Disclaimer: Prince of Persia is not my idea, neither is Farah or the Dagger of Time… All that I claim is mine is the plot, and some additional character's that I made up…
Note: Many people spell Farah's word, cakolukia with a k, but I am spelling it with a c because that is the way I spelt it after I first heard it. If any of you are crazed enough for this to really bother you, don't worry because I don't say it often.
He had been unable to stop the approaching war. The war took place, like it had before he had changed time. But it did not turn out the way it had been before. The victory was not easy, and Farah was not taken as a slave, in fact, the war was still going on now. It was night, and relatively peaceful, though death and destruction ran rampant that day. The Prince lay in his tent, his head full of thought, restless from anxiety and the stifling heat.
He was thinking of Farah of course, he always did now. He was in India, and he could, if he wanted to, go and see her. He could see the glimmer of her lamp in her palace window, though it was far and distant, resembling a flickering golden star. He loved her. He loved her but he could not tell her. Pain throbbed in his chest because of this, the worst kind of pain he had ever experienced. Anyone else who had an unrequited love had more of a chance of revealing it than he did, for she did not remember anything and without remembering it there would be no chance. And the war was going on, they were enemies.
But they were enemies before, she was his slave, and still they had grown to love each other in the end. That was because of the dagger. That was because of the mistake he had made. The one mistake, though tragic, he was almost glad he made. Though now he could never be with her again, and he would have this horrible longing that he could never fill, he was happier to have experienced it than to not have. Another pain of heartache throbbed in his chest. He began to reconsider his thought. Perhaps it would be better for this never to have happened….
No. He loved her. He remembered what they had done together, their moments of intimacy despite the circumstances, his thoughts of marrying her, the heart-wrenching sight of her sacrificing her life for this all to be over, the dagger wet with her blood, and the peaceful way she landed after she had willingly fallen to her death.
The fact that she did not remember not only made it impossible for him to love her again, but made it all the more painful. When he had told her his story, she was intrigued, her beautiful eyes wide, hanging on to his every word. But then her reaction, her face when he knew for sure that she had forgotten, stuck like a pike in his heart, lodged so deep that it would be there forever, a scar never forgotten.
Something stirred in the night. Probably a soldier shifting in his sleep, dreaming of home, of Persia and all of the family and friends that would meet him…
"Farah." Her father's voice echoed in the darkness of the room, startling her while she was writing. His voice had not disturbed her from the poem she was composing, from delicately placing words on the yellowed page. She was not concentrating on that at all. She was thinking of that Prince again, the one from Persia, who she knew was sleeping not far away while he waited for the morning when he would fight again…
Fight. He would fight against her own people, and she should hate him for that, but instead she ignored this, while a nagging voice in the back of her head told her to hate him. But she could not. Somehow she believed that he was not evil like that, that he would not kill her people if he had a choice. And she was intrigued by him. He had told her his story, killed the vizier, who he has somehow known was treacherous, and then left her the dagger before sliding down a tree and running off.
Who was he? She wanted to know. There was something definitely intriguing about him, and his story, and how he had gotten the dagger in the first place.
But he could be a madman. He could have made up this story, stolen the dagger and killed the vizier, who coincidentally was evil. Then he would be dangerous.
But he knew the word…
Cakolukia… Her mother's word. Her mother who had been dead for a while now, and thinking of her and that word made her heart ache. How had he known it? She had to have told him. She had not told anyone else, and no one knew about it, not even her father. Only Farah and her mother, who was dead now, buried in the family tombs, knew that word, and he could not have heard it from her.
So Farah had to have told him….
No. She would have remembered.
But if he turned back time in the end then she wouldn't have…
But why did he remember?
Because she died and he did not.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Perhaps Cakolukia was a Persian name or something. He had told her to call him that. Maybe her mother had gotten the word from a name, and it wasn't so secret after all….
No. Why was she making up outlandish coincidences when they just didn't fit?
Because his story is impossible….
And she could not stop thinking of him. Not just of what this all meant, but of him. She remembered his face vividly, though she had seen him only once. That face seemed to haunt her, to fill her with empty longing…
But how could she feel like that to him? She did not know him and he was an enemy, a Persian waging war against her father and his kingdom. But he did not seem like an enemy.
"Farah!" Her father's voice repeated again.
She looked up at him, dazed, still somewhat absorbed in her thoughts. She wondered why he was here, in her room. He never came here, he always sent someone to summon her to him.
"Yes father?" She said politely, in that young, obedient tone she used with him.
"I have something to tell you."
Her eyes watched him, waiting.
"You are going to be married."