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**[Author's Note]: **Again, apologies everyone for not uploading this chapter sooner. I know everyone says that inspiration and creativity can't be rushed but the truth is this proved to be a bitch to write. I've had to re-evaluate what was and wasn't necessary to the story and cut out any needless sub-plots to bring you this next, gripping chapter. And also, as some of you may have noticed, the chapter links at the top of the page are in reverse order to the listings for (parts) at the side. That's because some genius had the idea to make it so you can't post a story at the bottom of the first during upload and my titles are so long they disappear off the edge of the box, so I thought "Screw it, I'll post em back to front for my own convenience, HaHaHa!"

Warning: Some of the views and opinions portrayed in this episode will be found offensive. These opinions are expressed for narrative purposes and for character and world development. Besides, look what website I'm posting this story on, these clearly aren't my opinions.

Not much longer to go folks. Soon... very soon it shall kick off... I promise...

Chapter 8: Seeds of Doubt

I remember the last few days at Telequinn manor. The times were hard for everyone, but something particularly callous and destructive had fallen over that place in the months since my fifth year there began.

In Reap of the previous year, 1838, the farmsteads of Callisten had burned. No one knows what sparked the uprising - maybe one particularly vicious punishment or maybe one whip crack too many - but during the month where the crops should have been harvested and shipped off-world, ten-thousand Boaren took up arms against their masters and refused to be slaves any longer. It's now believed that, in the early days, all the Boaren did was drive out the land owners, then harvest the crops for themselves before setting off into Callisten's famous Tycooga mountains to escape reprisals and live quiet, free lives. But, of course, their challenge against the Panthren hierarchy could not go overlooked as easily as that.

It was now the latter days of Numb, when the nights were long and the cold stole every sensation from the flesh. I welcomed Numb; I welcomed the loss of feeling in my skin. It made work far easier to bear.

"No, I will not stand for it," Master Vayren yelled loudly into the empty air of the Telequinn's audience chamber, converted from the old west-wing library after most of the books were destroyed by a lingering damp in Storm of that year.

"Who are you to say to me you will not stand for it?" snapped his father, leaning forwards in his ornate chair, accompanied by Lady Telequinn as they sat at the end of a long, rolled out blue carpet, hemmed with fine gold weave. "I am still master of this house." Master Vayren lowered his gaze to the floor for an instant. I stood nervously by his side, my head hung, rubbing my upper arm.

"A Telequinn needs his guardian... That's what you told me," Vayren said sourly.

"Not if he cannot fulfil his duties," Lady Telequinn retorted. "What would you have us do, send you out unprotected?"

"It's not like I'm not protected now. Until I'm eighteen you have your security detail following me anyway. I'm protected whether Kyren's there or not," Vayren protested.

"Exactly," his father said, putting his paw on his wife's to prevent another outburst. "They are the one's keeping you safe. Having him here," he said with a dismissive flick of the wrist "is just creating one more mouth to feed."

"So is money the issue here? Fine, I'll pay to keep Kyren fed and clothed. I'll pay for his weapons training if it's such a burden on the household. Gods only know I have the savings for it."

"Do not get brusque with me," his father cautioned in a low voice. "And the cost is not the issue." He looked to his left, passed his wife, to the Swordsmaster, Mister Sestus, standing at the edge of the room between Mister Gatson and Miss Elra, the Riflesmith. "Mister Sestus," he began, causing the tall, thin Panthren to straighten beyond what I thought it possibly for a person to achieve, "would you please repeat what you told me in private, about Kyren's performance." The man stepped forward a pace.

He was a thin, gangly man with slicked back hair and long white socks he pulled to his shins from his gentlemanly shoes. At first glance he looked like someone who would feel more at home conducting an orchestra or playing a violin beneath the balcony of some fair maiden on Paril. But the man was extremely skilled in the classical arts of a blade and was lightening quick with his fists. He also had very little patience for failure.

He cleared his throat. "Kyren, he makes a mockery of se noble art of swordsmanship," he spoke facing Master Vayren, twirling his wrist and then flourishing as he spoke the last word, emphasising its prolificacy. "He simply cannot be trained. He has no fire, no passion. He has learned nussing and has not improved in over two years." He stroked his tiny, curled moustache as he finished.

"Thank you," Lord Telequinn said, to which the man bowed and stepped back amongst his counterparts. "Do you understand now why he cannot stay?" he asked Vayren. "He cannot even wield a sword."

"Neither can I!" Vayren snarled, bearing his teeth slightly. "And Ulrich doesn't fight like any guardian I've ever seen. Surely he can train Kyren to uses axes and hammers too."

"Ulrich is a special case," his father replied.

"And Kyren isn't?" Vayren pleaded, indicating to me with both paws, desperately.

"No, he isn't," his mother squeezed off before his father's measured retort could be delivered, she resting her head on her paw, clearly bored with the argument. Vayren gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. I watched him, wishing I could stop his coming outburst but knowing that I had no voice in this chamber, especially not now.

"You've never liked Kyren," he growled. "You've never wanted him in this house. But he's my guardian! Mine!" he screamed.

"Enough!" his father yelled back, standing and stamping his finely polished shoe loudly against the wooden floor. The room fell silent for a few moments. "You shame yourself, Vayren," he snarled. "Show some dignity. I didn't call this audience to ask you. I'm telling you that this, this... bleached, no longer has a place in this house and you will accept my mandate as sure as I am your lord and your father." Vayren stood there, staring at a spot on the ground a few feet before him, clenching and unclenching his paws for a dozen long, agonising seconds. I shook as I watched him boil with such rage, partly out of fear and partly out of shame. It saddened me to see him in such distress, but I couldn't shift the sickening feeling that hung over me knowing that this was all my doing. If only I was stronger, if only I was smarter, if only I was braver. But was none of those things and was not what I needed to be. The only way to salvage my honour was to accept my fate with dignity.

"May I have your leave?" Vayren said more as a statement of intent than a genuine question.

"No," his father replied. "There is one more matter that needs my attention before I leave for Ushelin and I think it is in the best interests of this family that_everyone_ be present." He turned to his left once more. "Is my other son currently available?" he asked. Mister Gatson didn't step forward like his counterpart, merely pulling out a holo-display - a small, clear sheet of ploy-glass with a thin metal margin. He tapped at the flickering words and scrolling paragraphs for second, then lifted his head and said "Magistere Dawson should have released him fifteen minutes passed."

"Good," Lord Telequinn said, taking his wife's hand as she rose, she brushing back the tight, auburn ringlets of her wig. "Then let us proceed. I would rather this matter over with." Vayren and I were standing before the great oak doors that led into the chamber and needed to step aside to allow the Lord and Lady to exit first. I stepped to my left and faced the right wall but as an act of defiance, instead of mirroring me, Vayren walked to me and stood by my side, his head still down and his arms ramrod stiff at his sides, fists still shivering with anger. As his parents passed us, I bowed my head, as was expected of me. Vayren had no need to, being their blood, but I doubt he would have done regardless. His father paused momentarily and looked at him. "I suggest you make the most of your last few days together. As soon as I am back from Ushelin, this matter will be dealt with." With that they walked on and we were expected to follow, before Mister Gatson and the weapons instructors took up the rear. When Vayren did not first budge, Mister Gatson came up behind him and put his paws gently on his shoulders. Vayren shrugged them off angrily and moved off of his own accord, following quickly by me.

We walked the corridors and halls of the house, each servant we encountered stopping to bow or curtsey to the Lord and Lady. As we went, Mister Gatson tapped away at his display and informed everyone we encountered that the Lord of the house was calling for everyone to gather in the courtyard. I walked on in their wake, ignoring the cold air that seemed to elicit shivered breaths and the vigorous rubbing of hands and arms from other members of the party. I could barely feel it. I had done my best not to feel anything anymore, both physically and emotionally. I hoped it would make me stronger, but clearly it hadn't made me strong enough. I didn't even have the familiar desire to cry or tremble with fear at the idea of being thrown out into the world beyond the manor anymore. I had been threatened with it and come so close so many times that now that it was finally happening for real, it simply felt inevitable. The only thing I hadn't been expecting was Vayren's reaction. Things hadn't been the same for two years now. It had taken Vayren some time to feel he could trust me again I think and, in truth, it had taken some time to trust him. Eventually I came to believe that there had been no malice in what he had done. Something was wrong with me, not him, which had caused the whole situation to disintegrate. Nothing new there.

The servants and work hands all moved to the front of the house and out onto the white gravel of the manor's wide drive, some hugging themselves for warmth or cursing at being send out into the cold. The two weapons masters went with them. We, however, followed Vayren's parents to the back of the house and down into the servants quarters. As we entered one of the back rooms, I was shocked to see two uniformed and armed security personnel standing at attention on the inside of the doorway. The width of the door meant we passed through one-by-one. What we found on the other side were two young men, one dressed as a waiting hand and the other a caterer in the kitchens, sitting dejectedly on a bench that was pushed up against the storage cupboards lining the back of the room. I didn't recognise them, having long since been removed from the day-to-day business of the running of the manor. The caterer had a rich, saturated coat of yellow fur, making him look darker than he actually was, and the other a scraggy coat of purple. The pair looked up when our small procession entered the room. Lord Telequinn stared down at them as we entered and the yellow Panthren averted his gaze in shame. But the other, the purple Panthren, glared back at him.

"Ugh," Lady Telequinn said, pulling a handkerchief from the folds of her dress and covering her nose with it as Vayren and I pushed out way into a back corner of the crowded space. "I can smell it on them. It's disgusting." Indeed, there was an odd odour in the room, one that hung unrecognised with the familiar scent of sweat. Lord Telequinn continued to glare at the purple youth for a few moments longer and then spared another look at the other Panthren, who was trying his best to shrink away as he wrapped his tail around his leg.

"What? No pleas of innocence? No begging for forgiveness?" Lord Telequinn said coldly with a fixed glare.

"There's nothing we need beg forgiveness for," said the purple Panthren defiantly. Without hesitation, Lord Telequinn violently struck the man in his early twenties across the face with the back of his paw, prompting a squeak of shock from his wife and the stunned silence of myself and the other occupants of the room, except the two uniformed guards who did not avert their eyes from the two points of the opposing wall they had affixed their gazes to.

"How dare you!" Lord Telequinn cried. "How dare you bring such, such... such dishonour into my home."

"We're sorry," piped up the yellow Panthren. "We're sorry. We shouldn't have done... please, don't send us away."

"Quiet," said the purple Panthren to his cohort. "Don't apologise for anything."

"You disgust me," Lord Telequinn said, stepping back. "You," he said, his maw creasing for a moment into a look of utter disgust as he forced the quieter one to look away with tears in his eyes, "you I could expect this from. But you," he said, pointing to the purple Panthren. "With you family status, with your breeding for Temeltra's sake, you could have gone far."

"What? Serving drinks and cigars to ever more wealthy snobs like you?" the man retorted, looking him up and down with a sneer that could contend with Lord Telequinn's. "Always being underfoot, a non-person, never being my own man, having my own life?"

"You sound like a fool," Lord Telequinn half chuckled, have snorted. "How could you let this... thing sway you like this? Take you over completely?" he said, looking at the yellow man.

"Hey, I approached him," he said. "I'm the one whose never wanted to live like this. We both decided we would leave here together when we discovered what we had," he said, reaching over and stroking his compatriot's shoulder. Then he did something odd. He ran with paw down the other mans' arm until it met with a yellow paw half curled on the bench, their fingers knitting into each others' as the purple paw came to rest atop the yellow one, holding it tightly.

"How dare you do that in my presence! Do you know no shame?!" Lord Telequinn boomed. The purple Panthren merely looked up at him and smirked sourly.

"After everything this family's done for you, you'd throw it all away for nothing?" Lady Telequinn yelled at him, losing her composure. Her husband turned and put his paws on her upper arms in a gesture of restraint.

"Nothing?" the man yelled. "You call love nothing?" By now the yellow Panthren had relinquished his handhold with the other man and was covering his face with his paws, sobbing.

I looked at Vayren, hoping he might understand exactly what was going on, but he had his head titled in that way it always lolled when he was considering or pondering a problem or mystery. From the look on his face, I could tell he had as little clue about what was going on as I did. Then Vayren's father turned again and raised the back of his hand for another strike. I almost jumped at the motion and braced for the sound, but it never came. Lord Davien Telequinn stared into the unflinching eyes of the defiant man for a few moments, then lowered his arm. "How I wish these were ages passed, where people like you were dealt with by the edge of a sword." He turned and gestured for everyone to leave. "Take them outside," he said to one of the security personnel and the two immediately took one each by the arms and cuffed them as I was pushed out of the room.

We were lead back upstairs and out to the front of the house. Lord Telequinn stepped out first, drawing the attention and gaze of all two hundred members of staff and service who had gathered in a tight huddle to keep warm. I hadn't realised that it had snowed recently until I saw the tiny clumps of white hanging from the bare branches and nesting in the small valleys made by the pieces of gravel. Lady Telequinn whispered to her husband that we were not dressed for outdoors, but he assured her they wouldn't be long. Standing removed from the group were the two familiar shapes of Severath and Ulrich, now dressed in traditional attire better suited for the house, as they had been for the many months after their return following Severath's graduation from the academy. He had slipped easily into the role of becoming his father's successor and heir to the Telequinn estate. His absence from the audience chamber and the odd performance downstairs suggested he was probably performing yet more important business on his father's behalf. We were led over to him and Vayren stood as tall as he could next to the slim, elegant figure of his brother, Ulrich standing on the opposite side and me at Vayren's shoulder for what would likely be the final time in any formal sense.

The Lord of the house moved away from the rest of the family and stood opposing us as the two security guards led the apparent criminals towards a waiting vehicle.

"Stop," Telequinn said, holding out his arm, "stand them there." The two burly men, looking far larger now they were half dragging, half carrying two people by their folded arms across the courtyard, propped up their quarries for all to see. Lord Telequinn walked in front of them both, his hands behind his back. The purple one was still marking him a venomous stare and the yellow still hanging his head, tears soaking the fur at his cheeks. Lord Telequinn turned and pointed.

"I want you all to look very carefully at what becomes of such lowborn, ungrateful filth," he snarled. "Let it be known by all that the Telequinn have never and will never abide their ilk in its midst."

I could not fathom at first what had happened. Clearly, whatever their crime, it was not only considered a heinous but also a shameful act.

"These men seek to usurp good Panthren morals and tradition with debauchery and strip us of our ethics." Now the yellow Panthren was weeping, but the purple one would not relent his stare. "The Telequinn will not abide by this, we cannot abide by this, as no decent Panthren ever should." He turned and looked at the men one more time. The purple man spat on the ground at his feet. "Get them out of here," Lord Telequinn directed and the two men were thrown in the back of the security car and driven off to the gates to meet with the authorities. From behind I heard the rsutling sounds of servants nodding their heads, or the infrequent call of approval. There didn't seem to be a single voice of dissent in the gathering. Lord Telequinn straightened as the car ground away. He looked over the faces before him, as though judging their character or reading their minds. Then he nodded to himself and said "You are all dismissed."

The servants began to fall away, but no sooner did Lord Telequinn turn to leave than his first born rushed to his side.

"Father, what are you doing?" Severath asked.

"What am I doing, or what have I done?" he countered. Severath moved in close and the two men spoke in low voices the elder man clearly displeased with what the younger had to say. Vayren, and I remained standing at a distance, where Lady Telequinn had not moved, whereas Ulrich had moved slightly closer, not imposing, simply remaining close to his master.

"What just happened, mother?" Vayren asked. The woman looked down at him as though just noticing him for the first time.

"Oh," Vayren my sweet," she said. "Hurry up and get inside. You'll catch you death of cold out here."

"Mother, what just happened?" Vayren repeated with irritation.

"Sweetheart, it's complicated. Why don't we all go inside and just-"

"I want to know. Why did father have to punish those men? What had they done?"

"I'll explain when you're older."

"I want to know now!" Vayren growled and marched towards his brother and father. I hesitated, not knowing what to do, then quickly ran forwards when I realised I should really be by my master's side. As we approached, I caught the end of the ensuing conversation.

"I'm telling you, it's a sickness. All the leading psychologists-" Severath was protesting.

"I will not listen to any more of this. I sent you to academy to learn the arts of statesmanship, not wild theories and speculation.

"They don't know what they're doing. They belong in a hospital."

"They know damn well what they do!" Lord Telequinn's voice rose. "They choose this sin." The conversation petered off when Vayren marched up definitely to the two men, both still a head or more taller than him.

"Father, I want to know what those men did," he demanded.

"We're in the middle of-" Severath began.

"No, we're not," his father proclaimed, walking away and put a definitive end to the discussion.

"Vayren, you leave your father be," the Lady Telequinn stated.

"Father, I don't know what those men did. How am I to prevent myself from doing the same if I don't know what crime they committed." All that elicited was a snort from his father and the words "Do'nt be ridiculous."

"Father, I don't know," cried. Lord Telequinn turned and looked at him, then at his wife. She shook her head. By now I had crept up beside Vayren with no private conversation left to intrude on.

"You will understand when your older," his father echoed.

"I will understand now!" Vayren yelled. His father spun faster than I knew a person could move and his eyes, more terrible and piercing with anger than I had ever seen them, bore down on him. Vayren reared back, bumping into my shoulder.

"When will my sons learn that I AM THE HEAD OF THIS HOUSEHOLD!" their father yelled like a man possessed with fury itself. The torrents of warm breath he expelled hung in the air for a time. His eyes then darted between the two boys and no one spoke until he had disappeared into the house.

"Panthrosexuals," Severath said quietly, as though expecting his father to be waiting behind the front doors, ready to spring out and berate them afresh.

"Severath," his mother snapped angrily.

"What?" Vayren asked.

"He needs to know mother. Whether it's a sickness and he learns to control it or it's a state of mind and he learns to resist it, he needs to know." Lady Telequinn crossed her arms and glared at him angrily.

"Fine, you explain it to him." Severath looked down at us both, then over his shoulder to Ulrich who merely shrugged. Severath closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

"Right um... yeah, okay."

"Panthro as in the same, right?" Vayren asked. "Not Panthrell as in different." As ever, Vayren was quick off the mark, much to Severath's relief.

"That's right, Vay. You see," he began, wrapping his arm around Vayren's shoulders. "You know how girls and boys... when they... get to a certain age-"

"Show affection for each other," Vayren said. "Right mother?" He looked to her and she nodded, her frown slackening slightly.

"Right, of course. Well there's this issue where... Some Panthren, male and female, have got it into their heads that it's more preferable to... show affection to people of the same gender as them."

"As in, boys and boys, girls and girls." Severath tussled his hair.

"That's right, brother."

"And it's not?" This took Severath a little by surprise.

"Well, no of course it's not."

"Why?" I saw awkward looks exchanged between Severath, Ulrich and Lady Telequinn.

"Well, it's always been held that it's to be expected with..." he looked at me nervously, "certain echelons of society. But isn't it selfish that honourable, or indeed well bred Panthren, should weaken the gene pool by hoarding or not passing on their superior genes, meaning that other, weaker strains are allowed to flourish?" The speed of Severath's speech increased throughout the explanation, as though he were desperate to get to the conclusion and most of it passed straight over my head. All I understood from it was that it was extremely dishonourable for people of the same gender to show affection to one another, which struck me as odd as we saw this happen all the time, even amongst the males of the Telequinn family. In fact, it was happening right then, as Severath tussled Vayren's hair again.

"Stop messing up his attire," his mother complained.

"What's genes and babies got to do with affection?" Vayren asked. Severath froze up, thinking he'd gotten himself out of whatever predicament he was in.

"You... haven't told him..." he asked Lady Telequinn.

"No," she said back, daggers in her eyes and ice in her voice.

"He's fifteen," Severath said, pointing to Vayren and cocking his head, "and you haven't-"

"Are Kyren and I Panthrosexuals?" Vayren asked.

The next few moments of silence were murderous. Vayren clearly was thinking the same thing as I, but I never thought he'd put voice to our terrible concerns.

"What?" asked their mother.

"Kyren and I have shown affection for each other. We've held hand and lain down and watched the stars together and even hugged-" Immediately as the tension had built up, it was gone again. Lady Telequinn and Severath both exuded relieved chuckles and Ulrich's paws, which had instinctively rolled up into fists, uncurled.

"No, no Vayren. Don't be silly. Boys of your age and younger do those kinds of things all the time. That's not exactly what is meant by affection. It's perfectly natural. I mean, it's not like you've kissed now is it?" Lady Telequinn rambled on as a way of preventing herself from crying or cheering at the news her son wasn't one of these Panthrosensals or whatever. Then her mood evaporated when she caught the nervous, fleeting glance Vayren and I shared. There was clearly a lot we didn't know or understand, but we knew exactly what she meant when she said that.

"You... haven't ever kissed... have you?" the Lady asked in a weak, uncertain voice.

In that single, awful moment, we realised why that moment had been so uneasy, why we had found it so difficult to associate with each other for over two years, we realised just exactly what we'd done.

The Vayren scoffed. "What? No, of course not," he chuckled, looking up at his mother. "That's not something a rational person would ever do, and certainly not a Telequinn." The lady looked at him, then at me. I quickly regained myself and shook my head as honestly as I could, knowing full well that I had added liar to my repertoire of failures and shames. Her features quickly seemed to soften.

"Of course not," she said, looking down at Vayren. "How awfully silly of me. Now come along Vayren, and the rest of you boys," although she only looked at Severath and Ulrich when she said that. "Let's get ourselves back in the warm, where we belong."

"But I still don't under-"

"I think that's enough for today," she continued, grabbing him by the wrist and leading him up the steps. "We've all had a very trying day so far and we must be prepared to say goodbye to your father before he leaves for Ushelin." Severath and Ulrich also ascended the steps. Then Ulrich turned and looked behind to see me still standing there, alone on the gravel of the front of the house, my fur barely recognisable from the snow.

"Are you coming, Kyren?" he asked in his deep voice. I shook my head to clear it, then smiled.

"Yes. I've just- I've got a headache. I don't feel too well." Ulrich eyed me a moment longer, then nodded and followed his master. As Vayren reached the doors of the house, he paused for one last look at me and our eyes met. I still sometimes see the confusion and worry streaked across that young face, his green eyes losing some of their lustre as they glazed over with regret.

My mind began replaying every image, every single frame of memory from that day, that incident, over and over again in my head, all the while a sickening realisation smeared across it like light-damage on a photo, blurring and fading the colour so all I could see now, in black and white, was what was right and what was wrong... and what terrible, dishonourable thing we'd done...

[Post Story Author's Note]:I trust my audience is intelligent enough to understand what I mean by Panthrosexual but I wanted to explain the reasoning behind coming to a decision on this wording, because I'm pretentious and what-not.

Humans are classified as Homo Sapiens (Homo being Genus and Sapiens being Species) Also, homo comes from the greek for one or the same. Therefore, homosexual is 'same sex' and heterosexual is 'different sex.'

The Genus Panthera encompass many of the large cats in the animal kingdom - from jaguars to leopards to lions to tigers - including black panthers and the like, on whom the Panthren are based. Therefore I had the idea that Panthro would mean same in their society and a similar, made up opposite Panthrell, would mean different, because 'Pantero' didn't have the same ring to it and wasn't as visually and phonetically different as homo and hetro. So straight Panthren are Panthrellsexuals... what a mouthful ¬_¬

There, science lesson done ^__^