My greatest fear
He's a watchman. He always was and he always will be. Actually he wouldn't be a man I fall in love, if he wasn't a watchman in body, mind and soul. I always admired his sense of duty and justice; the fact he will do everything to solve the case and find the culprit; that he will protect his city from any harm; that for years he was worried about orphans and widows of his deceased colleagues.
Samuel Vimes – my poor Sam – is a good man. A great even. Ankh-Morpolk couldn't have a better commander of the City Watch. And – as all great men – he's burdened with doubts, responsibility and fears. I've lost count of how many times he stared with distant eyes, remembering that fateful day when he was almost killed by a dragon. Or times when he woke up from nightmares about an empty cradle. As most fathers and husbands Sam fears mostly for wellbeing of his family. I, on the other hand – as most wives of men with dangerous occupation – I fear a day when he won't come back home.
Every day he puts his armor on, kisses me goodbye and goes out to work. He generally spends most of the time on Pseudopolis Yard, but he also likes to walk around the Ankh-Morpolk. Sometimes even stomps upon some crime and then he have to prevent it. But this kind of instances don't bother me. The instances that do bother me are riots on the streets.
The first time such riot happened (and it was even harsher than that time when thousands of angry trolls and dwarves went out on the streets of Ankh-Morpolk to fight with each other) Sam prepared his men for such situation, however he not only gave orders, but also decided to fight alongside Carrot and others.
I let him go. I knew he had to be there. He wouldn't forgive himself, if he stayed in home when his men were fighting.
Nevertheless, it was one of the longest nights in my life.
Of course, Sam can defend himself and he can depend on his fellow watchmen, especially Carrot, Angua and Detritus. During that night I've tried to remember it and occupy myself with other activities. But no matter where I went or what I did, I couldn't stop thinking about the horror in the city and my Sam in the middle of it. My mind was creating many horrible scenarios of him dying in the battle with cut throat, crossbow bolt in the eye or guts on the pavement.
I was constantly gazing at the main gate, looking for someone in City Watch armor. I both hoped and feared to see that someone. If Nobby, Carrot, Detritus or Colon stepped on my door that dreadful night, it could mean one thing: that Sam is dead. And I couldn't help but imagine how they would deliver the news to me. I imagined them standing on my doorstep with helmets in their hands. I imagined their faces expressing sorrow and pain. I imagined them not knowing where to look at first, having problems with telling me what happened to him. But they would eventually take deep breath, look me in the eyes and say these horrible, horrible words: "Commander Vimes is gone… I'm sorry, lady Sybil."
The mere thought…
Yes, he is gone. He won't come back to me. He won't kiss me before going to work. I will never see him again, I will never hear him again, I will never feel him again…
And people would give me their condolences. Nobles and big fishes of Ankh-Morpolk would be sending me formal letters with lots of beautiful but stiff words written with pretty italics. Watchmen on the other hand – people who knew my Sam for a long time and considered him a friend – they would go to me personally, showing their grief and expressing compassion. All of them with their unique way.
Constable Visit would probably say that he will pray for Sam to Great Om.
Carrot would tell me that Sam is now in better place and looks on us from the ground.
Colon and Nobby would say that he was a good friend and wonderful man, and try to cheer me up with funny anecdote's from his life.
Detritus, Angua and other would ask me if they could help with anything.
Maybe even Hevlock Vetinari would come to my house with condolences and ideas for honoring Sam's memory.
But in spite of their good will, it wouldn't make me feel any better. I know it very well. Because how I would stand being a widow? Even now I cannot live without him. He's part of my life. He's part of me. It's bad enough that I sometimes hardly see him in our own house. Without him it would be the most empty house in the world.
Visions of his death and me being left without him haunted me that night in spite of my gigantic efforts to not think about it. The torture lasted until I spotted his outline in the darkness and recognized his way of walking. Every step taken by him made me realize that it was my husband coming to the main door and not anyone else. My heart was never lighter than in that fateful moment when I realized that he's save and sound and he doesn't even have any scratches or cuts. After he entered the mansion, I gave him the tightest hug he ever had.
But the feelings and thoughts I didn't even realize I have, comes back to me ever since. Come to think of it, it's quite silly. Sam was fighting many dangerous people and creatures, and he defeated every one of them. He's a capable fighter and quick thinker, yet I'm scared that a crowd will kill him. Nevertheless, the thought of his death keep haunting me every time he goes to work.
My poor Sam. He's burdened with doubts, responsibility and fears. I've lost count on how many times he stared with distant eyes, remembering that fateful day when he was almost killed by dragon. Or times when he woke up from nightmares about an empty cradle. As most fathers and husbands Sam fears mostly for wellbeing of his family. I, on the other hand, fear a day when he won't come back to me.
Sam Vimes has his nightmares and I have mine.