A/N: So I've had this thing lingering in my files for the longest time and decided to finish it. Honestly though I don't have any idea where or what I wanted accomplished with this one but I guess I could consider it good practice?

Anyway, enjoy

-x-

"Come on little brother, you must be quicker if you want to beat Garsiv to a pulp!" The boy grinds his teeth. Brown eyes narrowed in riled concentration. He flings his fist towards the older boy's chest. The inexperienced fist flys past it's target as his opponent turns his upper body to dodge it. Even if it did hit its mark it wouldn't of hurt in the slightest. It was an awkward punch, hesitant.

The older boy threw a punch at the younger's open shoulder. He loosened up a bit because this was only training and he didn't want to hurt his brother. The boy didn't have enough time to block the punch, it sent him back a few steps upon impact. He runs at his brother and gets low as he nears him. With this lower stature the older boy wouldn't be able to hit him as easily. He sends another punch at the boy, this time at his gut. His brother's back arches and his chance opens. His fist flys at his brother's chest but just as he thinks his victory was sealed the older boy straightens, uses his quick reflexes and grabs the fist whirling at him. He places his hand on the younger's back and lightly knees him in the gut.

"Works every time!" The older laughs.

The boy drops to his knees, arms wrapped around his gut and coughing. He lowers his head and squeezes his eyes shut. The older lowers on one knee, worried that he might of actually really hurt his little brother. He opens his eyes to see just how close his face was to the other's. He suddenly head butts his older brother.

"Ow, Dastan!" He yells but this wasn't an angered yell, the hints of a laugh found their way into it. The force of the hit sent the boy on his back. His hand pressed against the quickly forming lump on his forehead. He remains laying on the marble of the courtyard.

"Well it looks like it doesn't just work for you, Tus." Dastan jokes. He watches Tus stare into the cloudless, orange sky that hangs over Persia. This boy was four years older than the fifteen year old Dastan. His strong chest rose and fell with his breathing, it seemed like Tus and Garsiv were made up of only muscle. They kept well by sparring with each other daily. Dastan sighs rather loudly, he knew his day would come when he would start sparring with Garsiv but he wanted that day to come faster.

"What troubles you, Dastan?" Tus tilts his head upwards to look at the boy. He and Garsiv are equal in their skill with a sword, it made Dastan a little jealous to be honest. He once told Tus of his feelings, Tus explained to him that he's lucky he has the traits he does for if he was naturally capable with a sword as they were, it would get to his head. Dastan knew it had already gotten to Garsiv, he's arrogant, stubborn and headstrong. Tus, thankfully, isn't arrogant but indeed stubborn and often showed his independence in battle.

"I- I just want to be as good a fighter as you and Garsiv." He blurts, he hadn't intended to say it. Tus chuckles lightly and lays his head back on the ground. "I mean... you're born soldiers and you grew up with the best training a person could ask for-"

"Dastan stop," Tus sits up, staring into Dastan's eyes "you are as much a Prince of Persia as I am. Do you not remember what father said about you the day you came to the palace?" He stays silent and waits.

"I had the spirit of a noble king..." He answers, breaking the stare by looking down into his lap. He hates answering Tus like this, like he was a servant answering a question about a broken vase to its master, an obvious answer.

"Exactly, you do not need noble blood but a noble spirit." He stops. "And I'm sure the only reason why you lost today was because you were thinking about that girl in the market." Dastan's eyes widen.

"I-I- I don't know what your talking about." Cheeks turning a bright red, Dastan turns his head to try and hide the obvious blush. He remembers the girl Tus speaks of. He had been racing Bis over rooftops and through streets in the market when he spotted a beautiful girl. She had a golden desert tan, sapphire eyes and chestnut brown hair. He had stood there for a minute looking at this beauty of Nasaf before Bis found him and pulled him back to the palace.

"So there was a girl clouding your thoughts! My baby brother is finally starting to notice women!" He laughs proudly. Dastan blushes even more. Tus stands up and places his fists on his hips as he looks out past Nasaf and to the golden desert sands.

Dastan follows his gaze. They were truly lucky to have such a spot to watch the sun set over the dunes. He leans on his palms as he watches the sky. He remembers that he and Bis would always climb the village buildings to try and find the best spot to watch the sun set.

"Hey, dimwits!" A voice calls from the courtyard entrance. Looking back, they both see a frustrated Garsiv. "We've been in the dining hall for nearly half an hour waiting for the likes of you two! Come on, I'm starving!" Garsiv yells, obviously moody. He stomps back inside, pushing past a figure in the doorway. Dastan can only see the face of the individual for a second but concludes that it was their Uncle Nizam.

Standing he follows closely behind Tus as he sets the pace. Upon entering the smell of dinner floats past their noses and Dastan only just realizes how hungry he is.

Within minutes they arrive in the dining hall, guided by their stomachs. Seeing Garsiv with his head in his hands makes them chuckle. He's always like this at dinner, impatient and snarky towards anyone who doesn't give him the food he, more like his stomach, desires. It seems as though Garsiv's stomach has a mind of its own.

Dastan takes a seat next to Tus, not particularly ambitious on sitting next to his irritable older brother. They greet their father with fond hellos then they begin to eat, much to Garsiv's relief. They've always been amazed that Garsiv can burn off all the food that he eats. Dastan and Tus even hold bets on how much their brother will eat that day, sometimes even the King will take part in these, if he's in a good mood to begin with which he usually is.

"Honestly my sons," King Sharaman starts, "what could have possibly took you so long? I mean, Hassansins didn't show up and turn you two into snails could they?"

"They were watching the pretty sunset..." Garsiv mocks and wiggles his fingers 'magically', voice purposely higher in pitch.

"Ah," the King muses, "it is rather exquisite today is it not?" Dastan can tell that his father did this just to annoy Garsiv.

"I was joking," Garsiv groans.

After a small chuckle, Tus speaks, "The truth is father, Dastan and I were merely sparring in the courtyard. It just so happened that Garsiv came for us when we were taking a break and admiring the sky."

"Hmm, how are you both doing in your fighting, I may ask?"

"Fine, at least I think so." Dastan says as he reaches for a pomegranate in a bowl of fruit. Garsiv's eyes follow his hand as he does so.

"Well, who won these rounds today?" Sharaman asks.

"Tus, without a doubt." Garsiv says before the other brothers could answer.

"Hey!" Dastan exclaims and follows up by spitting a pomegranate seed at Garsiv as he always does when he eats the fruit. Sharaman does nothing of the act, seeing as Dastan has done it since he arrived in the palace and was finally comfortable around the princes.

Finally fed up with the act Garsiv bursts, "Alright Dastan! I have an idea!" The palms of his hands hit the table with a slight smack as he stands, slightly bending over the table to get a little bit closer to his younger brother. "We're going to settle this." He says pointing to the pomegranate in Dastan's hand.

"You're going to settle the pomegranate?" Tus asks with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

"Sort of. Tomorrow morning Dastan, you and I will end this with a sword fight. If I win then you need to stop spitting those seeds at me. If you win, well... I don't know... I'll even let you have Bis on your side."

Dastan thinks about the proposition and nods, "Alright Garsiv, whatever will make you happy." He holds out his hand and Garsiv shakes it. What Garsiv doesn't know is that no matter what the outcome is Dastan will continue to spit at him.

The rest of dinner carries on without any more bizarre happenings, other then Nizam finally showing up. After the meal the three boys leave the King and his advisor to themselves. The grand doors close behind them and as they turn to leave for their chambers, Dastan decides to bother his older brother a little more before they retire for the night.

Dastan falls a little behind in step compared to Garsiv and at the perfect moment he swipes his ankle out from underneath the prince. As Garsiv is off balance slightly Dastan shoves his shoulder, sending him on the floor. Dastan dashes forward out of Garsiv's swing range.

"Dastan!" Garsiv yells, angered. He straightens himself as quick as possible and sets in a hard run after his little brother, leaving a laughing Tus behind.

One of the only problems in Dastan's plan is the fact that Garsiv still knows the palace better than Dastan does and cuts him off in several places. He runs down corridors and through the gardens before he finally rounds a corner and has enough time to scale a wall and hide on a rafter before Garsiv bounds around the corner. Garsiv slows to a cautious walk.

"I'm going to find that rat!" He grumbles to himself. Dastan watches as he walks directly underneath him. It takes everything he has to stifle a laugh. He lurks up in the rafter a little longer before jumping down after Garsiv disappears behind a corner and down another hall. Smirking at his brother's stupidity he strolls to his chambers. Despite living with him for several years now, Garsiv still hasn't figured out the fact that Dastan will never stop climbing buildings, wether it be inside or out.