If anyone is wondering why it's been so long since I posted something... it's December, which is when all of my university deadlines are. As I've been swamped in work, this chapter is pretty much all I've been able to do. It'll have to tide you over until Christmas, I'm afraid.

Anathema, Chapter Ten

Modryn was painting.

That was to say, he was sat in front of a blank canvas with a paintbrush and a rather grim frown. After the agonisingly awkward gathering last night, a whole evening spent trying to keep an eye on Ocato while also avoiding any lingering gazes, he had some serious unwinding to do. So far, the effort wasn't working.

He wasn't used to being stressed. The Fighters Guild took care of that: beating the snot out of goblins and trolls did wonders for relieving aggression, being paid was just an added bonus. But there were no Guild jobs here, no people to spar with, no creatures waiting just outside the city walls to start a fight with... all he had was the decidedly less manly hobby of painting as an outlet to his frustrations. As if his masculinity wasn't questionable enough already.

He'd spent all of the gathering thinking about it. He'd then spent all night thinking about it as he'd tossed and turned and tried so hard to get to sleep. From the movements he'd heard from Ocato's room, the Chancellor hadn't succumbed to slumber either. He wanted to just apologise already, but even for someone as no-nonsense as himself, it was difficult to just bring it up: Hey, sorry for practically molesting you. Can we be friends again now? Even the thought of mentioning it made him cringe.

So, he wasn't going to think about it. He was going to sit here and paint nice, happy things that had nothing to do with Ocato. Determined, he began painting somewhat lopsided flowers underneath a cheerfully yellow sun. As an afterthought he added a dog that more closely resembled a squashed mudcrab, and then started on a nice, square house with nice square windows. He thought about adding some smiley-faced people but he didn't want it to look too childish.

And yet despite his best efforts to focus on the picturesque – if you used a bit of imagination – scene before him, his mind continued to wander back to that damned Altmer. It wasn't fair, he'd spent all last night going over that, and the only thing he'd gained from it were the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Okay, he'd come to certain conclusions, but none of them had been particularly reassuring.

The thing was – he'd turned it over and over in his mind and – well, what if he really was attracted to Ocato? He could already admit that the man was good-looking and graceful and refined and eloquent and he'd thought that those were just casual observations but they weren't, were they? Gods knew that if someone else told him all that and then insisted they weren't infatuated, he'd call them a liar.

And he couldn't even say it was purely physical attraction, just shallow, pent-up lust directed at Ocato due to his current lack of contact with the fairer sex, because what he liked best about Ocato wasn't what could be seen on the outside. It was those little nuances, from his wicked sense of humour to his fondness for sweetroll to his habit of meticulously neatening things when he was nervous. Okay, so he was the Chancellor's bodyguard, he spent almost all of his time around the man and was therefore going to notice these things, but was that really any excuse for just how closely he paid attention?

The boundary between friendship and more was startlingly thin – regardless of the genders involved – a fact only realised after the line had been crossed. After all, good friends already had everything required for a long-term relationship except the physical attraction. Only he was physically attracted to Ocato, otherwise why would he have kissed him? Alright, alcohol had been involved, but it took more than one bottle of wine to make someone switch gender preference. It stood to reason, then, that deep down he was drawn to... alright, maybe not all men, but this man.

Not that it made any difference. Even when Ocato ended the apparent marriage to his work and stopped being asexual, there was a long list of women ready to throw themselves at his feet. Well, Modryn certainly wasn't going to be like that. He was going to put this silly – crush out of his head before it got any more ridiculous, he was going to forget the kiss ever happened, and he was going to kick the teeth in of any memories that dared remind him. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

He froze, mid brush-stroke, as he realised he'd added a red body to his yellow sun. Just a stick-man, but to him it instantly translated to an Altmer in scarlet robes.

"Oblivion-" he cursed, quickly smearing the still-wet paint together, into a safely unintelligible blur of murky orange.

Oranges...

"To hell with it," he snapped, and began almost violently packing his brushes away, vowing to burn the traitorous painting later.

Evening was fast approaching, and that meant Ocato had to get ready for the gathering.

He had just tonight to endure, and then it would all be over. But he couldn't allow his standards to grow lax – he had to be pristine, immaculate. Especially after yesterday, where he'd dressed himself with limited success; several people had commented on the untidiness of his robes, however tactfully. And he'd almost thrown his back out in the process of tying some of the knots, which had affected his dancing. He'd been able to dress solo when he was young but...well, he wasn't young, not anymore. Not by a long stretch, for that matter. It wounded his pride to admit it, but yes, he needed help. Which meant asking...

He glanced over at the door to Modryn's adjoining room, where the man was currently located. He'd normally still be keeping watch, running errands and trying to coax Ocato into eating something, but now he was avoiding social contact altogether.

He was still conflicted over the kiss, no doubt. Ocato wanted to just tell him what had really happened, but how did you explain something like that? It couldn't be dropped into casual conversation, or subtly hinted at. He couldn't even put it in writing; if he phrased it too delicately Modryn could misinterpret it, but if he bluntly stated what happened it would just become a cold, formal notice of apology. He wanted to just say it, but words failed him completely.

… Maybe there was someone else he could ask to assist him...

There was bound to be a Legion guard around somewhere. Imperials were on the whole prudish, and having one of them help him dress was... embarrassing, but nowhere near the levels of awkwardness if Oreyn was involved. He ventured one floor down to the library, and when he found it empty, several floors down. It yielded nothing.

"Where is everyone?" he demanded out loud, heading back to the library to search more thoroughly. Not a single guard... they weren't all down at the gathering already, were they? Granted, such an event required high security, but they had left the upper half of the palace at risk, if a thief got in now it would be easy pickings... Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if he wanted to invite any stranger in a Legion outfit up to his quarters to help him change. They could easily be an assassin, or the kind of person to drug someone with aphrodisiac.

There weren't even any Moth Priests about. They were on somewhat of a break, what with the gathering halting any paperwork to be archived, but they had all either retired to bed or just wandered off somewhere. One would think the library would be less unnerving without the white-clad, blindfolded and near soundless Priests drifting about, but their absence was an eerie one. He hurried back to his room.

Which meant he had no alternative. There was only one person he could ask.

"Modryn?"

The warrior was stretched across his narrow bed, a book in his hands; when he saw his employer at the doorway he straightened up, but overall looked about as thrilled as Ocato felt at the social interaction. The Chancellor's request immediately retreated with its tail between its legs: "I – you're not busy are you? Yes, of course you are. Never mind, I'll find someone else-"

Modryn sat up fully then and placed the book aside, curiosity overriding discomfort, "No, it's fine. What did you want?"

He took a breath before plunging in, "I, ah, I could use some help with my robes for tonight, I'd do it myself, but, well..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at a body well beyond peak physical condition, "Will you...?"

Oreyn nodded, and Ocato wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or even more nervous. Not that he had any reason to be, the man wasn't going to grope him at the first opportunity, for gods sake. His strained formality over the past two days proved that Modryn was uncomfortable with, if not outright repulsed by his actions towards Ocato. And understandably: the Dunmer was as overtly masculine as one would expect of the Fighters Guild, and their intimacy – however accidental it had been – had no doubt bruised his male pride.

Unfortunately, it bruised a little further when Ocato led him to the adjoining room and stared at him expectantly. When he stared back nonplussed, the Altmer had to tell him: "You'll need to turn around while I disrobe."

"Er – right. Of course. Just tell me when you're decent."

He made sure Modryn was turned around, unable to get a glimpse or catch any reflections of him while he slipped out of his standard red silk robes. It was silly, really, when he'd first enlisted Modryn to help him he'd quite casually stripped off before the man, albeit only down to his trousers, but there had never been any of this prudishness. Yet now after their encounter, it seemed indecent for Oreyn to see even a scrap of his skin.

"Ready," the tone was curt, clipped, probably not making Modryn feel any better, but Ocato wanted to get this over and done with. His Altmer robe, oversized and shapeless before it was worked into its correct form, was clutched around him like a shield. He did what he could himself, but for the many folds and fastenings at the back that he couldn't reach, he instructed Modryn as quickly as he could.

The elf's touches were light, unobtrusive, consciously so. But he was every bit as wound up as Ocato was – the Chancellor could practically feel the tension radiating off him in waves. A part of him was regretful, Modryn didn't deserve this stress, he hadn't done anything wrong. It was just a kiss, it wasn't like it had proceeded beyond that. It had even been quite a good kiss, all thing considered- oh dear. That thought was... more than a little inappropriate. He shut a mental door on it post-haste.

The worry that plagued him after that slip of the mind translated as strain in his body, which Modryn immediately noticed and made his touches lighter still. But now that he was forcing his thoughts to remain carefully blank, Ocato had nothing to concentrate on but those fingers ghosting over his robes, barely there and yet in their deftness drawing more attention than a regular touch would. It was not intended to be so, he knew, and yet he couldn't help but muse that it almost bordered on the sensual.

He shuddered. He would've liked to say it was out of fear or revulsion but in truth, he wasn't so sure.

"I'm sorry," Modryn blurted out.

That soon snapped him out of his thoughts: "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. For – for kissing you. I didn't, I mean, I don't know what came over me. Well, I was drunk, but that's really no excuse-"

He winced, "Modryn-"

But the mer continued on, releasing two days worth of anxiety in a tumble of breathless words: "-And I shouldn't have had it in the first place since it wasn't mine to take but I thought you wouldn't mind and it must've been really strong wine because it normally takes more than one bottle to topple me like that-"

"Modryn!" Ocato interrupted, "The wine was spiked."

The man's babble immediately screeched to a halt, "... What?"

He hesitated. A part of him still wanted to bury his head in the sand, but it wouldn't be right. Oreyn deserved the truth. "The wine was drugged with aphrodisiac. I recognised the scent," he added by way of explanation. He didn't dare turn around, unsure of what Modryn's expression would be and unwilling to find out, "You weren't yourself when you – when you did that. I don't hold it against you."

There was a stunned silence, during which Ocato subconsciously held his breath, and then the warrior spoke: "Why didn't you tell me that yesterday?"

"It's a little difficult to slip something like that into everyday conversation-"

"You could've just sat me down and told me. There's no need to pull verbal punches with me, you know that-"

"I wanted to, but I – I couldn't. I didn't even know where to start. I'm not like you, I can't be so forthright."

"It's not the first time I've been told that," Modryn muttered, more to himself than Ocato, "I don't get it. What's so difficult about just speaking your mind? Isn't it more effort to weave up excuses and lies?"

That stung a little. Ocato at last looked over his shoulder, "If it's so easy, why have you held your silence for almost two days?" he asked quietly.

Oreyn's annoyed frown softened, and he glanced down at his feet. "... Touché," was the reluctant reply.

"Still, you were the one to bring the subject up. It would have gone on unsaid otherwise," the Chancellor conceded, turning around to face Modryn now that it seemed safe to do so, "It should be me apologising, not you. You're not to blame, whoever placed the wine there is."

"Who did place the wine there, then? I mean... you didn't request...?"

"What? By the Nine, no!" was the flustered answer, "One of the palace guards saw a suspicious hooded man but wasn't able to catch him. If he's the culprit, he must've fled when he heard you coming upstairs."

"If he's the culprit? You don't believe the guard?"

He gave a heavy, weary sigh, "I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

Such was the life of a politician. You had the whole world hanging onto your next word, hundreds of sycophants eager to seduce or bribe their way into your good books – and only a handful of people you could trust not to stab you in the back. Given how many friends he'd either pushed away, lost contact with, or simply out-lived in his long elven existence, the only person left happened to be standing in front of him. When he thought about it, that was actually rather pathetic.

"Supposing it was this mystery figure, then," Oreyn said slowly, unaware of his employer's gloomy introspection, "Why would he want to slip you an aphrodisiac of all things?"

"I honestly don't know. He could have been a thief or even an assassin trying to distract me. He could have been a protester or a political rival who wanted to humiliate, or send a threatening message, though I haven't received any demands. It could even have been a... somewhat twisted admirer," he shivered despite the room's warmth, "There are all manner of implications, some more disturbing than others. I'd rather not think about it. The important thing is, it never happened," and as an afterthought, he added: "Which I have you to thank for."

"Not really. If you can recognise aphrodisiac by scent, you would've known not to drink the wine."

"I may well have been too tired or careless to notice. So in a way, that kiss of yours saved me from a far worse fate."

It was not an indecent remark, though a questionable one that perhaps he should've kept to himself. He could almost see the cogs and gears whirring inside Modryn's brain, though he was clueless as to what the mer was actually thinking. If he intended to answer he must've thought better of it, and he instead said: "Is that why you were so strung up yesterday? Not just from trying to tell me about it – you're worried about the culprit?"

"He bypassed all the guards to my quarters, left wine spiked with enough aphrodisiac to frenzy a dremora and then escaped again unnoticed and unscathed. Of course I'm worried," was his reply, though the agitation wasn't aimed at Oreyn, "What does this say about palace security? I went down a few floors earlier and I couldn't see a single guard, not one! Gods, it's a small miracle I haven't already been plundered or assassinated or... or drugged by some strange man with who knows what intentions..." he trailed off, the silence speaking for itself.

"It shook you up, huh," it was a statement, not a question. Modryn's understanding and low, quiet tone soothed the nerves he hadn't even been aware of. He neither denied nor confirmed, but Modryn already had his answer.

"I suppose I have no right to complain. I used to spike people's wine all the time when I was an apprentice. You could even call this comeuppance."

"That was just a prank, though," the Dark Elf pointed out, "You never did it with malicious intent."

Ocato shook his head; "No. Never malicious."

"There you go, then. It's not comeuppance or payback or divine intervention. Just some troublemaking snot trying to stir things up, and succeeding if you let this get to you," he was told, "As you said, he didn't do anything, that's what matters. Now put those stupid notions of guilt out of your head, alright?"

He smiled, though it was for Modryn's benefit, "Brusque as ever. I missed that, these last two days."

"We're going to forget the kiss, then?" asked Modryn. There was something odd about the tone of voice, a certain look in his eyes, but Ocato couldn't identify it. Maybe he was just imagining things.

"Let's not talk about it again. I don't want our friendship jeopardised," and when Oreyn was silent, he added with a vulnerability he couldn't quite disguise, "We... are still friends, aren't we?"

That got him a frown; "What? Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?"

"I thought you'd be more annoyed that I didn't tell you about the wine for two days."

"Yeah, well... I'm the blunt one and even I wasn't sure how to bring it up. No hard feelings," the man mumbled awkwardly, "We'll go back to the way things were before."

For the rest of the night, Ocato wondered why he hadn't been as relieved to hear those words as he should've been.

As soon as Ocato and Modryn had headed downstairs, there was a faintly relieved sigh. Four council members appeared out of thin air, one of whom was clutching a basket full of invisibility potion.

"Bah," muttered Carmine.

Goran glanced at him, "Why 'bah'? They made up, didn't they?"

"They agreed to forget it ever happened. I'm not sure if that counts as success."

"No, they agreed not to talk about it again," he pointed out slyly, "There's a difference."

This brightened Carmine up a bit, "Hey, you're right. So that means... secretly they must he harbouring steamy thoughts for each other!"

"Er, I don't think it's gotten to that point yet," Goran hastened to add, "It needs time to develop, maybe the occasional nudge in the right direction, like-"

"Like using Eye of Fear to chase away Legion soldiers, yes?" Ra'Jani suggested in a self-satisfied purr.

"Except now I gotta come up with a reason why all the upper palace guards suddenly fled the building. Someone's bound to start asking questions, and if word gets to Ocato..."

"You could always blame the mystery culprit again-"

"No," Goran cut off Carmine at once, "Did you miss the part where Ocato admitted how much the intruder scared him? I'm not putting him through a second trauma."

"It's not like anything happened to him. Because the intruder doesn't exist, if you'll recall."

"Yeah, but the Chancellor doesn't know that. As far as he's aware, some guy broke into his home with the possible intention of ra- of taking advantage of him, and very nearly succeeded at that. I'd be frightened too," somewhat contradictory, given he was a seven-foot wall of muscle, but Goran went on: "No more using a fake intruder as a scapegoat. In fact no more drug use at all, aphrodisiac or otherwise. Someone's going to get hurt."

"But Goran-"

"It damages the cause anyway. If Ocato hadn't had to worry about the mystery intruder on top of everything else, he could've made up with the bodyguard without our... help," he glanced over at Ra'Jani.

The elf sighed, "Fine, fine. We don't need the aphrodisiac anymore anyway."

"Can we s-stop using invisibility potion as well?" Olivier spoke up at last, shifting the weight of his laden basket over one arm, "It's neither cheap nor easy to make, you know."

"I don't see why we had to use it for this in the first place. We could've just spied on them at the gathering to see if they'd made amends, we didn't have to stand here and listen to them."

Carmine shrugged; "Ra'Jani insisted, not me. Ask her."

The Khajiit straightened up as everyone turned their attention to her, "Well, is a matter of reassurance, yes? Now we know they have definitely made up. No doubts. Besides," she added in a dreamy murmur, "This one got to see Ocato undressing. Such long legs and lovely golden skin."

Carmine gaped at her, "What the – you mean you just wanted to leer at Ocato?"

"It's not Ra'Jani's fault the Chancellor is pretty!"

"We sh-shouldn't have spied on them, really," Olivier said, tugging nervously at his collar, "It was a private moment. It wasn't our b-business to listen in."

"Well it is our business. We're trying to set them up, aren't we?" was Carmine's answer.

"No, he's right. We shouldn't go nosing anymore than we need to. We might, y'know, ruin the magic."

"Good gods. Is that you actually agreeing that a relationship between them would work?"

The Orc councillor shrugged, "They're as different as chalk and cheese, but – I dunno – there was something there. I guess it could happen."

"It will happen. I'll do whatever it takes-" Carmine began heatedly but at the twin glares of Olivier and Goran, faltered a little, "-Within reason, of course."

Oh, this was not good.

It was the fifth and final night of the gathering. This, combined with the desperation at four days failure to snag Ocato meant everyone was looking their very best this evening. Hair gleaned and glistened with ornaments. Exquisite robes shifted like liquid silk. Golden skin shimmered in the low light. Modryn had never seen so many beautiful people clustered in one place, and he wasn't paying attention to any of them.

He was still attracted to Ocato.

It stood out like a beacon amidst all his other muddled thoughts, so blindingly obvious that he was certain everyone else could see it too. The Chancellor was currently taking a break from dancing, now engaged in conversation with four women at once, all of whom were trying to out-do each other. He wasn't returning any of the coy, flirtatious looks, but he seemed considerably more at ease than he had yesterday, so Modryn could only assume he was enjoying the attention.

Was he jealous of Ocato, to be able to charm women so easily? Or was he jealous of the women, being charmed? He had the sinking feeling that it was the latter.

He wasn't angry at Ocato for not telling him about the wine. Even he'd struggled to breach the subject, and he was the kind of man who had no trouble breaching things whatsoever. Having said that, he really, really wished he'd known the whole story before coming to any conclusions. If he'd been aware all along that he been drugged, not drunk, he could've dismissed the lingering warm thoughts as aphrodisiac and continued to think of Ocato in a perfectly normal, non-intimate way. As it stood, he'd already made his mind up that he found the man appealing. And his mind was a notoriously stubborn thing once set.

Had he kissed Ocato purely due to the aphrodisiac, or was he genuinely attracted to him? Or did he just think he was genuinely attracted to him because he assumed he'd been merely drunk, when he'd actually been inclined to pounce on the nearest living body? He didn't know anything about aphrodisiac, didn't know if it could make you do things you definitely wouldn't ordinarily consider or just merely amplified your own existing desires. Didn't know if it left any long-term after-effects, because as he watched Ocato he hated it, but he couldn't deny that his heart was beating slightly faster than normal. What belonged to him, and what belonged to that damned wine?

Not, he thought sourly, that it made any difference. Whether the attraction was genuine or not, it couldn't be allowed to exist; Ocato wasn't interested, and had evidently already put the kiss behind him if that new dance he was starting up was any indication. Logical thing to do was to just put any untoward thoughts out of his head, like observing how much Ocato suited the colour blue, or how elegantly he moved, or how his chestnut hair caught the light-

Wait. Damnit.

He clenched his teeth and bit back a curse. This wouldn't do. Not at all.