Beta – Indecisively Yours
Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters (except for Samira and her family members). I just borrow them for my own purpose. Jason Mraz's song is fully his, I just happen to like it a lot.
Rating – Mainly T; there's a scene in chapter 4 that is a boarderline M.
Summary – Samira and Dastan have always been friends, but things change.
A/N – Prince of Persia inspired me quite a lot and this is the result – my first fic with this fandom! Can't say for sure if I write some more about Dastan or his brothers… They were very intriguing indeed ;)
This fic participates in a "Catch the mood" -challenge on a Finnish fic forum. I'm considering a translation as well! The song I used was Jason Mraz's "If It Kills Me (From Casa Nova Sessions)". Enjoy!
The sky of Persia was as exhausted from the heat as were the Persians: usually so freshly blue, but now faintly light blue was the sky, as if it had wanted to vanish from the spot. The harsh smell of camels and the sophisticated scent of the royal family members mixed in an unusual way; rough fabrics of the commoners and silk and linen of the upper class glued to the sweaty skins alike, regardless of their social status.
Samira saw the boy when she was coming from the kitchen; he looked utterly bewildered on the back of a royal horse, the King's brother behind him. But somehow, Samira thought, he looked like he had born to be there, above everyone else. Samira saw he wasn't any better than her and her family, as poor and pathetic as anyone, but somehow he had managed to climb up the social staircase from bottom to top, in a split of second. Samira looked at the boy as he looked back at her; and at that moment, she got the feeling that she still shared something with the boy who was now to be called a Prince.
"I got it," whispered a triumphant voice somewhere nearby.
Samira looked around and saw the young prince – or as Samira liked to think of him, 'Prince of the Alleys'. Samira was in the garden, on the path leading to the houses of the higher servants, and thus to her home. Prince had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, spat out by darkness around them, his right hand squeezed into a tight fist.
"Show me," Samira whispered, partially skeptical, partially afraid that he might actually have done what she asked: go to the Queen's old room and get a blue sapphire from the jewelry box. But as Dastan's fist opened, Samira's legs became shaky. There it was; shining blue sapphire that seemed to twinkle even though there was barely any light to reflect.
"Well, take it!" Dastan prompted, holding his hand in front of Samira. She gulped and stood still; she had never actually thought he could do the task without getting caught. Now that he had, Samira realized that it wasn't only he who would get in trouble; Samira was also guilty.
"Take it!" he said again, now grasping her hand and placed the sapphire on her palm. As her fingers instinctively started to close around the diamond, two guards appeared from the darkness as unexpectedly as Dastan had a moment ago. One had a torch in his hand; the other, as Samira noticed horrified, had his hand on the handle of a large sword.
"Prince Dastan," said the torch-holder with surprise in his voice. "What are you doing outside at this hour?"
The other guard, who seemed to be scarier than the other one (at least Samira thought so, or maybe it was just the fact he was the one sword in his hand) looked at Samira and asked:
"What do you have in your hand?"
Samira was about to cry, so horrified and shaky that she couldn't even form a thought. As the guards, Dastan, and even Samira herself watched (as if she wasn't the one moving her body), she opened her fingers and revealed the treasure she had in her childishness asked from the prince.
There was a moment of dull, amazed silence and then the sword-holder took a deep breath and said, with a raising voice:
"Does that happen to be the Queen's sapphire?"
As Samira tried to form a good answer, whether it would be truthful or not, she happened to gaze at Dastan. He looked back and reacted in a heartbeat.
"I gave it to her, it's my fault."
If the kitchen girl holding a precious diamond hadn't surprised the two men enough, this surely did. The sword-holding guard, who had gained his ability to speak back quicker, was also the quickest this second time.
"But why, Prince? What would she do with a jewel like that?" It was obvious that he was holding back his disbelief and anger, as this was the prince he was talking to now, not just a servant. Maybe it was even more frustrating to remember that the prince wasn't more royal than the seem-to-be-thief girl.
"She's my friend and I thought it was OK for me to give presents to my friends. It seems I was wrong, but don't blame her for this. It was my idea."
Samira's eyes were fixed on the ground due to the fear that lie might be exposed if the guards would look at her. She still dared to look at Dastan who held his chin up high and looked straight at the guards several feet taller than him.
"Very thoughtful of you, Prince," said the torch-holding guard friendly, as it seemed that his companion had lost his words this time. "But I don't think the King would appreciate the thought as much. I'm sure there are plenty of better things to choose from and to give to Your Highness's friend." Dastan nodded as if he had considered and approved this option. Without looking at Samira, he put his hand in front of the girl and closed it tightly as Samira placed the diamond back on his hand.
Before the prince left between the guards, Samira breathed: "Thank you." She wasn't sure if Dastan had heard her, but as he and the guards left, he turned back and smiled a little.
"Samira! Sam–"
"What? Dastan, I'm working!"
"But I have something to show you!"
"I'm sorry to break the news, but I have to work until sundown to get wherever I want; that 'wherever' is also quite limited area. I'm not the lucky one, you see."
Samira turned back from the kitchen window with a smirk. She still enjoyed this game of Dastan and her's: she called him "the lucky one", referring to his now royal status and remembering that she was just a servant to his family. Of course Samira wasn't in the very bottom of the social ladder: her father was a scribe of the King and her mother had been Queen's dresser – after the Queen's death she was now working at the Royal tailor. Samira's position would be higher later, but as for now she was working in the kitchen.
"Come on… I'll be the one responsible if you get caught," Dastan's voice came wheedling through the window. Samira grinned to herself and turned back again, face all neutral.
"Okay, Dastan, you'll take the blame," she said and hurried after her friend; he had already left since this was part of the act – Samira always said 'yes'.
They hurried through the dusty yard to the palace walls, up the stairs pass the guards and all the way to the watchtower.
"Look! Look!" Dastan cried, filled with enthusiasm. Samira looked; and it was quite impressive indeed. The streets were unusually full, the harbor crammed with luxurious ships and between the houses of Nasif there were strange, new palanquins.
"Wow," Samira said, blushing with embarrassment as she felt she should have said more. But Dastan didn't mind, he just sighed and thus agreed with his friend.
"And they all are coming just for… Garsiv?" Samira said after a moment of silence, lowering her voice with contempt as she pronounced the name of the boy she disliked so.
'Yeah, I know,' Dastan grinned. 'Quite a 13-year-old party for someone that annoying.' Samira dared to giggle now as there were no guards around: the only guard in the tower had discreetly moved down the stairs so as to give the young prince and his companion some privacy for a while. Then they sunk into a pleasant silence – a good indication of a deep, true friendship.
"Anybody home?"called Dastan's voice from the door. Samira yanked her regular clothes on as fast as she could; she didn't want to ruin the surprise for the evening.
"I'm here, Mom's outside," she said and stepped to the living room. Dastan covered the door pretty much wholly (Samira always wondered how it had been possible for Dastan to grow so tall and broad from such a skinny child, and in only eight years!) and thus the room was quite dim. The two windows didn't help the situation much.
"Well, come in there," Samira said grinning; he was a regular guest in her house, and even if he hadn't been, he probably could have come in without separate invitations. He was a prince and this was a house of a servant.
"I can't stay long. I was just looking for your mother and ask her if she could do something about this…" Dastan said and lifted quite embarrassed a cloth which appeared to be his shirt.
"Again, Dastan? How do you always succeed at this?" Samira said, shaking her head as she took the shirt and hold it in front of her examining the damages. There was a long, nasty rip that started from the shoulder and ended around the navel.
Dastan blushed but tried to cover it with anger. "Are you any better, always breaking things around the palace? If you weren't clumsy by nature, I'd say you were doing it on purpose."
"It's not the same and you know it. I'm supposed to be keeping the palace clean; all you have to do is keep yourself clean and tidy, and obviously it's not working so well," Samira replied prickly. She was now one of the common maids whose chores included tidying, wardrobe checks, impromptu massages and other services for the princes and the king.
Dastan could have continued, but at that moment Samira's mother came in from the backyard.
"Your Highness," she said and bowed a little. "How can I help you today?"
"It's one of his shirts again," Samira snapped before Dastan himself could answer. He looked a bit hurt and was still trying to form his own sentences when Samira walked back to her room. "I hope you haven't torn your clothes for the party. I'm expecting to see you at your best," Samira said over her shoulder and smiled as she looked her wardrobe for the evening. She heard her mother and Dastan talking in the living room as she thought to herself: I know I am.