A/N So, this is an experiment. It'll take place during all the events of the books as a sort of background story. I'm assuming that up until sorcery, Vetinari is not the patrician mentioned.
Disclaimer: I don't own Discworld. I am however working on a solution to that problem.
Havelock Vetinari, patrician of Ankh-Morpork, looked down at the woman laying in bed next to him and chuckled lightly. There had been no questions, no whispered affections, no hesitation. No sound but for the harmony of her breathing and the steady beat of her heart as she had approached him through the darkened room.
She rolled onto his leg and it twinged, but her could bear the pain better than the thought of pushing her away. She had been eager to hear about his dinner with Lady Margolotta and he'd traced the story onto her skin, conversing with her via the swirling lines of her palms. Her reply had been long as she tapped it onto his thigh, soft fingertips through rough fabric making his skin prickle in a good way.
Hours later in the present, his deaf mute confidante rolled over on top of him. Her hair spread in dark honey strands over his arms as they wrapped around her back and he wondered for the thousandth time what her voice would sound like. What it would be like to have a real conversation with her that didn't involve the tapping of code or the writing down of things she wanted to say, but the melodious sound of two voices just talking. He had imagined all sorts of accents, all sorts of tones or pace for her voice, but he could never quite get it right.
And then she spoke.