The Small Print's Limitations

Please, please read 'An Agreement's Small Print' before continuing on with this story, in order for this story to make sense... all characters from 'Aladdin' belong to Disney; everyone else is mine.


Chapter One

"We need to make him go back."

"You can't just make him go back. You can't make him do anything."

"Well, he can't stay here. He's making things a nightmare for everyone – it wasn't so bad when he was just depressed. Now he's becoming angrier; the others are paying for his... unfavourable temper. And she needs him. "

"He has even stated his reasons for not going back?"

"Not in the slightest. Lets us know that it's none of our business and storms out."

"Unbelievable. The only one of us who can return and he won't leave."

"Well, he won't listen to reason, won't listen to us."

"... but he will listen to Leila."

*

It was six years until the young prince and princess of Agrabah returned to the desert land, even if it was only for a short time.

It had taken several months of letters being sent back and forth between the city and London to get to this point, the Sultan's continual pleads for his daughter and grandchildren to come home for the first time since they had left, and Jasmine's constant and stubborn replies of 'no', which would be followed by multiple excuses that became more and more unreasonable and bizarre as time went on.

The last excuse, before she had finally relented, had blown all the other excuses out of the water:

Jafar wouldn't like it.

And, for a moment, the Sultan had thought that Jasmine had been referring to Jafar, the son, and the Sultan had wondered why the young boy wouldn't like it – granted, he'd never been to Agrabah, having been born after Jasmine had left the city, but by all reports and from what he'd seen of the boy in London, he was a bright and adventurous child. But then he understood, and the Sultan felt tears prickle in his eyes, tears that were unknown to the usual jolly and cheerful man.

Not for the first time, did the Sultan believe that he thought Jasmine thought her husband was still alive, and not for the first time, did the Sultan want to be able to reach out to his daughter and comfort her, but afraid that he would find a haunted look in her eyes, afraid he wouldn't be able to shake her out of her depression. He truly believed his daughter was still depressed over the loss of Jafar, the husband, from what he'd spoken of with Harun, who had travelled with the children to Agrabah.

"She seems cheerful enough, but she has no desire to meet anyone else... she still wears her wedding ring... she loved that man dearly."

And not for the first time, upon hearing that, did the Sultan want to grab a hold of Aladdin and finish out the execution that Jafar had intended for, only for Jasmine to stop him. For nothing. Again.

For Aladdin still loitered around the palace, having never gained the desire to leave, even when it quickly became clear that Jasmine was not returning home. The Sultan couldn't understand why he was staying; at the age of thirty-two, the women younger than him were turning to younger men, and the women his age or older knew of the story of years ago, and besides, who would want to marry a man who was still brooding over his long-lost love like a child? Aladdin, through all his own selfish, dim-witted actions, had successfully made himself ineligible for anyone.

The Sultan couldn't help but every time when he saw Aladdin's face, that he blamed him entirely responsible for the mess his daughter's life had fallen into. If only Aladdin had left in the multiple times Jasmine had given him to flee (if only Jafar had killed him when he'd had the chance); true, it was possible that Jasmine might have still wound up in London, having decided that before the murder, but she would've had her sorcerer at her side, giving her children (and possible future children) their father (though Harun had graciously stepped in as a male figure in their lives), and they would've been happy – her, at least; him, as happy as he ever managed, if you could call it happy. But instead he had this, and his daughter was alone, and he could still not bring himself to tell her the truth around Jafar's death; if what Harun spoke about Jasmine were true, the Sultan could not imagine how telling her the truth would make her feel any better.

Which meant Princess Aziza and Prince Jafar didn't know the true story either, which explained why Aziza was rather pleased to see old 'Uncle Al' when the children had arrived, without their mother, who had refused to come but Harun had offered to take them, explaining that he had some business to attend to, anyway. Aged twelve and six now, the children had grown up to be polite and respectful young people that the Sultan was sure the sorcerer would've been proud of, in his own demented way. Aziza already held herself in a queenly way, even if a little reserved, but with her mother's attitude and the looks to match, appearing so close to her mother in appearance that those who had been at the palace for that length of time had done double-takes when walking past the girl. The only difference in the appearance was the deep, darker eyes she had inherited from her father, and shared with her brother. And the young Jafar quickly resembled his father in appearance, already towering over the other similarly aged children, with the small but strong dark features on his face ready to grow and become a mirror image of his father. But without so much hate behind them, judging by the bright smile that would flicker across the boy's face constantly.

The fact that these were Jasmine and Jafar's children was physically obvious to those who had been around six years ago, and to the small amount of the Sultan's cold satisfaction, this was not a fact that was lost on Aladdin, whom the Sultan had watched as a flicker of resentment had travelled across his face. While the children stayed in Agrabah, Aladdin had spent time with them, taken them out into the city (without losing either one this time); he showed no ill disposition towards them – it was hardly their fault that their father had snatched their mother away from him. But when the children hadn't noticed Aladdin staring after them, the Sultan had, and he'd quietly stepped up behind the man in the courtyard.

"You don't have to stay with them," the Sultan pointed out calmly. "If it makes you feel – "

"I'm fine," Aladdin had mumbled, not bothering to hide his depressed mood, the way he hadn't bothered to hide it for years. "I care for them as if they were mine."

"But they're not, my boy," the Sultan gently reminded him. "Please remember that... they'll need to return to their home soon."

And when the Sultan turned to leave, Aladdin remained standing, staring after the children. The ones that rightfully, should've been his.

*

The night before the children were to travel home, the flickering of flames outside awoke the Sultan.

He wrinkled his nose as he slowly woke, the pale wisps of smoke creeping around his bedchamber and bothering him. Making his way out of bed, the Sultan pulled on his robe and made his way out onto the balcony, looking down to where he had seen the flames leaping up from.

What he saw made the old man's jaw fall open.

The trees in the courtyard were on fire, a fire that appeared to have been previously nearly out of control, but was slowly beginning to die down, thanks to the two figures that appeared to stand in front of the flames calmly. One, he realised with fear, was Aziza – her dark hair whipped around her face as her white nightdress fluttered violently, her eyes widened at the sight before her; the other figure was Aziza's father.

And at this realisation, the Sultan wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming.

There was no doubt that it was Sorcerer Jafar standing in the courtyard, slowly bringing the flames under control; after so many years, the Sultan would've recognised those dark robes anywhere. The man appeared to be real enough – the Sultan couldn't see through him, and bit by bit, the trees were returning to their normal green state. It was only minutes later when the courtyard was back to normal, and Jafar turned his back to face his daughter, who had a look of fear cross her face as she slunk away from him.

The Sultan had to stop himself from running down to meet them, whether Jafar had returned alive or whether he was simply a ghost was not a matter of concern. But Jasmine was his concern, and as he watched his son-in-law seemingly punish Aziza, he wondered if Jasmine's excuses of behaving as if she saw Jafar on a regular basis were, in fact, true.

And so, he didn't run towards them like a mad-man, but instead leant out over the balcony and shouted as loudly as his lungs could give him: "Jafar!"

At his shout, which barely seemed to make it down to the courtyard, both Aziza and Jafar looked up; Aziza's eyes opening wide at the sight of her grandfather, but it was Jafar's reaction that the Sultan was waiting for.

For a moment, there seemed to be no reaction from the man, except for the briefest flicker of understanding crossing his face, before a tilt of the head in acknowledgement. But then, in the quick blink the Sultan dared of his eyes, Jafar was gone, with Aziza sprinting across the courtyard back to the palace.

And the following day, the children were gone also, with the Sultan daring not to say anything about the encounter to them, in case of word of their father in the courtyard making it back to their mother's ears. Because for all of Jasmine's apparent beliefs of Jafar visiting her, the Sultan did not wish to indulge his daughter in the knowledge that he had actually returned, if only for a minute.

There was no point in depressing his daughter further.

TBC


A/N: Big apologies for the length of time for the sequel to appear, so much for my 'very shortly' promise in An Agreement's Small Print. Unfortunately, the insanity of work, illness and becoming engaged has rather stolen me from writing the sequel.

But the first chapter is now here, and while I can guarantee that chapters will not come out as fast as they did for An Agreement's Small Print, they are on their way.