Vimes joined the growing throng, helmet under one arm, wearing for the first time in a long time the armor he'd come here with. It wasn't anything special to look at, not really, just a dinged-up old breastplate with some chainmail and, perhaps oddly, sandals.

He'd stopped, on the way to the Center, when he'd seen it hanging over the wall of a nearby house. As far as he knew, it was too early for it- you didn't see it until late Spring, usually- but there it had been, a too-familiar fragrance and a too-familiar color.

So he'd plucked a sprig of lilac from the garden, and tucked it into his armor, holding a place of honor ordinarily reserved for his badge.
"Ready as I'll ever be, I expect. I'd rather not bury anybody today, so don't mess about, alright? But if it comes to that... Well, men, we did the job that was in front of us. That's all as can be asked for."