Because Lucien gets too much attention (guilty as charged...) and the other characters need their own fanfiction too, I've written about two of the more neglected characters in the game. The pairing is crack, but I think it actually works quite well, and I aim to convince you of the same :D.
For anyone unfamiliar with my other stuff – I'm a slash writer, and this is no different. It's tasteful slash, but it's still male-male; if you truly can't stand that, this probably isn't the story for you. If you like or at least tolerate slash, please read on.
Disclaimer: I do not own the seat-warmer of the Emperor, or the Mohawk man. Because Bethesda is sensible enough not to give their fangirls any property rights.
Anathema, Chapter One
Palace Break-In?
The Legion Centurion in command of the Palace Guard was charged with dereliction of duty. Although the Council has officially denied the stories of a palace break-in, the rumours persist. Muddled accounts of the events and principles range from a madman intent on spit-polishing the Emperor's shoes to a master thief stealing one of the legendary Elder Scrolls-
Thwack. The latest copy of the Black Horse Courier hit the table so hard that everyone in the room flinched. And stood behind that table, with an expression that suggested he might take up genocide as a hobby, was a very, very unhappy High Chancellor.
"Who," he hissed so dangerously that a few people shuffled back in fear, "Told them?"
Silence was his answer. A crowd of uneasy faces stared back at him: guards, messengers, maids, scholars. All people who had been present on that night, all people who knew what had actually taken place – the event he'd tried to cover up so the Elder Council wouldn't look completely idiotic, but that plan was gone and ruined now, wasn't it.
"One of you must have done it," Ocato continued, glaring accusingly at each and every one of them, "And so help me, if that person doesn't own up, you're all fired."
"Sir," a scribe spoke up, albeit apprehensively, "It may have just been speculation-"
"Speculation?" the Chancellor repeated with a sharpness that was not merely heard, but felt, "And what was the other speculation, hm? 'A madman intent on spit-polishing the Emperor's shoes'? We-" he snatched up the newspaper and brandished it at the poor scribe, who squeaked and cowered, "-Don't have an Emperor anymore, you fool! This article tells everyone precisely what happened, and I want to know which of you is responsible for it!"
A minute passed, and no-one came forward. Barely restraining the fluent, multi-lingual stream of curses on his tongue, Ocato instead tore the offending newspaper in two, then promptly combusted the remains with a particularly vicious fire spell. The Minister for Health and Safety coughed and raised a hand meekly., but Ocato shut him up with a glare, a shiver of magical ice putting out any potential fire hazard.
"Fine," he said briskly, wiping the remaining traces of ash and frost from his hands, "If no-one comes forward, I shall have to fire you all. This is your last chance," a pause, "Right! You're all fired. Get out of here, this area is employees only."
"B-but, High Chancellor-"
"Chancellor, please reconsider-"
"Out, before I attack you for trespassing!"
That got them moving soon enough. In the mad dash to escape an upset Altmer's wrath, Ocato spotted a messenger among the crowd clutching a large scroll, "You there! Get back here, that looks important."
"S-sir?" the messenger stammered, watching everyone else leave unharmed with a look akin to despair, "It's – it's the list of new candidates, sir. To replace Miss Beanique."
Evangeline. The name was a painful and guilt-laden reminder of the woman he'd yet to mourn for, because his schedule simply did not allow it. Whoever had broken into the palace to steal an Elder Scroll was not merely a thief, but a murderer as well, and Evangeline had been dispatched with an almost chilling efficiency. It made him all the more furious that the culprit had not been caught, or even seen by a single person. The only marginal comfort he found was in the manner of her death – quick, clean, and painless.
And though he hated that use of the word replace, as though Evangeline was not a person but an object, the fact remained: he was sans-bodyguard. And that position had to be filled as quickly as possible, because as the most powerful man in Cyrodil – perhaps even Tamriel – there were quite of lot of people who would happily see him dead.
"Let me see," he took the scroll from the still-very-nervous messenger, unravelling it to reveal the names suggested by various sources. Most he recognised – high-ranking Legion soldiers, notable wizards, a few renowned fighters from the Arena and such. But at the bottom of the list was a name he'd never come across before: "Modryn Oreyn?"
"Champion and second-in-command of the Fighters Guild, sir. The Guildmaster himself recommended him."
Admittedly, he didn't have much contact with the Fighters Guild. The Mages Guild, despite being the arcane equivalent, was far more immersed in the world of politics and social standing, hence why a number of them were on the list. Besides which, the Legion was the more prim and proper choice for any combat needs. Even so, the name would not be on the list without good reason.
"Very well," Ocato said, re-rolling the parchment and handing it back, "Send out invitations to all the candidates for a personal interview in the palace, five days from now. Plenty of time for everyone to travel to the Imperial City." And plenty of time to clear his schedule as necessary. Gods knew how many people he would have to bribe into leaving him alone for a day...
It then occurred to him, mid-thought, that the messenger still hadn't moved: "Well, what are you waiting for? Those invitations won't send themselves."
"I – I can't, sir."
"What do you mean, you can't?"
"Well you-" the boy paused to lick his lips anxiously, looking decidedly greenish-white, "You just fired me, sir."
Ocato arched one eyebrow; "Then you're re-hired, aren't you? Now hurry up and do your job before I sack you again."
"S-sir!" the messenger answered at once, saluting clumsily before running off with the scroll as though his life depended on it.
Ocato watched him go, savoured the isolated silence he was so rarely granted these days – and then, with a groan and an oncoming headache, realised he would need to substitute everyone he had just fired.
"High Chancellor! A moment, if you please?"
"A few questions, Chancellor?"
"Chancellor, if we could talk about-"
He ignored them all, striding briskly past as though they weren't there – the best way to deal with journalists, he'd found. Most were of the Black Horse Courier, plus a few lesser-known newspapers and gossip columns alike. He glanced over at the palace guards, but they were all preoccupied containing the rabble outside; a common occurrence since the end of the Oblivion crisis, and the Elder Council's announcement that there would be no new Emperor. At least he only had a few pesky reporters to deal with today.
"Can you confirm the stories of a break-in?"
"Were you confronted by the Gray Fox himself?"
"Is it true Evangeline Beanique was killed during the heist?"
Ocato stiffened. And, against his better judgement, turned to face a journalist that looked more eager than sympathetic. "Miss Beanique passed away of natural causes a few days ago," he replied, the lie coming so easily that, in his younger days, he would have been appalled. But the years of bureaucracy as Arch-Mage and later High Chancellor did wonders for numbing the conscience. "I can assure you, the timing with the break-in is purely coincidence."
If only it would shut them up – but there was always more questions, more insistent nosiness, more lies he would have to make up for the sake of reputation: "So you can confirm there was a break-in? Has the thief been caught?"
"What was the nature of Miss Beanique's passing?" asked another, deciding that this was a more important subject than the theft of an Elder Scroll, "Illness, or old age? Wait, Chancellor-" he added in haste when Ocato disdainfully turned and began to walk away, "Was there anything between the two of you? Were you just friends, or something more?"
Refusing to redeem such a personal question with any answer, Ocato continued on his way to the Council Chambers. The journalists followed of course, still nagging for answers, but finally two guards came to his aid and herded them away, allowing him to pass through the heavy oak doors without pursuit.
And finally...some peace and quiet.
"You're late, Chancellor."
...Or not.
He turned to the great circular table at the centre of the room; it sat thirty, for full Elder Council meetings, but those only took place once or twice a year. Far more common were the eight faces that looked back at him, the Inner Council that governed the laws and affairs of Cyrodil. And, he noted, quite a number of them were tapping their fingers in impatience.
"My apologies. Journalists." The word was explanation enough. Striding over to the table, he immediately took his seat: leaning forwards, fingers laced together, politician face on. "Now then. You called an urgent meeting?"
"Ah yes," replied a Bosmer of the Council, "It is to do with the matter of-"
"The problem of," another interrupted.
"-The matter of homosexuality."
He paused, not quite believing what he had just heard; "Homosexuality?"
"Yes. The Imperial Watch has noted an increase in the number of male prostitutes on the streets – and arresting them shortly thereafter, of course," the Bosmer continued, "And there have been a number of other cases around the Imperial City. It seems to be on the rise."
"Carmine. Wait," Ocato said firmly. "You called an urgent meeting – keyword being urgent – over who people share their bed with?"
"It's hardly a trivial matter, Chancellor," the same interrupter from earlier insisted. Marseius Cassius, the most outspoken and opinionated of them all; it did not surprise Ocato that he should be the first to argue. "This behaviour has gone ignored for far too long. The laws must be changed."
"What's wrong with the current laws?" As it stood, homosexuality was not necessarily outlawed, but counted as public indecency – warranting a fine of twenty gold or, failing that, a few days in jail. It was enough to attach a slight social stigma to the act, so why change it?
"The current laws aren't working if homosexuality continues," Marseius told him, his famously short temper already nearing its end, "It's an outrage that we've allowed it to go on for so long! The laws should be made tougher, to reinforce our Imperialistic ideals."
"Yes, I agree," spoke another Imperial, and one of the few women on the male-dominated Council, both Inner and Elder, "It is a wicked, ungodly practise. If the people cannot see this then we must tell them, before any more go astray."
Ocato sighed, and leaned back. He had nothing against homosexuality, but also nothing for it; quite simply, it didn't concern him. "Well I presume some of you disagree, or you wouldn't have called a meeting."
"I disagree," Carmine said at once – and given the Bosmer's rather liberated approach to life, Ocato could not say he was shocked. "Actually, I'm astonished we're still biased against it. We live in a modern society with modern conventions, and that means leaving those old, narrow-minded ways behind."
"It's not narrow-minded, it's tradition-"
"It is narrow-minded and you know it, Marseius. For a race that claims to be forward-thinking, you can't cling to the prejudice of the past-"
"Are you insinuating that Imperials are hypocritical?"
"Gentlemen!" Ocato interrupted loudly. The two were known to dispute, and once they started, it was difficult to get them to stop, "Calm yourselves, both of you. Let's keep this civil. Does anyone else agree with Carmine?"
"This one does," declared a Khajiit, the only other female in the room besides the Imperial allied with Marseius, "Empire is open to new ideas, cultures. This is no different."
"And me," said an Orc, to which everyone stared incredulously, "What? Just because I'm a warrior-"
"It's more the fact that you're big and green, really," Carmine pointed out, evidently as surprised as the rest of them, "But welcome to the cause. Who else?"
"Um, excuse me," a rather timid-looking Breton man raised his hand, "I agree. With Carmine, that is. We should legalise it."
"Fed up of paying for your kicks, eh Olivier?"
"Marseius," Ocato said sharply.
"Hmph. Jelani will side with Imperials," finished the Argonian representative of the Inner Council, "It is nature's law. Should be ours as well."
"Fine. That's four in favour, three against," he turned to the eighth and last person at the table, as well as the only other Altmer on the Council, "Aluin?"
Perhaps on account of their shared heritage, or perhaps because of Aluin's cautious, calculated approach to problems, Ocato normally found himself agreeing with what the other had to say. In this case, he rather hoped Aluin would side with Carmine and the 'for' party, because then the majority vote would win out, and save him the headache of making a decision/getting blamed for it later. But apparently the fates were laughing at him today, because after a drawn-out minute of thought, the High Elf arrived at his decision, and said the three words Ocato really didn't want to hear:
"I am against."
And gave no reason as to why.
"...So you're evenly divided." Heaven forbid if his life were to be easy for once.
"And you hold the final vote," Carmine nodded, before adding: "Of course, I know you will make the right choice. All we need to do is drop the twenty gold fine and spread the word that homosexuality is perfectly acceptable-"
"Now just wait a minute. What makes you think he'll side with you?" the Imperial woman cut across him, "Ocato follows the good and gracious path of the Nine. He knows the right choice is to have it outlawed."
"Never mind the Nine, this is bad for us," said Marseius, "It's damaging to both the morality and reputation of our people. How would we look to the rest of the provinces, if we permitted this debauchery?"
Ocato sighed tiredly, "Then what would you suggest we do?"
"Throw homosexuals in prison, where they belong," was the stern, brusque answer, "Or at least up the fine to one thousand gold."
"O-one thousand?" the Breton across the table gaped, going a rather sickly shade of pale, "On par with murder?"
"That is a little extreme, Marseius-"
"It's completely necessary to stop the spread of homosexuality-"
"What's so bad about it?" Carmine demanded – for a man of such small stature, he could certainly be fierce, "If it's fully consensual, and no-one gets hurt-"
"That's what you said about prostitution. If it were up to you, we'd lounge around doing Skooma all day, sleeping with our livestock-"
"Everyone, please, calm down-"
"Well if it were up to you we'd be too prudish to even touch each other, since any form of affection is apparently a sin against nature. Just how do you think you got here, Marseius? Did the gods spit you out, maybe?"
"I'm not the product of hedonism-"
"Look, just stop for a moment-"
"Did I say that? You're jumping to your own conclusions now. Or perhaps you have a guilty conscience?"
"How dare you-"
"Stop!"
And suddenly, everyone was silent.
Ocato, stood up from his chair, palms splayed flat against the table, glared at the eight of them – the two main arguers, and the others who had half-shouted their opinions for and against.
"We are still struggling with the Oblivion crisis," the Chancellor said lowly, his expression as dark as the Brotherhood and just as murderous, "I have to finish repairing the Imperial City, smooth things over with the Provinces, find a new Emperor, and select a bodyguard to take Evangeline's place. Who I haven't yet had time to mourn for, I might add. And you-" his hands curled into fists, and all that anger – at them for wasting his time, at the world for making his life so difficult, at the Emperors for leaving him all this responsibility, and at himself, for not saving Uriel, Martin, Evangeline, everyone – came spilling out: "And you call an urgent meeting to discuss who people should share their bed with?"
"But-"
"But-!"
"Enough! Emergency gatherings are for emergencies only, and who is sleeping with who does not count as a life-threatening situation! I have more important things to attend to than these petty, time-wasting squabbles. Meeting adjourned!"
Whatever protests that followed went ignored. Without so much as a glance back, he turned and swiftly departed the room. There were people to see, problems to be solved, and-
"Chancellor, Chancellor! A few quick questions about Evangeline Beanique...?"
Oh for gods sake.
"A message?" Modryn frowned, regarding the boy before him with a generous amount of suspicion, "Who from?"
The messenger fidgeted, a mix of anxiety to get the rest of his invitations delivered, and nerves at the – admittedly rather intimidating – Mohawked man before him; "Ocato, sir."
"Ocato? As in High Chancellor, the?" he said, still very much in the realms of disbelief. The Elder Council and its upmarket politics had roughly sod all to do with the Fighters Guild, just the way he liked it. "Let me see that," he snatched the parchment away from the messenger, unfolding it and swiftly scanning the words within. What he found just about made his jaw drop. "A job interview at the Imperial Palace? Are you sure you don't have the wrong person?"
"It's intended for one Modryn Oreyn, sir. Champion and second-in-command of the Fighters Guild."
"But why me, of all people? The Empire has its own Legion, they've never needed the Guild for anything."
"You were on the list of candidates, sir. Came highly recommended," and finally, the messenger's impatience won out, "I have other people to see to. Just show up at the date and place on the invitation, and the Chancellor can interview you."
"But I-" he glanced at the parchment again. You have been selected as a potential candidate for the prestigious position of bodyguard. It was that little word prestigious that got him. It summed up precisely what he thought of politics – pompous, pretentious, and socially parasitic. "Well, flattered as I am, I shall have to say no- hey," he realised he was talking to empty space, "Where'd he go?"
The door was still slightly open. He hurried outside, but the messenger was already half way down the road; "Wait!" he called after him, though there was no indication that the boy had heard, "Tell Ocato I respectfully decli- no, he's already gone." Well, that was annoying. He could always go to the Imperial City and tell Ocato in person he didn't want the job, but simply not showing up to the interview would accurately convey the same message.
"Modryn?" said a voice, and he turned to see a Fighters Guild Porter gazing curiously at him, "What's going on?"
"Job interview for the position of bodyguard. From the High Chancellor."
The man gaped, looking rather like a fish as he did so. Had Modryn not remembered those tact lessons from Vilenna a few years back, he would have told him. "You got selected to be Ocato's bodyguard?"
"As a potential bodyguard. He's interviewing all the candidates," he tutted, and idly tossed the parchment onto the wooden table, "Well, he's got one less person to talk to now."
Oh, now he really did look like a fish. "You're not going to the interview?"
"Of course not. I don't need a new job, I like the one I've got."
"But – but – you could be Ocato's bodyguard! That's as prestigious as it gets-"
"Precisely," Modryn interrupted firmly, folding his arms, "Anything that claims to be prestigious is quite frankly up its own backside. No thank you. Besides, I hate politics, I want to stay as far away from it as possible."
"Yeah, but you don't have to get involved in any of that stuff. You get paid like a king, you get to live in the palace – and it's not like anyone else will sneak in now they've tightened up security, so you don't even have to do anything. It's practically retirement."
"Retirement? Just how old do you think I am?" Granted, he was getting on a bit now, but that was beside the point, "I'll get bored, sitting in a tower all day with nothing to do. No, I'd much rather stay here."
"What's that?" asked Kurz, the Guilds resident Orc and archer, wandering over to join the conversation, "Something about Modryn retiring. Can I have his job, then?"
"Cheeky snot," Modryn answered, though his tone and the light push he gave Kurz was more playful than offended, "And no, you can't. I'm staying right here."
"He got a job interview to be Chancellor Ocato's personal bodyguard," the Porter explained, "And he's not going."
The Orc raised an eyebrow incredulously, "You serious? Some people would kill for that kind of opportunity."
"And I'm not one of them. The palace is well-guarded enough, especially after the recent break-ins. Sounds pretty dull to me."
"Sure it's dull, when things run smoothly," Kurz said, before flashing him a sly grin, "But in politics, things never run smoothly, do they?"
Modryn paused. He hadn't thought of that.
"This is a dangerous time to be High Chancellor – probably why they're so quick to replace the old bodyguard...what did she die of again? It mentioned it in the Courier..."
"'Natural causes'. Didn't elaborate any further," Oreyn told him, though a frown creased his brow and mouth, "I've been wondering about that. Seems too convenient, somehow."
"In any case, Ocato needs a new guard," Kurz continued, waving a hand carelessly, "The Oblivion thing might be over, but a lot of people are still angry at the lack of Emperor and such, and he's the guy they're venting it on. I can see a few assassination attempts in the future. Plus, a load of thieves will try and break into the palace, if only to brag about it afterwards," he nodded, expression thoughtful, "Sounds like plenty of adventure for you, Oreyn. More than staying here to do the Guildmaster's workload, at any rate."
"Hmph," he pursed his lips, tapping his foot against the old, bare floorboards, "...I'm still not sure. It's too close to politics for my liking, and where there's politics, there's corruption. That's half the reason I left Morrowind," and the whole reason he loved the Cyrodil Fighters Guild so much: everything could be taken at face-value, and he could always turn away contracts that seemed a little shady. In Morrowind, the Fighters Guild was run by the Cammona Tong criminals, which in turn was run by House Hlaalu – and House Hlaalu was as embroiled in corrupt politics as it was possible to be. Everyone was manipulating each other, and everything had an ulterior motive. He'd left for Cyrodil soon enough.
"Well...yeah, I'll give you that. The Elder Council isn't famed for its honesty," Kurz admitted, "But so long as you stay your loveable blunt self and don't accept any bribes, you've nothing to feel bad for."
And then, Modryn remembered: "You know, I might not even get the job. There's a whole list of candidates."
"So what's the harm in going along to the interview?" insisted the Porter, "You should attend that, at least. Meet the High Chancellor, tell us about it afterwards. It'd be foolish not to go."
"Besides," the Orc beside him added with a grin, "I really want that job of yours."
A rare smile tugged at Oreyn's lips as he answered: "You'll change your mind. Just wait until you see all the paperwork."