Author's note: I hope to continue this, though this is all I have for now. I just had a (brief) plot bunny and had to write it down. Warning: may contain trace amounts of Arram/Varice and Varice sympathy!
Ozorne, Varice, the mage formerly known as Arram Draper, and Carthak all belong to Tamora Pierce.
.. .. .. .. ..
Misalliance
The new Emperor of Carthak looked as though he'd swallowed a frog or worse. "I can't do this."
"Of course you can," Arram said firmly. "You said you couldn't put your father's crown - er, Black God give him rest - on the statue of Zernou's hourse, either, and I watched you do it."
Ozorne looked sicker. "Don't say 'crown' to me, you bastard. And that was a prank, for Mithros's sake, a stupid trick we shouldn't have wasted our time doing, and this is the real thing - imperial business, in case you haven't noticed."
"Ozorne, of course you can do it," Varice put in soothingly. "You were born to do it. You've been preparing for it all your life, and… I mean, the Council knows you're new at this. The first day never counts…." She stopped and pushed lank blonde hair behind her ear.
His Imperial Majesty groaned. "Stop trying to comfort me, you two. I'm about to go throw myself in the Zekoi." To prove it, he turned toward the door leading in that direction.
"Ozorne," Varice protested.
"You're going to do this," Arram told him. "You have to do it. But really, how hard can it be? You go in, sit in the chair, recite the speech you've flooded our ears with all week, and just look imperial. Then you listen to all the wonderful things they'll say about you."
"You'll probably feel better when you come out," Varice added. "Just get it over with so we can all go to the aviary before it gets dark. Besides, I'll have a plum cake out by the time you're done."
Ozorne looked as though he was reconsidering.
"Once you get in there you'll wonder why you didn't rush in earlier," Arram continued, blowing on the spark. "There are worse things than being the Emperor of Carthak. The Council will probably be stunned by your aptitude."
"And by your Gift," Varice chimed in. "Just show them your image-retrieval spells and they'll all swoon."
"You're the best possible person for this job."
"The only one up to it."
"All right," Ozorne said sharply, either because he was resolved or he'd had enough of their encouragement. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned toward the council room.
"Ozorne?" Arram said tentatively.
"What?"
Arram tried to give his friend a conspiratorial grin. "Knock 'em dead, Your Majesty. Give them all you've got."
Ozorne smiled back, though shakily. "Right." Then he disappeared through the polished wooden doors.
Arram beamed. Varice sighed with relief.
.. .. .. .. ..
She often thought back to that moment, how anxious and encouraging and caring and stupid they'd been, how pure-hearted Ozorne had seemed. She often wondered how much they had brought about what he became, and woke from nightmares of Ozorne bowing graciously to her from a gilded throne, raised on a pedestal above dead bodies and ruins that stretched for miles.