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Bonds of the Imperium

Chapter Three

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

7th March, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

The air in the library hung heavy with the aftermath of shared secrets and newfound – and unexpected – intimacies. As Titus, his usually composed demeanour slightly dishevelled, exited the room, the door swinging almost silently behind him, he drank down the last of the wine and coughed, rubbing at his throat. Octavius, stationed faithfully outside, acknowledged his lord's presence with a subtle nod.

Titus glanced up at Octavius, his inner ears tinted with a delicate shade of embarrassment. His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, and then, with a deep breath, he straightened his posture. Octavius, well aware of the events that had transpired within, maintained his stoic silence.

As they moved away from the door, Titus placed his left paw on Octavius's forearm. They stopped, Octavius crouching down so he was eye to eye with his lord.

Titus spoke, his voice softer than usual. “Octavius, we should... put this behind us.”

The Captain of the House Guard responded with a steady nod, his expression unwavering. There was a shared understanding between them, an unspoken pact that loyalty surpassed the need for explicit conversations about personal matters.

“I'll ensure the guards are vigilant,” Octavius replied, his voice low and pitched only for Titus's ears. “your secrets, my lord, are safe with me.”

Titus's muzzle crinkled, as he turned his head and coughed repeatedly until Octavius slapped him on the back.

“Sorry...” Titus wheezed, then used his furred fingers to wipe away the tears from his eyes. “Not enough preparation, I wasn't...”

Octavius's knowing look spoke more than his words.

Titus, appreciating his Captain's discretion and silence, gave him a flicker of a glance of gratitude in his eyes. He resumed walking down the corridor, Octavius following in silent escort. The mansion, now relatively quiet after the feast and the drama during it, echoed with the light hoof steps of its owner, and the heavier ones of his Captain.

As they walked, the bond between Titus and Octavius, forged through years of loyalty, companionship, and their other pleasures, remained unbroken. The unspoken events lingered like a shadow, a secret shared between lord and guard, hidden beneath the mask Titus mentally slipped over his head, hiding beneath the facade of nobility and duty.

“Would you perhaps require something to help you sleep, my lord?” Octavius inquisitively asked.

Pausing once more, Titus pressed two hooflets against his throat, making an unusual motion with his head, twisting it from side to side and applying steady pressure to his throat.

“My lord?” Octavius's eyebrows shot up. “Are you unwell?”

Titus coughed again, then leaned over and really hacked, his eyes screwed shut as great ragged coughs were torn from his throat. Octavius, perceptive to Titus, grew increasingly concerned, maintaining a steady presence beside him, offering protection, support and discretion.

“My lord?” Octavius repeated, his concern filling his voice.

Titus waved a three-fingered hand, before he gagged and swallowed, straightening himself, his muzzle still crinkled in discomfort. He managed a weak smile, reassurance tucked behind his weary eyes.

“No, Octavius. I'm fine. It's just...” He hesitated, his gaze briefly looking past Octavius and down the hall, before returning to Octavius. “A bit unsettled, perhaps. But, please, rest easy, there's nothing to concern yourself with.”

Octavius hesitated before he rose and accepted Titus's words with the understanding that years of shared experiences had been cultivated between them. Titus resumed walking, the corridors of the mansion a silent witness to its noble lord's increasing discomfort.

As they approached Titus's chambers, the grand double doors adorned with intricate carvings, Titus turned to Octavius, gently taking the larger buck's paws in his own, and gazing up at him.

“Thank you for your discretion, my friend. I appreciate it more than words can express.” Titus spoke, his voice a barely perceivable whisper, before he frowned and touched his throat again.

Octavius inclined his head in a respectful bow. “It is my duty, my lord. Your secrets are safe with me, neither pain nor death would make me divulge them, to another, without your permission.”

Titus smiled weakly, placing a paw on Octavius's forearm again, a true sign of their shared love, respect and camaraderie. “I know I can always rely on you, Octavius. I value your loyalty more than anything.”

Octavius's eyebrow quirked, before he looked left and right, ensuring they were alone before he crouched down and took Titus's paws in his, gazing into his lover's eyes with a look of fierce loyalty and love.

“Just my loyalty, my lord?” Octavius whispered, his furtive smile touching the edge of his lips.

Titus's inner ears turned crimson before he slicked them back and his own smile spread across his lips before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Octavius's. Their kiss, deep, passionate and intense, left the young noble flushed and flustered.

Rising, Octavius inclined his head once more, a stoic expression masking the complexities of his emotions. “I value your trust, my lord. I will send for some warm water and honey, with some salt added, for your – throat. May I suggest, my lord, next time – you be more prepared?”

Titus smiled lopsidedly, one ear forward and one back, a beautiful and embarrassed expression. “Thank you, Octavius, that would be...very kind.”

“Rest well, my lord,” Octavius replied, his tone holding a promise that extended far beyond their professional relationship. “I shall have your drink sent up to your room promptly.”

Titus entered his lavishly decorated chamber, the opulent furnishings a stark contrast to the emotional complexity that lingered in the air. A thoughtful servant had replaced the sheets and coverlet, the smell of the fresh cotton sheets filling Titus's nostrils. Behind him, the double doors closed, muffling the sounds from outside. Around him, hung rich tapestries and here and there, elegant, comfortable furniture adorned the room. Each piece was a silent witness to the echoes and secrets that transpired within this chamber.

Sinking into the plush bed, Titus stared into the flickering beeswax candle, its warm glow filling his eyes and mesmerising him. His mind replayed the events in the library, the unexpected intimacy with Caspian, and the subsequent interactions with Octavius, his true love. A myriad of emotions churned within him, leaving him both unsettled yet strangely liberated.

A discrete knock on the door startled him, snapping him out of his contemplation. Titus straightened, composed himself and called out.

“Enter.”

A servant entered, carrying a tray with a steaming mug of honeyed water. The subtle scent of salt wafted through the air. Titus offered a nod of acknowledgement, and the servant placed the tray on a small table beside his bed.

“Is there anything else you require, my lord?” the servant inquired, eyes respectfully lowered.

“No, thank you. You may retire for the night,” Titus replied with a courteous nod. “thank you.”

As the servant exited, Titus picked up the mug, holding it between his paws and took a slow, measured sip of the soothing concoction. The warmth spread through him, easing the lingering tension in his throat. Thoughts of Caspian, Octavius and the complex path he suddenly found himself navigating, swirled through his mind.

In the privacy of his chamber, Titus considered the intricacies of his relationships, the expectations placed on him by society, and the undeniable desires of his heart. The night held its secrets, and Titus, surrounded by his opulence yet wrestling with the profound intricacies of love and duty, prepared to face the challenges that awaited him in the waking world.

*

Titus's sleep was disturbed by a tormented journey into the recesses of his past. In the ethereal realm of dreams, memories surfaced like phantom spectres, threatening to tear apart the carefully woven tapestry of composure and grace Titus had constructed over the years.

In the oppressive silence of his chamber, Titus writhed beneath the covers, naked and alone, ensnared in the grip of a nightmare that earlier in the night had planted their vile seeds in his mind, dredging up echoes of his youth. The haunting visage of his Senatorial father, drunk on wine, positively reeking of it, lingered, a shadowy figure veiled in malevolence. The air grew heavy and thick with the weight of unspoken horrors, and Titus's troubled subconscious couldn't escape the torment.

The memories clawed at the edges of his dreams, threatening to break free. His father's voice, cold and commanding, echoed through the corridors of his mind, a chilling reminder of the authority that had cast a long shadow over his upbringing.

“No...” Titus moaned in his sleep, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anguish.

The mere thought of his father seemed to galvanise and intensify the nightmare, each frightened syllable a whispered invocation of past trauma.

The scenes unfolded in fractured fragments – subdued cries, whispered threats, and the disconcerting sensation of being trapped in a cycle of submission. Titus tossed and turned, grappling with the spectres of his past, each movement a futile attempt to break free from the suffocating grip of the dream.

His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, mirroring the tumult within his slumbering mind. The room, once a sanctuary, now bore witness to the inner turmoil of a noble soul haunted by the shadows of his upbringing. As the night unfolded in its silent symphony, Titus remained ensnared in a dreamscape that blurred the lines between the horrors of the reality he had experienced and the twisted corridors of his traumatised subconscious.

In the oppressive silence of his chamber, Titus's whimpering grew more pronounced. His eyes fluttered and his paw lifted, then was slammed against the bed, almost as if some invisible creature thrust it back down.

“No, father, please...I'm...I'm not a doe...” Titus suddenly shrieked, his terrified scream echoing through the mansion like that of a frightened fawn.

From outside, the sound hit the drowsy Octavius like a lightning strike. Before he processed it, he wrenched the door open and rushed in, his gladius in his paw, eyes sweeping the chamber. His eyes fixated on Titus tangled in the bed sheets, sweat-soaked and trembling. The haunted expression on Titus's face mirrored that of the torment of his dreams. Octavius, ever vigilant, ran swiftly to his lord's side.

“My lord,” Octavius yelled, his voice a mix of concern and urgency. He reached out, gently shaking Titus awake from the nightmarish visions. “Titus, wake up! You're safe. It's just a terrible dream.”

Titus's eyes snapped open, his breaths rapid and shallow. He looked up at Octavius, a mix of fear in his wide, unseeing eyes before he fully awoke. The room, once filled with the echoes of his nightmares, slowly began to settle back into the quiet sanctuary it should be.

Octavius, kneeling beside the bed, his paws on Titus, offered strength and reassuring presence. “You're safe my lord. I'm here. What haunted your dreams?”

Titus, still catching his breath, hesitated before his voice trembled as he whispered in response. “Memories, Octavius, dark, painful memories from my past.”

Octavius's expression tightened with empathy, understanding the pain that lingered within Titus's haunted dreams. The night held sway, and Titus, surrounded by the luxurious trappings of the chamber, wrestled with the profound intricacies of love, duty and the lingering, traumatic scars of his past.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting its gentle glow upon the city and the mansion, the oppressive darkness that had shrouded Titus's nightmares began to yield to the soft illumination of a new day.

Octavius remained at Titus's side, a stalwart guardian in the face of lingering shadows, yet weariness showed in his slightly slumped shoulders. Titus himself, far from fully rested, took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart. The haunting memories of his past clung like parasites to the edges of his consciousness, refusing to relinquish the grip they held over him.

“Octavius,” Titus murmured, glancing up at his protector and lover. “it was as if my past reached out from the abyss to drag me back into the depths of despair.”

Octavius nodded, gently stroking the whitetail's forearm smoothing down the dishevelled fur. He understood, the weight of Titus's words, the bond they shared went beyond the physical, beyond the duties of a house guard; it intertwined their lives and histories, forging a connection that transcended the boundaries of noble propriety.

“My lord,” Octavius began, then his words caught in his throat.

His paw gripping the coverlet as his gaze grew dark and his fingers curling as his lips drew back in a savage, impotent snarl, his anger at himself for refusing to stay when he'd been ordered to return to the manse – not knowing what the Senator had done until mid-afternoon the next day, when he'd brought the litter to pick up Titus, the young buck struggling to hold himself together, then once secured inside the transport – he'd buried his muzzle against Titus's chest and wept like a fawn. He'd held nothing back – nothing – Octavius's disgust and loathing for the sadistic, cruel and violent Senator becoming a white-hot flame within his heart.

Titus blinked, seeing the turmoil and rage build within Octavius, his own grief surging, as he sensed his words had torn open a wound in his lover, that'd barely healed. He reached out, his paw quivering, as he placed it on Octavius's cheek, trying to give the enraged red deer warmth and comfort. Octavius shuddered, then with a supreme effort, he forced those memories away, reaching up and grasping Titus's paw with his own, leaning his head into the gentle touch.

“My lord,” Octavius whispered, his eyes filled with love and loyalty. “those memories are the ghosts from the past. You have risen above the darkness, the light of your love and your strength shines all the brighter for it.”

Titus managed a weak, nervous smile, acknowledging the comfort Octavius gave threefold. The vulnerability he showed in that moment, only strengthened the unspoken understanding between them.

As Titus sat up in bed, Octavius rose to his full height, his antlers majestic in the morning light, before he smoothed out his uniform, his once again stern, stoic expression coming over him like a mask.

“What can I do for you, my lord? Anything you need, it's yours.”

A thoughtful silence lingered between them, the weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air. Titus, gathering his composure, rubbed at his eyes and moaned softly. “I must face my past, Octavius, and confront the shadows that threaten to engulf me. I can not allow the haunting memories to dictate my present – and our future.”

Octavius's eyes barely widened, offering unwavering support. “Whatever path you choose, my lord, I shall walk it with you. Your burdens are mine, and your victories as well.”

The nobility in Octavius's words echoed through the chamber, a pledge of loyalty that surpassed the duty of a house guard. Titus nodded, grateful for the steadfast companion he had by his side.

“I need some time alone to gather my thoughts,” Titus said, his voice quiet, but increasingly determined. “Please, inform the household I am not to be disturbed until I come out. You, are exempt, of course – my love...”

With the crack of his hooflets against his armoured chest, Octavius saluted, the briefest of smiles touching his muzzle. “As you wish, my lord.”

Octavius formally bowed, then took four paces back, before he spun about in a precise turn, pulling open the doors, walking out and closing them almost silently in his wake. In his absence, Titus began his solitary reflection.

Alone in his chamber, Titus took a moment to breathe deeply, letting the air fill his lungs and dispel the residual tension. His gaze turned to the grand windows, revealing the wakening world beyond the confines of his room.

With each passing moment, Titus fortified his resolve. The journey before him was arduous, he didn't deny that, but he was determined to confront the shadows of his past and emerge stronger for it. The mansion, with its opulent furnishings and rich tapestries, stood as a testament to the grandeur of his station, yet it was Titus's inner strength that would guide him through the labyrinth of his memories.

As the hours passed, Titus steeled himself for the challenges ahead. The echoes of the night, both tender and haunting, resonated in his mind, creating a discordant symphony of emotions that would shape the chapters of his young life, yet to be written.

*

Titus had skipped both breakfast and mid-day meals, sequestered away in his bedroom. It wasn't until Octavius, rested and refreshed, returned to his bedchamber that he saw the young noble lord. Titus sat with his knees pulled up to his furred chest, arms wrapped around them, and his beautiful brown eyes were red with tears. At that moment, Octavius's stoic demeanour shattered. Disregarding the young rodent girl carrying his master's evening meal on a tray, Octavius rushed past her and reached Titus. The young lord whimpered like a fawn, swept into Octavius's arms, and cradled close. Octavius held him firmly, gently stroking the back of his neck.

“My lord,” Octavius's voice quavered, his distress at his lord's discomfort breaking his resolve. Unmindful of the rat-girl behind him, who continued to hold the tray, frozen with uncertainty.

Octavius continued whispering soothing words to Titus, attempting to comfort him as he held him close. The rat-girl, sensing the gravity of the situation, discretely set the tray down on a nearby table and silently exited the room.

Titus clung to Octavius, his fragile state evident in every trembling breath. Octavius continued to stroke his back, providing a sense of security and solace. The room became a haven, shielded from the outside world, where the pain of memories and the weight of the present moment collided.

“My lord,” Octavius spoke softly, gently licking at Titus's wet cheek. “whatever haunts your thoughts, know that I am here for you. You are not alone.”

Titus, still nestled in Octavius's embrace, nodded slightly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and lingering distress. Octavius remained a steadfast anchor, offering the support Titus needed.

As the minutes passed, the initial rush of emotions began to subside. Octavius, ever attuned to his lord's needs, guided Titus back to a more upright position. He fetched a chair and gently led Titus to sit, ensuring he was comfortable before retrieving the tray with the untouched evening meal.

“My lord,” Octavius said, his voice caring. “you must eat. Strength is needed in times of trial.”

Titus looked at the tray with a mixture of reluctance and exhaustion. Octavius, however, maintained a gentle insistence. He picked up a piece of bread and offered it to Titus, encouraging him to take a small bite.

The simple act of nourishing Titus carried a significance beyond the physical. Octavius understood the mental and emotional toll his lord faced, his own mind reminded of what that day had done to his beloved. With significant mental exertion, Octavius kept his dark, vile thoughts on what he wanted to do to Titus's father, from showing in word or expression.

TO BE CONTINUED