notbecauseofvictories:

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Those nights when she makes it home at something approaching a decent hour, Sam will lie in bed with Sybil’s head on her stomach. Sybil keeps her hair very short and fine beneath her wigs, and Sam likes the feel of it, tracing every dip and line of Sybil’s skull, from the soft rolls of her neck to the slope of her temples, the sharp curve of her widow’s peak. Her fingertips could map out Ankh-Morpork on Sybil’s skin, though sometimes she got distracted and forgot where Scooner’s Lane ended and the faint divot beneath Sybil’s ear began.

Sometimes Sybil will talk, or read aloud, and Sam thinks—there’s the Chase, there is always the Chase, but this might the only thing she’s ever known where there’s joy in the having.

What are you thinking about? Sybil asks sometimes, and Sam says, Nothing, nothing. Tell me more, I was listening. I like listening to you.

.

There was an Understanding.

The Understanding was: Her Grace, Lady Sybil Deidre Olgivanna Ramkin, had, on the twelfth of May, married Captain Samantha Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork Watch. It was a very lovely ceremony. There had been cake.

Questions on the matter, such as “is there legal precedent for this”, “where exactly are the records for—” and “how does a noble title pass to a duchess’ wife” could be respectfully addressed to the Patrician.

It was amazing how quickly people Understood, when Vetinari was suggested as the alternate means of education.

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