Tyrants and Terriers

A Discworld fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the Discworld series; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. This is merely for entertainment purposes. If I owned Discworld, there would be a lot more Vetinari and Vimes conversations.

Warnings: Blood, violence and lots of references to Watch books.

Dedication: For all those who wanted more Discworld fan fiction with Vetinari and Vimes.

It was almost sun set when Commander Sam Vimes sat down in one of the chairs in the otherwise empty waiting room in the Patrician´s Palace and placed a stack of finished paperwork on the chair on his left. The spring of lilac on his uniform was still fresh, and Sam could not help but think of the watchmen who looked oddly at him, who did not know, who did not remember. The tiles in front of the building had felt wonderfully familiar after a difficult day of chasing unlicensed thieves and managing a larger Watch than the Commander had ever dreamed would ever exist.

Commander Vimes watched as Lord Downey clenched his jaw and stormed as quickly as he could possibly get away with it, out of the Oblong Office doubtlessly after an ice-cold, deeply sarcastic comment from the Patrician. Sir Samuel had overheard about Downey´s schooldays from the trainee assassins. Mostly when said trainee assassins had made an attempt on his life and were dog paddling in the pond outside the mansion or hanging upside down.

Oh, yes, Sam thought, grimly and slightly triumphantly, as the door slammed shut, I will get you back when I´m your boss...

Sam felt tired to the bone as he looked up at Drumknott, who motioned him inside the Oblong Office. This had become more common now; he no longer had to wait for as long as he had done some years ago. Nodding to the secretary and ignoring the infernal clock on the wall while he scooped up the papers before heading into the office.

He closed his eyes for a brief second to try to fight the screaming ache in his knees, and for that second his entire sense of time momentarily vanished. For that brief second he was stepping into the office of Lord Snapcase, in a world where the rich could get away with everything, a world of barricades and conspiracies and fear. Sam Vimes exhaled and pushed the door open. His heart still fluttered in unmistakable fear and burning anger at Lord Snapcase, at Lord Winder, at the Patricians who had not cared about the city at all.

Vetinari sat behind his desk as per usual, a quill in hand and waited patiently for Vimes to put away the heap of paper in his hands. The Patrician looked up, a polite expression on his face as Vimes sat down carefully on the chair opposite him after saluting.

„Ah, Vimes"said Havelock Vetinari, putting down the quill as Vimes put on his special-talking to Vetinari face and moved his gaze to the wall. But instead of asking Vimes the usual questions about the Watch and criminals and subtle politics, the Patrician stood up from his chair and walked to the window, regarding the city. Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then joined the Patrician. In the last golden rays of the sun, Sam could see silver stands in Lord Vetinari´s black hair and the faint wrinkles around his eyes.

This was allowing Vimes to see something that could be considered a weakness, Vimes thought as he tugged his reading glasses from the inner pocket of his robe. He did not wear them at any of the Watch houses, nor did he wear them at home when he could get away with it. This could be considered to be a matter of trust. They watched the city in silence that was bordering on comfortable. There was so much history between them, and Vimes reflected on Carrot´s confusion of how Vetinari and Vimes could communicate extremely complex messages with barely a word.

"The world has changed", Lord Vetinari said quietly, his voice soft. Sam Vimes stared at his master in silence. This was not how the game was played. This was no time for pretending to not understand.

"Yes, my lord" said the Commander carefully, noting the subtlest tone of regret, perhaps even sadness in the Patrician´s tone. There was no mocking in that response, in fact, if one bothered to dig a bit, there was respect.

Havelock Vetinari, the man who frightened even assassins turned around and looked straight into Vimes´s eyes. As those light blue eyes stared at him, causing cold sweat to break out on his brow, it became clear to Sam that he no longer knew how to do his job, how to be the Commander of the Watch without Vetinari as his boss. He could no longer really imagine Ankh Morpork without the tall man in front of him.

"It appears that the head of the Assassins is upset by your actions, Commander", the Patrician supplied, resting a bit heavier on his cane and lifting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Yes, sir. The Assassins tried to develop a new kind of weapon; it resembled the gonne too much in my opinion. I will not allow that." Sam did not mention the way that the Patrician´s bad leg was trembling ever so slightly.

"Indeed. It might also be that he is still bitter about you punching him a while back, Sir Samuel", Lord Vetinari said, airily, "Incidentally, since you have returned to the city, things have calmed back down."

"Sir", Vimes said, scrutinizing the man beside him. He did not mention the troll drug-related gang fights, the horrendous amount of paperwork on his desk, or how the majority of watchmen seemed to be much younger than he felt they had any right to be. Vetinari already knew all this.

Lord Vetinari´s eyes did not waver from Vimes´s face as the Commander lowered his gaze and their eyes met.

Sam had been aware, in a murky, back of his mind sort of way, that Vetinari needed him around and that the city could not properly function without them working together. He had never really dwelt on it; it was just the way things were. Sam felt his muscles ache and his eyes burned. There were large splotches of mud on his trousers, still only partly dry and half-healed wounds still pounded dully if he moved his arm. Carrot had handled all of today´s disasters with ease, which had made Vimes feel old and so very tired.

"As it appears that the city is well balanced at the moment, Samuel, I bid you good night ", Lord Vetinari said quietly, seating himself down again and nodding approvingly at the pile of paperwork. The Commander´s eyes widened and he automatically straightened up, his thought process came to a screeching halt. Sam could hear Mr. Fusspot whimper under the desk.

"What did you say, sir? " Sam blurted out, watching Vetinari´s calm expression for any sign of meaning. Havelock leaned slightly forward, putting his fingertips together and raising his eyebrow slightly. Sam´s heart thundered in his ears, Vetinari had never called him by his first name before.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment Vimes had been dreading for years, the time when the Patrician would force him to leave the Watch and retire permanently. After all, he was not the young man he used to be. People all around the city had been hinting at whether the Commander was not going to hand over his badge soon, of that he was a man of action and everything was peaceful now. They still called him Vetinari´s terrier, though and Vetinari knew about the rumors, there was no doubt about that. And yet…

"Do not let me detain you, Commander" the Patrician said, taking hold of the stack of paperwork that Sam had arrived with. Vimes did not move as the sounds of metal outside the office where making his hands twitch for his sword. The spring of lilac on the Patrician´s robe seemed to glimmer as the Patrician lit a candle, his eyes focusing on Vimes´s form. There was the barest hint of a smile on the Patrician´s lips.

Vimes was silent, but Vetinari could doubtlessly see something in the watchman´s eyes, Sam thought as he saw the calm, sensible look leave Vetinari´s eyes to be replaced with something that Sam could only classify as sadness.

Sybil had once hinted at that the reason Vetinari had bestowed so many honorary titles and privileges upon her husband was that it was the only way the Patrician allowed himself to show his fondness for the other man. Sam did not have a proper response to that.

"Sir", Vimes said, just to be on the safe side, and nodded before leaving the office. Then he stopped dead in front of Drumknott´s well polished and immaculately organized desk, the memory of the soft sound of an arrow rushing through the air ringing in his ears as the door closed behind him.

As he trudged down the stairs outside the Palace, on his way back to the Watch house HQ in the darkness of the night, his mind replayed the scenario inside the Oblong Office again and again, there had been something wrong, he was certain of it. But then he just shook his head, the bastard had probably just been playing mind games with him, as usual.

Lord Vetinari finished reading the last file by the light of the candle, his light blue eyes never wavering from the scribbles of the Commander about the current events in the city. There was the slightest whisper and the Patrician smiled as the two black clad men in front of him drew their weapons. The smile was razor sharp and as quick and merciless as lightning and the men´s smug expressions faltered as they remembered who they were dealing with. But they did not flinch, even as the eyes of the supreme ruler of the greatest city of the Discworld bored into them. And the foundations of the world trembled ever so slightly.

The light in the Oblong Office went out as Sam Vimes looked up to light a cigar on Broad Way. There was no commotion, no screams of horror, but The Commander of the Watch turned around and sprinted towards the Palace anyway.

The door to the Oblong Office had never been ripped open with so little regard of the consequences before. Sam Vimes stepped inside, practically vibrating with anger, eyes blazing and began fighting the two black clad men as soon as he saw the glint of metal in the Patrician´s hand. Then it was just a blur of motion and blood until the two strangers lay on the floor.

Vetinari and Vimes stood still for a moment, watching the two men, and glancing at each other before Vimes began to see spots dancing before his eyes and the pain in his shoulder and chest threatened to overtake his senses. He could barely hear Vetinari shout for his secretary, or the feel of the Patrician´s hands holding him upright. Then there was only darkness.

Lady Rust, who was there because she refused to leave until Lord Vetinari had agreed to whatever ludicrous plan the aristocracy had come up with this week, looked dispassionately at Drumknott, who was re-arranging the papers on his desk with smooth, practiced movements. A glass jar filled with paperclips glimmered in the light of candles.

"I do not understand this strange turn of events", she said, glancing at Drumknott who remained silent, "Havelock is trained as an Assassin, he has the Palace guard and practically an army of spies and clerks".

Drumknott carefully fastened a silver paperclip to a thick file that bore the Commander´s signature and the seal of the Patrician.

"He has no need for a guard, he does not need this man Sam Vimes when push comes to a shove". Her tone was arrogant and so deeply aristocratic, there was no room for contradictions, as to her this was a clear fact.

And Drumknott, efficient, neat, humble Drumknott placed his pencil on the desk, straightened up and met the woman´s eyes. The temperature of the room sunk to the point of that Mr. Fusspot was surprised that he did not see icicles manifesting on the furniture as he trotted inside the room with Captain Angua and Captain Carrot on his heels.

"Yes he does", the head secretary stated quietly, his eyes locked on hers.

The bed Sam Vimes woke up in was suspiciously free of the usual amount of pillows, Sybil and the smell of dragons that always hung in the air of the mansion was absent. So he opened his eyes to find himself in the Palace. Vimes turned his head slightly to the right, only to see Lord Vetinari sitting at a simple desk, writing by candlelight.

"What-?" the Commander spluttered, as moonlight shone though the small window and illuminated the blanket that covered him. It had small stars on it.

"Doctor Lawn was so good to look you over and take care of your injuries. He also insisted that you should not be moved from this bed for several hours to make sure you would rest. The two men we, er, dealt with are under custody of the Watch now."

Vimes raised himself upon his elbows with a bit of difficulty, but the Patrician spoke before he had even opened his mouth.

"Lady Sybil has of course been informed that you are not in mortal peril and that the two men are being interrogated by the Watch and the Assassins."

There was a long silence, in which Vimes lowered himself back on the bed and felt his eyes become heavy with fatigue.

"Why did you do it?" Sam muttered, mostly to himself and his words were half-drowned in the pillow. This was not in the rules, but he decided that since he was never quite sure of what the rules were anyway, and this was certainly not any place or time for such things. Sam´s hands still had some blood on them. He was not entirely certain whose it was. Lord Vetinari continued writing, but the Commander could practically feel the eyebrow lift and the piecing stare.

"I accomplish a great deal of things every day, Sir Samuel, you will have to be more specific", his lordship said quietly, his pen still dancing over the page in front of him.

Vimes knew that he would never get a chance like this again in his lifetime, but a glance at the barely visible bags under the Patrician´s eyes and the black dressing gown on a peg in the open dresser took care of the more hurtful ones. That, and the sluggish pain that seemed to float through Sam´s body. He decided to ignore the pain.

"Why did you promote me?" Vimes said, fishing the question out of the thousands he would like to ask.

Vetinari blinked.

"You saved my life, I have informed you of this before, I believe", the Patrician said, his blue eyes did not leave Sam´s face for some time afterwards.

Most of their conversations were done in silence, after all.

When Sam opened his eyes again, time had passed, according the greatly decreased size of the candle beside his boss, and the Commander opened his mouth to say something smart. Then he realized that Lord Vetinari was not writing at all, but simply sitting very still, clearly lost in thought. From the admittedly small distance, Sam could see what appeared to be music sheets on the desk and the darker spots on the black robes where the blood had soaked through at the place where Vetinari had been shot all those years ago.

Vimes stood up carefully, his feet bare on the cold floor and edged closer to the tall, thin man. "Sir?", Vimes whispered, recalling that the man was after all educated as an Assassin and it would be unwise to startle him.

"You were also in that fight and should rest", Vimes stated as Vetinari finally detached himself from whatever thought had been occupying his mind.

"I assure you that it is nothing, Sir Samuel", Vetinari replied, and motioned towards the bed, indicating that Vimes should go back to sleep. But Sam simply frowned and glanced at the black dressing gown before leaning on the table with his knuckles.

"No. None of this nonsense of pretending that you don´t care at all about the fact that you are bleeding all over the floor", Vimes muttered, his tone harsh.

Lord Vetinari was silent for a moment, and used the time to gather all the papers on the desk into neat piles and then he returned his gaze upon the man in front of him.

"I appear to have temporarily lost control of my legs, and cannot rise from this chair, Vimes." the black clad man said, so quietly that Sam had to stain his ears to hear it. Then Vimes simply and totally without thinking of what he was doing, lifted the Patrician from the chair and carried him over to the bed where he placed the man on his back. Sam waited for the cold, sarcastic remark but he Patrician merely closed his eyes.

Vimes stepped over his own armor, which was lying on the floor and sat down in the chair by the desk. Watching the ruler intently, he rummaged around in his pockets for a cigar, but found none. And just when he had become certain that Vetinari was asleep, the man opened his eyes and looked at Vimes, and said something that Sam´s brain seamlessly translated as: "There is a good man".

Sam did not leave the chair until Drumknott knocked politely on the door at dawn, carrying a cup of tea and the morning edition of the Times. The secretary nodded respectfully as Vimes stood up, now clad in his armor and the Commander glanced one last time at Lord Vetinari before leaving the Palace.

When he arrived at Pseudopolis Yard there was a brand new kettle sitting on his desk which was mysteriously paperwork-free beside a single slip of paper that informed him of an appointment he had with the Patrician later that day. Vimes smiled slightly on his way home, the scent of lilacs still heavy and sweet in the air and the sunlight glinting off his uniform.

The end

Author´s note: Please remember to review.