Dastan burst through the door.

Tamina raised the dagger high.

Garsiv reached out to grab her arms.

Everyone froze. The moment was tense, but Garsiv looked at the Princess in wide-eyed astonishment and muttered, "A moment ago you died before my eyes." She had been on the ground. The acrid scent of blood, not the same blood that had been drying on his lip, had reached him, and he had seen the puddle form and spread across the old floor.

Then he was holding the dagger in his hands and pressing the jewel at its hilt, and everything had started moving in reverse.

Her body shifted, hunching over then standing up entirely. Dastan had moved back out the door and closed it behind him, and Garsiv watched as the mystical dagger was roughly pulled from the Princess' body by her own hands and raised high in the air once more. What had startled him the most was how he'd watched all this unfold. It was like he had been detached from his own body, and if the scene before his eyes hadn't startled him enough, the sight of his arm lit up and blazing like it was burning from the inside out shook him to the core.

It wasn't natural.

But here he was, apparently returned to his own body, and holding the Princess' arms.

What had her Gods done to him?

xXx

Tamina's face was blank as she stared at the Prince in front of her, not shifting away from him or relinquishing her hold on the dagger. Then a bewildered expression slowly started to appear, and she asked softly, "You pressed it?"

The Persian, possibly looking even more confused now than he did a moment ago, replied, "You didn't want me to?"

"No, I didn't." Yes, I did.

The relief curling through her body, warming places she didn't know had turned cold, was both welcomed and detested. She was an Alamutian Guardian, sworn to protect the dagger and the Sandglass at all costs! She should not feel so grateful for having her life spared.

"Tamina …" whispered a voice nearby, and her gaze moved toward Dastan, who she hadn't realised was even there until that moment.

"Dastan?" She asked, confusion setting in. He stumbled forward and Tamina allowed him to wrap her up in his arms, drawing her close. The Princess buried her face against his shoulder, relishing the feel of his arms around her and the warmth he emitted.

"What were you thinking?" He asked, somehow tugging her closer.

"This needed to end," she said, her already quiet voice muffled against the cloth of his cloak. "Without the dagger, your Uncle wouldn't succeed." But it hadn't worked. She both cursed and thanked Garsiv for his interference; on the one hand damning him for stopping her and on the other grateful that he had given her a second chance.

She hadn't truly wanted to give up her life.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she didn't hear what either Prince was saying until Garsiv's voice cut through.

"What do you mean, 'without the dagger'? How would killing yourself rob him of that?"

It hit her then that Garsiv was standing quite calmly at the side of the room. His sword was now sheathed and besides the confusion colouring his features he didn't look at all fazed that his brother was standing in the room with them. She felt the need to ask him why, but knew that those questions would have to wait until later. They had more pressing matters to attend to now. Dastan pulled away from her slightly then, clearly interested in the answer as well. There was a hint of suspicion in his eyes, and she guessed that meant he had already surmised that there was something else she wasn't telling him.

"There is a temple, hidden away in the mountains," she started, for Garsiv's benefit. Once again reciting the dagger's lore and history in the company of those who weren't inducted into the Temple felt unnatural to her, but she pressed on. Dastan, at least, would be unlikely to let this rest until she explained herself. "That is the site where the Gods first gifted man with the dagger as a means of controlling or destroying the Sandglass." Dastan nodded along, having already known this part of her tale. Garsiv on the other hand looked even more confused, but she didn't have the heart to explain everything to him right in that moment. "If ever the dagger was in danger it would be taken away from Alamut and back to the mountain where the Guardians – the protectors of the dagger – could watch over it. If the dagger's safety was ever compromised, a Guardian could place the dagger back into the crevasse where it was found and the mountain would envelop it once more – but at a cost."

"Their life?" Garsiv asked, following that part of the story at least. Of course he would understand that piece – as a hardened warrior, he would know that everything came at a cost for someone.

"Yes," she nodded, looking up to meet Dastan's eyes for a moment before dropping them to his chest once more. His arms tightened around her for just a second before loosening slightly again. "Only a Guardian of the temple can return the dagger. The experience is said to be painless, a merciful death. The Sandglass' power would then be gone and the sand and the glass itself would crumble to the ground. But …"

All three stayed silent for a moment, the two brothers waiting for her to continue, and Tamina trying to draw the strength to admit what she had tried to do.

Eventually Garsiv, ever impatient, interrupted the silence and prodded, "But?"

"But there is another way," she conceded, once again looking up at Dastan.

xXx

In his mind he couldn't quite believe that she was still hiding things from him, even after all this time. Granted she hadn't know him for anywhere near as long as he had known her, but it still hurt that she wouldn't tell him the whole truth.

But above all those thoughts and feelings thrummed a strong sense of relief. He knew what she had done, what she had wanted to do, and though he didn't yet understand why Garsiv had not only believed her about the dagger's powers but had also saved her life, he knew that could wait until later.

She was alive, that was the important thing.

Tamina pulled away from him then, wrapping her arms around herself and letting her gaze move between him and his brother. "Taking the dagger back to the mountain is preferred, as where it is placed gives an advantageous view of the surrounding area, making it easy to spot intruders. Also … as I said, that method is said to be painless." Taking a deep breath, she added, "But a Guardian can use the dagger itself to sacrifice their life to the Gods, essentially giving back the life that the Gods spared when they first swept the sands into the Sandglass."

Dastan stared at her, fury and sadness coursing through him at her words. She would have taken her own life, robbing him and the world of her vibrancy and wit, without even a word. Just like that.

If he had been seconds later, or if Garsiv hadn't stopped her hand, he would never have even said goodbye. Again. The terrified screams she had let out as she tumbled into the pit of the Sandglass chamber echoed through his mind, and he shuddered. That was a pain he hoped to never relive again, in this time or any other.

"It negates the power of the Sandglass, same as taking the dagger to the mountain would," she was saying, now only looking at Garsiv, not at him.

"Why would you do that?" He asked, stepping forward and placing his hands against her elbows, eyes seeking hers. Why wouldn't you talk to me first?

Finally her gaze lifted to his, and she said softly, "It seemed the best way forward. Without the dagger your Uncle would have no way of ascending to the throne, no way of changing history or of thwarting you and your brothers. Without the dagger his plans would come to nought and you would be able to stop him."

Frowning, wondering why she didn't understand, he started to say, 'But without you …' when Garsiv cleared his throat.

"I hate to interrupt this touching scene," his brother said, looking intently at where the couple stood, clearly a little bemused by what was happening in front of him. "But this all boils down to our Uncle and his desire to kill the royal family. We must ride to Alamut." Looking directly at Dastan, he continued. "We must convince our brother and father of Nizam's lies."

Silently, with just a simple shared look, Dastan thanked his brother. He wasn't sure what had made him change his mind so quickly, or what had transpired between him and Tamina before he burst through the door, but he was thankful to have his brother at his side once more. He also made a mental note to question the Princess over how Garsiv's bloodied nose had come about.

But Tamina, apparently, wasn't so happy about the Persians' amendment to their plans.

"No." Her tone was resolute. "Your Uncle is a menace and is solely focussed on capturing the dagger for his own selfish needs. I cannot allow the dagger to be in the same city as the Sandglass while he is still loose."

Garsiv, unperturbed by her stubborn tone or her strong stance, simply raised one brow at her, a soft smirk playing across his lips as he blatantly ignored her words. "I'll leave my men here – no point leading a full cavalry across the desert when the bulk of the Persian army is sitting on our Uncle's doorstep."

Seemingly taken aback by his response, Tamina pulled away from Dastan and faced the other Persian. "Did you not hear me, Prince? Perhaps you should clean your ears of all that desert sand, or do I need to speak a little slower for you? We are not taking the dagger back to Alamut."

Dastan looked up, meeting his brother's gaze once more. A gaze that was rife with amusement. What had been a tense moment only minutes before now had turned into a shared joke between the two Persian brothers. It felt somehow wrong for the two of them to find humour in what was a very serious matter, but of the three Persian Princes, Dastan and Garsiv had always stayed a little childish at heart, leaving the bulk of their responsibilities for Tus to shoulder.

Perhaps having Garsiv at his side would be even more advantageous than he thought.

But of course, his mind recalled the last time he had been able to change his brother's mind, and what had followed next. It hadn't escaped his notice that certain events from his time had manifested again, altered and changed slightly, but still essentially the same.

Reaching forward to clasp Garsiv's hand, ignoring Tamina's protests in the background, he hoped that in this instance the Gods would spare his beloved brother's life.

xXx

Watching as the eldest's small company road out, the hooves of their horses kicking up dust and sand and obscuring their departure from the city, he tried valiantly to mask the smile that threatened to appear and the glee that was bubbling up inside of him.

They were fools, all of them. How had he ever born into such a family? It amused and frustrated him to no end that the second most cunning member of the Persian royals wasn't actually royalty at all! A pesky thief born in the slums and granted a Prince's life.

He would relish the day he could leave that brat to die on the streets.

"These are grave times," the King murmured, hands clasped together as he watched the retreating form of his son and the other riders with him. "When family is against family, brother against brother, it is bad news for us all."

Nizam looked over at his brother, keeping his contempt for the old man in check as he had for all these years past. As always, Sharaman's words were vague but deep, and Nizam had to wonder, as he had several times over the last few days, if his brother spoke of more than just his sons. "It is terrible indeed, but justice must be served. All your work would come to nought if you stayed your hand against your own family. A wise King is not always merciful." Wise King, bah, he thought to himself. A wise man would have realised long ago that an enemy was hiding in the midst of his own family.

Sharaman's eyes stayed trained on the desert that stretched before them, not once sparing a look at his younger brother and oldest advisor. "A wise man, King or no, should not have to deliver justice or mercy to his own family." Turning, the old King slowly walked back through the large gate, back into the Alamutian city and toward where their horses lay in wait to convey them back to the palace.

Gritting his teeth, Nizam followed suit, his eyes boring into the back of the older man's shoulders. No matter if he suspected, even if that possibility was completely absurd. He and his brother were alone at last, and he no longer risked the intervention of those dratted Princes.

The King's time had come.

Author's Note: With our heroes imminent return to Alamut the end is fast approaching ;) But there is much more planned so you have a few chapters to look forward to yet. All I have to say is: I hope none of you want to smack me over the head for the next chapter!