Chapter 2 - Golden Eyes

The blatant stare was directed towards him, but Remus paid it no heed, because all he could think of was the fact that he was completely exposed to the air - and eyes.

Quickly, with his cheeks feeling as if they were on fire, Remus snatched the silk sheet and pulled it over himself. It was then that he allowed himself to take a real good look at the man, standing there, looking shocked and unresponsive.

Remus' cheeks, if possible, turned redder. "Um," he cleared his throat slightly and wrapped the sheet around himself more tightly, "hi." Remus felt stupid once the word left his mouth. Really, Remus, you're naked in someone's bed with that person staring at you and all you could say is 'hi'?

The stranger snapped out of his daze instantly. Remus almost regretted speaking out then, because the other's face lost all of his boyish bewilderment, just to be replaced by a cold, indifferent sneer. He stepped forward, his sapphire blue eyes narrowing darkly as they bore down at Remus.

Frightened, Remus backed away until he hit the wooden headboard behind him. This person looked strangely familiar, and yet, so different from the boy in his dreams. His lean, well defined form seemed to be broader, his eyes colder, and hair a darker shade of black.

"So you're the new boy, huh?" he said disdainfully, and Remus gave a start. The voice was, if possible, colder than his eyes, vibrating like a bass playing a hateful tune.

Before Remus could speak, however, he continued, "How good are you, anyway? You must be something for Regulus to waste his money on, bringing into the palace like this."

Remus' head was spinning. Palace? Regulus? Where is he? "Um..." Remus said quietly, looking up. "I'm sorry, but I really don't know what you're talking about."

Sirius, oddly enough, gave a harsh laugh. "Playing clueless, are we?" He climbed onto the bed, knee-first, dipping the mattress. "You won't be when I'm finished with you."

Remus' eyes widened, and before he could move those long hands gripped his arms, forcing him down onto his back. The panic only settled completely when that person sat down on Remus' stomach and ripped open his own shirt.

"What are you doing!" Remus cried, his voice frantic as he lashed out at the other. "Get off me!"

The man caught his wrists, fingernails digging deep into his flesh. "Insolent, you are. Have you no manner, slave?"

Remus spluttered. Slave? "I'm not a slave!" Remus yelled, struggling uselessly against the other man's firm grip. "Let me go! I want to go back..." The sentence died on his lips. Go back where? To the orphanage, the place he'd been longing to leave for so many years? No, he didn't want to go back, and he most certainly did not want to stay here until he'd learnt of where here was.

Remus bluntly asked then, ignoring the situation he was in, "Who are you? And where am I?"

Dark eyes became round, surprise visible in them as they gazed down at him. Remus stared defiantly back.

"You must be mad, slave, for not knowing who I am." To Remus's surprise and relief, he laughed and rolled off Remus to lie next to him.

Remus sat up, a bit flushed, but curious at the man's action. He wanted to say something, but what could he say that would sum up all of his curiosity and confusion? Nothing, he eventually decided, and as he sat there, waiting patiently, Remus figured it was best to just stay silent.

The man pulled off his ripped shirt and threw it aside carelessly, walking over to an impossibly large closet, built into the wall. He opened the mahogany door wide open, and Remus stared in disbelief.

Within the closet lined the most beautiful and exquisite kinds of clothes, all made of silk. They were not the modern clothes people wore, but strongly reminded him of the ancient Greeks' attire, except that there were breeches underneath the long tunic instead of, for lack of a better word, skirts. Remus smiled slightly, then, remembering the brief history lessons Frank usually gave him when he had the chance.

Frank... Remus thought, his eyes sad. Did Frank know where he was? Did he even notice? He felt terrible for disappearing. Frank must be worried.

The stranger slipped a blue, sleeveless shirt on, taking a golden sash and tying it around his waist. Then he paused, as if thinking, and grabbed a white shirt and gray breeches, along with another golden sash, and threw them all at Remus' face. "Put them on, slave, and get out of here."

Remus curled his fingers around the clothes, absently stroking the soft garments. "I'm not a slave," he said quietly but firmly. Then, he asked as an afterthought, "Who are you?"

"My identity does not concern you," he said icily, almost spitting out the words. Remus winced. "Hurry and leave before I change my mind."

Remus felt awkward, for the man was still standing there, unmoving and watching. "Um," he cleared his throat. "Here?"

"Where else?"

A blush crept up his neck. "Could you - could you turn away?" Even though living in the orphanage, Remus was very discreet about changing and showering in front of other people. A horrible image rose to the surface in his mind, bringing back feelings that he had tried his best to bury for the longest time. He hated it so much when the past came and haunted his mind with unwanted memories and despicable doubts.

Remus looked at him inquiringly, and he grunted, but did turn away. Relieved, Remus hastily got off the bed on the other side of the bed and put the raiment on, one hand raising to fix his hair. The clothes were slightly bigger than his frame, but Remus couldn't care less. He was just glad that he was now properly dressed. "I'm done," Remus said, and from the way the man moved, he could tell that the stranger was very annoyed.

The stranger, however, lost all of his annoyance when he took a long look at Remus.

Wide, golden eyes that reflected the sunlight watched him uncomfortably, thin fingers sweeping the long bangs away from his forehead to reveal thick, pale eyelashes that fluttered when a few strands of hair was windswept across his eyes. A slender, but leaned figure hidden underneath the snow white shirt, bringing out his fair complexion, but altogether allowing him a shy look, like an untouchable jewel hanging upon the bluest sky. To the man's eyes, Remus was breathtaking.

But to Remus' eyes, the man looked at him in shock, and an unpleasant shock, at that. He suddenly felt terribly vulnerable and embarrassed. People had told him he was no piece of art, throughout his life in that cursed place, but to be looked at like that by someone so handsome and proud, Remus felt small and shameful. Unworthy.

With a quiet sob that only he could hear, Remus fled the room, leaving the Prince of Gryffindor standing there in a daze.

-

Upon leaving the wide room behind, Remus found himself in an open hallway. On one side of the hall, paintings of royals and blood-red battles hung upon the creamy white wall, on the other side, however, columns stood tall before an expanse of blue water. Like those in the room he had just left, the columns were adorned with delicate and careful carvings, but these were of deities instead of mythical creatures, their faces stern and poses powerful.

Remus hesitantly stepped closer to one of the column and looked down at the river below. There, at least fifty feet down, were the waves slapping against the palace's strong wall.

Shivering, Remus stepped back. There was no bars or railing to stop someone from falling down. A brief lesson of history came to his mind again, this time of Egypt, where people relied on their river every year for irrigation and rich soil, and that when the star Sirius rose upon the sky, the river would overflowed and flooded the palace, a time where they would get a good, successful harvest. Remus shook his head; this was no time for remembering his history lesson.

Remus made his way down the hall, bewildered at the structure of the place. Everything was amazingly built, detailed to the point of perfection.

There was not a place in England that could match this beauty, even though Remus had never been anywhere outside of the orphanage unless it was for groceries. Therefore, comparing the orphanage to the palace, Remus thought that it was beyond beautiful.

After quite a while, Remus came to the end of that hall and pushed aside two translucent veils to reveal a stony stairway down into a wide garden.

Remus stepped down awkwardly, looking around. The garden was magnificent, divided in two sections full of unique and rare plants to leave a clear path to walk, opening wider in the middle for the dazzling fountain made of black marble to stand. A statue of a griffin was at the base in the center of the fountain, its wings protecting the rising phoenix circling a fearsome dragon, whose mouths were open to send forth spurts of water. Remus was moved at the powerful image. There was just something commanding, emotionally inexplicable about these statues that sent chills down his spine. The three creatures, all symbols of grace, beauty, power, and violence...

"Hey! You!"

Startled, Remus turned around. Two guards were running toward him, dressed in red and black armors that came to their mid-thigh. Frightened at the spears they were holding, Remus ran.

Obviously, that was the wrong move, as they began yelling and voices rose in response to their call. This time, Remus was in a state of complete panic, running blindly through the garden, and, upon seeing tall bushes near a looming forest, he dove in and hid, heart pounding loudly in his chest.

The men were shouting about, cutting the bushes as they came near. Remus shut his eyes and sent prayers to every god existed, a thing he did everyday when he was young, even though they never answered him.

This time, it was no different.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and Remus jerked around, making to run away, but the grip on his shoulder stayed firm.

This person was about his age, with untidy black hair and sharp, clear brown eyes hidden behind large glasses. He was wearing clothes that showed clearly of his noble status. He looked surprised to see him there. "Who are you?" he asked softly, his voice deep and reassuring.

Too scared to say anything, Remus could only stare at him with wide eyes.

His hand brushed Remus' shirt. "These clothes are of royalty, and yet I've never seen you here." His hand brushed against Remus' head. "Golden hair, even stranger..."

Remus found his voice, though it was weak and thick with fear. "Please, let me go... I've done no harm..."

The man looked at him, bemused, and was about to say something when voices came near.

"There he is!"

Remus jumped, and struggled against the other, but the guards reached them in an instant and grabbed Remus. One of them turned and addressed the man formally, bowing. "Pardon me, m'lord James."

"Who is he?" James asked, waving a hand at Remus, who cowered against them, feeling claustrophobic because of fear and the throng of people surrounding him.

The guard glanced at Remus and then answered, "We don't know, sir, but I expect him a thief slipping into the palace. The warden will get the truth out of him, soon enough."

At that, Remus struggled even more violently. They couldn't be thinking of locking him up, could they? No, they couldn't be, Remus screamed in his mind. He didn't do anything!

"If you excuse us, sir," the guard bowed again, motioning to the others and left, bringing Remus with them.

James stood there, his undeciphered brown eyes watching them go silently.

-

The Prince was floating in his own thoughts as he wandered the halls of the palace, thinking back to the event a moment ago.

The boy had run as soon as he finished dressing, not even looking back, if just for a moment. A bitter smile curled his lips. Was he that despicable to look at? So frightening that even his first impression with a stranger would send him running as if the devil was at his heels? Sirius gave a small laugh. He knew that the servants hated his guts, and yet because of his importance in this kingdom, feared him even more.

They feared the Blacks, who were known for their relentless conquests and bloodshed and violence. The Blacks, for generations, had ruled Gryffindor, their thirst for power and itch for killing brought them their infamous title: Messengers of Evil. Of course, those who dared to say such thing would be executed immediately, no question ask. No one got the better of the Blacks. Everyone must obey and serve them with absolute loyalty, or risk death.

Sirius grew up being taught all that his family could offer. A Black does not feel. A Black does not pity, does not show mercy. A Black must have respect, either through power or bribe, he shall be respected. And of course, a Black is superior and does not need nor give help, under any circumstances, and that included family. Everyone for themselves, that was the Black's motto.

Sirius listened and remembered and acted like the prince he was, but he did not learn. He hated his family with an incomparable passion, because they made him who he was, because they did not love him.

The boy... his thought strayed back to the golden-eyed stranger, and the bitterness at his family was momentarily forgotten. He had insisted that he was not a slave, and yet if he wasn't, then what was he doing in Sirius' bed unclothed? Sirius didn't exactly care, but confusion and astonishment had shot through him when the boy dared to push him away. Just for that Sirius could have him decapitated. That was not the only offense he did, though. He had spoken to him without being questioned, and looked him in the eyes. No one looked him in the eyes beside his family and best friend, and yet, for an inferior to do that, he must be mad.

However odd the boy's actions were, they still didn't explain the feelings that had stirred inside Sirius. He had felt strangely light-headed at the glimmer in those golden eyes, large and afraid, desperately concealed by hints of defiance. How... different. Though at first he did not think the boy lovely, since he was overwhelmed by surprise and the other was underneath the sheets. But you did have an eye-full of his body first, did you not? a sly voice echoed in his mind, and annoyed, he pushed it away.

His eyes were like gold...

Gold... the most cherished treasure in Gryffindor. The people in Gryffindor were all dark hair and blue eyes, in most occasions. No one he had ever seen had had golden hair, especially not golden eyes. The boy was a foreigner, surely. Sirius wondered if he'd ever see him again, and realized that he'd never even asked his name.

"Sirius!"

Sirius turned around, and the figure of his best friend approached. A small smile creeped across his strong jaw, and then disappeared. "I could have you killed for addressing me so improperly."

James grinned at him, his red cloak billowing in the wind. "My humblest apologies, good Prince. Will you truly execute this sweet boy, who, if I may be so bold to add, your best friend since the moment we were born?" he said sincerely, and Sirius allowed himself a snicker.

"Shut yourself up, James Potter, or I will," Sirius said, mock sternly. "Now, walk with me."

James fell into steps with Sirius as they walked together in silence. After a while, Sirius stopped and came toward the left edge of the hall, looking out into the river. James, curious, followed him.

It was cold, being that winter was coming to an end but not quite yet, but Sirius seemed unaffected.

"You look troubled," James commented.

"Don't I always?" Sirius replied. When James did not answer, he sighed. "It doesn't matter. Nothing important, anyway."

James didn't push the matter, though he made a mental note to address it later. For a while they were quiet, then James said, "I saw the strangest sight today."

Sirius almost smiled. You're not the only one. "Really? It must be something for Lord James to sound so awed."

"Hush, now," James said, smiling. "I saw this boy, he..." James hesitated, wondering why he was telling Sirius this, but continued anyway, "he was captured by the guards, believing to be a thief breaking into the palace, but he didn't seem so."

"Really?" Sirius said, uninterested. "What does he look like?"

"That is the oddest part, for he does not have our dark complexion, but pale, with golden eyes and hair. He looked terrified, but I did... Sirius?" James inquired, seeing his friend's face, urgent and almost angry.

"Where did they take him?" Sirius commanded, a tone he'd never used at him.

"To the dungeon, I believe, but why... Sirius!" James yelled, but Sirius was already sprinting down the hall where they had just walked past a moment ago. Muttering under his breath, James ran after him.

-

Remus, for his part, was taken deep underground and tied to a wooden cross, stained with dry blood. Prison cells could be seen around the stone walls, dark with only the flames from the torches casting ominous shadows, revealing sets of skeletons lying inside, wrists and ankles still bound with chains. Remus, feeling sick, turned away, just to be greeted by the sight of many torture devices, including razor-edged swords, a bed of nails, and a large torch with fire burning threateningly; metal sticks poked out from the flame, shimmering with an orange glow. Images of tortures they used in the old days ran through his mind, and Remus was completely gripped by panic.

Remus, get a grip! Don't give yourself a fright and just calm down. They would listen to reason, surely, and would let you go, Remus tried to convince himself, but failed miserably. There was no way they would listen to him.

Footsteps echoed in the darkness, and Remus waited in fearful suspense.

A man came. He was short and bald, with a patch of gray hair in the middle of his head. His eyes were small and watery. He had a large, crooked nose and a lipless mouth that curled into a most unpleasant smile. In his hand he held a leather whip.

Remus swallowed painfully. He had been here for barely three hours and he was going to be tortured. If Remus had believed himself to be unlucky before, he was positive now that he was cursed with bad luck.

"So, you're the thief they caught, eh?" he said, his voice high and croaked as he came closer.

Remus shook his head. "I'm not a thief, I..." but the sentence was cut off to replace with a scream as the whip slashed across his side, cutting the garment. Remus blinked back tears as he felt the side of his body stung painfully, seeping with blood.

"Silence!" the man snapped. "I did not ask you to talk." The perverse smile was on his face again as he walked slowly around Remus.

When he came back to face Remus, he peered at him closely. "A foreigner," he mused. "Now, what would a foreigner be doing inside the palace? Is he merely stealing, or trying to seek information of our kingdom and bringing it to his ruler?"

"I didn't..." Remus whispered, and for the second time in his life, felt the whip across his chest.

"Who are you?" the man asked. "Speak truthfully and I will end your misery."

"I'm not a spy," Remus croaked out, but the man spat and sent the whip flying, this time continuously.

"A liar, that you are!" He yelled. "Answer me, boy! Who sent you?"

All Remus could do was scream as the whip bit into his skin. It hurt more than all those beatings he had had at the orphanage. Through the pain, Remus thought with twisted amusement that Madam Jeromin could learn something from this man about beating children.

Then, when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, distant sounds filled his ears and the whipping stopped.

The ropes that bound his wrists loosened, and Remus felt himself slipping onto the floor, but strong arms helped him down gently, so that he wouldn't be any more injured than he already was.

Shouting was heard, and painfully, he opened his eyes. A blurry sight of a man in blue appeared, with the warden kneeling in front of him, his hands clasped together pathetically. "Please, master, spare me!"

The plead went unheard as the razor-edged sword Remus saw earlier swung across the man's neck. Remus screamed as blood shot out into the air and a head rolled to his feet, eyes wide and blank.

Falling backwards, Remus passed out.

-

To Be Continued...