C H A P T E R O N E
More
Than a
Memory
Disclaimer: Prince of Persia belongs to Ubisoft, Montreal Studios and Muze Inc. I, Jen Zi, do not own PoP or have any formal ties to any of these companies, their affiliates, or subsidiaries. This story is not intended as copyright infringement and should not be reproduced or replicated anywhere for any reason, unless otherwise stated in written consent by myself. So in other words, please don't sue me or steal my stuff. I appreciate it. :P
Author's Note: Please review! This is my first fanfic, and I'd love any suggestions or criticism you can offer. :) It's a little shorter than I would have liked for my first chapter, but I promise the next one will be longer and more exciting.
The Prince slid across the cracked marble floor, his heart throbbing in his chest like a war drum. His hand shot out from underneath his breast and grabbed hold of the dagger's glittering blade. There was a jerk as gravity caught Farah's full weight and she cried out as she nearly lost her grip on the hilt. He winced in pain as the metal dug into the flesh of his palm, slowly slicing through his grip, pulling half his torso over the gap. He steadied himself with his other hand, his body positioning in preparation to pull her back from the brink of oblivion; his mind determined never to let go.
"Hang on Farah! I'm going to pull you up. Give me your hand!"
He lowered his free hand, even as the dagger slipped farther out of his reach in it's opposite. Farah looked up; her gaze meeting the Prince's. She smiled sadly, calmly; she knew her fate was sealed. The world froze around them, the sounds of the sand monsters bled away, the Prince's breath caught in his throat, his eyes hopelessly trapped within hers. Their minds met and for that one instant they shared a single consciousness; one love, two lives, and a mission only one would be able to complete. Softly, with her final breath, she uttered one single word, "Kakolukia."
And with that, her hand released the hilt of the Dagger of Time. She fell backwards, her luxurious black hair flowing behind her as her body fell silently, almost gently, towards the cold stone floor beneath it. All that was left was the Prince's outstretched hand, his cry, "Farah!", and then silence…
The Prince darted up-right in his bed, his eyes racing across the room as he searched for the query of his nightmare. "Farah!" There was no answer.
He
fell back onto his bed as the recollection of his surroundings filled
him. He was in his room; in Babylon. His breathing slowed and he
wiped the sweat from his brow as he stared intensely at the silk
canopy over his head, drifting effortlessly in the cool night air.
Just a dream, he thought as he closed his eyes, trying to
relieve his discomfort. It's always just a
dream...
A year's time had passed since the Prince's fated journey through time. Still, memories of those days persisted, lingering like dark clouds after a rain storm. He had tried so hard to disregard them, but they refused to be forgotten. Every time he found a moments peace, his mind would wander back to those days. An unrequited love, a desperate mission, a terrible horde. He had hoped after his rendezvous with the Vizier in Farah's bedchambers, that this whole mess would finally be over, but Fate had a crueler path in mind for him. He seemed forever doomed to dream of his mistake and the woman he would never be able to have.
Despite the occasional sleepless night, in the time since, the Prince had become less and less tormented by his ordeal as a whole. His wounds from his final battle with his enemy had healed at long last. He couldn't even imagine what must have gone through his father's mind when he had returned after supposedly sleeping in his tent, bleeding and exhausted, the night they had planned to storm the Maharaja's palace. Without the advantage of surprise, the Prince's father, King Shahraman, had abandoned plans to capture the city; its defenses were well-built and it would have taken months of brutal fighting to penetrate the city walls. That and they hadn't planned on needing them, so there hadn't been a single siege tower or battering ram in the entire host of the army. They had expected to take the city with speed and stealth alone as allies, but without the signal that the city gates had been opened, it had not been so. A grave oversight in his father's opinion, but one the Prince was personally grateful for. After their former capture, he wasn't sure the Dagger or the Hourglass would be any safer under a second onslaught.
Unfortunately, his deepest scars could not be seen in a mirror. He had returned to Babylon, his home city, a different man. Whereas he had once been brash and overly self-confident, the Prince was quieter, more reclusive, and less keen on his own skills. He smiled much less than he had in the past, and his once quick, sarcastic sense of humor was replaced by a more demur, serious tone. His seemingly increased interest in politics though, was a welcome change amongst his family. Before his trip to India, the Prince had cared little for events happening beyond the borders of his empire, but now he was keenly interested in the goings-on of his kingdom. Especially so, it's fragile relationship with India. In the time since their failed invasion, the Persian empire had turned swiftly from its former aggression with the rival nation, mostly to the Prince's credit. Although met with suspicion at first, he had eventually managed to convince his father and his advisors to "let sleeping dogs lie." And at least for now, relations between the two countries had become somewhat amicable, though still far from ideal.
The Prince wrestled with the sheets in his bed as thoughts of Farah returned to him. He had managed to sleep undisturbed for nearly a week before her voice had once again claimed his dreams. He kicked off his covers and rolled over, cradling his arms as he lay on his side and squeezing his eyes closed. Why couldn't he just forget about her? Surly a year later he should have found a new beauty to occupy his thoughts… And yet there were none.
There were, of course, many beautiful women within the palace. Entertainers for his father's harem, dancers at the parties, serving girls, and all manner of slaves and guests, but none of them had replaced his affections for the Indian princess. There was always something about them that reminded him of his lost love, and yet he was always distinctly aware of the differences that set them apart.
He sighed and tried to force himself onto happier thoughts. Farah was gone. She was safe, probably sound asleep in her bed, in her father's palace. She probably never even thought of him -- yearned for him -- the way he did for her. It was like an insatiable hunger that no amount of worldly temptations could quake.
The past is finished and over with. Farah is
nothing more than a memory now.
She was better forgotten,
he knew, but his heart refused to allow him the luxury. Surly being
stabbed by a sand monster would be a sweeter pain. His thoughts
drifted off as sleep finally took hold of him. No, she was so much more
than just a
memory...