size, the eyes… the fire… That horrible, horrible fire…

And yet, Vimes couldn’t tear his gaze away, because nothing before him now screamed terror and anguish. Not this time. The strange man was climbing on and off the wings to measure stuff as if the whole creature was a damn playground; and Sybil was babying it like you would a big dog. Somehow seeing everyone so excited and at ease calmed something inside of him. He wished that he could immortalize the picture and whenever his nightmares returned, he could imagine this in their stead.

Even Vetinari looked genuinely relaxed for once, and that was something. He was saying things from time to time, probably talking with Sybil, though neither the glass nor the distance allowed him to hear anything. He looked interesting, all in black and contrasting with the whitish ensemble, with his elbow on the table and chin resting on his hand, his dark robe contouring his silhouette…

Vimes caught himself staring and pulled away from the window. He remembered what he came there for and mustered the courage to open the doors and stride into the garden.

The three were still engaged in their conversation and didn’t notice Sam at first, since he tried his best to make sure the dragon didn’t notice him at all.

“And did you actually fly on her? That sounds incredibly dangerous in some ways, but I do fully understand the appeal.”

“Unfortunately, it was not really a matter of appeal then, but yet it is quite… enticing.”

“You know, my Lord, I could design a saddle for two. I think it could even be more secure than this if I fix it right… here, yes.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that. My babies would be jealous if they saw me flying without them… and with a noble dragon even.”

Vetinari chuckled.

“Yes, perhaps they would be… though I would like you to try that Leonard, it might come in handy eventually.”

The man bent down to grab his papers and scribble on them. “This is definitely one of the best projects I’ve had in a while… What else did you say you needed?”

“Probably just a pair of gloves and some sort of glasses that wouldn’t fly away with the wind.”

Unfortunately for Vimes, the dragon was the first to see him, as she tilted her head ever so slightly towards him and narrowed her pupils. That prompted Sybil to follow the creature’s gaze.

“Oh, Sam, you’re here!” she said and waved a hand in the ‘come forward’ motion.

Leonard waved him a hello as if they’d known each other all their lives and returned to his sketches. Vetinari straightened himself in the chair and only offered him the usual sharp smile.

“Look at her, Sam, isn’t she pretty,” asked Sybil continuing to rub Valiant’s chin which convinced the dragon to rest her head back down. “You said we could come see her when we want, didn’t you, Havelock?”

Vimes approached the animal the most he could, but considered ten meters away was as good a distance as any.

“I said you could, my lady… and Sir Samuel too, of course, now that he’s here. But her presence must remain a secret, I trust that you can keep it.”

“Even from my friends? I’ve promised them I’d retell them…”

“Unfortunately, yes, for now at least.”

“Havelock…”

“I shall think about it, but not yet.”

Sybil failed to hide a small pout but answered with the same cheerfulness as before, “Very well then, I’ll just tell them I’ve been entrusted with state-level secrets.”

“That wouldn’t be a lie, no,” said Vetinari.

Vimes watched everything in silence, the proximity of the animal was both extremely unsettling and yet very grounding. It was as if it influenced the air around him. He had to politely decline some invitations from Sybil, bless her soul, to come and pet the thing, because that would be a bit too much, and then needed his courage a second time to turn around and approach the patrician where he sat. 

Vetinari, for the first time, lowered his gaze at the cup in front of him as Vimes came forward, but then fixed the commander with that icy-blue stare when he arrived before him.

“Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see you, Sir Samuel, but may I ask what the purpose of your visit here is?”

Sam swallowed dryly. “I thought of discussing it with you inside, sir.”

“Ah, some matters of state, I presume. Very well, I shouldn’t detain you.”

It was in no way ‘matters of state’, but the patrician had already gotten up and Vimes wasn’t about to tell him to sit back down. So, he just followed silently after Vetinari until they were both inside.

The patrician walked around the palace for a while, with the watchmen trailing after, until they reached another corridor with windows overlooking the same spot in the garden, just two stories above. Vimes didn’t see any purpose behind all that road, but he did enjoy walking through the building with Vetinari, so he didn’t comment. As they stopped, Havelock diverted his gaze back to the two people still outside with the dragon.

“I was really wondering if you’d come out at some point, Sir Samuel,” he said.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t- wait… You saw me waiting?”

“I am more observant than most people would assume, though,” and here he looked at Vimes, “I would expect it from you, your grace.”

Sam looked out through the window.

“I don’t require of you to interact with Valiant in any form, her deal is with me alone and I can perfectly manage the situation.”

“Deal?” he asked without looking.

“I am her rider, in a way, I understand that dragons have only one such person at a time and have a special connection with them.”

“Special how, sir?”

“Well, I suppose you could tell me, commander, Lady Sybil mentioned she has landed you some books on the matter.”

“I didn’t read them yet, sir,” he said, a tinge of self-disappointment in his voice.

Vetinari paused, then a faint “hmm” was all he got from the man.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, placed there lightly. 

“Well, I suppose the main elements of the connection would be my ability to fly with her and that we understand each other’s thoughts, at least while in flight or in general proximity, but my knowledge is sadly limited on the matter. Lady Ramkin did provide me with some more information but, I believe, only the libraries in Klatch could truly offer all the answers.” 

There was another pause in his speech, which wasn’t really the norm for Vetinari.

“Either way,” he went on, “I will, again, assure you that Valiant poses no danger to the city, I can feel her thoughts, she’s not an impulsive creature… I realize that Ankh-Morpork’s wellbeing is paramount to you but, as you know, so it is to me, and though our last encounter with a dragon was quite destructive, this one is, simply, inherently different.”

The hand left his shoulder as Vetinari clasped it behind his back.

“Is that why you came, commander?”

Vimes could feel that something was wrong in the air, though he couldn’t pick up exactly what.

“No, it’s not that, sir…” Though the talk had been reassuring.

“What was it then, pray tell?”

State affairs and dragons surely sounded more Commander-of-the-Watch-business than what he had in mind, and he wondered whether it was wise to just pretend those were actually his reasons from the beginning. 

Vimes lowered his hand in his pocket and took out something small and circular, wrapped in thin brown paper with somewhat floral decorations. He handed it to Vetinari. The patrician inspected it with some reluctance before finally taking it and unwrapping it slowly.

It was just some pastry, a fruit danish with strawberries and some powder on top. Vetinari looked it over, holding it at a distance, as if he’d just been handed an ancient emblem demanding deciphering.

“What is this?” he finally asked.

Vimes looked him dead in the eyes. “Are you… it’s some sort of pastry, sir.”

“Oh no, I know that,” he said, “I was inquiring of what your intention was bringing it to me. Is it some lead for a crime, an offer from Genua or Pseudopolis?”

The watchman was soon going to punch the wall, and he hated how the patrician was much closer to him than that wall.

“No sir, it’s a gift.”

“A gift?”

Vimes fought back a sigh. Unfortunately threatening the head of the state was not an acceptable thing to do.

“Yes sir. I’m just keeping my promises, sir.”

Vetinari watched him carefully, there was something in his gaze, but he couldn’t quite figure what it was, only that it seemed gentle and lacked the usual edge that accompanied the man’s every glance. Sort of, at least.

“I really wish you would drop that ‘sir’ when you can, Vimes,” the patrician said, “and… thank you, for this. It is… considerate really.”

He folded it neatly and placed it in one of the pockets of his coat.

“Follow me, Sir Samuel, I’d like to show you something.”

Vimes didn’t complain and just picked up the pace behind Vetinari for a second time that day. He wasn’t sure if the reaction he got was the one he expected, but that was probably because his mind hadn’t even ventured to predict how the patrician would react; all planning stopped at giving it to him and, perhaps, commenting something that one should never say to the tyrant of the city if the man were to refuse. All in all, everything went fine as far as he was concerned.

He didn’t know the corridors they were passing through now, but he was silently walking around with Vetinari again, so he hardly cared for the details.

Eventually the patrician opened the doors to a small room, probably in one of the towers, devoid of lamps but full of windows, which gave the entire place a nice glow during the afternoon. What he did notice was that the windows were pretty high up and stretched all the way to the tall ceiling, having inclined, interior eaves and the top. So, if someone were to look through them, they wouldn’t really see anything inside.

Vetinari scavenged through some papers lain on a wooden table, before picking one out and handing it to Vimes.

“It’s news from Klatch, I thought you ought to be aware.”

Sam skimmed through it, rather than properly read it, then looked up at the patrician.

“They are saying a part of the masses are upset about the loss of Leshp…”

The man nodded silently, leaning back against the table and with a faint smile on his lips.

“… and that they’re blaming us for sinking the island, and they want… war? Again?”

Another nod.

“I hardly think it will escalate, they are devoid of a leader still, and if someone does rise, which is the case in such situations, I believe Prince Khufurah should have no problem dissipating any instigators. But,” and he left the table’s edge, “I believe the Duke of Ankh should be aware of such motions. Klatch is trying to keep things quiet; this is not public information, I want to make that very clear.”

“No worries there, sir.” 

The patrician gave him a look, but the man did just call him duke, so he deserved that. Vetinari stretched a hand to take the letter back and Vimes was handing it to him, before he noticed a faint, reddish mark going diagonally across his palm.

Vimes placed the paper on the table, took Havelock’s hand in his and pulled the man closer, ignoring his faint intake of breath. He traced his fingers over the mark and Vetinari tried his best to not let his hand shiver at the touch.

“What is this?” the commander asked.

“Just some mild rash,” answered Vetinari, “nothing you should concern yourself with.”

“Yeah… but how?” He turned the hand over to inspect it better, but only the palm bore the mark. For no reason at all, his fingers traced all the way up to the patrician’s wrist.

“Surface friction with the reins of Valiant’s bridle. I would have to wear something on my hands next time.”

“Yeah, I guess…” 

Vimes let go of the hand, though just as he did a wave of regret washed over him. He noticed that he lacked any excuses to grab it again and let his arms drop awkwardly at his sides.

“Either way, I think it’s best that you escort Lady Sybil home. Evening is approaching and I’d prefer to help Leonard finish the saddle till nightfall. Also, I understood she has guests.”

Sam looked silently around the room.

“Do you not remember the way back to the garden?” asked Vetinari.

“No sir.”

The patrician put the letter from where he took it and passed by Vimes, “Come with me then.”

As they proceeded back through the weaving corridors, the watchman made a mental note that, next time when Vetinari shows him around the palace, he should look where he’s going and not just watch the patrician as they walk.

And maybe he should read those books once he gets home. Or at least look through them… or just read the table of contents… or just open them.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Prince Cadram looked out into the fortress’ yard through red, translucent curtains. He tapped his finger against the wooden window frame, carved with intricate details. 

His general had been waiting in the room for a while.

“How many men do we have?”

“Currently 18 000 armed, sire, but they are scattered around the Eastern coast. I’ll mobilize them here and in the city of Gaerba, my men will also seek to recruit more.”

“We need two armies, General.”

The prince left the window and turned to face the man.

“I need one to stay here and hold back my brother’s forces, at least from behind city walls, and I need another to take Ankh-Morpork by sea. More men, general, and warships. Get me those.”

Osman bowed to the floor and got up again. “I will, sire.”

There was a short pause, a general shift in the airs.

“I will need men on the inside if you want us to capture the patrician. I can go myself and delegate others to take over the tasks here.”

Prince Cadram went back to the window. “I don’t need him captured, I need his severed head… but I guess this option would open some doors for torture…”

He played with the hem of the curtain. “Very well, finish your work here and leave under disguise. After Ankh-Morpork falls, we must regather our forces and strike Al-Khali before they have time to react. You may go.”

“I shall, sire.”

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

In late spring, the night brought a pleasant chill in the air and carried the freshness of a storm. Leonard was in the Palace Gardens, helping Vetinari adjust some special boots he improvised, while the patrician was lacing on his gloves.

Valiant sat up, stretching her long neck towards the clouded sky, yearning to have the wind back under her wings. She could smell the charge in the air, waiting, and yet the chances of rain were small.

The saddle seat had a certain height that allowed the rider to put their legs on the side, in a carved shape they could somewhat hold on to. After consulting a relatively small number of diagrams they had on hand, the two men realized that, normally, riders would wear boots with buckles on the sides, and so they could be secured to the saddle with those leather straps that were hanging on each side. Such, falling off would be ruled out entirely.

It was not that Vetinari planned to do anything reckless, but he decided that testing equipment was better done when you didn’t actually need it rather than when you really did.

“You’re all set, my lord,” said Leonard stepping up and away.

Vetinari raised his arms to look himself over.

“I must look ridiculous in all this,” he said.

Leonard, objective observer, tapped his chin with his finger.

“I must say, dressed in all black as you are and even at night, you don’t really look much different… apart from the glasses, of course, and the gloves.”

The patrician seemed pleased with the answer as he approached Valiant and patted twice her stretched wing.

“Will you wait me here or go back?”

“If rain starts, I’d rather be inside. I shall get some good sleep if I want to continue working on my flying machine tomorrow, my lord.”

Vetinari offered a smile. “One might say we already have something of the sort.”

“Oh no, for you perhaps.” The scientist shook his head with a chuckle. “I intend to find something that would allow flight the way a bird is allowed by its wings, a fully conscious experience with you being the one deciding how to glide on the winds and understanding the levers of the sky. I don’t know how much you command Valiant, my lord, but if I fly beside you, I won’t get more than some adrenaline out of it perhaps. It’s not exactly what I seek.”

Vetinari leaned back on the wing.

“Did you ever wish of being a bird, Leonard?”

The man watched him confused for a moment and then erupted in laughter. 

“A bird? Me? Oh, but why would I?”

“You would be able to fly.”

“Yes, but my lord, I wouldn’t be able to do so many other things instead. Who would draw, read, write, invent? Humans have the wonderful ability to create and master so many forms of art, why would we trade all that just for one skill alone?”

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” murmured Vetinari.

“Yes, yes, but some people can approach mastery,” he said with excitement. “Anyway, I have to go, have a pleasant flight.”

And with that, Leonard waved a hand and disappeared into the palace. 

Vetinari watched him go, then turned around and climbed on the wing until he reached and sat down in the saddle. He fixed his boots on either side of it, untied the reins from the handles and patted the dragon’s shoulder.

“Vlahà, Valiant.”

(take flight)

She arched down and, in two steps and a jump, tore from the ground and bolted into the sky. She rose high, passed the lowest layer of thin clouds and glided calmly above them, starlight catching on her scales.

This was Vetinari’s fourth time aflight, the last having been already after his return. He sought to find a way to get used to the feeling, especially to minimize the vertigo he got afterwards. That had never been a problem for him before but, admittedly, he had also not dived down through the sky at insane speeds just to launch back up at the last moment before either.

He had repeated the movement a couple of times, on his own accord this time, at first with less intensity, but increasing the height and steepness of the drop each time, and he was getting the hang of it. Vetinari had always prided himself in being able to master things quickly, but sometimes it was also a matter of giving your body time to adjust.

Right now, he just enjoyed the calm flight, reins tied back on the handles, him gazing at the stars above. The closer you got to them, the prettier they became, really.

Valiant cut smoothly through the winds and air currents rushed past him rather gently when he wasn’t trying to break speed records. It was incredibly pleasant to be all alone, surrounded only by stars and darkness, drowning peacefully in the night sky.

In all his life, there was nothing Havelock would have wished for more than this peace and quiet from time to time, a total and utter detachment from life and existence itself, so maybe he could somewhat forget his own, just for a moment, just for one fleeting moment.

A thought blossomed in his mind, as stars slid by, that maybe he could accept some company beside himself and the dragon. For some reason, for the first time since one encounter in teen-hood, he wished to share his solace with another person.

Vetinari allowed himself a soft smile and chuckle, there was no way he could convince Vimes to join him aflight.

That reminded him of something… the patrician patted his pockets and took out the neatly wrapped danish, opening it with care.

“Have you ever tried pastry?” he asked the dragon.

A low hum answered him, and Vetinari wondered if dragons had a sense of humor and how similar it was to that of humans.

He had to admit, it was tasty, and perhaps some of Vimes’ comments regarding his diet were true. He ate little and rarely of more flavor than bread and soup with phantom tastes of vegetables. Not always, but that was his usual choice for food.

He never really saw meals as something to be enjoyed, mostly just a thing you had to get over with so that your body wouldn’t waste away. Speaking about wasting away, sleep was somewhat a necessity too and his nightly flights with Valiant were affecting his already lacking routine.

Either way, if the commander chose to pamper him with any more treats, he, most likely, wouldn’t tell him off for that. Might even enjoy it a little.

Vetinari took the reins again, glad to note that they weren’t digging into his skin anymore, and led Valiant down, through the curtain of clouds and away from the moonlight shower.

He would leave her beyond the city walls occasionally, now that Leonard finished the saddle, but she could spend this one more night in the garden. It was already late and he preferred not to waste the few hours he had left on walking back to the palace.

Chapter Text

Some time over a week had already passed since the war ended and a dragon had become another of the strange creatures Ankh-Morpork homed.

It started to occur to Vimes that, in this relatively short stretch of time, things have changed in a, not dramatic, yet intrinsic way regarding his relationship with the patrician. 

His reports to Vetinari soon became the last activity on the man’s schedule and, what should have been a 10 minute discussion, usually ended more than half an hour later, with the patrician leaning with his elbows on the table, chin in hand, smiling and listening to Vimes walk around the Oblong Office and ramble about whatever idiot had done whatever daft thing that day and how they had to fix it.

Neither of them kept track of time and it became customary for Vimes to leave long after the sun had set and Drumknott had gone home too.

His nightmares had also not bothered him a single time since everything, but he did start dreaming of Vetinari much more often, a fact that he wasn’t even going to consider analyzing.

He had also read through some of those books, and didn’t like at all what he saw in one of them, but whenever he thought of bringing it up to Vetinari he told himself that the patrician probably knew and had it under control. Valiant seemed calm, as calm as the patrician was, and that wouldn’t be a problem. Though he would have to be careful not to accidentally call her ‘Carl’ or things might turn sour. How did Nobby even come up with that name…

Now the entire city knew there existed a hypothetical ‘Carl’ that helped ‘win’ the war and that disappeared into oblivion. That was rumor for ya’…

Yes, it has been a wonderful couple of days indeed.

But this evening the Klatchian delegation had just arrived, and a ball had been customary. So now he stood there, all white stockings and helmet with plumes, with a glass of juice in his hand, being crowded by two Selachii girls who were oh, so excited, to talk to the Duke of Ankh. 

Usually, Sybil and he had this symbiotic relationship where, if they stood very close to one another, nobbs seemed to forget their estates or titles and left the ‘couple’ alone. But Sybil had much work with the dragons today and couldn’t come. So, he had to fend off the sharks alone and was failing miserably.

“So how are things with you and lady Ramkin? I heard she’s busy all day with those small, sick creatures, must be horrible to deal with that, no?”

“I couldn’t say…” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact so that he might not count the time needed to knock someone out. 

It was easier when he was arguing with Ronald Rust or something, he could punch the man and just give a half-assed excuse to Vetinari later, but these were ladies, and he couldn’t punch a lady.

And they were also at a ball with a foreign delegation.

Wonderful…

“Yes, but I imagine the smell must be excruciating, especially now in summer,” said the other.

Gods how he wished Sybil was there…

“Shouldn’t be worse than the horse stables.”

Some faint red crept up her cheeks, but just when the lady wanted to answer something, both she and her friend turned around. A black, lithe figure appeared from some solitary shadow.

‘Vetinari… oh thank goodness…’ thought Vimes.

The Selachiis chirped some polite greetings and soon vanished back into the crowd. People found it wise to avoid conversation with the patrician when drunk, he was rumored to have quite a formidable memory.

“How are you enjoying the party, Sir Samuel?” he said, coming to stand at Vimes’ left.

“You know, sir… But I must thank you for saving me there.”

Vetinari fancied a smile.

“Ah, but it’s my pleasure, especially on such an important day for you as this one. Cheers?”

Vimes clinked his glass with his, though Vetinari had something much more appealing than the juice he had. Nevertheless, it didn’t matter, he watched the watchmen. He also tried to figure in what way that day was more important than others, but couldn’t find a single thing.

“How is the delegation?” he asked.

Vetinari watched the crowd with the usual, pleasant expression he wore whenever it was politically advantageous of him to be pleasant.

“As it always is, politicians are men of words, who deal in promises and mistrust and opinions. Prince Khufurah chose to stay behind this time, I couldn’t imagine why, but he sent his trusted men here to sign away all conflicts with a few formal scribbles on paper. They seem to share our opinion regarding the inconvenience a war would have caused on either side.”

“Is there anyone I should be aware of?”

“Hm? Well, the two dressed in white are guards, but not D’regs this time, so decide for yourself if you want more friends or not; the man in green and gold between them is General Narijir, most trusted of the Prince, except for 71-hour Ahmed, perhaps.”

Vimes took a sip of his juice and scanned the room.

“I’m pretty sure I saw another man, tall and dressed in blue…”

“That would be General Osman, he had disappeared for some days after the war ended, but returned soon to Prince Khufurah, happy to confirm the death of his ‘traitorous brother’, a fact he had to check for himself.”

Vimes scoffed at that. 

“I’d trust Ahmed and his D’regs to bring me that news any day, were I the Prince.”

Vetinari fell quiet and gently swirled the drink in his glass.

“I do not trust these people, commander,” he said after a moment.

“What…? I mean, what do you mean with that?” Sam turned around to face him. “I thought ‘not trusting those people’ was the basis of politics. Isn’t this the norm for you?”

The patrician raised an eyebrow. 

“Not exactly. Yes, we do not trust each other, but that’s specifically because we do trust each other to pull any string if it ensures our country gets the better deal. My problem is with General Osman. He doesn’t seem genuine in his act; he doesn’t seem in line with the other three…”

“Should I keep an eye on him, sir?”

“I’d rather you kept an eye on the streets, Sir Samuel, no need to have another murder mystery with Klatchian diplomats.”

Vimes cleared his throat. 

“And if he gets in the streets, sir?”

“Well, in such a case, it would be necessary to keep an eye on him too,” said Vetinari and he offered his lightning-fast smile.

“I believe my presence will be needed again and yours is becoming rather redundant at this hour and in this hall, so I allow you to escape as quietly as you can before anyone notices my absence at your side.”

Vimes watched him for a moment to make sure he was being serious and not just offering some false hope.

“Yes sir…”

When all Vetinari answered with was tipping his head, the commander prepared to slide along the walls until he got out.

“Ah, and Sir Samuel…”

The voice caught him off guard and he turned around to look at the patrician. Vetinari raised his glass and looked at him, he would believe, rather sweetly.

“Congratulations, again.”

Vimes mirrored the movement and mumbled out a thanks, then watched as Havelock melted into the crowd. He spent his entire walk home wondering what he had been congratulated for.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

When Vimes did reach the Watch House, it was much later than he had planned, but what can you do when you’re walking through the Shades and see a couple of unlicensed thieves snooping around.

He closed the door behind himself, struggled out of his festive outfit, coat torn in the elbows and full of gunk, and threw himself heavily in an armchair. He started pulling off what remained of his shredded, once-white, stockings, concluding with joy that they became unwearable now, until the cool summer breeze caught his attention.

The window was open.

It was good that the window was open, he liked it open, but he had also clearly left it closed.

With one sock still half-on, Vimes got up slowly to inspect the corners of the room. Something tapped his shoulder from behind and he spun around, grabbing a thin wrist and slamming the intruder into the wall.

A faint gasp was all he got. Sam looked up to meet the stranger’s eyes, but saw none other than the patrician, carrying an amused smile.

Vimes remained silent, but his eyes widened.

“Did I take you by surprise, Sir Samuel?” he laughed softly. “My, I had only come to drop something off.”

“Shouldn’t you be at that fancy as- my bad - party, sir?”

“I have been there, but even such festivities rarely stretch long past midnight, commander. I have even waited for you here a little while.”

Realization slowly downed over Vimes regarding just how close he was to the patrician. He noticed how pleasantly dark the man’s eyes looked in the absence of light, how he felt his pulse where he pinned his wrist to the wall, how his own cheeks were growing increasingly hot and how Vetinari would definitely notice his face becoming three shades redder.

“Yeah, erm, apologies for that…” he muttered as he let Vetinari go and took a couple steps back.

Sam pulled the chair around, wincing himself at the sound it made, so he could sit down into it while still facing Havelock. The man looked him over a couple of times before he chuckled softly.

“Have you no respect for your regalia, commander, look just how disheveled you are.”

Vimes grinned. “Oh no, dear me, sir, I won’t be able to wear the bloody plumes again. But it is not a regalia.”

Vetinari leaned back against the wall and bent his right leg slightly.

“The word is not limited just to formal outfits and emblems of royalty, at least not in colloquial speech.”

“Never thought you did colloquial speech, sir.”

“I am quite flexible, you know, when need be.”

Vimes felt his cheeks redden again.

“Why did you come here anyway?” he asked.

“To congratulate you, of course.”

Sam blinked twice and raised his hands up. Very, very slowly.

“Alright, look, I may not know as much as you do, sir, but why the hell is today so important?”

Instead of answering, Vetinari just watched him silently, with a look of genuine surprise. 

“I couldn’t have gotten it wrong, I’m sure…” he murmured.

“Gotten wrong what?”

“Well, it’s your birthday, Vimes.”

Sam stared at him blankly, and then at the floor. Yes, yes it was… he’d forgotten again. Actually, he couldn’t really remember the last time he’d celebrated it, he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever told anyone, in the recent years, when he was born, but of course Vetinari would know. It there was any information shielded from public knowledge you could trust the patrician to get it.

As he mused silently, Vetinari left the wall and handed him a small, wrapped package from his coat. Vimes took it absently as the man leaned forward, placed his arms on his shoulders and hugged him gently around the neck.

“Happy birthday, Sam,” he whispered.

“Oh… did you just…?”

“Does it bother you?”

“No, not at all. May I…” he reached up to hug the patrician’s waist and to pull him down on his lap. For whatever reason, Vetinari submitted and sat down carefully in the embrace, still resting his arms around his shoulders.

“Should I open this?” asked Vimes, holding up the small package.

“It is the customary thing to do with presents, I am aware, though I will understand if the endeavor seems a bit too daunting for you.”

“Shut up,” he scoffed, but with a grin.

Inside there was a little cigar case, polished with silver or some other fancy metal, with the emblem of Ankh-Morpork and that of the City Watch engraved on it in beautiful, neat details. Down stood written his name and title: ‘Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch’, without any of that duke stuff and, in the corners, there were crowder four lilac flowers, with five leaves each.

“It’s just a little something,” said Vetinari, “I thought you might like it.”

“No… no I do like it. I really do.” Vimes turned it over in his fingers, inspecting it. Did… did Vetinari know… about the lilacs? He did wear one every year, now that he thought about it, but Sam hadn’t really paid attention. So, he knew…?

He placed the case on the edge of the table with more care than he’d ever practiced around anything before. He couldn’t really believe what was happening, but admittedly his brain had left the conversation once it realized he had the patrician pressed against a wall. And now the man was in his arms, leaning on his shoulder and chest.

He really could get used to this…

“Are you comfortable, sir?” he asked.

“Sir, Vimes, really? But yes, on the other hand, perfectly so.”

“Well, what am I supposed to call you then?”

“You might consider my name, for one,” Vetinari said and offered his usual sharp smile.

“As you wish… Vetinari.”

“I suppose that’s the best I’m getting from you, is it not?”

“Havelock.”

“My, Sam, you are so very chivalrous tonight.”

“That is the one and only time I’m ever saying that…”

“Is it so?” Vetinari leaned down further to place his head on Vimes’ shoulder. “I shall treasure it dearly then.”

They rested like that for a while, with the only sound disturbing the silence being the dance of the wind outside. It was the first time, perhaps, for both of them, to share such a moment with anyone else in a very long time. But the night was long, and it didn’t rush those who sought comfort in its oblivion and darkness. A time when only the stars and moon stood witness to words whispered against one’s hair and gentle caresses on one’s skin.

“There was one thing I wanted to tell you,” said Vimes.

“Speak on,” said the patrician, twirling a finger in the dirty-blond hair, covered partly in dried mud and smelling of smoke.

“About the dragon…”

“Oh, Vimes…”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just something I thought you should know… That’s all.”

“Speak on either way, then.”

“I’ve asked Sybil for some books on them, as you know, and, well, managed to somewhat look through a couple.”

Vetinari chuckled softly. “On that note, she has been complaining to me about how you don’t seem keen on returning them any time soon.”

“Has she?”

“Oh, yes… but not in any bad way, of course. She was just trying to make conversation, though you do know, commander, in every joke there is a bit of truth.”

Vimes made a face when he realized that he had promised a maximum of some days, but more than two weeks had passed.

“I will return them tomorrow,” he said meekly, but then returned to his original tone. “Anyway, I mostly read them because I’ve noticed a drawing that looked exactly like Car- Valiant. And the name also was gilded on the page…”

“Did you now?” said Vetinari softly. “Dragons are rumored to have lifespans reaching centuries, if not millennia, though those are all, alas, just myths. When so much information has been written down and we lack any objective way of testing it, separating truth from lie would prove too daunting for the best of philosophers and historians.”

“But you don’t deny the possibility?”

“I can’t, no one here can. Whatever literature we have offers no grounds for that. It is entirely possible that Valiant outlives our very city, it is also possible she doesn’t.”

Vetinari recalled what he had felt the first time he’d touched those cold scales. It was as if he saw civilizations whole pass before his eyes in the brink of a second and disappearing again forever. He didn’t see anything and yet he saw something, everything.

Dragons were telepathic creatures; was it the memories of one alone or of all that had ever lived… he couldn’t tell.

“So, what was it?” he asked.

Vimes felt that the conversation veered somewhere neither of them wanted it too. He trusted Vetinari, did he really care what those books said, did he really care what that creature had done under the guidance of some mad ruler? It was a dragon, of course it could burn down stuff, but the patrician loved the city and Vimes really failed to imagine any scenario in which he would let anything happen to it.

He put both arms back around the man’s waist and hugged him tighter, pressing him against his chest.

“You know what si-… Vetinari… I hadn’t actually looked through them that much.”

That  was, in fact, not a lie. Ignorance was bliss, no? He trusted the patrician. “Just saw some mentions of the thing, that’s all.”

“If something bothers you, Sam, I would appreciate it if you told me.” Vetinari’s hand left his hair and dropped to play with the fabric of his collar.

“I really haven’t studied them that much…” said the watchman, “but I did see that, if the dragon on that page truly is yours and not another ‘Valiant’, then she might have burned down some cities… and armies.”

“Vimes, you know I would never-”

“I know, I do…”

He really wished he wouldn’t have opened his mouth. He really hadn’t meant to accuse Vetinari of anything but realized that was pretty much how it sounded like.

“I’m sorry… could we just forget I said that?”

“I don’t think that’s wise. Vimes, you don’t have to regret voicing your concerns, it has nothing to do with us, it is the city that’s at stake. I greatly appreciate any insight on the matter.”

“Yeah…” Yes, it wasn’t about them, the dragon thing, maybe, perhaps… That didn’t mean he couldn’t focus on ‘them’ now. “Forget I said it tonight, then?”

“You wish it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s done then,” said the patrician with a mild smile.

His hand left the collar too as Vetinari stretched his arm to let it hang off Vimes’ shoulder.

“There was actually something else I’ve planned to… gift you tonight, if you wish,” he said ever so mildly.

“What is it?”

“May I show you?”

Vimes nodded, more confused than anything, hoping that whatever Vetinari had planned wouldn’t involve him getting up or leaving the embrace. He could hardly believe that he actually held the ruler of the city in his arms, and a couple of years back he wouldn’t have, but right now he was sober and all, and right now this was definitely happening.

All Vetinari did was straighten his back ever so slightly and lean forward to place a soft kiss on his temple. He then relaxed back into his original position to look at Vimes as the man turned slightly to see him.

The red of his cheeks was competing with that of his coat and Havelock had to hold back a laugh. He allowed himself a sly smile, nevertheless.

“So?”

“Sir…”

“Vimes.”

“May I kiss you…”

“I just did that.”

“…on the lips.”

Vetinari’s only answer was to raise his hand and softly rub Vimes’ stubble with his knuckles. Sam took hold of his coat and gently pulled the patrician closer. They looked into each other’s eyes, slowed breathing, as if in expectation for something to happen, for the world around them to swirl and plunge into some abyss leaving them alone, secluded, with just each other to know and hold.

Vimes ran his arms up the man’s back to push him forward and grabbed him around his shoulders and waist as their lips met in kiss. Vetinari hugged him around the neck and buried his fingers in his hair, tangling them through the curly strands.

When they finally parted, the two watched each other with a sort of awe, before Havelock leaned back against the armrest, with a bright smile on his face and promptly, force of habit, covered his mouth with his hand.

Vimes grabbed his forearm to pull it away, smiling too and not even intending to hide it.

“Ha! Got you, you’re blushing!”

“My word, Sir Samuel,” he said deciding between fighting to hold back a giggle or getting his arm back, “I’m sure you will forgive such a heinous crime.”

But Vimes pressed that forearm to his chest, signaling that the patrician wasn’t getting it back so easily.

“Mmm, I don’t know.”

“Will I face the gallows for it, perhaps? Whatever your verdict be, Sam, you will suffer the same fate, so I suggest you choose something pleasant.”

“Something pleasant, hm, your lordship?”

“You should really see yourself…”

“Come on, I can’t be that bad. Just some red colored mud,” he laughed.

Vetinari reached forward and placed his free hand on the side of Vimes’ face. He rubbed his thumb slowly against the commander’s cheek and Sam forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“Hm, doesn’t seem to be smudging even,” Havelock said with a warm smile, “it’s either some very high-quality mud or you are guilty of the same crime.”

“I confess…” was all he managed to utter without kissing the patrician again.

Thunder broke out somewhere in the distance, muffled by the stretch of land and buildings, but the open window let the cool, night air flush inside together with the fall of rain.

Vetinari turned his head and tilted it to the side to watch the darkened sky, the tiny pouring droplets reflecting the streetlight and taking the place of stars.

“The wizards did say we’d have rain for some days…” he said absently, “I only hope it won’t upset our delegation too much.”

Vimes adjusted his arm to allow the patrician to lean back on it and not on the wooden armrest.

“Guess you can’t return to the palace in this weather.”

“Well don’t underestimate me now, Sir Samuel.”

Vimes shrugged. “It wouldn’t be pleasant I bet.”

“Perhaps, but not because of the rain,” he said, finally meeting the commander’s eyes with his icy gaze, that looked much warmer now, in the dark. “I do love the rain. When I was still a student at the Guild, I used to sneak out sometimes and just stand on a rooftop, under the downpour, and not move until it ended. Yes, it got me a horrible couple of colds, and I rarely repeated the feat, but it is surely a feeling…”

Vimes shrugged. “I guess situation forced me to be out during storms too, but I didn’t enjoy it for sure. I was mostly hiding under eaves, trying to keep myself dry.”

Vetinari didn’t answer, but crossed his legs, right over left, as they were bent over the other armrest. Vimes watched him patiently, then placed his palm on his knee and slid it down his thigh, not daring to go lower than midway.

“Why did you say it would be unpleasant… then? Does your leg bother you?”

“Not too much normally, but such formal occasions that require me on my feet all day do take their toll.”

“Maybe you should sit somewhere more comfortable then.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. It’s never anything too bad.”

“I imagine you’d say that no matter the situation, sir.”

“I really wouldn’t, commander.”

Vimes gave him a weird look. “You had said you were ‘fine’ after you had been shot.”

“The Archchancellor had given me some alcohol, I had been hardly aware of anything around me.”

“And that time you’d been poisoned, you just tried to get up the second you regained consciousness.”

“Nobody had informed me that I had been poisoned, so I am, again, absolved of all blame.”

Vimes thought about saying some very smart, but mostly petty, remark, until his mind came up with another plan to get back at the man.

He removed both of his arms from where they were, slipped them under Vetinari’s back and legs, and swooped the man in his arms as he got up from the chair.

“Commander.”

Without saying a word, Sam strode towards the bed, wide grin on his face, and tossed the patrician rather unceremoniously on the mattress.

“Really, Vimes?” he asked, with the usual raised eyebrow.

“Yessir. And you’re not leaving until the rain stops.”

Vetinari gave him a look he couldn’t quite read and, after a certain moment of silence, the man patted the spot to his right in a deliberately slow movement.

“Come join me then. You won’t expect me to sit down while you stand up, in your own room, on your own birthday. How very uncharitable would that be, no, commander?”

Vimes shrugged in silence, but realized he wasn’t getting away with it either. He approached the bed and sat down on the margin, making himself comfortable and placing an arm across the patrician’s shoulders because, at that point in the night, why not.

“Feeling better, sir?”

“Quite so, though I see you didn’t lie regarding your use of my name.”

Sam would’ve rolled his eyes, but he preferred to keep them on the man at that point.

“I shall see, sir.”

“Very well, your grace.”

Now he did sigh, and rolled his eyes, and Vetinari kissed his temple again and Vimes turned around to pin him down on the blanket for that.

And the rain outside fell and clinked against the metal of drainpipes and roof tiles, its melody enveloping the ragged sound of thunder; and lightning tore the skies, a white and blue stripe sliced against the black, and a dragon watched it all from the grasslands, fire and thunder, echoing a calling in her blood.

Chapter Text

A hooded figure moved through the murk and rain until he reached a spot a bit more in-land than the estuary of the Ankh River. He lit a small lamp, hanging from a post, and relished as the dim light barely lounged over the bow of the first wooden boat to pass him.

The vessel stopped before the shore and a man, cloaked as well, approached the bow. General Osman took the lamp in his hand.

“On whose orders are you here?” he asked.

“General Asher sent us,” replied the man in the boat. “He remained with His Highness in the fortress of Gaerba; the fleet awaits our move on the far easter coast.”

“When will they depart?”

“Once we tell them to, we are to send a raven.”

“And what of our land forces? Are they ready?”

“General Asher found 2000 more men; they have 12000 armed on land. They will mobilize once the fleet departs, and attack Al-Khali once Ankh-Morpork falls.”

Osman paced around the shore and rubbed his chin as more boats drew near. He hung the lamp back on the thin pole where paint covered layers of rust underneath.

“It’s a one-day travel from here to Klatch, even for the fastest of ships,” he said. “The Patrician of the city is a sly man, he or his dogs will sniff us out if we linger, I can feel it. We need to have the city by next nightfall, send word now, I have arranged everything during my stay here.”

He picked up a rope end and threw it to the captain to help them reach shore and disembark. “Sail away and stay hidden after all the men are on shore; and make sure the fleet arrives before evening comes. The great city of Ankh-Morpork will go down with the sun.”

“Yes sir,” said the captain, as the boat slid up the sand.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Vimes learned to excel particularly well at doing the job that was in front of him, and since Vetinari told him to watch the streets, watch the streets he would. Everything from last evening flowed in a sort of dreamy haze over him, which was weird because he had been fully sober and aware, but as night faded into day so did his memory fade to oblivion.

All he knew was that if he tapped the pocket of his coat like so, he could feel the shape of his cigar case nestled there. He’d lost many such cases over the years but this one, adorned with lilacs, would bear a different fate.

He’d proven a point by insisting to escort Vetinari home because, of course, the best assassin in the city needed an escort, how else, and the moment the palace doors closed behind the man reality shifted to dream and he walked back through the damp streets in a sort of surreal state. He woke up late, around twelve, and was now proceeding through the streets surrounding the Klatchian Embassy.

Angua was with him.

“What were you saying, Sargeant?” he asked.

“Just that there’s lots of strangers around… klatchians. I wonder if they might be up to something.”

Vimes turned the thought over in his head, almost said something aloud but the recollection of Vetinari commenting on his cynicism made him pause.

“Well, you know, the war’s over now. I guess it’s just people coming home…”

“I know sir, but it feels like they all appeared overnight.”

“We’ll just gotta be careful then…” he sighed. “What’s the worst that can happen anyway? A few protests for Leshp? I bet klatchians needed that island about just as much as we did, meaning not at all.”

He stopped in his tracks when a familiar scent, given the city, caught his attention.

“Do you- do you smell fire?”

Vimes turned around to face Angua, but instead of meeting his eyes, she was staring at the sky with an expression of mute horror. Vimes followed her gaze and saw a column of smoke rising a few streets away from theirs.

“That’s… but that’s the Embassy… Arh, not again! Sargeant, get Carrot and a few others and come here! I’ll go and try to sort this thing out.”

Angua nodded hurriedly and darted in the opposite direction as Vimes ran towards the column of smoke. To his surprise, the fire was not as bad as last time. Perhaps the easily flammable things burned down beforehand and hadn’t been fully replaced yet.

He noticed a terrified passerby and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Tell me, is there anyone still inside?”

The man looked at him, wide-eyed. “Y- yes,” he stammered, “few got out but… th- the generals are still inside.”

‘No, that won’t do’ thought Vimes.

“Well don’t just stay here,” he said, “Go and get some help!”

As the relatively young man half-staggered, half-ran away, Vimes gathered the last of his courage and dashed to the building. He had a feeling that if the flames didn’t kill him, Vetinari surely would, and whatever they shared last night didn’t absolve him of his duties as Commander.

He passed from corridor to corridor, but most screams came from people who were running away in the other direction, none were the generals. He stopped before a flight of wide, white stairs, where one of the guards from the ball lay collapsed at the bottom. His white coat and robe were now red, as blood spilled from his neck and seeped into the fabric.

‘Fire doesn’t do that…’ Vimes thought, panic growing.

He kneeled beside the man and noticed he was still alive, though empty eyes brushed over his frame. He’d have loved to throw the guy over his shoulder and carry him out of the burning building, but life in the Shades had taught Vimes what a lethal wound looks like.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

The man tried to answer but mostly chocked on his own blood. “N… Narijir…” he said, “…up…”

“He’s one of the Generals?” Vimes asked, but no answer came.

Getting back up, the watchman ran up the stairs, going flight after flight, until he reached the top floor. The smoke was much thicker there. He blinked repeatedly to clear the tears from his eyes and pulled up the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose. He proceeded through the hall in a slouched manner, until a trail of blood caught his attention as it vanished in an adjacent room.

Vimes followed it despite himself. This wasn’t normal… he was in a burning building. There were supposed to be burns and injuries from collapsed rubble, not those that looked carved by the knife.

He entered the room and saw General Narijir lying on the floor, still dressed in his green and golden regalia, with blood smeared over his clothes and legs and a knife sticking out of his abdomen. Vimes ran towards him, but the man watched him sleepily, as if through a fever. Despite the fire, his face was pale.

“Oh, run you… watchman… it’s a trap.”

“I am Commander Vimes, and you are under the protection of the City Watch, sir,” he said and tried to pick the man up. Right then footsteps and a snark laughter were heard at the door.

The flames raged on. Vimes turned around.

General Osman stood in the threshold and red glistened on the blade in his hand.

“Finally,” the general said, “the annoying terrier is caught. Come on now, have you lost your nerve, arrest me or something.” He laughed again.

Vimes got up. “General Osman, you have murdered a man and attempted the murder of another. If the flames don’t get you, believe me, I will.”

But the klatchian only shook his head.

“No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong…” he produced a crossbow from behind his back. “I command here. Now, your badge, watchman.”

Vimes’ fists clenched on their own accord. The crossbow was pointed towards Narijir.

“I will shoot him,” he said.

“And you will remain unarmed.”

“I have more arrows. I have a saber.”

“Yeah, and I have a sword.”

“And, hmm, can you beat me in a dance of blades watchman?”

Vimes took a step forward. “I can if I must!” But the general only smiled and aligned the crossbow better.

“And will this man be the sacrifice for your feat. Come now, watchman, I don’t have all day, neither of us does, throw me the badge and you can get to play the hero.”

Sam looked down at himself. His badge… it was his badge, but it also was just a piece of metal, a human life was worth more than it. Hell, it was just a trinket, a symbol, he’d turned it in when Rust tried to command him, he could do it again. It didn’t represent him more than saving a life would, he didn’t need it to serve the law. To do the right thing. He’d just ask Vetinari for a new one later…

With unsure fingers, Vimes unclipped the copper from his breast and tossed it to Osman. The general caught it mid-air, turned it over in his fingers, and only answered in a smirk.

Vimes would hate himself for his foolishness later…

In one swift movement, Osman shot Narijir in the heart, slammed the door shut and barred is with a plank of wood he had left at the entrance. The general heard screams from the room, but they could hardly bother him anymore. He hid the badge in his pocket and ran down the stairs before the flames enveloped the entire building.

It did not take long for fire to spread through Ankh-Morpork, for the citizens’ preferred style of combat against attackers was setting even more stuff ablaze. It wasn’t particularly dire, wasn’t necessarily unsalvageable, most buildings were granted mercy and only some central parts of the city were fed to arson, or at least that’s what Lord Vetinari thought, standing before the tall windows of the Oblong Office, the orange glow of the flames coloring his pale face.

The klatchians weren’t many, they just took the city by surprise. Once the flames settled, apprehending them wouldn’t prove an issue.

The door to the office was thrown open and Drumknott ran inside, panting for air.

“Your lordship…” he said, “the city is…”

“In flames?” Vetinari answered with a calm, level voice. “Yes, I am aware. But do look at the sky, full of clouds, rain should solve that in no time.”

The secretary clung to the door handle, trying to catch his breath.

“They’re attacking the Palace…” he said.

Vetinari didn’t answer but turned slowly to face him. “Do you know where Commander Vimes is?”

“At the Embassy… the Watch is there with him.”

“But the Embassy burned down.”

Drumknott lowered his gaze. Screams echoed from the halls.

The patrician left his spot at the window and went to grab his secretary by the arm. Drumknott followed him to the hidden entrance to one of the many tunnels spidering through the building and the two men soon melted behind a wall.

“Listen to me,” Vetinari said, running along the murky corridors, “I will lead you to Leonard and you will hide there with him, even if they set the palace on fire, you should be safe here. Either way, if something does happen, Leonard knows a tunnel that exits a good way out of Ankh-Morpork. Go there, run to Pseudopolis and then travel to Genua if the situation doesn’t clear.”

“What will you do, my lord,” asked the clerk.

“I have to find the Commander, for the rest I will see.”

Vetinari left the clerk with Leonard, instructing the scientist in the least unsettling way he found, then ran back down the tunnel, careful of the traps, and made his way to the inner courtyard. The klatchian soldiers were wrapped in black and brown cloaks, he hoped that his black attire will make him close to imperceptible. That alongside his skills, of course.

He snuck past the guards and was passing along the front wall of the palace when a voice from above caught his attention.

“Fleeing so soon?” it said. “I hoped you’d have more guts after the move you had pulled in Klatch.”

The patrician looked up to see a tall man, clothes, blue and gold, dirtied with ash and black, dirty hair falling on his forehead. He stood on the balcony of the Oblong Office and watched him with a grin.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said the General, “Prince Cadram is a determined man and the only one who can unify Klatch, you shouldn’t have gone against him. You and your city rats stand no chance.”

There was no one on the streets, no klatchians at least, so Vetinari allowed himself one more moment. He couldn’t see smoke rising from the Embassy anymore, they must have put the fire out.

“I would have thought your Prince would understand defeat when faced with it,” he said. “Your rebels will cause nothing more than mild material damages; you are horribly outnumbered. And you will lose again, but this time it might actually cost you.”

General Osman leaned forward on the railing and peered down at the patrician.

“Ah, you really think so,” he said slowly, languidly. There were no men in sight but something in Vetinari’s body screamed at him to run. “You think my lord is so stupid as to face the wrath of Klatch on a whim? Without a plan? You have no men, city-snake, no army, no fleet… we have all three. There will be twenty warships here by nightfall and there is nothing you can do.”

“You’re bluffing…”

“Do I look like I am?” Osman reached in his pocket and took something out. “And in case you thought of getting your friend from last time to join you in your escape…” he turned the object over in his fingers, as if inspecting it, “I suggest you wouldn’t bother looking for him.”

The General tossed the thing down, a small piece of metal, and it fell with a clang on the cracked pavement. Vetinari watched it, frozen, then bent down slowly and took it in his palm. It was just a City Watch badge, scorched at the edges by fire, it bore the title of commander.

“Actually, I suggest you don’t bother fleeing at all… His Highness said he would much look forward to a meeting with you, but well, on his terms this time.” He laughed.

Vetinari gave no reaction, he just stared blankly at the badge. Because it couldn’t happen, right? Vimes was… well, he was… he was self-sufficient enough. He had survived Überwald, he had survived most stuff. Usually. He had to go and-

Above him, he heard Osman yell some orders in Klatchian and suddenly half a dozen men appeared around him. Vetinari hid the badge in his coat and rushed back to the palace walls, he could find a tunnel.

“Catch him!” the General yelled to the men as they darted after the patrician. “Dead or alive but bring him back!”

Havelock ran through hidden, dirty corridors, slipping on overgrown moss and wood rotten with mold. He set off to find Vimes and now he kept his badge in his coat. He set off to save Keel and now he held his lilac in his mouth. No. No…

He made it out of the palace, out of the city, and found himself in an open field. In the distance, light glistening on something purple caught his eye. Above the clouds were weighing down the sky and the smell of rain clung heavy in the air. The patrician glanced back at the city, only to see about six horses becoming bigger and bigger in the distance.

He was in an open grassland. Dried green and yellow grass and he dressed in full back. Lord Vetinari turned around and ran towards the purple creature ahead.

As he got closer to the dragon, the horses got closer to him and, frankly, he was quite tired of running. His leg went from aching to somehow still moving despite being fully numb. He tripped once but got back up and an arrow darted by him. Of course they were armed…

“Valiant!” he called out as the creature got closer and the sound of hooves louder.

The dragon raised her head lazily but became more aware once she saw both Vetinari and the riders. She moved carefully towards him, then lay back down and stretched a wing to let him climb up.

Between ‘mythological creature that not even children believe in after the age of five that somehow became real’ and ‘some stupid illusion to scare us away like the trick with that island’, the klatchian soldiers decided Valiant was part of the later species. They grabbed their bows and aimed.

The patrician dodged most of them, but when he turned around to sit in the saddle, an arrow hit him and made him lose his balance. Just as Vetinari grabbed the handle to not fall off the dragon, Valiant spun around so briskly that she almost threw him off, opened her mouth and fired upon the men and horses.

It happened fast, so fast, and as blue flame hit the screams died downs as soon as they started. Small ripples of fire licked at the dry grass, encircling a spot of black, scorched earth. Vetinari breathed shallowly as he grabbed the saddle with one hand and the arrow tail with his other.

Valiant stood still. A single droplet of rain fell on his nose and thunder rang in the distance.

More followed, rain poured from the sky and smoke rose from the city.

His city… that was well under siege.

Havelock looked down at his hand coated in blood. The arrow was close to the middle of his torso, but slightly to the right, just below the rib cage. There was a chance that it punctured the liver, there was a chance that it just grazed it, but he would find that answer very soon. The bleeding seemed… well, moderate for now. He grabbed the arrow with both hands and carefully broke the tail off, then tried to somewhat bandage the wound with strips of cloth. As he fumbled with his coat to press it down, he felt something sharp dig into his shirt and remembered the badge.

He leaned forward and took the reins.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he said, in Draconic.

‘I know,’ the creature answered in his mind. ‘You would have been killed.’

“If I am to fly with you over the city, I should be able to trust you. You cannot harm or burn people, not without my say, at least, we had agreed on that.”

‘You can read my mind as I can read yours, what more can reward trust?’

Torrential rain washed over them and the orange glow of the city faded into black. Far, in the distance, something moved along the water. Perhaps copper and lilac are similar in taste, bitter… so very bitter. Vetinari looped the reins around his palms and the saddle handles and Valiant tore once more from the ground.

Chapter Text

Valiant glided across the stretch of Ankh-Morpork and rain poured over her lilac scales. Havelock thought of leading her above the layer of clouds, but so he wouldn’t be able to see the ground underneath, and that was his primary aim so far.

Despite the dragon’s colored back and dusty blue wings, her belly was mostly grey and, like a shark, she was invisible from below against the stormy sky. She flew still, at a low altitude, inspecting the ground as well as her rider.

The rain had put out most of the fires, but not all, though what was left looked much more manageable. Vetinari could somewhat make out where klatchian soldiers were gathered: a good number surrounded the Palace, and the other major group was at the harbor. From the way the masses moved, he would guess the General was there too. Probably giving some orders.

With a careful tug on the reins, Valiant slid lower, further towards the water, towards the sea, where black ships lined the horizon. They were moving fast, the first three would soon pull into harbor, it was a matter of minutes. They were 17, not 20 as Osman had said, but all were heavily armed and full of men.

Vetinari realized that their number bore little importance. They could be ten for all he cared and they would still raze down the city. Maybe there were drawbacks to not having an army, but he usually countered them by not letting conflicts escalate to the point of needing an army. But how did he let this happen…

I saw a man called Carcer… vanish. And I saw a man called John Keel die. At least, I saw him dead.

He gazed again absently at what remained of the Embassy, a husk of a scorched building. What were the chances of Vimes being there? What were the chances of the fire getting him? What were the chances that the badge was just stolen, taken, it fell maybe, or he’d lost it… what were the chances… but wasn’t he only human?

I joined the fight. I snatched up a lilac bloom from a fallen man and, I have to say, held it in my mouth. I’d like to think I made some difference; I certainly killed four men, although I take no particular pride in that. They were thugs, bullies. No real skill.

The first boat was in harbor, men were rushing to it and men were rushing out. They carried weapons, they carried fire, they were not here to discuss peace or treaties, to prove a point or ask for some help against Klatch, no, they were here to destroy the city. Revenge, as it was. Burn everything to the ground.

Metal dug into his shirt. His wound stung horribly too, but leaving the arrowhead in helped with the blood loss, he didn’t feel too lightheaded. Rather, he didn’t feel lightheaded at all. The cold rain helped too.

Valiant growled softly. From the burnt Embassy to the approaching fleet and splotches of orange flames around the city, Vetinari decided that this was not how the story would end. That he didn’t tear Ankh-Morpork from Snapcase’s hands and he didn’t make it a somewhat decent place to live, that he didn’t sacrifice his entire life and health for it, that the people who died on that one day of May didn’t sacrifice their lives for it just for him to let the city go down without a fight. Let it become nothing more than a scorched hole on the map.

Keel wouldn’t have let it, Vimes wouldn’t have let it, he won’t let it.

It was John Keel. How could there be any question about that? Blood on him, of course. There was blood everywhere.

Valiant plunged downward and flew a few meters above the small buildings and screams filled the air. She dodged a tower and lifted again, then dove down one more time. If falcons or eagles played with their prey the way cats did, in a game of almost catching them and turning away at the last moment, only to return a second time, then the dragon would perfectly mimic their movement.

The klatchian soldiers became a bit more lenient in believing that dragons existed when the creature dove towards them from the sky. Most abandoned their posts and started rushing back towards the harbor. The ships that brought them there would very well have to take them back.

General Osman watched everything from the top of a bridge-like structure built on one of the arched stone gates between the city and the harbor. With every twist and loop the creature did in the air, his frown deepened.

“That snake…” he muttered.

Then turned to his men and screamed: “Stop running you idiots! What, you have seen a dragon? A dragon!? Are you all that gullible, you good-for-nothings!? Are these the men who will create the Klatchian Empire from the shreds that our country is today when you flee from illusions? From a bit of light show in the sky? Get back to your posts!”

One of the captains climbed the stairs and rubbed his hands as he arrived before Osman.

“B- but General… it’s a dragon… I will burn us all.”

“A dragon!?”

The captain took a step back, starting to wonder what exactly made Prince Cadram better than his brother.

Valiant slid through the clouds, cutting the curtain of rain like a knife. There were now, despite Osman’s threats, more soldiers in the port or on the ship than in the inner city. And most of those left cowered in between buildings or collapsed structures. The dragon hadn’t even touched the city, and yet all fell back at her sight. She turned south and darted to the harbor, the wind of her wings making the ships sway.

She snapped her tail, hitting the mast of the first ship and breaking it clean in two. As it fell, it tore down the sails and foremast, crashing on the deck.

“It’s an actual dragon!” shrieked the captain. “General, with all due respect but we can’t-”

“Shut your mouth! We have siege crossbows you coward.” He leaned over the wall to scream at the men scattered down. “Captain Karim, shoot that thing down! I’m not running from a fat, flying lizard.”

“Y- yes, General…” muttered the captain of the now ruined ship.

A second one just pulled in harbor, and he ran on its deck to give orders. Matter of fact, more klatchians ran for it, but it was mostly because they hoped it would leave the port.

Vetinari led the dragon around the arrows, limiting himself to mostly swooping up and down to scare them. It was quite impossible to see the weapons, dark grey metal against dark grey sea and sky, the rein was wrapped loosely around his left wrist. He’d avoided most of them, but then Valiant jerked sharply to the side, pulling the rope and yanking his wrist with force. An arrow flew just above him a moment later. The kind of arrow that could easily pass for a harpoon.

He lost his grip on the handle as pain shot up his arm like an electric jolt. Valiant soared higher up to let him recollect, but upon inspecting his wrist, the skin didn’t look torn, despite the rope burn. No blood, no cut, possibly only eventual bruising, and yet the pain was there, deep, almost surgical, and total numbness in his palm. Havelock shook it a little as sensation started to gradually trickle back in his hand with a weird, stinging feeling.

Had the dragon moved just one second later, he felt he wouldn’t be sitting in that saddle at all. Vetinari took the reins again.

“Do you see all around yourself?” he asked.

‘Not as a rule, but one learns with time and practice.’

“You had flown against siege crossbows before?”

‘They were not the worst of it. I’ve flown against other dragons before.’

The creature dove back down from the blanket of clouds and soared around the port. Despite its presence, boats were still drawing closer, and they fired at Ankh-Morpork with canons and crossbows. Vetinari saw the rubble of one of the exterior walls. It had collapsed over some houses. There were screams, so many screams.

Blood on him, of course. There was blood everywhere.

He would drive them away one way or another. In no universe would he let anyone ruin Ankh-Morpork. Valiant cut through the air, turned around and opened her mouth then breathed fire on the broken skip. White and blue flame erupted from her like lighting and enveloped the entire structure in gold and red, in orange and black.

If had been mostly empty before, but now it would be no more. There were more screams, more running. It was mostly fear.

All the other ships slowed down if they didn’t stop fully. Some began to turn around. General Osman was left alone on the wall, the captain having long fled. He looked at the dragon circling above him and shook his fist.

“Your tricks don’t scare me! Your city is ruined! I will tear it down till the very last brick myself if I need to!”

Vetinari could almost feel Valiant begging him to let her end the man.

In one swift movement, the dragon swooped down from above and filled the bridge with white, burning flame. On the one hand, the General got a pretty good end. Had he been taken prisoner, he would have been executed, but now all had ended so quickly for him.

Perhaps the death of General Osman was the last thing the klatchians needed, for now all ships started to turn around and rise all sails for Klatch. A small number of soldiers crowded on the docks, not managing to make it in time for a ship, but Vetinari ignored them. They presented no more threat to anyone, the Watch could apprehend them.

Valiant kept swirling up above the ships and, either to appease the dragon, or simply to move faster, the men started throwing all weapons and ammunition into the sea. Crossbows, cannons, barrels of gunpowder and cannon balls or whatever else they had sunk to the bottom of the water. The wind was in their favor, they would reach Klatch soon by ship, maybe even in four hours or less, but Vetinari could get there faster.

He circled the fleet a few more times, letting the dragon almost touch a mast here and breathe some fire on the water surface there, just to make sure that everyone got the message, then flew back into the sky and disappeared.

Though the rain began to cease, Vetinari still led the dragon above the bottom layer of clouds and urged her to fly forward. Preferably as fast as she could. He inspected the arrow wound again. It went in pretty deep, but considering that he was still alive, it probably only grazed the liver. Soaked as he was, he couldn’t tell where the blood ended and the rain began, not on his black clothes at least. It still stung and he did feel a bit hazier now, but nothing too bad.

His left hand was going number and number though, that might pose an issue.

Either way, he had to get to Klatch, to the city of Gaerba and make sure Ankh-Morpork stayed safe.

There was about a two-hour flight to Klatch, normally, but Vetinari urged the dragon forward at any chance he got, and the shore appeared before them in a little more than one hour. He could feel himself growing weaker as adrenaline drained away and fever rose, so he’d have to solve the issue with Prince Cadram while he still had some mental clarity. And breath. Plus, his left hand was totally numb and just hung limp at his side and that was worrying if nothing else.

He could worry about it later though.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

“Are you alright, sir?” Angua’s voice overlapped with the ringing in his ears.

There were screams all around him. Klatchians, ankh-morporkians, all blurry shapes rushing past one another. Samuel Vimes rubbed his palm against his forehead and then pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to make sense of anything at all.

“Y- yes, Sargeant,” he mumbled without ease.

The world slowly spun back into place and memories kept rushing back. He remembered the corpse of General Narijir, the blood spurting out of his wound, in a rhythmical decline, as the beating of his torn heart. He remembered the look in his eyes and nausea rushed back over him.

“It’s a miracle you got out of there alive, sir,” said Carrot, somewhere around him. “Half of the building collapsed as the wooden beams that helped hold it burned down.”

“He jumped out of the balcony,” clarified Angua.

“The one up? But that would be too high-”

“I jumped from balcony to balcony, Captain,” said Vimes finally. “I must have just missed my last jump… or maybe it was the smoke…?”

“Igor looked you over, sir, he said there are no signs of broken bones or internal injuries,” said Angua, “but you do have a horrible abrasion on your entire right arm. He helped disinfect and bandage it.”

Sam looked his am over with some grimace on his face. In some places, little spots of blood were peeking through the white sheets of fabric.

“Igor?” he asked. “Why not Dr. Lawn? Is he busy with others, is anyone else hurt?”

The captain and sergeant exchanged glances.

“Yes, many casualties, most are taken care of though. But no, Doctor Mossy has gone to a sort of convention in Genua. He would be gone for at least one more week.”

“You have actually received a letter announcing his departure,” added Carrot helpfully.

“Genua!?” said Vimes. “So, you’re telling me the city is under attack and the only doctor who has ever opened a book is gone to the other side of the Disc? Bloody bollocks…”

Angua lowered her gaze, but Carrot just shrugged. Vimes tried to breathe to calm himself, but he only became more worried and enraged by the second. At least his head was clear again.

“The Watch is holding back the klatchians here at the Embassy,” Angua started reporting. “We’ve helped a good deal of people find refuge here for now and we’ve built barricades. We can hold the soldiers back for a while.”

“Good, good…” muttered Vimes.

So, what now? He had passed out for two moments and things somehow escalated from one building on fire to a full-blown attack and arson everywhere. He remembered through a haze the voice of the destroyed dis-organizer… There was a reality in which Ankh-Morpork fought against Klatch. There was a reality in which his city was invaded. They had lost in that reality. They had died. Everyone had died. Vetinari was right, they couldn’t fight against Klatch, the barricades would only hold for so long…

He really wondered what the patrician was doing right now. He really wondered what Vetinari expected him to do right now, because he felt out of ideas. Maybe if he found him… maybe he would know what to do… He always seemed to have a plan, a way to fix things.

If the dis-organizer was right, and it surely felt right, whatever Vimes decided to do would still lead them to lose. He’d need to find Vetinari, he would know what to do.

“Do you think you can manage everything here, Sargeant?” asked Vimes.

“Y… yeah. I mean we’ve got Carrot; I don’t think anything is unmanageable with his presence.”

“Good. Then hold the barricades for as long as you can and help people put out the fires. I have to go and find Lord Vetinari.”

“But it’s full of klatchians around the Embassy, sir. And they’ve taken the Palace too.”

“What!?”

“I don’t see why-”

“Listen, Angua, if there is anyone who knows a way to fix this, it’s the patrician. I… let’s just say I’ve been given this task before and failed it, in another world… Let’s just say that. Now take care, but I must find him.”

And so, Vimes left the small refuge his watchmen had created and moved through the city, en-route to the palace, using a combination of dirty fight and climbing on burning rooftops. Rain was pouring down on him sharp and cold, but hell, it helped against the flames. As he reached the tall building, encircled by well-armed guards, he began coming up with a plan of taking them up one by one, but then a corner of a black cloak melting away behind a building caught his attention.

It was merely a corner of black fabric, hidden by the fall of tiny droplets, but it was enough to send Vimes in a running frenzy as he followed the blurry figure through three streets and then all the way up a tower with a swirling staircase. It led to the main wall built around the city. At the top of the stairs, instead of opening the wooden door and stepping out on the wall’s deck, the stranger spun around and pointed the tip of a crossbow in his face.

Two things became very clear to Vimes in that moment. First, that he should duck, which he did despite the shot not being fired. And the second, that the man in front was him was not Vetinari. About same in height, but broader in the shoulders and with white hair instead of the patrician’s black, before him was the Master of Assassins.

“Ah, it’s just… you,” said Lord Downey with a slither of relief, “I thought it was a klatchian for some moments.”

“You are not… er…”

“I am not what? You thought I was a klatchian? Typical of you, copper, can’t even tell a good assassin’s uniform from the rags klatchians wear.”

Vimes fought hard to make a deep sigh his only answer to the insult. There was a time and a place for breaking someone’s nose and now was neither the time nor the place. As he thought about it, Lord Downey left the corridor and stepped out on the wall-walk, in the pouring rain. He leaned against the stone ridge and looked forward, towards the port, where the silhouette of ships was clear in the distance.

“Just as I feared…” he murmured.

Vimes followed mildly behind, but his first look was not at the harbor but rather aimed at the inner city. Buildings collapsed, buildings destroyed, and klatchians swarming the streets. This couldn’t be that reality, it just couldn’t be. They had lost there; they had died there… he had to fix it somehow. Play the hero, as the general had said…

“Do you have any idea where Lord Vetinari could be?” he asked, rather plainly.

“Vetinari? What would you need him for? Look there… ships, tens of ships and thousands of men… What can Vetinari do?”

Downey leaned on his elbows and stared absently at the dark grey water. He had a look of defeat on his face that Vimes had seen only once before on an assassin, on Cruces when the dragon had come.

“Plus, they have taken the palace already… I doubt Vetinari’s still here.”

“He wouldn’t run away. I know that.”

“Well then he’s dead or something, I don’t know.” the assassin snapped and turned. “I’ve instructed all my students to try and flee… with some luck they might get to Pseudopolis… I guess. It’s over copper, face it...”

Vimes fiddled with the torn pieces of his chainmail shirt, looking absently at his boots, and Downey returned to staring bleakly in the distance. Maybe in some universe someone had closed Pandora’s box before the butterfly managed to get out. Maybe it was this one. Maybe it wasn’t.

Where there had been desolation a frown appeared on Vimes’ forehead.

“Well, I won’t just sit back and let them take my city. Not while I’m still alive.”

“Then you won’t be alive for long…”

“I’m going back to the Watch and we’re holding these bastards back until the las one of us falls. Klatch may win but it will remember the day it went against Ankh-Morpork.”

Without waiting for an answer, the commander went back for the door, but right in that moment something giant dashed above them and stirred a wind that made both men duck and grab the wall least they be blown away. As soon as it passed, both looked up in half-horror and saw a dusty purple dragon playing in the air, darting between the layer of clouds and that of rooftops.

“What the…?”

Downey needed a moment of recollection. “Is that the Carl? I didn’t think it was real.”

“The Carl? Off, damn you Nobby…”

“That thing is on our side, right?”

Vimes watched the creature swoop and plunge through the air like a fish through water, like a shark cutting though the waves. He’d seen it before, different color, different dragon, but he’d seen it before, and now cold shivers crawled up his spine.

‘He wouldn’t dare…’ was all his mind could think.

“Wake up watchmen. This thing’s with us, right? It seems to be scaring the klatchians away.”

“Yes, of course it’s with bloody us! Lord Vetinari’s leading it!”

“Ah, Vetinari, that is – Wait, what!?”

There were brisk moments of the creature disappearing between clouds and emerging again, but at no point did it dare breathe fire, at no point did it dare hit a building or tower, it just tried to scare the soldiers. As the first boat pulled in harbor and the second one approached, the density of klatchians kept rising. More fires appeared, the screams got louder.

“Are you saying our patrician is on… that thing? And somehow controlling it?”

Vimes didn’t find the strength to answer. On the one hand, there was a dragon in his city again. Just like last time, just like in his nightmares. On the other, that creature could be his last chance of ensuring Ankh-Morpork would not be a fiery grave by next sunrise.

“If he is, he better do something because all of this flight show doesn’t seem to be working.”

The dragon snapped a ship’s mast and arrows rushed after it. It dodged most, but one flew a little bit too close to its spine and it hid up in the clouds. Neither man dared breathe. Another ship reached the shore, klatchians were rushing out, there was blood on the streets… and then it happened.

The dragon swooped down from the sky and breathed white flame on the first ship to come.

The entire structure was covered in red-orange flames in seconds, together with the surrounding deck. Some soldiers were on fire and jumped in the water, some didn’t get the chance, and all others rushed for the second ship. All boats in the distance started turning to leave as the animal still danced among the downpour and the winds. There was a single man on the walkway above the arched gate to the port, and then there was only blue fire in his place.

The dragon chased the other boats away and disappeared with them in the distance. The rain began to cease.

Silence stretched over the city, slow and gradual. There were still some screams, but they echoed of victory and rejoice. The deck was still ablaze, and some smaller fires raged on, but people were rushing to them with buckets of water. They were saved, at last.

“Is that it…?” said the Master of Assassins. “We won…?”

There is usually a small moment needed to process the way your situation changes from the most desolate of all to victorious. How everything changes from sure death or torture to just another day and maybe some renovation processes.

But Vimes didn’t feel the same, he just stared blankly at the water’s surface and the spot where Vetinari and Valiant had disappeared behind the horizon. And at the deck and ship, both covered in flames…

Chapter Text

Prince Cadram sat quietly at his table, in the ornate room of the fortress’ tower. Gaerba offered a marvelous view of the port and now he wondered silently about the passage of time. Crimson red curtains hung at the window and golden tassels and rubies encrusted on the hoops holding them up. The coffee grew cold in his cup as dusk stretched over the harbor and thousands of lamps took the sun’s place.

“About this time now,” he said, without turning his head away from the window, “The city of Ankh-Morpork must have already fallen. And about this time tomorrow, the capital of our future Empire, Al-Khali, will follow. We must take them by surprise, you see, their armies are much bigger than ours, but they are too scattered. Speed will save us where numbers had failed us.”

General Asher stood quietly behind the prince, in a corner of the room.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said. “Our troops are ready, we only need the fleet to return.”

“The fleet?” Cadram turned around now. “Why would we wait for them? Actually, why do we wait at all? My people are growing impatient, general, they have already seen me loose Leshp once because of that city-rat. I won’t have you waste their faith to buy more for yourself.”

“We cannot take Al-Khali without the rest of our troops, the risk is too big. Even if we managed, we would lose far too many men, sire.”

The prince slouched back in his chair and diverted his gaze to the docks. There were rain clouds coming from the north and the water was growing darker under their shadow.

For the first time in many weeks, Cadram felt content. The world as he knew it – no, as he wanted it – spun back into place. He wondered once if leaving Ankh-Morpork alone, or maybe even working together with it, wasn’t the wiser option, but those thoughts didn’t bother him for long. Cadram thought of himself as a righteous man, and a righteous man does the right thing and takes revenge on behalf of his people. They could have had Leshp and the war reparations, but no, the foreign rats tricked him and now he would show them what happens when you mess with Klatch.

There was also the matter of personal vendetta, of course, and he would have much liked to have both the man who tried to shoot him and the city’s patrician flayed alive, but, as he was also a humble man, he would be satisfied with what he got.

And then he saw it, a small black dot on the horizon.

“In how much time should the raven arrive, General?”

“About three to five hours, depending on how quickly they will win the city,” answered Asher.

“That’s interesting…” said the prince leaning forward, “because I see it now.”

The General left his spot and got closer to the window.

“No… It can’t be. They… couldn’t have – Er, doesn’t that look a little too big for a bird, Your Highness?”

“Are you doubting my judgement, general?”

“Of course not, sire.”

And yet, when Prince Cadram gazed through the glass, the thing did look bigger than a bird. Perhaps it had hidden in the curtain of clouds for a while, but since the storm had not yet reached Klatch, it was given away. He ordered his men out on the docks.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Commander Samuel Vimes of the City Watch walked the scorched shores of Ankh-Morpork, more precisely those of the harbor. It had been about three hours, if not a bit less, since Vetinari and the dragon had disappeared behind the horizon and he had managed to regroup his men and arrest most of the klatchian soldiers that remained. A few had escaped via stolen boats, but he was fairly sure they wouldn’t be retuning.

There would be a long restoration process, since they had burned a serious number of houses, especially in the City Square and center, but worrying about that was normally the Patrician’s job. Still, despite all the klatchians had burned and scorched, there was a spot on the docks were the wood looked as if it had been melted away by volcanic fire and a blackened, broken mast poked out of the water beside the collapsed platform. All that had remained of the ship.

The walkway on top of the arched gate was also black with ashes.

Vimes clenched his fists and walked further. He didn’t know how to feel… On one hand, his city had been saved, on the other, Vetinari had promised he wouldn’t let that creature breathe fire on Ankh-Morpork or on any bloody human being and he did it anyway. He felt anger rearing its head in his heart and his fingernails dug deeper into his palm.

He couldn’t even go and yell at the bastard for it because he went and bloody disappeared who knows where… Probably off to burn more people in Klatch or something.

But worst of all, Vimes felt betrayed.

He couldn’t believe that the man he held in his arms and kissed just one day ago could have recreated the one event that still gave him horrors on darker nights.

And yet the city was saved… and somehow that made it even worse.

Night was already well-set in Ankh-Morpork and with the klatchians captured and those injured sent to whatever version of a doctor they could find, Vimes could theoretically go home and get some rest. The Watch could handle looking for people caught under rubble and putting warning signs on structures that feared collapse, it was one of those things where number reigned over individual aptitude. Plus, his right arm felt set on fire. Igor had a… percentual reliability as a doctor.

As he began to turn around, the winds above him shifted and a muted, far away sound caught his attention. He looked up to where it came from and saw it at last, the greyish-purple creature descending from the sky on the eastern shore of the city, landing on a beach beyond both the walls and the harbor, but not too far away from the docks.

Against his own will, his legs took a running start towards where it landed.

The eastern shore of Ankh Morpork stretched right after a steep cliff that took the place of the wall for some of the southern portions of the city and therefore was barred all around from life, either by rock or sea. It was covered in small dark pebbles instead of sand and looked rather pretty under the morning light when the mist still lingered on its surface and gave the pebbles a delicate sparkle.

As Valiant landed, she outstretched a wing to let the patrician get down, but when no movement answered her, the dragon growled softly, like a deep, low hum. Vetinari lay hunched over the saddle handles and tried to slowly push himself upright.

He had felt cold in Klatch, despite the tropical weather, but now he was outright freezing, though outside was summer. Vetinari soon noticed that getting up would be no use and let himself fall back on the saddle. Another soft growl answered him.

“I know…” he murmured, unsure if he was talking to himself or the dragon, “…oh, don’t worry, it will be fine.”

Since he hadn’t had time to put on any of the apparel Leonard had built for him, Havelock wasn’t strapped to the saddle and, what had been a slight risk factor in battle, would prove helpful now. The patrician threw his right leg over the seat and let himself slide down on the wing and fall face-first onto the beach.

Despite delirium, he winced at the thought of how that would have looked from an outsider perspective, but his body was hardly listening to him anymore.

Valiant bent her head down and nudged him softly with her snout, trying to get a reaction. She’d lost riders before and was somewhat a specialist in all the ways humans could die. When Vetinari didn’t answer her, the dragon pushed him harder, to turn him over.

Havelock put his left hand on her snout to caress it, but he could neither feel the texture of rough, scaled skin under his fingertips, nor move his fingers.

“It will be fine…” he said again, breathily.

At one point, the creature tore her head from him and looked forward, towards a small gate that served as the only entrance to the beach from the wall. There was a steep staircase to get to the shore, carved in stone, and rapid footsteps descended it before stopping at the very last step.

Vetinari got up on his elbow to follow the dragon’s gaze and froze as he distinguished the figure standing against the surrounding shadows. Whatever adrenaline was left in his body helped him get up from the pebble bed and run to the stairs, stopping halfway through the distance to look at his visitor in silence.

“Vimes…?” he asked, when the commander refused to either speak or move. “Oh my, I can’t possibly be that out of it… Sir Samuel, is it you?”

“Yes sir,” Sam answered at last.

Havelock stumbled one step forward then reached into his pocket, keeping his left hand carefully at his side to avoid it looking out of order. He took out the, now damaged at the corners, encrusted badge of the commander.

“Can you believe it,” he said in the same faint, breathy voice, approaching slowly, “General Osman had been ever so gallant as to hand this to me. I must admit, despite my usual insight, it did-”

Vetinari reached the staircase but as he did, Vimes took a step back.

“- leave me wondering… Commander, what is-”

“Is this why you did it then, sir?” he asked, pain in his voice, pain mixed with anger. “You thought I was dead, so you just threw everything aside, sir?”

“Commander, what are you – yes, I… I did burn down a ship, but you must note it had been mostly vacated-”

“And the bridge? And the blackened strip of grass in the fields, sir?”

“There was one man on that bridge, Vimes…”

“Yes, one man, sir!” he said. “I don’t even want to know what you did in Klatch. Brought arson season a little early this year, did you, sir?”

Vetinari frowned and it was his turn to take a step back.

“I had only killed the Prince and scattered the armies, there had been no fire.”

“Yeah, guess you like to keep that for your own people, sir.”

“Watch yourself, your grace…”  Vetinari said, straightening his posture. “Barely any people got hurt compared to what war would have done to both sides either way.”

“You bloody promised!” Vimes stepped forward and grabbed the patrician by the collar of his coat. “You bloody promised you had that thing in check and no one would get hurt!”

He pointed at Valiant while screaming and the dragon twitched her tail in the water, lowering her head even more in a low growl.

“Look at it! You just brought this thing into our city sir and-”

“I do have it in check, your grace,” said Vetinari as he pulled away from the commander. “She did exactly as I intended. What would you have had me do, Vimes? Let Ankh-Morpork fall? Let it be burned to the ground and all its people killed? Is that what you would have preferred, your grace?”

“You bloody promised…”

“I promised I would have the dragon under control, and I did precisely that. Just flying around had no effect on the army and we couldn’t face them in neither war nor siege. Did you find another way of warding them off, commander, if you hold your ground so dearly?”

Tears beaded the corners of Vimes’ eye and anger was painted all over his face. He wanted to punch Vetinari, really hard, and then go to the nearest tavern and drink till he could no longer see the lights. But he was not that kind of man, or at least he didn’t want to be that kind of man.

Sam grabbed the patrician’s outstretched arm and shoved him backwards, making him fall, though mostly because of his injuries, not the force. In normal circumstances, this would have caught the watchman off guard, but he was past the point of noticing the world around him and just stepped back onto the stairs.

“So, you aren’t even sorry for it? Are you even telling the truth about Klatch? Sir.”

Vetinari looked up at him from the dark pebbles.

“Oh, Vimes, what else would you have had me do…? They would have razed Ankh-Morpork down… killed all its people… What means other than Valiant did we have against them?”

Perhaps Vimes would have thought it over another time, but right now he was too hurt to think of anything.

“Keep that damned badge…” he muttered, “I serve the law not some bastard who thinks he owns it.”

Then he turned around and left, climbing the stairs slowly, one by one, until he disappeared past the small arched gate. He was off to Pseudopolis Yard, where he would try to sleep through the tears and nightmares, until dawn came and relived him from attempting to find some rest.

Lord Vetinari remained on the cold stones and watched Vimes silently as he left. Part of him wanted to follow the commander and try to explain his train of thought, but another part respected Vimes’s decision to refuse himself of the patrician’s presence. Maybe forever, he feared.

He found it rather futile to try and get up, so Havelock laid down on his side, half-curled on the wet pebbles. The soft sounds of Valiant coming closer became echoed and faded together with the rhythmical fall of waves on the hard shore.

There is a rather popular proverb regarding cats and their curiosity, but Assassins had an inherent need to disregard it. It somehow got etched in their being during the days of the Guild and it had the consequences that it had. One of those was Lord Downey using the mantle of night as camouflage to reach the shore where he’d seen the dragon land.

Despite their guild years, his relationship with Vetinari had become much warmer, especially since the death of Cruces that prompted the Patrician to make Downey a lord and also, with his becoming a Guild leader, getting to actually spend some occasional hours together. It wasn’t a particularly close friendship, colder than most of the others Downey had, but both assassins had a shared understanding of some things and that helped usually.

Either way, Downey did not expect to find Vetinari there, all he wanted was getting a closer look at the magical creature that saved Ankh-Morpork from ruin and arson, and he wagered the patrician wouldn’t be very cross with him if he did so.

When William reached the gate that Vimes had left through not long ago, he tried to peek at the beach while still keeping most of his body behind the wall.

And he saw it, a tall dragon standing hunched over in the middle of the pebbles, head bent carefully over a black spot in from of her, the faint purple of her back now lost in the night’s murk and appearing in cold, desaturated colors. It truly was a sight, but then again, any animal that was more than 30 meters in length would be. She was positively a bit bigger that his dogs… yeah, just a bit.

Valiant didn’t pay much attention to anything except the patrician’s collapsed body, so she didn’t even notice the assassin at first. She could smell both the blood and the infection on him and far too often she’d had to watch the same scenario unfold before her. But what could a dragon do but wail in silence?

By the time Downey was 20 meters from her, his presence became apparent; by the time he was 10, she felt the need to announce that sneaking around on small stones and in damp weather could only work so well.

The dragon diverted her gaze from Vetinari and looked the assassin dead in his eyes, which made Downey promptly stop. She growled softly but didn’t move forward.

William put his hands in the air in the way one would do to a dog. “I mean no harm,” he said, “I am er, friends of Vetinari, if it helps… Just wanted to come and thank you for your contribution.”

All knowledge about dragons and how they functioned had been lost since their disappearance. The few things Vetinari managed to unearth and the books Sybil had found were still an insignificant part of their culture, for they had one, behavior and how a human should interact with them. So, Downey’s manner of approach (though the idea of approaching an unknown dragon at all was usually lethal throughout history) was as good as it could be considering his lack (well, everyone’s lack) of knowledge about one.

Two things worked in his favor: First, Vetinari’s presence and specifically the manner of his presence, and secondly, that fact that the patrician had been right and Valiant truly was neither aggressive nor impulsive. Unless provoked, of course, but that was the nature of dragons.

Valiant shook her head slightly and turned her face back to Vetinari, trying to nudge him gently with her snout but receiving no movement or sound as answer. She tried again, a couple of times, and finally a pale hand patted the bridge of her nose twice, and the patrician mumbled something inaudible.

The Master of Assassins hadn’t paid much mind to the ‘black spot’ before the dragon, but he became interested when the rumpled pile of cloth grew an arm. He took a couple more steps forward until the reptile swayed her tail through the stones. The arm in question fell from the dragon’s nose back on the pebbles and Valiant nudged what should have been the shoulder of the arm. All in vain. She made a low, pained sound, that might have been a faint wail were she a human.

“Is that…” asked Downey, drawing closer once more, “…Vetinari? Vetinari, are you there?”

The dragon eyed him as he approached but didn’t move. Havelock murmured something again, but any meaning was lost on her.

“Is he alright?” the assassin asked, clearly to the dragon this time.

There were a few seconds for which the world stopped its spin, and the only sounds were the crashing of waves on shore and Valiant’s slow breathing. Downey became swiftly aware that he was being stared down by a creature of myths that he knew nothing about and that could easily level a couple small houses with the beat of her wings alone. And he also wouldn’t bet that he could even approach the gate in the time needed for said creature to get to him, especially because he felt that he was already within its range.

Valiant nudged the patrician again, with a bit more force to lay him on his back which allowed Downey to see his face and confirm that it was indeed Vetinari. She looked at him for one moment, with her head low, then got up and turned around, keeping the tail close to her heels. The dragon walked away from both patrician and assassin before laying back down further away, facing them, and stared at Downey with her chin on her talons.

The man approached Vetinari slowly, staring back at Valiant as if that could change anything, then kneeled when he was close enough to examine the patrician.

The dark night and the black of his coat did a wonderful job at concealing the wound, but now that he was closer, Downey could clearly recognize the whiff of blood. He touched Havelock’s forehead then pulled his hand back scared and grabbed the patrician by the shoulders.

“Vetinari? What are… oh no… no, no, no. Vetinari wake up, you can’t die… I’m not putting up with another shit patrician.”

By the mercy of the gods, the man did open his eyes, barely, and watched Downey as if through a haze. He had a mild smile on his lips, but otherwise he seemed completely out of it.

“You… you are not Vimes… are you?” he said.

“No? Why- what does this even have to do with him? Oh, what have you done Vetinari, I can barely find a pulse,” he said, rather frantically.

“Ah, Lord Downey? …good evening, I suppose… it’s evening, isn’t it?”

A feigned attempt to get up was made and Havelock looked back at the sky.

“…ah, no. it’s night already…”

William grabbed his arms, scared to do something he shouldn’t. He had a degree in medicine, yes, but it was a theoretical degree. Most of his practical work included shortening the human life span, not prolonging it. He could treat some things; a hypovolemic shock was no rocket science for an assassin, but that fever and its implications unnerved him.

“What happened, Vetinari? Can you focus and tell me what happened?”

The patrician closed his eyes and carefully glided his right hand towards his abdomen, then stopped it just below his ribcage, a few inches right from midline, and pinched the wooden tip of the arrow that was sticking out with his fingertips.

Now Downey saw it too.

“Also, my left hand is paralyzed… since you asked,” he murmured.

“How did that happen?"

“Oh, I wouldn’t know… I pulled on it… I guess…”

The next time Havelock woke up he was in a room, a well light room, warm yellow light… He was also on a bed; his coat and shirt were gone, might as well be, they were drenched in rain, but there was a banket; and it was wrapped around him, in a way that still left access to the wound. He quite liked the blanket; it was a nice banket.

There was a faint, but sour and rotten, stench to the air and he could only guess its source. Despite his tries, Vetinari failed to will his mind into cooperation. His thoughts drifted back to the night before without his consent and then burned those very memories in white and blue fire. He wanted to scream, but only internally, and his gaze just drifted around the room frantically and absently at the same time.

There were footsteps, or he guessed they were… he was not in his hospital; didn’t look like a palace room either; but there was the blanket, that helped. He was also not that cold, though still positively cold which was, well… the blanket helped, he would guess.

At least Ankh-Morpork was safe. That had been his purpose, no.

Downey appeared back into view, or at least he thought it was Downey. The assassin sat down, more like collapsed, in a chair next to the bed and looked him over with worry on his face.

“The… the arrow is barbed,” he said, as if Vetinari understood. “If I just pull it out, I might tear at the liver, but if I leave it in the infection will just get worse. I’d have to make a counter incision to get it out but I, well…”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine? No, it’s not fine, you’re septic! Are you listening to a word I say?”

“…trying… I know I am, that’s why I said it. Even if you… get it out, you won’t be able to cure the infection. Not here.”

“Doctor Lawn is gone… damn it. Pseudopolis might have good doctors, but it’s too far by horse or carriage; and Klatch is too far by ship. I honestly wonder if Klatch is even an option.”

Downey hid his face in his palm and fidgeted with his leg on the chair. Without looking up, he outstretched his arm to try and find a pulse, below the jaw, of course, he wouldn’t feel it at the writs at this point. His fingers, Vetinari noted, were extremely cold, which said more about his state if anything.

“I… have papers and orders ready for the next patrician… in case something were to happen,” said Vetinari, “…my secretary knows.”

“Yeah?” said Downey looking up with mute desolation on his face. He saw the city with Wider, he saw it with Snapcase, he liked with Vetinari and really hoped, from the day the man took the seat, that he would not live to see a successor, at least not before he retires. “And who is that?”

“A certain Mr. Lipwig.”

“Lipwig? That name rings a bell… Wait, isn’t it that conman?”

“Former conman. You will find he is quite-”

“My lord, have you lost your mind!? That little… the thief? I mean… no, what am I saying, no way I’m doing this…”

“It’s not that bad, though a bit sooner than I would have wanted. Drumknott will help him…”

“No, no, no… this is not happening… You’re not dying tonight Vetinari, I am not letting this happen. I’ve had enough of Snapcase, I don’t need a thief, thank you!”

“Former-”

“Same thing,” said Downey as he got up and disappeared again out of sight.

Havelock noticed he could somewhat keep track of time with the help of conversation but was dully lost otherwise. Shadows danced in the corners of the room with the flicker of candles, that were kept burning despite the bright light. He lifted his left hand off the bed slightly, just to let it fall again, confirming that it had lost sensation as well as movement. Then a thought struck him.

“Downey? …Downey are you there?”

“Yes,” a voice came from the other room, without its owner, “What is it?”

“I had something with me… on the beach… A small piece of metal, looked like a badge…”

“Did you need it?” asked the man returning with some clean gauze and towels in his hand.

“I would have preferred I had it.”

“Well forgive me, but I was a bit more worried about other things at that moment. It should still be there, I guess, you were far from the sea so it should have remained in the pebbles. I don’t imagine someone would take it. Now hold still and let me change this dressing…”

Any touch around the wound provoked a sharp, burning pain, though it already felt duller than while he was on the beach. Downey seemed to be somewhat careful, but there was only so much you could do when your patient still had a blunt object in them.

“Are you that good at keeping quiet or do you actually not feel anything?” he asked.

“A bit of both, more of the later… there is some pain but not as much as such wound would cause.”

“That’s bad.”

“I know…”

Silence stretched over them again and Vetinari had to fight back the spots from his vision. Vimes would find his badge if he’d need it, for sure. He thought, absently, how his mostly imminent death would affect the commander. It was a stupid question, he knew that, Vimes like Vetinari as patrician and there was no denying that… but just, were he not the patrician, would his death still matter?

Frankly, Vetinari failed to see what he was beside the patrician. He had to be someone, it was clear, he had been someone before he took the position, but he could hardly remember that person. Was all his life a little act of presenting himself nicely before foreign deputies and tending to the city like a mechanism, being whoever the situation required of him and now realizing he’s worn a mask for so long he forgot who was underneath? If there had ever been anyone there at all…

Perhaps he shouldn’t philosophize when lightheaded…

“Do you think Sir Samuel would be very aggrieved when he finds out?”

Downey gave him a look, as he put the last bandage in place. “One, you are not dying, and two, what do you even have with that watchman? You’ve been talking about him all the way here.”

“…have I?” Well, that was embarrassing…

“Yes. I see you’re trying to force him into high society for whatever reason, but it can’t be that serious.”

“…hm? Perhaps it isn’t… but is anything really that serios then?”

“What?”

“In this life, I mean?”

“You’re speaking nonsense…”

“Yes… but that had been evident a while ago.”

Downey threw all the dirty bandages in a nearby bucket and looked Vetinari over. Maybe he could distract himself from a grim future with small talk.

“On another note, what have you done to your hands? I had to bandage those too how they were bleeding… I guess the left one was a little better, but your wrist is completely purple. Hope it’s just bruising and no necrosis… How did you even manage that?”

“…rope burns? From the reins…”

Downey got up and rubbed his forehead with his palm. He knew he couldn’t let this happen and yet he also had no idea how to stop it. Yes, Vetinari scared off an army, but Klatch would require reasoning with, was Lipwig supposed to do that? And the rest? He didn’t want a new patrician, he didn’t want the terror of Snapcase’s days to return, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

He leaned against the orange-colored wall and watched as Vetinari closed his eyes again. He was a few shades away from appearing painted in whitewash and that wound looked just as bad, not to even mention the smell. Plus, over the years, Vetinari had become some kind of a friend. Not the sort he got to hang around with often, but one whose absence wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Rope burn, huh? Downey was many things, but a coward was not one of them. Impulsive was.

“How fast does this dragon of yours fly?” he asked, still deep in thought.

“Pretty fast if with the wind,” Vetinari answered faintly.

“There’re still some strong gusts traveling south, the same that brought the storm. Pseudopolis is both far away and north, but Al-Khali may be within reach.”

“…only one person can ride a dragon, Downey, and I am not apt for it now…”

“Yes, yes, you will be the… de facto rider, and I will be there as passenger. I bet it’s all the same to the dragon, no? As long as you are there, I mean. Vetinari?”

He approached the patrician and put a hand on his shoulder. He was really pale, and his breathing was shallow.

“I’ll send word to Drumknott,” said the assassin absently, “you just… hold on until we reach Al-Khali.”

Soon, William Downey found himself carrying Vetinari back to the beach where he’d found him. He had wrapped him in one of his coats, since the patrician’s was both soaked and covered in blood, and hoped that would be enough against the cold of the altitudes.

To his relief, Valiant was still there when he arrived. The dragon was curled up in a corner of the shore but raised her head and got up the moment the two appeared at the gate. She walked towards the assassin as Downey ran to her, but stopped half-way in and watched Downey cross the rest of the distance while carefully, tilting her head.

The Master of Assassins looked back at the dragon, trying to guess what it might be thinking and then slowly, not tearing his gaze away from the creature, laid Vetinari down on the cold pebbles. He then unfurled a map right next to him, positioned such that its poles corresponded with the real ones.

He arranged it carefully then looked back at the dragon.

“Look, before you get mad,” he said, “I know that Vetinari is worse now – but, one, it is not my fault, and two, I know a way to help him.” He took out a pencil from his coat. “Er, you do speak human right?”

Valiant’s politeness was saved mostly by the fact that dragons were unable to roll their eyes.

“So, we are here,” the assassin said as he drew a circle on the map, “and we need to get here,” a second circle and an arrow followed. “These are the correct directions, alright? We go there, south,” and he pointed towards the sea.

“You understand me? Klatch, the city of Al-Khali… south from here.”

Valiant turned to face the water and lay down, stretching her right wing.

“I really wish I could communicate with you in some way… I’ve mastered the body language of any invertebrate I’ve found; a dragon should be easier.”

The creature growled softly.

“You can’t just lay down now, the patrician needs your help. He’ll die unless we get to Klatch… and quickly too, at that.”

Valiant flapped her wing once and raised her head to stare at him. Downey shrugged, picked Vetinari up again and tried to walk up her wing without slipping. It was surprisingly not that hard, and after he sat down in the saddle, he managed to place Vetinari in front of him to hold him. The seat was designed to allow the rider to fully lay forward for a dive or high speeds and therefore could fit two people rather comfortably.

It dawned upon the assassin that he didn’t know how to make the dragon take off, but the problem solved itself when Valiant rose herself with slow, gentle movements and took two steps forward before taking flight. Had Vetinari been awake, he would have described her takeoff as unnecessarily mild and careful, but once she was up in the clouds, the dragon caught speed.

Downey was left with nothing better to do than hold one of the handles and hope that they were headed for the right direction and would arrive there in time. The weather was colder up in the sky, but not too much, since Valiant kept fairly close to the sea underneath. Maybe she understood…

One might assume that it was stupid of Downey to entrust a mythical creature he knew nothing of and could not control or understand with his life. One might assume it was stupid of him to go to Klatch since, despite the defeated army being a rebellious one, it had still been a klatchian one, and he could not be sure what position Al-Khali would have regarding the burned ship, killed soldiers and prince. And one would not be wrong were they to assume that, it was stupid, extremely impulsive and with high chances of both men being lynched in the end.

But Lord Downey was well aware of that, and he simply chose the later possibility over living under a different patrician. He had seen the city under Snapcase and it had been horrible, utterly so, and yes, of course the next patrician could be a nice guy, but he was so disturbed by the other possibilities that he didn’t even want to wager that.

Maybe he would die alongside Vetinari once they reached the shore, if they did reach it, but at least he wouldn’t have to serve another madman and that was consolation enough. His only hope now lay in the swiftness of Valiant’s wings and the hospitality of Prince Khufurah; all else was up to chance for all he cared.

Chapter Text

It was the early afternoon of the next day, but the sky was still weighed down by grey clouds. Not very typical of summer, for storms to last that long, but at least the rain hadn’t started again since last night and the clouds served as the only problem. They created a somber ambiance that matched the overall spirits in the city.

Lady Sybil found herself busy bandaging a dragon’s wing on the kitchen counter, for she’d prepared the balms there, when a soft knock at the door of her house was followed by the door creaking open. She took the reptile in her arms and poked her head through the door, but when she saw who entered the living room, she just smiled and came out to greet him.

“Oh Sam, so nice of you to come. I really needed some help considering all that has happened… If that’s why you’re here, of course.”

Vimes had a look of saddened confusion on his face that she couldn’t quite explain but attributed it to the attack last night. He wanted to feel angry or revolted, but not long after he’d left Vetinari on the beach, a sort of total desolation took hold of him and didn’t let him go.

“N- no, I just brought you back the books,” he said, laying the heavy volumes on a small, round table, “but I can stay if you need the help…”

Sybil gave it some thought at first but then answered. “You know, I’m sure the Watch has much more need for you than my Estate. Plus, there is a nice Lord coming over to help, I’ve met him once over at the Selachii’s and he dropped by a couple of times since then. Rollinger is the name, a really nice man, actually, hardworking too.”

Sam thought of saying something in the lines of ‘happy for you’ but his thoughts refused to divert from whatever state of mind has gotten its hold on him. He thought that, if he got back to work or returned Sybil the books, it would pass, like such states usually did, but it didn’t.

“I have a feeling that there’s Havelock’s hand in all this. Rolly said he’d received an invitation from the patrician himself to the party even though Havelock hadn’t even been there. That’s normal, he never is, but it’s interesting that he invited someone. Speaking of Havelock, I thought I’d pass by the Palace to bring him something, me and the girls made cookies, do you know if he likes them?”

Vimes shrugged absently, looking at his boots. He suddenly regrated coming.

“I really have to thank him for yesterday; the poor babies were terrified with all that commotion. Some got so scared they flew out and oh… Sam, you can’t imagine, I haven’t found such a good number of them…”

“I’ll send some patrols to look for them.”

“Yes, that should help, thank you,” she said, “Also, have you seen Valiant fly? I know we’ve had a dragon flying around some years ago too, but the way she cut through the sky was… well, I lack the words. I’ll go visit some relatives of mine in Pseudopolis, they had some wonderful books on dragons and have to read them.”

“I guess she flew nicely…”

“What is the situation at the Watch; many wounded?”

He shuffled on his feet. “Quite, Carrot reported to me… 32 dead, 78 injured and 7 missing.”

Sybil took one step back without wanting and Vimes lowered his gaze again from her. She watched him in silence for a few moments, then said:

“Don’t you want to come to Havelock with me? Sad as it is, I’m sure he would like to know.”

The thought hit Vimes in the gut in a way in which only a kick should be allowed to hurt. It was an idea, he could go with Sybil and stand somewhere in a corner while she chatted with Vetinari and gave him cookies and whatnot, but it felt dishonest. Because if he were to see him, Sam felt that he would have to talk to him, but there was no way either man mentioned what happened yesterday in front of Sybil.

Maybe he should even apologize to him… At least for pushing him away. All night he failed to sleep, but it was not nightmares that kept him up, it was his own thoughts. Either he thought of that creature, or of the fire, all the fire, the burning Embassy, the corpse of General Narijir, the look in Osman’s eyes… At least now he knew why he had wanted the badge…

He politely declined Sybil’s request, saying that he the patrician was probably busy as is and there’s no point in bothering him now with a report, and saw himself quietly out of the manor. Vimes took the shortest road to Pseudopolis Yard, hoping to find some comfort in work, despite previous failure.

He kept thinking, even at night, how he would have fixed it, without dragon-fire that is, but no matter what his mind suggested (more barricades, soldiers here, Detritus there), the sharp, mechanical voice of the dis-organizer and the sight of the fleet, drawing in like a plague, poured over his brain and melted away any slither of hope.

Maybe he should apologize to Vetinari…

He entered the Watch House, gave orders here and there, then left and closed himself in his office to tend to paperwork. His routine there consisted of reading one paragraph, getting lost in his thoughts for a good five to ten minutes, realizing that, cursing, starting to read the next paragraph.

He’d bloody have to go and see the patrician this evening or he’s not getting any work done.

A knock on the door woke him from his trance and Vimes invited the person in because at least he can’t zone out mid-conversation. It was Carrot, he gave more reports… the city was in a bad state, many buildings ruined, many injured… but fixable, still fixable.

It wouldn’t have been so had the fleet reached the shore.

“Say, Carrot,” asked Vimes, flipping through the mess of papers on his desk, “you read… many books and stuff… do you know if there are cases when something bad can actually be good?”

“You mean, something that is generally bad could be excusable or desired in a particular situation, sir?” The captain had nothing but innocent curiosity on his face.

“Where did you learn to talk like tha- er, yes. Something like that. Something that even the law says is bad.”

“Well, I could think of some situations,” said Carrot. “I read a bit into Ankh-Morpork’s history and there was even a recent revolution that would fit the-”

“Don’t you dare compare-”

“ – but I’m not comparing anything, sir. Just offering some examples…” Again, nothing but that genuine and innocent look. “Revolutions are, as a whole, against the law, but sometimes they are needed. One might say that even the feat of Old Stoneface was an example, sir. Beheading people is bad, but what he did, well, I think it was good, sir.”

Vimes stared blankly at Carrot through the silence, then back at his paperwork.

“I have also read that sometimes it is necessary for fires to break out in savannahs to help the plants grow better afterwards. Does any of that help, sir?”

“Yes… it does, captain, you may go…” he mumbled softly.

“I actually have to tell you something from Lady Ramkin first, sir,” said Carrot in a plain voice. “She dropped by earlier and said it’s urgent.”

Vimes sat up in his chair and became attentive again. “Well why didn’t you start with that, then? What did she say?”

“Nothing much, just that you are asked to come at the Palace. The sooner the better.”

“Vetinari calls me?”

“No, she said it was his secretary. Lord Vetinari wasn’t there.”

Vimes found himself very soon running to the Palace. He hadn’t intended to run, but when his every second step became faster than his previous and a growing unease flowered in his soul, he gave up on proceeding and just took a running start.

He would normally be annoyed, and not in a hurry, at Vetinari’s habit of disappearing into thin air the second he needed him. And also without notice. Last time he lost the patrician, they met again when Sam almost shot Prince Cadram and Havelock has been, in fact, the reason why the word ‘almost’ now existed in that sentence. He hoped the patrician’s next appearance would be just as convenient.

One of the few good things that came with being a duke was how none of the palace guards tried to stop him on his way to the Oblong Office. He entered the anteroom and just from the start realized that something was wrong, precisely: the messy pile of papers on Drumknott’s desk and floor, and the poor secretary darting from here to there, trying to create some order. That was not a Drumknott behavior.

“Everything good here?” asked Vimes, closing the door behind himself.

“Yes, yes… I just – wait a second, let me put this here, yes, good – yes, commander, I just have to ask you to send some watchmen near the Opera house and around the City Square, the places had been damaged badly and there is some… theft. I’ll try to manage most of the unrest from here too.”

Vimes looked once more around the room.

“Why don’t you let his lordship know that it’s not polite to abandon you here right after an almost-war,” said Vimes, picking up a bunch of papers from the floor and placing them in the, sadly, wrong pile on the desk, which made Drumknott squirm internally.

“Well, I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t have left had he been alright…”

That caught Sam’s attention again. “What do you mean by not alright?”

The clerk looked at him with genuine confusion, as if trying to figure if there was a joke being played on him. Then his eyes widened.

“Oh yes… you don’t know. I had forgotten to tell you,” and he ran back at the desk to fish for some files.

“Tell me what? Where is Vetinari; what happened?”

Drumknott took his sweet time to find something before adjusting his glasses and looking at Vimes.

“This must remain confidential, I trust that you know that,” he said. “Lord Vetinari has been badly injured, and he should be now in Klatch, receiving treatment. Lord Downey of the Assassins had found him collapsed somewhere on the shore and wrote me he would take him to Al-Khali. Hopefully they got there in time…”

“What…?” Vimes asked faintly, his mind still processing the information. “What!? He’s in Klatch with lord who?”

The secretary pushed his glasses back. “Now, you don’t dare scream at me, commander, I am not his lordship. But I will notify him if you lose your temper. I received the letter very late last night while I was waiting for the patrician to return, and I trust the medical knowledge of Lord Downey on the matter.”

“But he wasn’t injured…” tried Vimes, “I- I saw him that night… he wasn’t injured.”

Drumknott just silently handed him the letter and Vimes took it. One corner was dirtied in now dry blood and the handwriting was scribbled, done in a rush, but legible. Arrow wound, fever, sepsis… the words floated around the watchman in an invisible, condemning halo. It couldn’t be… he would have noticed if Vetinari was injured, no? It had been late at night, smell of rain and sea-salt in the air, the patrician always wore black… but he would have noticed. He would have noticed.

What was Vimes if not his guard, his terrier; it was his job to notice such things, it was his literal job. He remembered he’d pushed the patrician away and the man fell down and didn’t get back up. That was not a Vetinari thing to do, no, not at all. That man had an infuriatingly impeccable balance, he wouldn’t fall from a simple shove, well, not unless he was already using all his energy just to somehow stay upright.

He knew those things and still missed it… And why? Because he was so mad at Vetinari for doing something he still didn’t manage to find a better alternative too. The patrician saved them all and he, his guard, left him alone to die? No…

Vimes felt tears beading the corners of his eyes, covered his face with his palms and sat – more like fell – on the floor. He heard Drumknott get up and rush to him but fully ignored it. With his left hand he was covering his mouth and with his right he held and read over and over again the incriminatory lines, inked on the paper in the assassin’s rushed handwriting.

“Commander… are you alright?” asked the clerk.

“No,” said Vimes, not bothering to get up, “no, I’m bloody not. I… I need to find Vetinari…”

“But he’s in Klatch.”

“Yeah, I got that. I need to find him… I am his guard, I must be by his side.” I must apologize, I must bloody do something. “You… you think he is still alive, right?”

Drumknott watched him mildly. “I couldn’t possibly know, but I do hope he is. I understand you want to help him, your grace, but they have good doctors there and we do need you here.”

“No, no, you don’t understand Drumknott, I need to find him. I’ll leave all my best officers here, I will send Captain Carrot at the Opera house and tell him to report back to you when he’s done.”

He got up in a hurry and shoved the letter, probably rumpling it, in his coat. He could see on Drumknott’s face that the man wanted to say something but was at a loss of words. He shrugged and said something along the lines of wish-you-luck, then gave Vimes a short list of where he sought more watchmen and let the commander leave.

Sam went to Watch House and gave all the necessary orders, putting Carrot first in command until his return. That was followed by a quick row with captain Jenkins and after he agreed to pay the reasonable price of what was three times the actually reasonable price for a trip to Klatch, Vimes left the captain to prepare the ship for set off. Thirty minutes, the man had said, and that was perfect time for Vimes to go and look for his badge.

It wasn’t unreasonable that Vetinari could have still had it, but Sam was far too nervous to stay put and wait so he decided to check anyway. When he arrived at the pebbled shore, the detective part of his mind activated again. He slipped carefully past the staircase and, as if retracing his moves from the memory of a dream, stopped on the bottom stair, same spot as last night. One foot forward, where he’d stepped down and he could imagine Vetinari before him. He wanted to cry but his eyes wouldn’t tear.

Vimes got down on one knee on the dark grey pebbles, ghosting his hand over the spot where Vetinari fell. There was dried blood on the stones, and not little at that… There were some droplets further from the center of the spot, and there he found his badge, sticking out from the pebbles, blood on it too.

There were clear indents where, he could assume, Valiant’s footsteps had been. An interesting, neatly leveled portion of pebbles stood on either side of a set of such footsteps, probably she took off there…

Vimes got back up and walked to the sea to scrub the blood off his badge in the cold, salty water. Perhaps Vetinari didn’t deserve a guard like him, who would just abandon him on an empty beach to die, and Vimes surely didn’t feel like he deserved forgiveness. He had never thought highly of himself, but whatever foul thoughts he’d had about his worth before were clearly challenged by the ones he’s been having ever since his meeting with Drumknott.

But Vimes was not a stupid man, and he knew that resigning now and drinking the rest of his life away because he messed-up-irreparably and isn’t-worthy-of-forgiveness would not help Vetinari. And if he knew one thing about himself, at least he knew it now, it was that for some strange reason he really cared for Vetinari.

So, he would go and find him, and make sure he was alright, and let him or fate decide the rest.

Chapter Text

When Lord Vetinari opened his eyes, he found himself in a quiet, well-lit room. It was warm, significantly warmer than Ankh-Morpork has ever been, and the light was too bright to be coming from candles or lamps, so he would guess it was midday.

Havelock blinked slowly, trying to get adjusted to the light and also inspect his new environment. He was in a different bed now, and his clothes had been completely changed for others made from a cream-colored, soft material. The shirt didn’t have any buttons, but it was made by two flaps of fabric that overlapped each other and were sown together at the top. He could part them carefully to try and inspect his wound, or what remained of it. It was well-bandaged and, surprisingly, the cloth used wasn’t covered in either blood or pus, so it had been well cleaned.

That was reassuring, alongside the fact that he was still alive and not in a cell, but he would have to somehow find Downey and ask him for the details, after thanking him, of course.

He tried to push himself upright and instantly felt the sting of pain, but it was more muted then before and lacked the usual irritation that proved infection. Vetinari found that the wound had healed remarkably well considering that less than 24 hours had passed. It still hurt, there was much tenderness in the area, and he involuntarily took only shallow breaths, but it was still much better than he had expected.

Admittedly, what he had expected was death.

He was in a nice room, painted in the same warm, light beige, neatly kept. There wasn’t much in it, one desk with some gauze and small, dark bottles on it, some frail, palm-looking potted plants, a painting resembling ships on a calm sea on the right wall and a double sided diwan couch right before two tall, glassless windows carved into the stone, some meters in front of the bed.

Vetinari, who was just as allergic to the concept of bedrest as his dear commander, decided that he was, in fact, capable of getting up and walking till there, so he could get some idea of where he is. With slow, careful movements, he shuffled himself to the edge of the bed and, not without a fair amount of pain, got up and managed not to fall back on the floor. He walked to the recamier-like sofa and sat down just as carefully, putting his elbows on the wide-stone windowsill and leaning slightly forward.

Outside was the view of some sort of courtyard, a couple of trees and shrubs growing in interesting patterns, people hurrying from one place to another. A world that seemed completely detached from what his was last night; unaware of dragons and their fire, of arrows and blood, of a certain badge and a certain man who, he hoped, would keep Ankh-Morpork in check until his return.

Vetinari carried much doubt regarding what his situation with Vimes would be moving forward. Perhaps the man would be decent enough to still do his job as asked of him, most likely, actually, but whatever moments they’d shared together would be gifted to oblivion. Would Sam marry Sibyl now that he decided to be fully rid of him? Maybe, maybe not, he couldn’t guess… but he also wouldn’t dare intervene. It was his choice.

Havelock glanced once more at his left hand, that he had intertwined with his right at the fingers as he held them outside the window. The bruising had somewhat faded, but sensation hadn’t returned. There was no pain or irritation, just utter silence.

As he mused on it, the dark cedar door to the room was pushed open and someone stepped in. It was Lord Downey, who was also not in his usual black clothes, but in some klatchian attire of dark, golden brown with a muted crimson shawl. He was smiling, looking a bit surprised to not see Vetinari in bed, but approached him where he sat.

“You still look a bit pale,” said the assassin, coming closer.

“You also look… different,” answered Vetinari, smiling mildly at him.

“Well, you are dressed in white, so shut up.”

“It’s not exactly white,” he said, but the was a tinge of pain in his voice. “I see Klatch has been treating you well.”

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself, I did spend my first night here in a cell. And trust me you don’t want to know how cells smell in summer… But yes, I was allowed to move freely afterwards, order of the prince and whatnot… He wants to meet you, by the way, but I assume you could guess that.”

Vetinari thought about it for a moment. “I think I could see him today; the wound has healed remarkably in such a short time.”

Downey looked him over with a flat expression. “I wouldn’t call it a short time… but yeah, I guess it healed nicely if you found nothing better to do but get out of bed.”

“One day is actually a short time for the state in which you found me…”

The mild displeasure on Downey’s face was quickly traded for confusion and then amusement as the assassin burst out laughing.

“One day? Oh no, no… This it our third day here, actually.”

Vetinari watched him with an extremely level expression.

“It was night when we arrived here, yes? Then two days passed and right now is about,” he checked his watch, “two pm on the third day.”

“Was I completely unconscious for three consecutive days?” he asked faintly.

“You woke up from time to time, but only for short intervals. I guess it makes sense if you don’t remember, you had a very high fever and the doctors gave you lots of stuff,” said the assassin as he leaned against the wall.

“Did I say anything I shouldn’t have, in delirium?” asked Vetinari.

“Nothing really, or so I was told… spent most of my time in the city after it was clear you’d recover. But you did say a couple of things in Latin.”

“Sounds fitting…”

“Yeah, it made me feel a bit better about how I treated you during the guild years.”

“Did anyone ever compliment you on your manners?”

Downey bit his upper lip to hold back a laugh and left the wall to walk around the room. He stopped before one of the potted plants to take one of the thin, long leaves between his fingers and feel it as one does to fabric.

“Areca palms,” he said, “do you think one could acclimatize these to Ankh-Morpork?”

Vetinari shrugged. “With ease if indoors, I believe. Listen, did the doctor who saw me say anything about my hand?”

“Hm?” Downey turned around to face him. “Oh… well, your wrist wasn’t cut, so there are chances that the nerve isn’t torn. Therefore, some chances that it might heal.”

The assassin turned back to examine the plant and Vetinari lowered his gaze to stare blankly at the floor. He had been aware from the beginning that being the Patrician wouldn’t allow him much time for other areas of life, but this has never been a real problem given his ability for organization. He still found time for other things, chess, board games, sharing political gossip with Lady Margolotta over clacks messages, but most importantly, he loved to be out in the city, especially in late hours of night.

He liked to run on rooftops and examine this intricate yet delicate mechanism he fought to keep in motion. To observe random citizens going about with their lives or to just stroll around decaying chimneys and rusted railings on cold, rainy days. His leg injury had affected him greatly, but he’d managed to compensate for it, but now… how could he scale a building with only one hand and a game leg? Was the risk of falling or being ambushed at night worth it? He could protect himself before, with ease, but would that be so easy now that he could use only one arm? Would he be confined to his office by his own, decaying body? Would he really be nothing more than the man who sits in the Patrician’s chair?

“What are you thinking of?” asked William suddenly. “You look… deep in thought.”

“I think the fever has affected me a little…” said Vetinari mildly, “My mind feels so fuzzy… easily distracted.”

“So, you’re not meeting the Prince today?”

“No, I will. The sooner the better, I believe, and I’ve already wasted three days.”

“I don’t think he is in a rush,” said Lord Downey coming closer. “He wouldn’t have allowed me to move freely through the capital had he been against your actions, so rest a bit. I’ll send the doctor in and tell him that you’re up. That good?”

“Yes, thank you,” the patrician nodded once, “but I do believe I will join Prince Khufurah for dinner if my symptoms don’t worsen. Is there anything I could get dressed in? I wouldn’t want to meet His Highness in a nightshirt…”

The assassin shrugged as he was already leaving.

“I’ll look for something,” he said.

Vetinari watched Downey until the cedar door closed behind the assassin and then resumed looking outside the window. It was warm, here in Klatch, but at least he was at shade from the afternoon sun. The patrician fixed his left sleeve and then his right, by using the windowsill ridge to pull forward the material.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Vimes had set off by noon with captain Jenkins and he had reached the shores of Klatch by dusk. Apparently, the situation wasn’t really tense, since their ship hadn’t been intercepted and was allowed to pull in harbor, but then again, the construction that they arrived in didn’t look like something a man with some pity and self-respect would be bothered to check.

Once they did arrive at the docks, the fun began. Jenkins had made it very clear from the shores of Ankh-Morpork that he was not to set foot on ‘bloody klatchian ground’ and he might, in fact, do a runner to one of his providers that was not – and yes, I promise you, my dear sir, clearly not – contraband, because commerce didn’t keep itself up by theory alone.

But Vimes was fine with that, since he had no intention of returning without Lord Vetinari and since he wouldn’t let the patrician even see Jenkins’ ship, rather boat. The only thought that gnawed at the corners of his mind when he wasn’t attentive was the possibility of having nothing more to return with than a casket. He didn’t trust any assassin, much less their president; he didn’t trust any dragon, and Valiant barely managed to make the exception before; and he definitely didn’t trust disease, he had lost far too much family to it. And he had lost friends to injury…

Damnit, he would just have to work despite the thoughts.

The second part of the fun was that, upon disembarking, he had been questioned. It started somewhere along the lines of ‘Who are you? What is your business here?’ and ‘City watch. None of ya’ business…Hey, let me go!’ and ended with him in a prison cell trying his best to keep the cursing only inside his head.

But, of course, to err is only human.

After much pleading and somewhat cooperation (because he wasn’t telling some random guards that the most important man in the neighboring city was possibly dead or taken hostage and he was here to remediate that), he had genuinely started to lose hope. Though he was doing said losing while grinding away at the metal bars with a loose rock he’d managed to wedge out of a crack.

He stopped and hid the primitive tool whenever footsteps were heard on either side of the grate, so when they appeared again around midnight, his reaction hadn’t been different. What had been different was that this time the three men didn’t pass by his door but stopped right in front of it.

“Ah, offendi!” said a somewhat familiar voice. “Right when I was actually planning to visit that city of yours, you show up here again.”

Vimes looked up to see the scar-ridden face of 71-hour Ahmed who was carrying his usual grin-like smile. The two men behind him seemed to be regular guards, dressed in the same white garbs as he and stood rather relaxed beside the man. They were clearly not D’regs, but still, Vimes thought, there was not much reason to be on edge since they had disarmed him. No amount of Shades-grade dirty fighting got him past three sharp sabers, one of which wielded by both a D’reg and an Assassin.

“You are lucky I was in town, offendi,” said Ahmed, motioning at the others to open the door, “there had been just a mild spike in robberies and the Prince had sent me here to deal with them since all was peaceful back in Al-Khali.”

Vimes grunted as he got up from the floor and grabbed his sword and truncheon from the guards with a bit more force than needed.

“You imagine my surprise,” the man went on, “when I find out that that camel-son Cadram lives, and had gathered an army, and had even intended to take Al-Khali once he won victory over Ankh-Morpork.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something but only swallowed dryly in response.

“And you can imagine how much bigger my surprise was when I found out that his fleet had been defeated by a dragon. And the man assassinated by some disguised stranger. Now tell me, offendi, how does a rogue dragon defeat a fleet by burning only one ship, then fly all the way to another continent, wait for a mysterious assassination to happen, and fly all the way back without as much as breathing fire once?”

Vimes watched him with a serious expression. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Yes, of course,” said Ahmed, “it hadn’t been a rogue dragon, but one of the few, so few and scattered, remnants of the golden ages of dragons. A tamed one, that bows its head to humans. And now that dragon is hiding in the dunes a few miles away from our capital, and the mysterious assassin is, also, in the capital, and you are here, and I have questions.”

“Lord Vetinari is alive?” asked the watchman, who fell completely deaf to any of the words following ‘capital’.

“I had received a letter saying that he was, but time has passed since then. Were you here for him?”

Vimes nodded slowly, but he felt as if a stone had been lifted off his chest. Ahmed watched him in silence, but ended up only shaking his head softly.

“Then I think the best thing for you to do, offendi, is just leave. He is in the care of our doctors, and I doubt you might have some political advice to offer him when he wakes up.”

Vimes had already arranged his sword and truncheon at his sides and was now walking beside Ahmed through the narrow corridors of the prison. By the mercy of gods, he had been given a cigar.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “I am his guard and I must be by his side, policeman to policeman, I think you would understand.”

“Oh, I do. But even I don’t follow the Prince where my presence is redundant; so, what I don’t understand is why you seek to do so.”

Sam’s mind started catching up with his mouth for the first time in a while. What was he supposed to say? I left him to bleed to death on a beach and now guilt is dragging me here by the collar? I feel things for this man that I haven’t often felt for other people in my life and I can’t even explain it, but I know I must be with him? I am his guard and that is, in its own, reason enough for me not to leave his side? I must apologize…?

“I promised him once I wouldn’t leave him alone and I a man of my word,” he said at last.

71-hour Ahmed watched him with a curiosity reserved for geologists when they find a new type of rock.

“You have interesting customs, there, in Ankh-Morpork…” was all he answered.

“Can you help me get to Al-Khali? I think you’d be going there anyway, considering all that’s happened.”

The D’reg gave it some thought as he was arranging his beard with his fingers. “We can take camels and be there in two days…”

Vimes winced at the memory of riding a camel.

“Can it not be camels…? Also, two days is too long, is there nothing else?”

“It would be longer by carriage and there have been many sandstorms these places. We will have to go round them, I can ride through the mild ones but you – and no offence, of course, – will not fare, I say.”

He stopped suddenly and Vimes was forced to wait for him a moment, then a smile appeared on Ahmed’s face. “Tell me, offendi, do you know how to ride a horse?”

Sam could recall that there had been a couple of times when Vetinari had, jokingly, offered to teach him how to ride a horse. He had always wondered how the patrician himself rode with his game leg, but he’d seen him gallop a couple of times on a tall, black mare with a spec of white on the nose. He had tried to approach the animal once, when alone, only to almost get kicked in the head. Either way, his answer to Vetinari had always been the polite version of ‘fuck off’, so when Ahmed asked that, he confidently said:

“Of course I can.”

“Are you sure? Klatchian horses are fast and hot-blooded.”

“What do I have to do not to fall off…?”

The wali sighed. “Very well, I will ride in front and your horse will just follow mine. They are heard animals, you know. All you have to do is hold on to the saddle or mane because, and trust me, you will not like how falling off feels. But we wait for the morning, it’s too dangerous to ride through the desert at night.”

“But I must get to Al-Khali as fast as I can…”

“No, offendi, there are bandits and storms out there that can’t be seen through the murk. What I can do alone, those who don’t know the desert can’t, and I am sure your patrician would prefer you to arrive with your head still attached to your body.”

Vimes grunted at the thought, but there was nothing he could do. He would get there in time, and he would find Vetinari alive and well, and right now he would have to try his best to get some sleep.

The next day, a stable boy brought the horses. They were beautiful, bay colored, and, what Vimes found very strange, they held their tails up in the air as if they were cats. Their snouts also had a very slight arch upward which he considered rather amusing; but they weren’t very tall. Either way, all that amusement ended very swiftly when he found himself sweating and holding on to the damned animal in the heat of the desert (the sandy wind hitting him in the face didn’t help).

He had gotten used to it, after a while, but when he got down for the first time to change horses, he realized his legs and back might not make it all the way through… and they changed horses a good couple of times. They rode through the entire day, with short stops in oases or cities Ahmed had business in. They’d spent the night in a fortress not too far from Al-Khali and set off the same when the sun rose.

The two hadn’t talked throughout the road, given the wind and exhaustion, but by noon, when the towering walls of capital appeared at the horizon, 71-hour Ahmed signaled to stop and Vimes pulled on the reins (he’d learned that the hard way).

“Look there, on the dunes, do you see it?” the D’reg said and pointed towards a patch of sand that looked exactly like all the other patches of sand.

But no, it didn’t’… If Vimes squinted, he could see something a bit darker, of a sort of grey, in the distance.

“Valiant…”

“Yep, that’s the dragon,” said Ahmed. “I was told it was outside the city walls but just couldn’t believe it. You know, offendi, when I grew up, I was taught, like all the other D’regs, that these creatures had gone extinct about 400 years ago… never thought I’d see one, even if from afar.”

Vimes watched the way light glistened occasionally off the faraway shape.

“If they disappeared 400 years ago, why are there no records left? It is a long time ago, but no so long for there to be no information.”

Ahmed didn’t move or speak for a moment but then turned to Vimes and on his face was a look of genuine surprise, as though he was asked a question that he had never thought of before.

“I don’t know, offendi… I don’t know…” he said, and threw one more look at Valiant before spurring the horse forward, towards the city.

⊱———⊰ ◦ ✧ ◦ ⊱———⊰

Prince Khufurah often held fancy dinners that were not short of being the Klatchian version of the Ankh-Morporkian balls when it came to luxury. The main differences were the style of decorations and their increased frequency, also the mildly smaller number of guests.

Lord Vetinari currently found himself at one such parties as he sat – and thankfully he was allowed to sit down – beside the Prince and several klatchian nobles on a majlis seating of rich, lapis blue, covered in countless fancy pillows with golden embroidery on the side and depicting flowers or wild horses on top. He was dressed appropriately in warm browns and golden hues assorted over the deep green of his robe. His left arm was in sling that was just as intricately decorated.

He somewhat missed his plain, black clothes, but besides that, he really enjoyed getting to experience the lives of other cultures and being dressed in a similar manner gave him some warm fulfilment.

On the other hand, Vetinari was, once more, very glad he wasn’t forced to stand up for the entire night since the fever, though lower, still didn’t bother to leave him completely. He could easily tone out from the pain, but the slight lightheadedness he would simply need to fight.

“ – and so, I tell him,” the voice of Prince Khufurah went on, “ ‘do you know what the punishment for reporting to me drunk is?’ and my own general tells me: ‘Oh yes, my liege, but it really was a dragon’.”

The entire seating erupted in a polite volume of laughter as the prince finished his story. Havelock smiled in acknowledgement. He missed having Vimes at his side, or just somewhere in the room at such events, as a pleasant distraction from the rest of his company. He knew Lord Downey was somewhere in the room, but the man enjoyed the company of nobles and climbing up the social ladder was a hobby for him, so he wasn’t much help. Just as well, thought Vetinari absently, sipping at some sort of juice.

“I suppose our guest could retell us more about the creature,” said one of the nobles, glancing at the patrician.

Vetinari smiled mildly in response, but addressed mostly to the prince, who was also watching him. “Certainly, but what more would you like to know, your Majesty?”

“Oh, everything,” said Prince Khufurah, raising his hands, “how did you even get hold of such a… such a formidable weapon?”

“But I could hardly call it a weapon, your liege, Valiant is more of a friend.”

“What, you keep the dragon as a pet?” laughed one of the generals beside the prince. The patrician just smiled mildly in response.

“Well yes, it is a friend of course,” went on Khufurah, “that is how dragons function, haha. But you must er… admit that such a creature has a weaponizable potential that can’t be easily overlooked.”

“But of course,” smiled Vetinari, “though, I do not see how that would affect any other country in the slightest.”

“How so?”

“It’s simple, your Highness, Ankh-Morpork doesn’t have a standing army, it is against our values, one could say, so the dragon being our sole method of defense doesn’t upset international balance in the slightest.”

The Prince sipped his drink and seemed to give it some thought.

“That is a good argument, you bring, a very good one, I will say that.” The smile crept back on his lips and the Prince got up, raising his glass as he did. “A toast, for Ankh-Morpork and the help they offered us against the rebel armies!”

People got up, glasses clinked, and everyone sat back down on the low divan couches. Vetinari laid back against the ornate pillows and was glad to see that conversation veered away from him and Valiant once more. He never thought that lacking an army would prove to be such a strong military strategy, but you live and learn. He had also never intended to use Valiant as a weapon, but he knew the moment other countries would find out, conversation would arise. Either way, he couldn’t have delayed it, it was Ankh-Morpork or nothing.

Si vis pacem, para bellum

“I hope you will enjoy our city’s hospitality until you are well enough for travel,” said the prince after more talking.

“Oh, but I already did. Especially the expertise of your wonderful doctors.”

Khufurah waved a hand. “Oh that, a nothing really. But no, I am being honest, we must treat our guests to our best. Do say, what interests you?”

Vetinari smiled. “If the Palace has a library, I would be more than pleased to visit it.”

If the Prince was surprised by the answer, he didn’t really show it, just patted the patrician on the shoulder and said: “If that’s what you wish, consider it done, I will have someone escort you there. Also, feel free to leave if you feel ill again… But, before that, tell me,” and he lowered his voice, “is my brother really dead?”

“Does it bother your Highness?” asked Lord Vetinari. “I had thought that was your intended outcome since not long before you had sent your trusted wali on the same job.”

“No, no,” said Khufurah, “it… saddens me, yes, it did even then but… but as the Prince of Klatch I can’t put my feelings above what is rightful and necessary. I just want to be sure that I wont have him crawl out of another hole in a few months’ time.”

“In that case, your Highness, you can be certain that Cadram is no longer a danger to your country.”

More expressions passed by Khufurah’s face, but I the end the man smiled, and brightly so, and patted the patrician once more on the back.

“A toast for the glory and peace of Klatch!” he said, getting up, “And a toast for our dear friends who helped ensure it!”

Chapter Text

Vimes had arrived in Al-Khali together with the hours of evening and Ahmed being with him really helped avoid the usual setbacks of formality. He had asked for Vetinari but was answered that ‘The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork is with His Highness and no, you cannot see them, because no, you were not invited to the party’. One could easily imagine what the commander’s reaction to that was, but thankfully Ahmed was there to remind him that breaking some noses would most likely deliver him to another cell and not to the royal banquet. He had also been suggested to take a bath since he stunk of horse.

And Sam had done so, not without some grunting and complaining, but after he was washed and dry, and dressed in some loose klatchian garbs, he was shown to Vetinari’s room to wait for him there. And wait he did. For about two hours. And then some more. And when the clock started approaching midnight, Vimes got up and set off to find his dear patrician.

After mildly harassing two or three palace workers, he found both that the man was in the library and the location of said library, so there he went.

The Palace Library was huge, taking up entirely one of the central towers and having at least three floors, interconnected with suspended, marble staircases and adorned with candles and chandeliers. The scent of cedar bookshelves gave the entire place a surreal feeling and Vimes, for the first time, understood the ability to lose oneself in books and scrolls. He wandered in a daze through the arching columns and rows upon rows of old literature, doubting more and more his abilities to find anything in that place, let alone a stealthy assassin. The one thing that gave him some hope was that Vetinari had no reason to hide, although the entrance door didn’t hide either and he had already forgotten its location.

At last, Vimes turned past a bookcase-wall and spotted a man draped in dark, rich green and gold, sitting on a low armchair with a book in his right hand, his left discarded on his lap, and a couple more volumes on a nightstand opposite of him. His black hair was slicked back and tucked behind his ears and his icy blue eyes looked ever so inviting in the warm candle light.

The watchman stared at him in silence, he couldn’t tell for how long, then turned back and hid behind the bookshelf. So, this was it… What was he supposed to say? Vimes swallowed dryly and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He took one deep breath, smoothed down his clothes and with more mechanical than sure steps, strode past the wooden column and to the patrician. He stopped two meters before Vetinari and, as the man hadn’t lifted his gaze, said in a level, if not a bit hesitant, tone:

“Good evening, sir.”

Vetinari smiled softly, still looking at his book as he turned a page. “I really began to wonder if you would muster up the courage to step forth,” he said, then finally lifted his eyes. “I see I shouldn’t have doubted the Commander of the Watch.”

“Sir,” said Vimes dryly.

The patrician closed the book and put it on the low table beside him.

“I do wish you hadn’t come here to be obnoxious, Vimes. And, if I recall correctly, you should be taking care of the city despite my unfortunate absence.”

“I left orders for while I was gone, sir, Carrot and Angua will handle it.”

“Ah, capital… And then, you are here why?”

Vimes glanced down at the carpet, it was intricately weaved; red, yellow and white twined together with other colorful specks caught in-between. He looked back up, not left of the Patricians face, not somewhere on a wall or ceiling, but looked him in the eyes.

“I came to apologize, sir.”

A flash of surprise flickered on Vetinari’s face, before it was replaced by the usual blank expression.

“You have the right to be upset about what I did, commander,” he said mildly, “especially since I would do it again, were the situation to repeat. Agreeing with me is not part of your job description.”

“But not letting you die on a beach is, sir. What kind of guard does that…”

“I am fairly confident you didn’t know I was injured,” said Vetinari.

“I could have known,” protested Vimes, “I had all the signs to figure out something was wrong, and I didn’t, sir, because I was bloody mad at you.”

He rubbed his face with his palm, trying to erase the memories that came once more to haunt him.

“Why didn’t you even say a word?”

Vetinari sighed softly. “I believe you know why, commander.”

He didn’t. He had a few guesses but didn’t want to believe them and, sadly, the expression on Vetinari’s face told him he shouldn’t push any further. Sam reached slowly in his pocket and took out the small, beautifully engraved cigar case he was given a few days ago.

He never thought he’d ever see the patrician bear an expression that could be described as horror, but the way Havelock watched the iron case lying in his outstretched palm was the closest thing he would get to it. Vimes suddenly wondered if he could just shove it back and forget whatever he had planned to say.

“If you intend to give it back to me, your grace, I wish to inform you that I will not accept it,” said Vetinari rather sharply.

“I just… I don’t think you gave it to the right person, sir,” he said weakly.

“I gave it to you. However that ‘right person’ is and weather you wish to embody them or not is your choice entire, but I will not take a gift back. It is yours.”

Vimes lowered his head again, to stare at his boots. What wouldn’t he do to be back on that night, holding the only person who’d remembered a birthday he himself had forgotten in his arms and kissing him through the sound of pouring rain. What wouldn’t he do to grab Vetinari in his arms and take him away from these empty halls and hold him down on a soft bed, in a warm room, and kiss him and cry and say just how sorry he is. What wouldn’t he give to do so many other things to him… but that chance was lost. He’d ruined it, once more…

“Is that why you came, commander?” asked the patrician.

Vimes didn’t lift his gaze, just watched as his boots leveled down the thin carpet threads. He shoved the cigar case back in his pocket, suddenly horrified by the idea or remaining without it.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured.

“Vimes…”

“I’m bloody sorry, sir. I am your bloody guard, and I just left you when I swore to protect you. No… it’s not even that… I’d protect you even if you were not the Patrician, even if I was not the guard or terrier. And yet I still left you…”

A warm tear rolled down his cheek. These were the moments when a knight in shining armor would say ‘though I wish it, I don’t even dare ask for your forgiveness’, but his armor was dented and he couldn’t bring himself to say it. A few other tears followed the first. He’d agree with whatever Vetinari decided, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it or his heart to ever accept it.

The patrician got up and approached him, a cold hand brushed his cheek and Vimes looked back at the man.

“I never held it against you, Sir Samuel.”

“I think you should have…”

“But it’s my choice weather I do or not and I decided against it.”

Vetinari moved his hand under Sam’s chin and tilted his face up so that they could look at each other. He then bent down ever so slightly and kissed him softly on the lips. Vimes kissed back and stared blankly at him as Havelock pulled back. He felt his entire face grow hot under the gaze of those glassy blue eyes. As if woken from a trance, he grabbed Vetinari by the waist and pulled him closer, kissing and nipping at any skin he could access, his checks, his lips, his temples, his neck, kissing him frivolously, hungrily.

Somehow, they ended up on the floor, with Vimes straddling the patrician to hold him down and Vetinari feigning struggle while smiling slyly. They clawed at each other’s clothes that were, now, considerably more open at the neck and overall rumpled. When at last they took their mouths off each other and stopped to pant for breath, it dawned on Vimes that they were on the floor of the, allegedly, public library, and Vetinari laughed softly.

“It would be very unfortunate, I believe, for Prince Khufurah to find us like this.”

Vimes threw one look around then bent down again to kiss Havelock. He was holding his wrists above his head and that gave him ideas he knew he couldn’t follow here. He stopped for a moment. “Dou you… do you have fever, sir?”

“In what language must I beg you to drop that ‘sir’?”

“Sorry…”

“Yes, there is a bit of leftover fever from the wound, but it will pass.”

Vimes nodded silently until another thought dawned on him. “Oh sh- oh gods, you’re wounded… I didn’t harm you, did I?” He swiftly threw his leg over Vetinari so he was no longer sitting on the man, but rather on the floor, at his right side. Havelock propped himself on his elbows and looked much more amused than Vimes would have liked.

“The wound is right below my ribcage,” he said ghosting his hand over the incision spot. “You didn’t sit on it, if that’s what bothers you.”

“But it must still hurt, no? And- and you can be more bloody vocal about such things, sir!?”

“The pain will linger regardless of what I do, but if you want me more vocal, commander, I fear you’ll have to make me,” he said with the same sly smile and Vimes fought very hard to bite back a comment.

They waited a bit more in the deserted library, sitting beside each other on the hard floor. It seemed like another world, really, abandoned as it was at midnight but still alight with candle fire and chandeliers. Muted voices from the Palace or from outside barely echoed past the thousand bookshelves and the calm sound of their breathing reigned over them.

“So, you really don’t hate me?” asked Vimes.

“I never did,” said Vetinari. “If I’m being honest, I had fought you held that sentiment against me.”

“Damn…”

“Quite.”

“We really are a pair of bastards, aren’t we?”

“Perhaps, but a pair nevertheless.”

Vimes sighed and pushed himself off the thin, intricate carpet, giving Vetinari an arm as he did so.

“I think you should rest… I, er, remember somewhat the way back.” He didn’t, but it hardly mattered as he could once more hold the patrician in a hug as they both got up. He was a bit more careful now that he was reminded of the wound and kept his hands softly on the man’s hips.

“I can find it, worry not, but I will be ever so obliged if you help me carry those books,” said Havelock.

Vimes grabbed the pile from the low table and followed shortly behind the patrician through the towering cedar shelves. He hardly kept track of the turns they made or which path they took; reality floated dizzily around him once more, now that he was beside Vetinari and that everything was alright between them. Well, of course, it was not alright, he’d still left him and the man was still wounded, but he wasn’t cross with him and that gave Vimes enough hope that what they had was not lost. He couldn’t put ‘what they had’ into words, but he had a hunch that Vetinari could, and he would make sure to do so when need be.

They arrived in the patrician’s room, Sam had been there before, and now put the books on the polished table with various falcons crammed in one corner.

“Did you find anything interesting?” he asked as Havelock moved to open the windows.

“Oh, yes, a good couple of things,” he said, “but I suppose that talk can wait until tomorrow, ideally.”

“As you say… I won’t bother you more about the dragon stuff.”

Vetinari smiled and sat on the backless diwan by the window. He patted the spot beside him so that Vimes would join him.

“They gave you a room here, did they not?” he asked.

Sam sat on the other side of the chair, leaning back on the raised armrest. They were both turned so that they could face each other. Confusion then mild embarrassment got interchanged on Vimes’ face.

“Yeah… they did. But I’ll be damned if I can still find it.” He threw one look around the room. “I can… er, sleep in some waiting room… or something.”

“You would want people knowing that the Duke of Ankh was invited to the Prince’s Palace, was offered some surely luxurious chambers, but chose to sleep in some dusty corner?” asked Vetinari, looking amused.

“It will be a clean corner.”

“Yes, I assume it will only home the occasional spider.”

“It will home as many occasional spiders as I want it to, sir.” The last word was followed by a grin. “And I don’t give a damn what those nobs think.”

“Perhaps you don’t, Vimes, but I do. You may stay here for the night.”

“What, I do? Really?”

“I don’t see why not, as long as you are comfortable with that. I could also find you a free suite quite easily, if you wish.”

Vimes weighed his options. “Hmm, might be hard at this hour. Plus, I can’t let you walk around with a fever, sir. Just guard duty, I hope you understand.”

Vetinari shook his head lightly. “My, what can one do in the wake of such situations, Sir Samuel? Alas, I will go and try to find you something to change in.”

Sam wanted to argue that his klatchian robe was already loose enough so he didn’t really need to change, but Havelock argued that it was not pajamas and therefore not suitable for sleep by default. After some arguments of the ‘it’s a bit different in the Shades, sir’ and ‘we are not in the Shades now, your grace’ sort, Vimes found himself putting on a lose pair of shirt and pants while Vetinari changed into something similar but darker in color behind a folding screen.

“Would you mind helping me with some buttons, commander?” asked Havelock stepping back into view. “They seem to not believe in cooperation…”

“You are asking me to help with buttons?”

“Only one of my hands is functional, so yes,” said the patrician with a completely level expression.

Sam got up with a look of surprise mixed with concern. “What? How, is it injured…?” He guided Havelock carefully so that they both sat on the edge of the bed and started wrestling the leftover buttons. The shirt was loose, but the holes were sown to be a pain in the ass. At least to him, commander Vimes, the bane of buttons.

“I believe the rein tugged it accidentally while I was flying.”

Vimes finished closing the shirt and took his left forearm so he could inspect the wrist. He could clearly see the leftover bruises, though most were turning yellow at the center and edges.

“Will it heal?” he asked.

“It might. There is no apparent lesion of neither nerves nor blood vessels, I would assume it’s just damaged… in some way. Either way, I can cope without it.”

“No, you can’t,” said Vimes looking up at him. “Look, we’ll find something… let it rest and stuff. What did the doctor say?”

“That it might heal. I fear neither of us is getting a better answer. But don’t dwell on it, Vimes, worry never helped no one.”

Sam looked over the wrist once more then kissed it softly and placed it down on the blanket. There was a bit of awkward fussing about, but eventually they both ended up in the bed, on either side of it. An arrangement witch lasted rather few, since thirty minutes later they were in a hug, with Vetinari’s arms wrapped around the commander’s neck and shoulders and with Sam’s around the patricians wait and back.

If a klatchian deputy were to find them like that, the situation would prove less than ideal, but right now they were alone and there was no one to bother their slumber or quiet whispers.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Vimes stood by the outer city wall, watching Vetinari chat with Prince Khufurah and some other nobles or generals in the same motionless way a small child would stay and wait for his mother to finish talking with the grocery lady. He felt content, in his own way, they were going home, despite the protests of about three doctors. Vimes had no qualms with it because he knew that if Vetinari started feeling under the weather he would drag him himself back to Klatch or all the way to Genua even. He had, once more, gained the right to do that.

Vetinari’s terrier, huh? Not too bad… not bad at all.

When the patrician waved goodbye to The Prince and his company, he returned with an even stride to join Vimes by the wall.

“Beautiful day, is it not, commander?” he asked.

Vimes looked up and nodded shortly. “Yes, sir.”

Vetinari inclined his head mildly and smiled. He then clasped his hands behind his back and looked forward, to where the delegates were gathered.

“Prince Khufurah saw it fit to accompany us back to Ankh-Morpork, if only for a couple of days, to celebrate the defeated rebellion and show his very definite and benevolent sentiments for us.” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, but Sam couldn’t quite figure what he was supposed to say so he just stared blankly at the man. Vetinari watched him with that unreadable icy gaze then glanced back forward and continued talking:

“Thankfully, His Majesty understood that I can not let Valiant return on her own and, therefore, I will have to decline his generous offer of joining him on the royal ships, a luxury which we were all invited to accept. Lord Downey will, of course, travel with them, as he feels most natural in that sort of company, so I will be free to travel back alone.”

Vimes noticed that the Patricians gaze was back on him, but he felt that asking whether it’s a good idea for him to fly in his state or not was not what Havelock wanted of him.

“Sir?”

The patrician watched him for one second longer than customary.

“I was willing to ask, commander, whether you would wish to accept the prince’s offer or if, perhaps, you are comfortable with joining me with Valiant.”

“On the dragon?”

“Precisely.”

“Like… aflight?”

Vetinari shifted his gaze again. “It was just a mere suggestion, Vimes, do not feel compelled to accept it.”

But Vimes was already thinking about it and when he compared spending about six hours on a ship full of impetuous nobs to flying for a third of the time beside Havelock. The answer became pretty evident.

“Oh yeah, I’ll join you.”

The patrician raised an eyebrow “Are you quite sure, Vimes.”

“Yes sir.”

“Has something managed to defeat your animosity towards dragons as of late, Sir Samuel?” he asked.

Vimes grinned mildly. “Yes sir.”

“And what precisely?”

“Probably has to do with holding you in my arms and kissing you, s-”

“Don’t even consider adding a ‘sir’ after that, your grace.” If Vimes wouldn’t know better, he’d say there was a faint blush on Vetinari’s cheeks.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said mildly.

They shortly found themselves riding through the desert in caravan Prince Khufurah had prepared for them. It was hot outside, but the temperature was manageable in the shade of the covered cart they were in. Vetinari had even managed to get away with ‘burrowing’ some books and now skimmed mildly through them.

“You said you found something interesting?” asked Vimes, when silence became more dreaded than a lecture. Plus, any lecture became suddenly interesting when it was accompanied by Vetinari’s voice, the only problem was that he sometimes fixed all his attention on said voice and none on the actual words.

Havelock lifted his gaze to meet his, then smiled.

“Oh yes, of course. What would you like to know?”

Sam scratched the back of his head.

“I don’t know…” he said, “71-hour Ahmed told me that these creatures had only disappeared about 400 years ago. I’m no historian, but I think that is not enough time for them to be turned into myths. I mean, yeah, it’s long ago and stuff could be forgotten, but not that long ago. Not everyone would forget.”

The patrician watched him with a certain glint in his eyes.

“The thing about time, Sir Samuel, is that only the generation that knew something has to do the forgetting, the newer ones have nothing to forget, they can merely be retold what was or not. Sometimes people in power find it very important to not do said retelling.”

“Why? Because some dragons just… flew away?”

Vetinari closed the book he kept on his lap and softly placed it aside.

“Because they didn’t just fly away. You see, Vimes, dragons had left Sto Plains about 600 years ago, and Klatch only 400, but they didn’t just get bored and decide to leave, they were driven out by war. They are the sort of creatures that swear loyalty to their rider and follow them through any adversity to come, but they are also, truly, formidable weapons. It was not long before kings decided to fight each other in the sky rather than on land, with fire rather than with steel, and thousands of dragons died scorched and clawed open for the satisfaction of some rulers, for a bit more gold in one’s coffers.”

He looked down to trace lazy lines on his left hand, as if it would reward him some sensation.

“Their species was nearly eradicated… A few survived, either those who had never bent their heads to humans, wild dragons, or those who had the fortune of not dying with their riders amidst battle and were now left all alone. All that remained without a rider fled to live in the mountains and forests of the Agatean Empire, forever lost to our knowledge. All that still had a master fond a swift, painful end here.”

Vimes stared at him blankly, not knowing what to say.

“The kings at that time ordered all records of dragons to be destroyed, they couldn’t let their children and grandchildren know where their greed had led them. Some information remained, as is the nature of such things, but to most these are now myths and bedtime stories. Nothing more.”

“And Valiant…?” asked Vimes.

“Hm?”

“Why did she stay behind? She was alone when you found her.”

Vetinari had a look that suggested he had already considered that question but hadn’t been able to come up with an answer.

“I don’t know… maybe she got lost. I will have to ask her, help her if I can.”

Vimes took Vetinari’s hand into his own to massage it, making sure to touch past the wrist as well, so the man would feel something. The spent the rest of the ride in silence, leaning against each other, listening to the soft sound of their breathing.

When the carriage came to a halt, the two men got out and the others prepared to leave. Valiant was a few meters from the group and she watched them carefully, slowly batting her tail in the sand.

“You would still have enough time to make it to the docks if you changed your mind,” said Vetinari, but Vimes just gave him a pointed look.

“I said I’m coming with you, sir.”

“Delighted to hear that, your grace,” said the patrician, and set off to the dragon while Vimes decided to try and arrange the books into bags while muttering something under his breath.

When Valiant saw Havelock come closer, she lifted her head and shook her entire body off sand, then leaned down to nudge him gently and hum a soft sound.

‘I am glad to see you are alive,’ she said, ‘we dragons don’t give in easily to despair, but I had seen stronger men claimed swiftly by lesser wounds, so I had my doubts. I see your dear friend has come with you this time.’

‘Not one word about him’, thought Vetinari.

‘Why not? Does he not feel for you what you feel for him?’

The patrician often realized that the only reason why keeping Valiant around was an option at all was because she could not tell other people what she could so easily find out about him. It was rather unpleasant, to have someone know what actually happened in his soul, but so far it couldn’t cause any real trouble so it would work.

‘Hush now,’ he thought, ‘if Sir Samuel has something to say, he would do so himself. Don’t pry.’

The animal tilted her head, clearly amused. ‘Forgive me, then.’

Havelock turned around to gaze at Vimes and how he argued about who knew what at that point with a klatchian guard. Truly a wonderful man… But it meant he still had some moments alone with the dragon.

‘I meant to ask you something,’ Vetinari thought as he placed his hand lightly on the blue wing.

Valiant angled her head back towards him, signaling that he had her full attention.

‘I have recently managed to find some information as to where and why all dragons left, it’s quite simple, you fled war and death. But that begs the question, why are you still here?’

Valiant didn’t answer at first, and it made Vetinari wonder whether she would answer at all, since it was not uncommon for her, but eventually the dragon’s icy voice enveloped him again.

‘Maybe I enjoy the company of humans and do not wish to flee from it?’

‘But humans are vile creatures, and I wouldn’t consider present company excluded at all.”

She tilted her head. ‘Not all… and much less than you think. Didn’t your dear friend abandon everything just to come here and find you?’

Vetinari shook his head. ‘I admit there are some exceptions, and Vimes is one of them. But even I chose to drag you into battle, why would you follow me, or any human at that?’

‘I found your reasoning for it worthwhile.’

‘Dragons always follow their masters, I suppose you could come up with any excuse for our own actions in our stead.’

‘That is not true,’ her voice echoed. ‘Sometimes we do it out of pity, or duty… but we can wonderfully well refuse commands. If I said I agreed with you, it is because I did. I have lived centuries upon this Disc, I do have some agency.’

‘Then, my question is still why? Why would you choose to sacrifice yourself for beings who could never fully appreciate it?’

The dragon tilted her head and watched him mildly.

‘You know I can read your thoughts,’ her voice echoed in his mind, ‘so, I cand only ask you the same. Why do you? Your city hates you, dislikes you at best, and you still do everything for it. Seems just as nonsensical as what you accuse me of, you must admit it. But there lies the trick, perhaps in the belief that you could do something worthwhile, perhaps in the hope that some day it will matter and some day this world would not be as grim as you found it, and maybe that’s worth dying for. I know you believe this world to be vile, but I also know you seek to be proven wrong, or why else would you act against your own philosophy?’

Valiant lowered her head to gaze into his blue eyes with her own. Havelock had always fount it simple to outwit people by hiding his real thoughts and emotions behind a façade, it became evidently harder to do so when your opponent hid there with you.

‘Maybe the world is dark, but there is some light in it too, if you seek it. You do so, whether you’ll accept it or not, and I suppose so do I. Maybe I will join my peers after you die, but for now I chose to remain here, for I still have affection for humanity, as do you.’

Vetinari raised his hand to pet the snout that was now at eye level with him, and scratched softly across the smooth, lilac scales.

‘I know you understand me,’ her voice echoed, ‘even though you choose to deny it in your mind.’

As Vetinari petted the dragon’s nose, he heard Vimes approach behind him. Havelock turned to face him as the man looked the creature up and down.

“You know,” Vimes said, “it really doesn’t seem that scary… All this flying and stuff. Since you’re with me, of course.”

Vetinari placed a hand on his shoulder and the dragon laid down to stretch her wings and let them climb.

“Did she say why she’s still here?” Vimes asked as they were climbing up.

“Something about not despising the inherent nature of humans,” said Vetinari.

“Oh. So not really a match for you, eh?”

The patrician fell silent for a moment. “I know I have certain views about the world, commander, but I have never been a misanthrope, and I regret if I had given you that impression. It is not true.”

They sat in the saddle, with Vetinari in front, to hold the reins, and Vimes behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. It stated to dawn on Sam that, soon enough, the lithe body before him would be his only anchor point between him and a fall from a certain height. He could also press his legs against the saddle, but he trusted Havelock more than his own reflexes at the moment.

“Ok, let’s go,” said Vimes, trying to sound optimistic.

At a swift motion from Vetinari, the dragon got up, leapt twice forward and then tore from the ground, diving up into the air. Once she gained the altitude she needed and found some trusty winds, Valiant allowed her body to go horizontal again and flew softly, only flapping her wings on occasion.

Vimes had pressed his entire body against the patrician and buried his face in his hair. That would be a pleasant way to spend the flight, yes, no need to look down.

“Will you not lift your head at all?” laughed Vetinari.

“ ‘M very good right here, sir,” said Vimes and kissed his nape to hopefully shut the man up.

“If I am still ‘sir’, then I might order you to look around a little.”

“No thank you, Havelock.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” mused Vetinari.

When the cold wind brushing past him ceased to be novel, and Vimes got accustomed to the rushed sound of air and the seldom beat of wings, he gathered his courage and dared open one eye. Then the second.

The world really looked different from up there… so small and yet so vast. He could still see the shore of Klatch, if he looked back, and down and forward plentiful of minute boats were cutting slowly through the waves. He wondered how Ankh-Morpork looked from above, his dear city. When you were up here all petty grievances really did become insignificant and even idiotic.

“It does offer a perspective on things, no, commander?” asked Vetinari who figured the man had finally given in to curiosity.

“I suppose it does…”

“We should see Ankh-Morpork soon, at least from afar. The sky is clear today.”

Vimes kept glancing down at the passing white and brown boats against the blue sea.

“It makes you realize what you are living for, sometimes, when you see it all at once, like that. It is an interesting feeling, I will admit. Even better at night.”

“At night?” Vimes asked, “but you wouldn’t be able to see anything then.”

“You can see the stars, they are beautiful, they offer some more reason,” said Vetinari and Vimes felt the words ‘you are beautiful’ get stuck in his throat.

He moved one of his hands ever so slightly up, to ghost his fingers over Havelock’s wound and abdomen.

“I would like to watch the stars with you,” he said.

“Hm? Oh, but sometimes there are clouds, and I would still have to fly with Valiant.”

“I would come then too.”

“You cannot see the stars when there are clouds, Sam.”

Vimes hugged Vetinari tighter and pressed his face against his neck.

“I know,” he said, “but I can still see you.”

⊱———⊰ ◦ finis ◦ ⊱———⊰