Anathema, chapter 4

Anathema, chapter four

Ocato blinked; "Now?"
"Why not?" Modryn shrugged, "It's a nice day outside, not too busy. I'll fend off any journalists we meet."
"But... I have paperwork-"
"Oh, someone spilt ink all over it. The scribes are re-writing it as we speak; they won't be done for a while."
"-And a briefing with the Minister for Health and Safety-"
"He tripped and fell into a wall. Broke his nose. I saw the whole thing, tragic stuff."
"-And the woman from the Office of Commerce wanted to talk to me-"
"She woke up with her face painted bright red – er, so I've heard. I imagine she's still trying to scrub it off. So that leaves you about... two hours free."
"How marvellously convenient," Ocato remarked dryly, "And I don't suppose you had anything to do with this string of coincidences, did you?"
"Absolutely not. And since each event was completely and definitely a coincidence, there's no string to attach them to each other."
"Mm. You have red paint under your fingernails, by the way."
"That is... also a coincidence," Modryn answered not-so-cleverly, crossing his arms so any incrimination was no longer visible, "And you should know, if you hear any reports of me leaving the office of Commerce early this morning, that's a coincidence as well."
"Ah, blatant denial... you know, you should go into politics."
Oreyn grimaced; "No thank you."
"Those words are more sensible than you realise," murmured the High Chancellor, "Well, since that series of utterly unrelated events leaves me with a few hours of freedom, I believe I shall visit Evangeline."
"I said that five minutes ago. You're stealing my ideas now?"
"Indeed. It's what we bureaucrats do best," was the light-hearted, almost teasing reply. It was enough to give Modryn pause, even as the man he was supposed to be guarding began his descent down White Gold Tower.
He'd heard plenty of things about Ocato prior to working for him – that he was serious, straight-laced, sharp-tongued, strong-willed. That he was prim and proper, power-hungry, the perfect man to lead the Empire, and yet also the tyrant that would run it into the ground. But for all the contrasting thoughts and opinions, he'd never heard him described as playful.
Even if he had, he wouldn't have believed it; everyone knew the people in charge had no sense of humour. But he had seen it first-hand, and heard it in Ocato's mentions of his past: the man had a mischievous side. He laughed and grieved and sighed and snapped just like any other person. There was so much more to him than that title he carried about like the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Modryn," he heard Ocato call from the stairs when he realised his guard was missing, "Hurry up, we only have so long."
"Just a second." He shook his head, and with it shook the thoughts away. If there was one thing he had learned from Ocato and not about him, it was that there was not enough time in the day to waste with idle thoughts.

He rather liked Modryn Oreyn.
It was the sense of humour that cinched it. He could admire Oreyn for his fighting prowess, his vigilance and self-discipline, his commitment to his work. But the reason he honest-to-gods just liked the man was because underneath all those layers of stern-faced seriousness, Modryn was actually quite funny.
Painting the Administrator for Imperial Commerce bright red, for instance. That was magnificent.
He might have lamented not befriending Modryn sooner, but he already knew they would never have met, were it not for the exceptional circumstances. For all the social gatherings Ocato attended, or had to attend, he only ever came across a certain genre of people: nobility, bureaucracy, the powerful and the power-lusting. Modryn was clearly none of these, and he handled the finer points of etiquette with all the grace of a mudcrab. It was a wonder how they got along, wildly different as they were, but they had just enough in common to be...
... Friends?
It was an odd word, even if he merely thought it instead of speaking it aloud. It had been so long since he could genuinely call someone that; he had friends, the word used in politics that loosely translated to: 'allies, but liable to stab you in the back'. But no, no-one truly deserving of that moniker since... well...
"Evangeline," he murmured, kneeling before her resting place once more. It was sunny now, the blue sky unmarred by clouds, and amidst the vibrant grass the grave seemed less desolate than last time. He had no flowers with him but for the morning glory he'd plucked on the way over. He laid it on top of the stone, like an offering.
He felt more numb than anything else, strangely. Whether the grief hadn't kicked in yet, or he'd used it all up in his previous visit, he didn't know. It struck him that he should have been crying, at least, even though he hadn't cried in... well, ever. But here and now, staring at the grave of one of his dearest friends, he had to wonder if his lack of tears was a sign of strength, or a realisation of his own callousness.
No... no, that was not the case. He might have looked unaffected to anyone else, but he had mourned her, albeit silently. Were he heartless, he would not have almost broken down during his last visit, in the middle of the night and with a bewildered Dunmer in tow.
He was rather glad Oreyn had been there, sentimentally awkward as the man was. He had not offered a sympathetic ear, but that was for the best; sympathy was a gentle yet lengthy way to heal, and a process he just didn't have time for, not when there was work to get on with. What Modryn had done – essentially picked him up, dusted him off, and told him to march onwards – was the shorter, sharper solution. It seemed to have worked, at any rate.
"Ah – excuse me," he shifted slightly. Evidently a journalist had finally summoned the courage to approach Modryn, despite his intimidating appearance. Ocato did not turn around, but listened in curiously: "I need to get by."
Modryn's voice was so stern, he was certain the reporter flinched, "And why is that?"
"Well, I need to talk to the High Chancellor-"
"You can't. He's busy."
"It's just a few quick questions, it won't take much time-"
"He's busy."
"But I – Mr. Chancellor?" the journalist quickly realised he would not be getting past, and instead opted to call over the bodyguard's shoulder, "Might I ask you a question or two?"
"What did I just say?" Modryn's voice interrupted before Ocato could even turn his head, "Leave him be. Have you no respect?"
"It's important. Chancellor Ocato? Hello?"
Damned journalists. No wonder the Black Horse Courier was the best known paper in Cyrodil, both their messengers and reporters knew how to shout the loudest. He closed his eyes, listening to Oreyn argue with the man. Truly nightmarish creatures... it was probably ill luck to say it, but he would take another Dagon invasion over a swarm of journalists any day.
An undignified shriek caught his attention again, followed by what sounded like someone being bodily thrown several feet away. And then, Modryn's voice:
"Sod off, he's mourning!"
He managed to suppress his laughter into a smirk, and the faint shaking of his shoulders. What would those numerous nobles and stuffy politicians say, if they saw him snickering like an adolescent? He could well imagine their scorn at him and the company he kept, but it didn't matter. Modryn was an excellent guard, and one of the very, very few people that would go to such lengths to ensure Ocato's well-being. He was far better off now than he would have been under the watch of a faceless Legion soldier.
And then, as he glanced at the grave in front of him again, he realised – he didn't feel sad anymore. He had needed to mourn for so long, the tensions building and building and always threatening to overwhelm him, but he suddenly felt rather better. She was gone, and he would always miss her, but the grief had passed, as though carried away on the day's breeze.
He had thought about nothing but Evangeline for a month now. Perhaps... it was finally time to let her rest.

"Ocato."
He froze mid-walk, instantly recognising that quiet murmur of a voice. He turned around, and sure enough, one of the eight headache-inducing people who made up the Inner Council. And he already knew precisely why he was here.
"Aluin," he greeted formally, masking his suspicion. After all, the other Altmer normally kept to himself, busied with his constant journeys between Cyrodil and the Summerset Isles, and only contacted Ocato when it was strictly necessary. Even then he used a messenger, and even then he did not entrust the task to anyone but his own summoned creature, cautious as he was.
"Do you have a moment?" Aluin asked, though Ocato had the distinct impression that he wasn't really asking, as such, "I wish to talk to you."
He shifted a little, "I'm rather busy, I'm afraid. It'll have to wait for another time-"
"Oh no," his fellow High Elf interrupted effortlessly, "Your schedule is quite clear. I've ensured we won't be disturbed."
Just as he thought, he had no choice in the matter. "Very well," he sighed, "What did you want to talk about?"
"Nothing while standing in the middle of a corridor. Come, we'll have tea together."
However grudgingly, Ocato allowed himself to be led to a room not far away. It was unoccupied – surprising, as no room in the palace went unused – and had a fine porcelain tea set placed on the table, with a chair either side. All very convenient; or more likely, very deliberate.
"Have a seat. You take two sugars in your tea, correct?"
"Yes," Ocato replied automatically, and only realised several seconds later that he'd never actually told Aluin that information before now. It was maybe better not to question it.
Aluin, meanwhile, had occupied himself with the dainty teapot and equally dainty cups. His movements carried a ritualistic preciseness, the sort of formality that came straight from Alinor, the capital city of the Summerset Isles. Ocato was just graceful enough to be the envy of the human folk around him; Aluin had so much of the stuff that he seemed practically alien to an outside eye.
"The palace is certainly busy," the other mer spoke quietly, pouring his own tea sans-sugar, and sitting opposite the Chancellor, "It's still hard to believe you live here, on top of all that noise and movement. I don't know how you stand the flurry."
Small talk. It wore on his patience now more than ever, since he always had a hundred other things he could be doing. "You get used to it soon enough. Look, Aluin-"
"How's the new bodyguard?" he was cut off before he could demand Aluin get to the point, "It's been almost a month since Miss Beanique's passing, has it not?"
At her name, Ocato fell silent at once; "... Yes. Yes it has," he replied quietly.
"And the new one?" Aluin took a sip of his tea, deceptively casual, "Are they to your liking?"
He could have been discussing furniture. Ocato frowned, "Yes. He is."
"You haven't even told the Inner Council his name yet."
"I didn't think it was relevant."
"Hm. Perhaps you could tell me now."
That hadn't been a question. Ocato shifted, and cleared his throat. "Modryn Oreyn."
"Oh," Aluin said with not a hint of reaction – but Ocato had learned by now that Aluin was particularly good at giving nothing away. He had to admit, the nonchalant tone would have fooled just about anyone else; "A Dunmer. How interesting."
Except Ocato knew that How interesting usually translated to I don't approve. Though he oftenmost agreed with the other Elf's decisions and opinions, Aluin had one key flaw – he was a Summerset Altmer through and through. Which unfortunately entailed a touch of xenophobia, even if he was no longer in his homeland.
"I interviewed all of the possible candidates myself," Ocato answered, determined to stick by his decision, "And he was the best choice. He makes a fine bodyguard."
Aluin's response was to sip his tea, and he did not answer until he had placed the cup back on its saucer. "What was he before, then? A mage?"
"No, Fighter's Guild. Second-in-command."
"Hm. Doesn't the Council rely on the Imperial Legion, usually?"
"The Legion may be the more proper choice, that does not always make it the best. Oreyn is cautious, and vigilant. Ideal, in light of the break-in."
"If you feel he can be trusted," Aluin murmured, and did not say another word on the subject.
"... Aluin," he said after five silent minutes, "Why did you bring me here, really? What did you want to talk about?"
Mid-way to raising the cup to his lips, the mer paused, before saying: "Come now, Ocato. Surely you already know the answer to that."
He almost – almost – groaned in sheer annoyance; "Let me guess. This homosexuality business again?"
"It's been a month, and you still haven't reached a decision."
"There's no decision to be made!" Ocato insisted with such exasperation that Aluin arched one eyebrow. "Why does this keep coming up? We have a fine, isn't that enough?"
"It isn't stopping it."
"So? Why does it even matter?"
Aluin stopped, and just looked at him. "You truly haven't figured it out, have you?" he questioned softly, "I wondered why you would even hesitate in your decision... I understand now. It hasn't occurred to you yet."
"What hasn't occurred to me?"
"The Altmer, Ocato."
That gave him pause; "... What?"
"Homosexuality is strictly forbidden in the Isles, Chancellor. I'm surprised you did not carry your beliefs over to Cyrodil," and before Ocato could point out that not all High Elves shared the same ideals, Aluin went on: "Regardless of changing attitudes, our courtship rituals remain the same. 'So shall two matched Altmer, male and female, join after vows, and create-"
"-A child of purest blood, so that our master lineage shall continue'," Ocato finished wearily, word-perfect from having the knowledge drilled into his head, as with all Summerset children. "Yes, yes, I know."
"And yet you sound so dismissive. The survival of our race is not something to be taken lightly."
"We're hardly an endangered species-"
"Yes," he was quietly corrected, "We are."
"... Aluin," Ocato shook his head, "There are Altmer all over the place-"
"Half-breeds, Ocato. Some of them aren't even that. Mixed with other mer, or humankind, even the bestial folk. Of all the Altmer in this city, only a handful are pure-blood, and that includes you and I," Aluin told him, with an uncharacteristic sharpness in his voice, most likely brought about by Ocato's attitude towards tradition, "Our numbers are thinning. Each year there are less and less pure Altmer, and why? Because people are ignoring the rituals."
Ocato frowned. He knew Aluin spoke the truth, but even so... "So you would have me enforce them, by banning homosexuality?"
"It needs to be done. If the rituals are not upheld, we will meet the same fate as the Aldmer before us – integrating into the populace until we disappear as a race," warned Aluin, "Allowing the act of homosexuality, or anything that lessens the importance of childbirth, will only worsen things. It cannot take place."
"And what of the other races? They don't have courtship rituals."
"Well they must abide by the laws too, of course. That serves the interests of the Altmer as well," the other told him, "If everyone behaved as though homosexuality were unharmful, even the proudest High Elf would come to believe that also. It is not enough for the ritual laws to exist in the Isles – they must exist worldwide, if we are to save ourselves."
"But-" Ocato stopped, hesitated, and tried again, "Surely only a small percentage of Altmer partake in homosexuality-"
"You would doom your own kind, Ocato?"
His mouth snapped shut at once. What Aluin was doing was entirely unfair, and yet he could not say the mer's argument had no merit. The importance of pure blood had been stressed to him from a very early age, as soon as he was old enough to comprehend the concept. It was not so in Cyrodil, but in the Isles, people clung onto their culture and customs and whatever else made them Altmer as fiercely as they could.
"Do you understand now?" Aluin asked him, his eyes imploring the Chancellor to agree. Golden eyes and golden skin and golden hair – what faced him was the very pinnacle of High Elf, the embodiment of all his race stood to lose, not just aesthetics but mannerisms as well. "You have the power here. You decide what happens to us. It's your duty to make the right choice for us all."
Sometimes duty outweighs personal needs.
"... I need more time to think about this," he answered at last, and rose from his seat, "I will make a decision, but... don't press me for an answer just yet." And as an afterthought, he added: "Thank you for the tea."
"You haven't touched your tea, Ocato."
"Yes – well – thank you anyway. Excuse me."
He did not delay his departure any further. Aluin watched him over the rim of his teacup, but said nothing more, even when Ocato shut the door, and left him to his solitude.

"I have not yet made my decision."
Eight stunned faces stared back at him. Even Aluin looked incredulous.
"But... it's been a month," said Carmine, Bosmer and chief spokesperson of allowing homosexuality, "Surely the choice can't be that difficult...?"
"Exactly," nodded the human woman, whose main argument against the act was its disgrace in the eyes of the Nine, "Ocato, you know what you must do. Your neutrality on this subject is starting to worry me."
He frowned at her, "Just what are you insinuating?"
"That you've sat on the fence for too damn long. I want a decision," Marseius Cassius interrupted before his fellow Imperial could give her answer, "The longer we delay the new laws, the more dire our situation becomes. Can you imagine how spineless we look to the other provinces?"
"So are we to appear forceful and offensive, Marseius?" he asked softly.
"To hell with offending people," Marseius declared heatedly, while several of the others winced at his language, "We don't look forceful enough, I say. Our Empire wasn't built on compromise, or tolerance of unlawful acts; back then if we didn't like something, we just changed it to suit us. And that kind of strength commands respect."
The Khajiit sat across from him shook her head: "It commands fear, and loathing. Ra'Jani knows."
"Fine, let the homosexuals fear us! Maybe it'll scare them into stopping, that way they won't get thrown in jail."
"Tyrant!" Carmine spat, rising to his feet and slamming his hands on the table with enough force to make everyone flinch back, "You'd lock up anyone who disagreed with your opinions. You bring shame on us all."
"Call me what you like, it doesn't change the fact that the majority agrees with me. I'm just the only one brave enough to voice my thoughts," Marseius barked back, "And who do you have on your side – weak-willed liberals? Effeminate pacifists? Joining hands and singing a song doesn't win you any wars, Carmine."
"Please... please stop this," Ocato muttered, his head in his hands, "You've done nothing but argue all month..."
"Yeah, because we're all trying to convince you which side to choose," the Orc councillor pointed out, "You're the only one who can make the choice so, y'know... choose already."
"But I can't," Ocato groaned, explaining himself for what felt like the fiftieth time, "How am I to know which is the better choice? This doesn't affect me, it affects the general public-"
"Then perhaps," Aluin interrupted with minimal effort, as per usual, "We should let them decide."
"You mean – of course," said Carmine, and a smile spread slowly across his face, "An open Council session!"
With a sense of resounding dread, Ocato glanced up at the second-floor balcony above the Chambers, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea-"
"That sounds excellent," the Imperial woman declared, assured of victory, "The people of the Empire can have their say, and they shall do so in favour of the Nine."
"You might be surprised..." the Orc commented slyly, sitting back in his chair.
"Ours is a religious city. It is you who will be surprised, if you expect them to applaud ungodly acts."
"Will all of you just stop and listen to me?" Ocato demanded at last, at the end of his tether after a month of dispute, and all over a law he didn't even want to change, "Have you forgotten about the protesters outside? The ones determined to vilify the Elder Council – they're as free to attend the session as anyone else. What's to stop a physical assault, or even an attempted assassination?"
"Then perhaps you should bring that bodyguard of yours along," Aluin suggested nonchalantly, "Let us see him, at long last."
It was a perfectly innocent remark, and yet Ocato couldn't help but detect an underlying motive to the words. Before he could open his mouth to continue protesting, however, Carmine cut in:
"This is to help you make your choice. Of course, if you'd rather it didn't come to that, you could always give us your verdict now."
The Chancellor sighed; "Fine. Since I have no verdict to give, then... I suppose we proceed with the open Council session."

Once the date and time had been arranged, and the preparations made for notifying the public, Aluin watched Ocato leave the Council Chambers, and not without noticing the tell-tale weary sag to his shoulders. Unfortunate, of course, that it should have come to this, but Ocato had brought it upon himself by not making a decision. Especially when the choice should have been easy.
He was the last to rise from his seat, as always, and did so unhurriedly; a fellow councillor, the Imperial woman, approached him as soon as the Chancellor had departed, and muttered to him under her breath: "I thought you said he would side with us?"
"I miscalculated," he answered coolly. Even his admittance seemed to give nothing away, "I truly did not expect this, Junia. I thought my discussion with him would make him see sense."
"Yet he remains indecisive. What do we do now?"
"We wait until the open Council session. The plight of the public will force him into making a choice."
Junia worried her lower lip, "... And what if they decide against us?"
He raised one elegant eyebrow, "And here I thought you had the utmost confidence in your holy city."
"I do, but-" she looked over at her Imperial counterpart, who was currently arguing with Carmine now there was no High Chancellor to stop him, "It's unwise to assume absolute success, as Marseius does. He's so used to getting his way, I don't think he even plans for a possible failure."
"Which makes him a fine morale booster, and a usefully stubborn negotiator," Aluin finished, his voice low and quiet enough that Marseius could not overhear, "But in instances like this, his views are too extreme to gain Ocato's approval. You know as well as I do, he won't win us this fight."
"What about Jelani?" they both watched the Argonian depart the room, so quietly that he almost went unnoticed.
"Hm... I wonder at why he has sided with us, truthfully. He gave a reason, that doesn't make it the reason he opposes legalisation," the High Elf gave as his reply, "Still, his connections make him a valuable ally. I will enlist him to help sway the upcoming session."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the session is open to the public," Aluin remarked casually, gathering his papers, "However... we can still influence which members of the public do and don't hear about it, can't we?"
She looked apprehensive at the suggestion, "Is that... the right thing to do?"
Inwardly, he sighed. Ah, but he had forgotten... humans needed everything explained to them at least twice through. It was a sign he had been in the Imperial City for too long; "Miss Liviana, you are not a simple-minded chapel healer. You understand that morality is not so black and white... often a questionable path must be taken, for the greater good."
"I... I suppose..."
"I thought you might agree," he straightened up, his papers under one arm, and bid her farewell before she could doubt her cause any further, "Good day to you, Junia... and I shall see you at the open session."