Author's Notes: This is my first Aladdin fan fiction. I've written other fan fiction, but for some reason I had never written one for Aladdin. The story is a bit slow-paced at first because I was just trying to take my time and have fun with the actual writing. I hope that everyone enjoys it.

Stolen Innocence

Chapter 1: Golden Seas and Familiar Faces

The sun arose early on Agrabah only to find the city awake and bustling. Merchants had opened their shops and stalls early as the people bustled about the streets. Talk was loud and lively; punctuated here and there by a joyous laugh. Never before had the city been so crowded or alive.

Princess Jasmine sat quietly in an open window of one of the high towers of the palace, listening to the sounds of the people as it drifted to her ears like distant music. Because of the high wall, she actually could see only the far outskirts of Agrabah - and the seemingly endless, surrounding sands. When she had been a young girl, she had often come to this room to play. After a bit, she would almost always find herself sitting at this window, her expensive doll lying forgotten on the floor. As she looked out, she would imagine herself on a mountain in the heart of deserted island in the middle of a golden sea. If she saw travelers heading towards her, then it was a ship of either blood-thirsty pirates she would have to fight, or kindly merchants who would allow her to go with them on their journey. What the ship held depended on her mood, but this was a daydream that continued even after her dolls had been retired to a shelf.

There's enough ships now for every pirate in the world, Jasmine thought as she watched a long line of people making their way to Agrabah through a thick veil of dust. There were more people here then when she got married, and all of them were waiting for 'the day.'

So much had changed since the last time she had sat at this window. She was no longer a naïve little princess. Now, she was a woman, a wife, and a soon-to-be mother. With a gentle smile, she rubbed her hands over her extended abdomen and she could feel the life stirring inside her.

"So, here you are," a voice spoke from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts.

She turned to see Aladdin standing there, his face reflecting her own joy. "You were looking for me?" she asked.

He nodded as he walked over to her. His first actions was the same as always since he first learned she was expecting - a gentle kiss followed by placing his hands over hers.

Over their child.

Still smiling, he took a half step back without removing his hands, and a tiny flash of fear shone in his dark eyes. She understood his feelings. The whole concept of her being pregnant and becoming a parent was a bit overwhelming, but Aladdin did his best to hide his fear. A single blink and his deep brown eyes only sparkled with joy and excitement. "Do you have any special requests for breakfast?" he questioned, "The cook doesn't want to be surprised at the last minute again."

Jasmine laughed aloud. Her cravings had become quite strong and varied as of late. She could just picture the cook's round, flushed face and the strange expression he wore whenever she made one of her strange requests. "Nothing special today," she answered, as she moved her hand to hold his, "I'm just hungry."

Hand in hand, they left the room and headed towards the dining hall. However, Jasmine's mind was occupied with all the decorations and changes to made to the room that had been so special to her as a child.

Soon, it would become the perfect nursery.

(*)

Through the crowded city streets, guards slowly walked in small groups as they looked for anything amiss. These were not the elite or head guards, but a small band of low ranking newcomers especially chosen by Razul to watch the streets, and the resentment was clear upon their faces. The palace was the important location, but there job was just be a presence. They had gotten the chance to break up an illegal gambling center, taking wagers on the gender of the unborn child, but nothing else had happened. Casually, their eyes scanned the crowd and the seemingly endless row of merchants, sliding from one face to another - unaware of the slightly smug smile of a man selling simple pottery.

Cassim watched the guards that had walked by him without so much of a second glance until they were swallowed by the swarm of people. His disguise was amusingly simple but apparently effective. He had remembered well the teaching of the thief Malik, who had taken him under his tutelage so many years ago.

"There three things you need to know about a good disguise," Malik had said, while holding up three gnarled fingers as if for emphasis, "First, keep it simple. Anything too elaborate will just scream disguise and you might as well go around shouting your name at the top of your lungs. Second, add one little detail to attract attention, but only a little bit - like a limp or some sort of small injury. Anything too big will only make you more noticeable, but something small will actually divert attention. If you have a lame leg, people will look at your leg rather than your face. Lastly, and this is the most important, you have to look like you belong. If you keep looking around like you're some sort of animal that's supposed to be in cage, then that's what other people will think of you. You have to look like you have as much reason and right to be there as anyone else. Do you got that, boy?"

Cassim smiled slightly at the memory. Old Malik was ancient before Cassim had ever met him with one foot deep in the grave. He had been a small man, thin to the point of near emaciation, with a wrinkled bald dome of head. Years prior, an accident of some sort had left him blinded in his right eye, and the sightless blue orb was known to make men uneasy. Yet, there had been intelligence and kindness sparkling in his left eye, and his speech sometimes betrayed an education not typically found among thieves. Cassim had often mused what had led a man such as Malik down a felonious path, but it was a forbidden question to ask.

Well, old friend, he thought to himself, if only you were still around so I could show you what I've learned.

His disguise surely would have been Malik approved. With some reluctance, he had shaved his beard and mustache. When he was first married his young wife, Joharra, had told him that his facial hair gave him a look of elegance and refinement, but his wife was gone and so were his days of vanity. Revealing his cleanly shaven face, he wore an dirty white hood, that hung slightly low over his eyes, but not so low as to arouse suspicion. To complete the disguise, he had used a tiny bit of ink mixed with sand to create the illusion of a small, old scar running alongside his mouth. Just as he knew it would, the guards' eyes had paused briefly upon the scar before sliding off his face. To them, he was just a simple merchant standing behind his booth while trying to sell unremarkable pottery.

"I told you it would work," he stated in a soft voice that he directed towards the peaked roof of the tent which covered his stand.

"It's still a big risk," Iago said, looking down from a small wooden plank.

"Risks are a part of life, my friend," Cassim responded, pleased at how well his tent design was working. He could easily be disguised as a normal shopkeeper, but Iago would always stand out like, well, a brightly-colored, tropical bird in the middle of the desert. Even if he wasn't recognized as 'that parrot,' he would still draw too much attention. Cassim solved this problem by building a tent with a high peaked roof and a perch, which allowed the bird a comfortable place where he couldn't be easily seen by the public.

Being unusually quiet, Iago merely shrugged at Cassim's statement and turned his attention back to a tiny series of hold in the tent that allowed him to watch the crowd unseen. Although he hadn't said anything directly, Cassim knew the parrot was looking forward to seeing his old comrades. During much of the previous night, Iago had talked almost incessantly about the 'stupid monkey' - a term which seemed more affection than insult.

Cassim was excited as well. He knew that a team of physicians were staying in the palace all hours, so his first grandchild would soon make his or her first appearance in this world. He could barely contain himself.

Trying to look the part of a normal merchant, he tried to clear his face of excitement as he scanned the crowd, pretending to be looking for perspective customers. Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to a young man that was looking directly at him.

Even thought he was standing in the center of the crowd, this stranger stood out from the rest of the people. He was wearing a deep blue robe with a low, gold-trimmed hood, but the face that was revealed below the hood was oddly beautiful. It was a slender face, but the proportions of the slim, patrician nose and well-defined eyes seemed perfect. His complexion was unusually fair for the desert, and it gave him a look of being cast in marble. Dark waves of hair, as ebony as midnight's veil, curled about his face in a casually elegant manner. The only visible flaw was that he seemed a bit too thin - his robe hanging loosely on his frame. He probably had never been very big, but it looked as if he might have lost some weight recently. Without speaking, he stood like a statue erected in the middle of the square, a strange look in his shadowed, dark eyes.

He recognizes me, Cassim thought as he took an involuntary step back. For a brief moment, Cassim steeled himself for the inevitable cry of alarm and the rush of the guard. Then he realized that he was merely seeing a reflection of himself for they were both men in disguise. The young stranger even seemed to be following Malik's rules, right down to a bandaged right hand, the fingers of which hung only slightly lower then his sleeve. Unfortunately, with such fair and sculpted features, it would be impossible for him to blend into a crowd seamlessly.

As if unaware of the intense stare, Cassium pretended to notice something wrong with his tent and brought his hands up to fix the problem. With his arms blocking the view of his face, he glanced up at Iago to ask if he had noticed the disguised stranger.

One look at the parrot provided more than enough answer. Iago's beak was hanging open, and his eyes had grown wide as if he had just seen a ghost. He could overreact at times, it was in his nature, but Cassim could tell that this was different. Iago was truly afraid of the handsome young man in the blue robe. Cautiously, Cassim risked another look into the crowd.

The stranger had vanished.

Frowning, Cassim brought down his hands and looked around, but only saw the typical mob of people. There was no hint of a blue robed figured anywhere. It was as if the hot, dry air had simply swallowed him whole. Cassim looked back up at Iago, who still looked as if he was about to panic. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Mozenrath," Iago replied, spitting out the name as if it were a foul taste.

"Mozenrath," Cassim repeated thoughtfully, but the name held no recognition, "I take it he's not a friend."

"He's trouble," Iago clarified, "Remember me telling you about Jafar? Well, this kid's a hundred times worse. Cold, ruthless, powerful - and those are his good qualities!" His voice rose slightly as he shook his head. "He shouldn't even be here. Him being in town will only mean trouble for Al."

"Should we warn Aladdin?" questioned Cassim.

Iago nodded, "He'll want to know Mozenrath's back in the neighborhood."

"Okay then," Cassim said, "We'll wait for nightfall. Then, you can simply fly into the palace and…"

"Hold it right there," Iago interrupted, "Why am I doing all the sneaking? You're the master thief around here. Playing hero isn't my thing, you know."

"I know, but it would be easier for you to simply fly in. You're familiar with the palace. I might be able to sneak in, but it's risky with all the guards posted now." Cassim smiled humorlessly. "Besides, what exactly would you do if I was captured? I'm your meal ticket after all."

"Good point," Iago consented, although he still look very convinced.

Cassim sighed softly, fairly confident that the bird would help him. Still, he couldn't help but allow worry to creep into his mind. Iago was obviously very frightened of this Mozenrath, but was this fear justified? Did the young sorcerer really pose that big of a threat? Cassim mulled these thoughts in his mind as the rest of the tow passed by happily. Yet, there was more question that burned in his mind.

Why did Mozenrath seem familiar?