To Stand and Fight

by timelucked

because at the end of the day, that is all you can do. Takes place at Avrat, fighting off Garsiv. Thoughts of a banished prince and all that he's lost. But Dastan will always pick himself up and fight - if only to prove his honor.

I can trust no one. I am betrayed by all. What I have left is nothing. Not even the cloak I wear is my own.

These web of lies around me, collide to form only emptiness and loss. My life slips by me now, as grain does betwixt my fingers. I can see the strain of memory; passing by like ash on wind. My life was never my own, it was a placeholder for another. I was to pour the wine that would later fill my brother's cup, the elixir that sustained his life and glory and filled me with grief and loathing.

There was a time before this day, where I would play in the royal courts as Father toiled in his chambers, forging paths to strengthen our glorious empire. Garsiv and I would grab sticks and fight, battling each other through nooks and chutes about the palace. I would win with the knowledge I possessed about the lay of the land, but there were times when he would best me – a crowning moment in his youth as his eyes glimmered with childish delight. We would brace arms, and he would heft me to my feet and call me brother.

Now he glares death upon me in a fiery visage of anger, flaming his cheeks and heating his breath with hatred. He flings swords and hammers, sends guards and destruction to chase me through the streets that will light with my father's pyre, aflame as his rage. At this point, we grapple and duke, battle and wage a war upon each other not our own. Now, I am no one's brother. Now I am Dastan, not the lion, but the deserter. Dastan, the betrayer. Dastan, the nameless. Dastan, the blasphemer. Dastan…the man charged with a crime he did not commit. I am Dastan, the betrayed.

And I am a man who will fight to his dying breath. Send your swords and your weapons, your guards and your pain. Cast forth all your misery, I've lost all I owned. Give me your rage, your wrath, and your anger. But give me not a title that wasn't acquired. Give me not killer or fiend. But give me the chance to regain what was lost. Regain the title of brother, of son, of lion of Persia. To become the man that will see Persia for what father saw her to be. And that is why I will always fight. Even when I can trust no one. Even when I am betrayed by all. Even if all that is left is the dust and sands of nothing, I will don the cloak of justice, and I will right out these wrongs.

Because I am Dastan, son of Sharaman. Prince…of Persia.