AN: I revised this version because after I posted it I noticed that I wrote Hassassin and it is really Hassansin. So I went back and fixed it.
AN: First off I do nt own Prince of Persia. I only own my character Shraga. Secondly this is just movie verse, so if you were looking to read about the game, this is not your story lol. I do hope you enjoy, and please pay no attention to grammar mistakes. I grow tired to rereading my stories looking through them for mistakes. This is a Garsiv and OC fic so I hope its good. Pleas read and review.
He inspected her rather closely. Why wouldn't he? She was the prospective woman to marry into his royal family so she had to be inspected. Rather dirty creature, he thought. She wore her hair long and wavy, her hair ended at her hips. A lot of unruly hair she has, he thought as he tilted his head. He wondered if it would give him a better angle on her. In fact it didn't. Her hair was said to the finest red that he would ever see, but here before him stood a woman with dingy, sandy red hair. It was covered with dirt and he was sure if he touched her, he would get fleas. She reminded him of a stray dog in the slums of his city, where he actually found one of his sons.
In fact her hair wasn't the only dingy dirty thing about her. She was covered in desert sand. She looked rougher than some of the men in his company. Her face was marred with dirt and sweat. He wasn't sure what color her skin really was. He figured she would have that wonderful golden desert tan, but he couldn't tell with all the dirt on her skin. He gulped hard and then looked to her father. The father was a pristine man, like his people. King Saraman had to wonder if she had presented herself like this on purpose so he would refuse her. Well what this dirty creature did not know was that he was King Saraman, and he kept all his promises. He had employed the Hassansins a long time ago, and when he did he had promised to take one of their daughters into his family.
She was considered a princess here among her native people, and one day she would be considered a Princess of Persia. He would make good on his promise and she would marry one of his sons. She could never be queen though. So she could not marry Tus, even though he has yet to marry. He would have considered her for Tus if she were more beautiful, and wasn't of Hassansin descent. She would probably be better suited for his son Dastan in the people's eyes, but it would be an insult to let the youngest marry first.
So his only choice was for her to marry Garsiv. He sighed. Garsiv would never forgive him for making his first wife this filthy Hassansin. He took a step closer to her to get a better look. He was happy that she drew herself straighter, and didn't back down to him. She was tall, a few inches shorter than Garsiv. He could tell that she was lean, an athletic build, as well as shapely. The rags she was wearing couldn't hide the hourglass figure or her high set breasts. Her hips were wide, great for child bearing, he thought fondly. Her eyes were a lime green. Very intense her stare was, and he was the first to look away. Very strong willed, this was good. He went to turn around to speak to her father and his eyes caught something else under that hard look and dirt. She had a scar on her right eye. Very faint, but noticeable once it was found. He sighed again. Garsiv was going to think he was getting damaged goods, which she clearly was.
The scar went vertically through her eye and was about two inches long. It started right under her eyebrow, and looked as if it cut right through her pupil and ended right on her cheek bone. It was a wonder that her eye hadn't been damaged. He finally looked away and started to speak to her father.
"She will marry my second born, Garsiv." he said with a smile.
Her father did not smile though. "She will not marry the first born?" he asked confused.
"Because she is clearly not fit to be a queen of Persia, just a princess." said Saraman, knowing full well that the Hassansin wanted his daughter on a high seat in the throne room. She would be high enough, and the Hassansin should just settle on what he can get. "She is strong, and she is very fit to be the future queen of Persia." said her father.
"She is young though, too young for Tus. Girl how old are you?" asked Saraman.
"I am sixteen your highness." she said properly. He had seen her visibly relax when he said that she would marry Garsiv instead of Tus. Seemed that this girl had no intentions on wanting to be a queen. "See, she is young for Tus. Tus is now turning 22, and Garsiv is 18. It would be more appropriate for her to marry Garsiv. I think it is a better match." said Saraman, and that was the final word. She, Shraga of the Hassansins, was to marry Garsiv of Persia.
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King Saraman was correct. Garsiv was furious to learn that he was to be married. Not only to be married but to learn the wedding would be two days away. "I refuse to marry her. I don't even know what she looks like!" spat Garsiv as he paced in front of his father's throne. "You will see her on your wedding day." said Saraman as he smiled down at his son. Tus and Dastan were there too and they couldn't help but feel their brother's pain for having to marry a woman he did not want.
"What does she look like father? The servant's whisper how she looks like a goat's cousin." laughed Tus as he elbowed Dastan. It was just a joke though. And it even pulled a small smile to Garsiv's lips, but it was just a moment and it slipped back into a deep frown again. "Well she looks like an Angel. Fiery red hair. Perfect golden skin. Almond shaped lime green eyes, and an attitude to match the hair." stated Saraman.
Garsiv sighed defeated. It was futile to argue with his father who clearly had made up his mind. There was not getting rid of this stupid notion that he would marry this tribal Princess. He sighed again and tried to control his anger. He then looked at his brothers. His eyes told them both that they were going to help him see his bride before the wedding. Dastan smiled, and Tus frowned. Surely they would get in trouble for this. "Well father I guess you are right. I will marry this woman you claim to be an angel." said Garsiv. "Ah good my boy, I am glad you agree with me." Saraman said with a joyous smile.
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Agree with his father he may have done, but he would see his wife. He would do so bluntly. He marched right into her quarters, followed by Tus and Dastan. They encountered a room full of women, but none which were red headed like their father had said. "Maybe she hasn't arrived yet?" asked Tus as he looked over his shoulder at Garsiv who looked infuriated that she wasn't anywhere to be found.
"She is here. I know she is. I bet they are hiding her. You there, where is my intended?" asked Garsiv of a servant woman. She bowed deeply to him then looked up at him confused. "I do not know where she is my lord. We haven't been able to find her as of yet." said the servant.
Garsiv blinked a few times. "What do you mean?" he asked
"Well we were ordered to come here and care for her, but once we arrived she wasn't here. We have been searching for her but we cannot seem to find her." she said with a shaky voice. The Royal family were a kind family, but she was still afraid. The brother's looked among each other, worried was read on all their faces.
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She knew that they would come and look for her, but King Saraman had made it clear to stay away from her intended. So today, she hid in the best hiding spot that she was able to find, her future husband's quarters. She hadn't taken too much time to look around before she was bathing herself. She drew her own bath and washed herself in his private bath chambers. She before all was born a woman who could care for herself. She didn't need a room full of women bathing her, when she could bath herself better. Second she wasn't this dirty woman the King had thought she was.
She was a Hassansin, and they were clean folk. She was rather compulsively clean for a Hassansin though. She bathed in the tub her future husband bathed in, and after she was cleaned from head to toe, she then dressed in one of her future husband's robes. She discarded her dirty clothing and then finally went to explore Garsiv's room.
It had been decorated by royal decorators, but definitely had a male influence in the room. Swords, many swords littered the walls and tables of his room. She actually smiled about the swords. She was a Hassansin so she appreciated the weaponry, just not so openly. She reached out to one of the swords and fingered the blade. It was expertly sharpened and she figured it would be. She sighed and moved on, trying not to think about how he probably didn't sharpen the blade himself. She didn't want to think Garsiv was the kind of man who had to have things done for him.
She looked at the scrolls next. Mostly there were about war strategy. So Garsiv loved his swords, seeing how there were so many of them, and he was a reader about war strategy. No doubt he counted himself a warrior. She wondered about his true skills though. Real warriors had no need to display their weaponry like so, and the only reason they would read war strategies was to read about other's mistakes. She was suddenly looking forward to seeing what kind of man Garsiv really was.
She had heard whispers when she was a few years younger that Garsiv was the son who was best with a blade. She could only hope that her future husband proved to be all he needed to be. She wouldn't be able to stand the fact that she was going to marry a man who couldn't hold his own against her. She was a woman, yes, but she had been trained like the men of her people. Her father was the leader and she was his tool, or so he thought.
It was a good plan. Train the daughter that was going to one day marries into the royal family that relationships were beginning to become heated with. Her father trained her to be a tool, a weapon. Her father knew things were going south with their treaty with the Persian King. So what better way to ensure that if things got worse that he would have a Hassansin on the inside who could kill them all.
What her father did not realize was that while she may have been a perfectly trained Hassansin warrior, she was above all a woman. Hassansin women were fiercely devoted to their husbands. Once a bond was made with a husband a Hassansin woman would not betray her man. Her father didn't estimate this so if things did go south after the wedding her father would lose her. She sighed at the thought. This wedding was going to tear her away from her people. She blinked away the tears and realized that her wedding day would be a door opening to her new life as a real woman, not just a tool of her father.
She ended up lying in Garsiv's bed, figuring out how he slept at night. She found out that Garsiv slept to the right of his bed, his left arm stretched around his head and his right hand resting on his stomach. She could tell because of the indentions in the mattress. He also slept with his left leg stretched out straight and his right leg brought up to his thigh. It was strange that she too normally slept like this in her own bed. She then glanced over and sighed. There was no room for her in this bed if he slept like this. She did not fit into his bed, then she knew she would not fit into his life very well.
Her life was not her own she knew that. It was something she would have to become accustomed to. It was just something she wished wouldn't have happened. She should have been born a male, and none of this would be a problem for her. She sighed and then left his room to find another place to hide.
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"Your foot steps are light, good for sneaking up on people…. Prince Dastan." she said without turning around to face Dastan. He looked very surprised though. Him and his brothers had searched for her all day and he, on a whim, decided to check her chambers once more before departing to his own chambers. He had found her sitting alone reading a scroll. He thought to sneak up on her, but she was obviously better than he thought.
"How did you know I was Dastan?" he asked as he drew closer to her.
"I wasn't entirely sure but you just confirmed it for me." she said as she put down the scroll and turned to look at him. He at first was taken by her beauty. His father had said she was beautiful, and he wondered instantly about why she was chosen for Garsiv and not Tus. She was young, yes, but there were younger women marrying older men, so age was not the issue. She was stunningly beautiful and he took another step closer so he could take her beauty in more. But then that was when he noticed.
She wore bruises on her arms, as if she was a warrior, and she had that scar on her eye. Tus, while not a man to ever say a harsh word about a woman, would not take the marred girl. Her oval face pretty face did not hide the scar on her eye. The scar was hard to spot but once found it was there to stay in anyone's mind. The thing was though, it wasn't even that big of a scar, or even that dark of one, it just marred her features enough to where she would never be eligible for Tus. And the bruises on her arms, like she had recently fought with someone didn't help her case. So this was Garsiv's woman.
"Sword, it was a sword that did this to my face when I was younger." she explained as she fingered the scar with her pointer finger. He expected her to shy away from his intense stare but all she did was stroke that scar fondly and smiled. She is odd, he thought as he finally took step away from her.
"So are you excited to be marrying my brother?" he asked with a smile. She laughed at him and stood up. She was only a few inches shorter than him, which was tall for a woman.
"Would you be excited to marry a man you never met?" she asked.
"I see your point." he said, starting to feel slightly unnerved.
"Well, Dastan, I know you probably have many questions for me I hate to tell you that I am ready to retire and would rather this conversation be saved for tomorrow." she said as she started over to her bed. He nodded. "It was nice to meet you Princess Shraga." he said cordially with a slight bow. "It was nice for you to sneak up on me too, Prince Dastan." she said as he ducked out of her chambers.
Xxxxxxxxx
She had managed to stay well hidden from Garsiv and Tus until the morning of her wedding. Her hiding place of choice was the war room. She was already prepared for her wedding. Her hair had been placed over her head in an elegant bun. She had also been given a wonderful, simple, white gown to wear. She couldn't help but feel beautiful in the clothes that she was wearing.
She took her time to read scrolls in the war room, learning things about the combat of the Persians. She had to hand it to them, they were good at gaining more land for themselves, but that wasn't the only thing a warrior needed.
"So you must be Tus?" she asked after tiring of the oldest brother staring at the back of her head. She had allowed him to stand there a few moments before she let him know that he was there. "How did you know I was here? And better yet, how did you know that I was Tus?" he asked as he folded his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him. By Gods, she was gorgeous, he thought as he stared at her. From behind he had admired her, but now that he saw her face and she was stunning.
"I heard you come in, you weren't very silent, not like Dastan tried to be. And if you were Garsiv you would have came at me already and told me to get the hell out of here before the wedding." she said.
"That is where you are wrong sweetheart, he would have taken one look at you and he would have forgotten all his anger on having to marry you." he said as he continued to stare at her. That is when he noticed her scar. It didn't matter though. She was still wonderfully beautiful. That is where his father was wrong. Tus would have married her, and he would have done so proudly.
"It is almost that time you know…. You could still run I guess." he said.
"If I were going to run I would have done so two days ago. I do not fear this marriage." she laughed as she started to walk towards the exit of the war room. Tus stopped her gently by laying a hand on her shoulder. She turned and stared him in the eye. Garsiv was going to have a tough time with this woman. She was not demure like other woman of Persia.
She believed that she was mans equal, he could tell just by looking at her. It was the way she held herself erect, staring him in the eye. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek in blessing. She bobbed her head to accept his blessing and then she moved on.
It was time now for her wedding. She was going to stall it for a few moments, but she decided that was not what she really wanted. She wanted to hurry and marry this man so she could spar with him. She would not know the man he really was until she fought him in battle.
Tus opened the door for her and she waltzed through it. There they separated, she returning to the bridal party, and him joining his father and brothers in the gardens.
Women immediately surrounded her and fussed over her appearance. She was already ready for the wedding, but instead now she was having to let these women apply more blush so she would appear to be the blushing bride that she clearly wasn't.
After another ten long minutes of this torture the women released her to go to her wedding.
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He stood at the altar already waiting, staring angrily at his brothers. Both his brothers wore wide grins on their faces, which meant they had seen her, when he couldn't manage to even get a hint of where she had been in the palace. He took it personally that he wasn't able to hunt her down, when he in turn was an avid hunter.
He felt as if his heart was in his throat the longer that he waited. His skin crawled with anticipation. The waiting was killing him. He wanted to get married and get it over with so he could go back to his military life.
He was not going to be a good husband, so he wanted to hurry as fast as he could to finish this day. His plans were to marry her and then get back to training. He had no interest in the festivities that were to follow the wedding ceremony. He didn't even have interest in the wedding night. That was all until he saw her.
His brother's saw her first and he followed their gaze to her. His breath caught in his throat at the woman who stood before him. He didn't know what to think, in fact he was sure he forgot how to think. He still felt angered by this arrangement of his father's, yet how could he not contemplate the possibilities of being wed to such a lovely woman?
She stood there only a moment before she hurried down to the alter where he stood with as much grace that she could muster. Splendid, she was absolutely splendid. The sun was setting behind her, making her hair seem to be on fire. Her skin glistened in the setting sunlight, her eyes sparkled like none other. His father was right; she is an angel. Yet in the back of his mind something warned him about this woman.
She was beautiful enough for Tus to wed, so why was she now standing beside him, looking into his eyes as if she were his equal? No humility and not a demure bone in her body is what her eyes told him. Those beautiful lime green eyes held nothing but strength and determination. She was a strong Princess, there was no doubt to that. He was so captured by her that it took him several minutes to spot her scar.
It was like he snapped out of a trance that she had enthralled him in. That was a scar made by a sword, the tip of a sword actually. He was a warrior, and he could spot these sorts of things nearly a mile away. Where in the ever expanding empire of Persia had this Princess been wounded? He was told she was a desert Princess of some hostile nomads that his father was making peace with because they took up an entire valley of sand, yet could her home be so hostile that she now stands before him with a battle scar?
A priest stepped forward then and began the ceremony, which tore his thoughts away from her scar to the task at hand; him marrying this wounded angel. His heart rate sped up, and he closed his eyes to gain a moment of closure. This was the end of his single life, and the beginning to a life with this woman that he knew nothing about. Dread hit him hard, but he swallowed it like a man. In fact he didn't even know her name. His throat closed up and he choked, gaining a look from the priest.
He nodded that he was alright, and the priest started up again. The ceremony past with a blur until the priest asked for her right hand, and his left hand. He cut a thin yet deep line into both of their palms with a gilded dagger. She did not flinch, which Garsiv noted. They were then instructed to hold hands. She held her palm up, waiting for him to grasp it. He did so tentively, letting his fingers slide against hers, and slowly grasping her hand. Through this blood bond, they were now wed. The priest then wrapped a red ribbon to around their hands and once he tied it, it sealed their marriage. Cheers exploded around them and his brother's clapped him on his shoulders.
None of that mattered to him though, for all he saw was her. She was the only person who existed to him at the moment. It was such a sudden infatuation that his head was spinning because of it.
The rest of his day went by in such a blur that is made him sick to his stomach. They celebrated, danced, ate rich food, and drank sweet wine. It all went by too quickly and before he knew it, it was night time, and he realized that he and his bride had not said one word to each other throughout the entire day.
The priest met them outside his chambers and took off the red ribbon that binds them. He spoke a few words of prayer to guide them through the rest of the night. After the priest was done, she was the first to enter his chambers. He stood there for a moment looking after, trying to find the courage to go confront his wife for the first time.
