Have You Noticed Every Time We Meet A Dragon Turns Up?

What exactly went through Sam Vimes mind with the evolving relationship and growing attraction between himself and Lady Ramkin?

"A voice immediately above him rumbled, "Say what you like, I still swear it's a magnificent specimen."

Vimes's gaze travelled upwards until it crested the edge of the fountain's top bowl.

"Have you noticed," said Sybil Ramkin, hauling herself upright by a piece of eroded statuary and dropping down in front of him, "how every time we meet, a dragon turns up?"

She gave him an arch smile. "It's a bit like having your own tune. Or something."

- Guards! Guards! Terry Pratchett

Rating: K+ / T

Disclaimer: Pterry. Not mine.

Note: Guards! Guards! Some italicised quotes from the book. A closer look at all of the meetings between Vimes and Lady Ramkin in G!G!

Chapter 12

Lady Ramkin was transfixed. Amongst the faded aristocracy of Ankh-Morpork, witness to a charlatan coronation, she sat and watched with fatalistic fascination as the dragon slowly sculled closer and closer, red eyes riveted to the decorated plaza in front. Through the boiling clouds of fog it grew larger and larger, the only sound being the twang of bunting that snapped as it slowly but surely glided down the narrow street.

All around Lady Ramkin, pandemonium raged. Panicked citizens flowed like a tide out of the stands, kicking over chairs and other people in their haste to evacuate. The dragon completely ignored the screaming townsfolk, dropping suddenly in the middle of the plaza.

Lady Ramkin suddenly pulled herself together. Standing staring was not going to be a good move, she decided. This dragon was not one to lock up in a pen and sell as a shoulder sitter. Hastily, she adjusted her dress and hurried after the stream of people pressing against the outer perimeter of the plaza. Due to her admiring the dragon she discovered most of the vantage points had gone, leaving her exposed towards the centre of the plaza. Cursing, she scanned the other sides to no avail. The press of people silently watched her as her trawling gaze alighted upon one of the ornamental fountains and, with grim determination, she climbed into the lowermost bowel.

A sudden 'whoomph' behind her galvanized her into action and she swore afterwards that she leapt vertically into the uppermost bowel. Lifting her head, she saw a fine cloud of ash spiral gently downwards where she swore the High Priest had been standing. Of the prior occupant of what remained of the throne, there was no sign. The great head swung around, observing the silent crowds crammed into the streets surrounding the Plaza of Broken Moons and the sides of the plaza itself, and, with great deliberation, squatted on the ruins of the throne and coronation dais. The symbolism of this gesture was not lost even on the average Ankh-Morporkian.

In the top bowel of the fountain, Lady Ramkin frowned to herself. The dragon clearly was not here just to feed or to carve out a new evolutionary niche for itself. It had sought out the coronation, it knew what it was looking for. She fidgeted; the bowel was small and the eroded statuary was prodding her somewhere a well brought up girl shouldn't know the name of. Her thoughts returned to the Captain. She hoped he was well away from this, although knowing him he had found a way to return. She smiled to herself, even as she kept one eye on the proceedings in the plaza. As she watched, the dragon unfurled its wings and flapped them once or twice, stretching luxuriously and clearly having absolutely no intention of moving.

The movements of the dragon had the effect of causing a fresh exodus from the plaza and the sudden swell of people coursed past the fountain where Lady Ramkin was huddled. Within minutes, the plaza was almost empty. Lady Ramkin peered over the rim of the bowel and her heart leapt. Of all the places…. Making a decision, she hauled herself to her feet.

"A voice immediately above him rumbled, "Say what you like, I still swear it's a magnificent specimen."

Vimes's gaze travelled upwards until it crested the edge of the fountain's top bowl.

"Have you noticed," said Sybil Ramkin, hauling herself upright by a piece of eroded statuary and dropping down in front of him, "how every time we meet, a dragon turns up?"

She gave him an arch smile. "It's a bit like having your own tune. Or something."

Vimes stared. The pink fog into which his brain habitually bounced whenever Lady Ramkin was around, had constricted around his vocal chords and threatened to crush the air out of his chest. Her words seared across his hindbrain, the meaning obvious. Despite the arch quality of the words and her expression, there was something indescribably fragile behind her eyes. Something that spoke of the first shoots of…something…something that could be utterly destroyed by the first frost like the tiniest shoots in spring.

Never a man of words, Vimes resorted to his tried and tested method. Denial.

"It's just sitting there," Vimes said hurriedly. "Just looking around, as if it's waiting for something to happen."

He told himself he had imagined the small flash of hurt in her soft chocolate eyes. Even if she was interested, what would someone like her want with Vimes? At the most he would be a distraction. Something novel, someone different, a different lifestyle to try on for size. Even if she wasn't cruel, there would never be anything long term. How could there be? He would never be accepted in her world; she would never want to live in squalor. For all the romance of the idea of 'giving it all up for love', love won't pay the rent, it won't feed an empty stomach, it won't keep you dry in the rain or stop rain from leaking through the holes in your boots, it won't stop the derision of the city towards the Night Watch and it won't magically make a dollar stretch further. What it would do, without a doubt, would be to make a good woman miserable who deserved so much better, and for Vimes to have yet another reason to hate himself even more.

Somehow denial seemed the safest option by far. Stop it, before it gets out of hand, just in case. Be cruel to be kind.

They both turned to watch the enormous dragon, at the same time as the rubble by the reptile shifted, revealing a dazed and confused Lupine Wonse. Wonse looked upwards, very slowly, his face a rictus of terror. He stepped backwards, off the rubble, and began to run.

With surprising agility for a creature the size of a barn, the dragon darted forwards and snatched up the running Wonse. A talon drew him up slowly to the enormous face, the talon turning Wonse backwards and forwards. The nostrils appeared to be quivering slightly as the great dragon focused intently on the wriggling human.

"It looks like it's sniffing him!" Vimes whispered to Lady Ramkin, in astonishment.

"I know!" she whispered back, "It's marvelous how sensitive their senses actually are. They can sense your mood and everything, you know."

"So it's almost like an identification?"

"Oh yes," she agreed. "We all smell unique, just like to a dog or cat."

Abruptly the dragon slithered forward, balancing on three legs as it carried Wonse, ignoring the terrified spectators in the plaza, heading towards the Patrician's former palace. Sounds of complicated destruction floated back clearly on the breeze to the still silent crowd. Lady Ramkin and Vimes stood equally silently, close but not quite touching, each lost in their own thoughts.

Suddenly, Vimes began to chuckle. Lady Ramkin jumped slightly, turning towards him with a surprised look on her face. Somehow that made him laugh harder. Lady Ramkin's look of surprise was turning into incredulity as Vimes laughed so hard that he could barely breathe.

"Hooray!" he managed. "Hooray! Hooray!" He knew he was sculling on the edge of hysteria, but he also knew that depression would hit him like a lead soufflé soon enough.

"What the hell is so funny?" she demanded, unconsciously placing her hands upon her ample hips. The domesticity of the scene would have shocked them both, if either of them could have seen it.

"We've crowned it! We've only gone and crowned it!" Vimes wiped tears of mirth from his cheeks, succumbing to a fresh wave of hysteria. "We wanted a king, now we've got one!"

"Have you been drinking?" Lady Ramkin snapped sharply. Inwardly she cringed at the fishwife tone of her voice, but she couldn't help it. She was concerned about him. About anything at all to do with him, she corrected herself. He was better than this, better than crawling into the nearest bottle and winding up in a gutter somewhere.

Not yet," he sniggered. "But I will be. Coronations must be toasted, mustn't they?" He smiled evilly at the plaza in front of them. The city got what it damned well deserved as far as he was concerned.

His eyes slid sideways to the woman standing next to him, and his smirk faded, like fog before the morning sun. Somehow he couldn't maintain his cynicism in the face of her boundless good nature. Right at that moment, he felt a sadness emanating from her, and he was annoyed at the reaction within him that that knowledge created. He didn't care what anyone thought, right? Right? Except….he cared a lot more than he let on about what Sybil thought. Vimes wasn't a cruel man, despite his cynicism and hard edge, they masked a deeply wounded soul. Someone who has looked failure and bad luck in the face one too many times and has decided that the way to live with the loaded deck that has been dealt to him is to not expect anything. Now, for the first time he could recall, he found himself caring far too much, not just that, but for someone who he could never have. Yes, he definitely needed a drink. He needed a drink to forget her.

He heard a gentle sigh. He suspected he would have heard that small sigh in a hurricane. He swallowed, hard. His fingers itched to clasp her hand and comfort her. Vimes closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Stop it! He commanded himself. But his mind wouldn't stop torturing him.

….he could see in his mind's eye his arm across her shoulders, feeling the softness and warmth of her porcelain skin against his fingers; catching the intoxicating scent that was just her as she moved in his arms, turning her head with the curiously intimate smile that was just for him…

Opening his eyes, he stared unseeingly at the now-quiet plaza, the coldness of reality banishing the clouds of his fantasy from his mind. He felt a curious emptiness inside as the images receded, the gnawing inside growing until he wanted to scream out loud and just lose himself in the uncontrollable emotion.

Lady Ramkin stood close to Vimes, watching the last few spectators trickle away, and leaning against the ornamental fountain. She would never tell him to stop drinking, she had no right to at all, but as an outsider, she could see more clearly than most the effect it was having on him. She covertly watched the man next to her, drinking in the lean lines, the dark eyes, the sense of only barely suppressed anger. Why this man had such an effect on her, she really didn't know. Perhaps it was the realness of him. Lady Ramkin had grown up surrounded by aristocracy, surrounded by people who would tell her what she wanted to hear or what they thought Lord Ramkin wanted to hear. As she grew up she saw how much of society and the world around them was constructed by lies and how words were indeed, just words. Everyone wanted something, and Lady Ramkin suffered from quite a disability for an aristocrat – she was far too clever to be taken in by the world in which she had grown up.

Captain Vimes, on the other hand, had morals and values so solid they could bend steel. Despite his humble beginnings, from what she could gather from Willikins, he was just, his blazing conviction of fairness and justice overcoming even the alcohol into which he habitually sunk. Ground down day in, day out, it wasn't really a surprise he should turn to drink. She just wished she could somehow let him know that he didn't need to do this alone. Someone cared. She bit her lip. Even if she communicated that, would he even want to know? Would he think she was trying to turn him into a charity case, a toy for a bored rich woman? She suspected his pride would make him walk away. Oh gods…. She sighed, despondently.

As she watched him, a curious expression passed over his face. The angry lines smoothed out around his mouth, his eyes unfocused slightly and he looked…almost happy. She wondered what he was thinking of, surprising herself with the stab of jealousy that lanced through her as she wondered whether someone else was responsible for that brief happiness.

Just as soon as it arrived, the expression had gone, leaving in its wake an equally curious shuttered look.

Vimes cleared his throat.

"Um, Lady Ramkin –"

"Sybil – "

Vimes blushed, and ploughed on.

"Sybil, would you take a look at Errol?"

All comments greatly appreciated!