Summary:Havelock Vetenari didn't love anyone, not in any way that another person cold quantify. But if he could, it would be her.

All the Love

Havelock Vetenari remembered their first meeting. He was 19, the revolution was over and things in Ankh Morpork were settling back into what they had been. He was standing very still, pretending that he wasn't there. He disliked these parties his aunt threw, and it was as good a time as any to practice his craft. That was when he noticed her. She was only 15, but she was a large girl, in every sense of the word; however, she was managing to blend in with the wall behind her very well. He saw her eyes tracking the movements of the dancers, lingering on the pretty girls and their handsome partners.

He wasn't a cold man; more disinterested in things in general, but he wasn't cold. His heart went out to her and he found himself breaking his own invisability, striding across the room to where she stood. Her eyes were wide when he stopped in front of her, hand outstreatched. "May I have this dance?" There was a wait, a hesitation, but he smiled at her, a warm, friendly smile he reserved for people he truly liked, and she took his hand.

There was dancing and talking and Havelock found himself genuinely enjoying the girls company, and he found himself talking. She was a kind soul, that was obvious from the outset, used to making herself seem small, smiling and cheerful, and Havelock thought she looked beautiful.

x~*~x

He would have married her.

He should have married her.

He often thought other men stupid for not seeing her the way he did, but then was jealous of the very thought. But he couldn't subject her to life as the Patricians Wife. He had already made sure she would be safe, her name was never to grace the pages of the Assassin's ledger, no matter how much money was involved. His threats were very clear, and though he had been younger at the time of making them, no one could say he didn't absolutely mean it.

But Havelock was becoming the Patrician, and she was too kind, too innocent in all the right ways, to subject to the rigors of life as his wife.

But he guarded her jealously as a friend, she was the only person in the world, apart from his aunt who called him Havelock, and speaking with her, as high society dinners and luncheons was one of the few true hightlights of his days.

x~*~x

Then came Sam Vimes.

Of course he'd known Vimes for years, had watched the mans descent into alcholism and dispair, and more recently his return to life. Vimes had always fascinated him in a way, he was the anthsis of her in all ways, where she was gentle, he was rough, where she was soft spoken he was coarse. But he could see in Vimes a kindness, muted as it was, that was so like her that it almost hurt to see. Yes, Sam Vimes fascinated him.

He prided himself on knowing everything, but even he could not have seen this end coming, could not have dreamed that this would be it. That of all people in the world Sam Vimes would be the one to take her from him. But try as he might he could not begrudge, not when she smiled at him so happily, he could do no more than smile at her, that same warm smile from so long ago, the one he reserved for her alone.