AN: "WHAT THE HECK WAS GOING ON WITH LUCAN THIS WHOLE TIME?!!" . . . Well, this is where you'll find out, I guess. ;D Thanks to all the amazing people who reviewed the other epilogues!

P.S. The sequel has moved from 'maybe will happen' to 'probably will happen' status, so if there's something that you'd really like to happen, give me a hint and I'll see what I can do. Here's your limits, though: the sequel will be set in Warrior Within, and thus will include Lucan and Farah only in spirit (sorry :p). There will be absolutely NO Prince/Kaileena or Prince/Jenny. I mean it. *glare* . . . I might bring in Raya if I feel like it, or if it will help along the plot. (If you want, you may submit title suggestions. I'm horrible at thinking of titles. :p)
(If you're still fuming over the whole 'no Farah or Lucan' thing, then let me assure you that if I do write the sequel, I'll definitely be making this into a trilogy, and the third installment will include plenty of Prince/Farah and Lucan/Jenny. No worries. ;))

Disclaimer: Once upon a time, in a galaxy exactly like this one, Killer Zebra did not own Prince of Persia.

Epilogue (Lucan's POV)

"Tell Raya 'Hello' for me, will you?" she asked with that strange, knowing smile. In that moment, an entire army of thieves could have sneaked past Lucan into the throne room and he would never have noticed. How did she know who Raya was? And he always kept the Compass on or near his person: how had it come to be with her? No . . . there was no way . . . Was there?

For a while there, after she'd told him that fantastical tale, he'd almost believed it all. After all, Raya had told him when he first came here about the Artifacts' propensity for snatching people from their home worlds . . . it'd even happened to him. But the rest of her story seemed too incredible to believe. He wouldn't even have considered it except for the insistent, inexplicable urge he felt to trust her, as though she were a friend he had known long ago.

He was soon able to push aside the feeling, however, and would have given the matter no further thought (or at least tried not to) except for that last enigmatic comment of hers. How could she know Raya? The girl—he didn't even know her name, for goodness' sake!—was fully human; of that at least he was sure, despite the odd clothing. He realized with reluctance that the only way to find out would be to ask, and since he didn't even know the mysterious girl's name, his source of information would have to be Raya.

All he needed to do now was wait until the dawn guard came to relieve him, and he would be free to search out the undine.

Somehow 'wait until the dawn guard came to relieve him' turned into 'wait until I've caught up on a little sleep,' then 'wait until weapons practice is over,' then 'wait until I have just a little more time'—only he never seemed to. It wasn't until nearly a week had passed, and he found himself at loose ends and blindly groping for something to do, that he finally faced up to the fact that he was avoiding the inevitable encounter with Raya about the pale stranger, and that putting it off any longer would not only be pointless, but downright cowardly.

What are you so afraid of, anyway? he asked himself, genuinely curious. There seemed no real reason to have avoided the meeting, just a vague sense of reluctance. He found nothing else, though when he counter-examined his motives he almost thought that there was something—something he should know, something he should remember, but when he tried to focus on the fleeting thought it slipped out of his grasp.

Reassured that his uneasiness had no foundation, he purposefully set out to contact Raya, walking swiftly down the halls and corridors until he could reach a private alcove or courtyard that also happened to have a fountain. His sleeping quarters weren't an option, since he shared barracks with the rest of the Royal Guard. Better than the common soldiers' barracks, but certainly no provider of the privacy he was seeking.

After several potential locations proved to be occupied, he was beginning to be annoyed, and the reluctance that he thought he had conquered surfaced once again. What was it about this girl that got under his skin so?

". . . Jennifer," he heard someone say as he passed a partially opened doorway. He slowed and stopped, for although he wasn't normally one to eavesdrop, something about the name tugged at his consciousness. It took him a moment to realize what it was. Jenny, he thought emphatically. It should be Jenny, not Jennifer. Disturbed at the sudden, certain revelation that seemed utterly random and purposeless, he resolved to move on without listening further to the conversation. But the servingman's next words captured Lucan's attention thoroughly:

"She appears in the palace, seemingly from nowhere, dressed in odd clothing, and the Princess greets her like she's a long lost friend. To top it all off, since she came there's been talk of a marriage alliance with Persia; Shahraman's youngest brat is being considered as a match for our Princess! What depths we have fallen to. I don't like this 'Lady Jennifer' character, even though Princess Farah seems to trust her; too much change has happened since she arrived. Talk of the alliance with Persia, Vizier Zurvan accused of treason (convenient that he's not alive to defend himself, isn't it?), and this upstart seems to have no background, no connections whatsoever, and yet she has the ear of the princess, and is practically treated like royalty herself."

Lucan understood instantly that this was what was really bothering the servant: the fact that his princess was associating with and confiding in someone who, for all they knew, was a commoner or worse. But this girl—this 'Lady Jennifer,' suddenly appearing in strange clothing and setting things all topsy-turvy—sounded a lot like his mysterious midnight visitor. Could they be the same person?

Putting it down as one more thing he needed to ask Raya, Lucan hurried down the hallway.

Ah, finally, Lucan thought in satisfaction. This courtyard, although it was a little too near to the busy harem for his tastes, was one of his favorite places to spend his rare solitary moments. The ground was covered in lush grass and ferns, watered by the large fountain in the center, and there was even a healthy, fruit-bearing apricot tree off to one side.

Stepping forward to kneel at the fountain's edge, he spread his right hand over the surface of the water and muttered a calling charm in the selkie language. It irritated him that he needed such cantrips to perform such a simple spell, but his diluted blood didn't allow him to do nearly what a full selkie could.

Raya didn't come herself; as Lucan's calling charm had specified that he only needed to talk to her, not see her in person. Instead, her image appeared in the smooth water of the fountain, looking rather harried.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" he queried politely, although his reawaked curiosity was protesting the niceties. She took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself, and within moments had returned to her usual impassive state. She delivered him a polite smile.

"I'm not so busy that I can't spare a moment or two to talk to you," she replied calmly, "especially considering the questions I suspect you've come to ask me."

He sighed in annoyance that, once again, he was the only one left in the dark. It seemed that Raya did know something about the enigmatic visitor. He quickly got down to business.

"Raya, do you know a pale-skinned human girl who's about 5'4", with wavy brown hair, and blue eyes?" Lucan paused, feeling like he had left something out. "Oh, and freckles?"

Raya smiled again, but it seemed to him this time that it was a sad smile. "Freckles. Yes. Yes, I know her. Her name is Jenny."

He remembered his strange, fierce thoughts in the hallway, eavesdropping: Jenny. It should be Jenny, not Jennifer. It left an odd, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach to realize that in this, at least, the girl (Jenny, he reminded himself) had spoken the truth. She did know Raya. But what did Raya know of her?

"Who is she?" he asked after a long pause.

"You know her better than I," said Raya impassively. Lucan clenched his fists subconsciously, settling his features into a mask of patience; just as she'd taught him.

"I don't know what you mean," he hinted. "I've only met her once, and she left me with a very odd impression indeed. She asked me to tell you 'Hello'."

At this Raya smiled; a real, true, genuine smile, not the carefully guarded one she usually wore. "Ah, yes, how like her," the undine murmured, almost too low for him to hear. The smile disappeared again a moment later, but her eyes still held a spark of amusement.

There was a brief pause as Lucan waited for Raya to speak further. Then she asked, "What else did Jenny say?" He regarded her suspiciously, recognizing with annoyance that, rather than telling him what he needed to know directly, she was trying to lead him to discover the answers himself. Damn fey.

"She said—she told me this ridiculous story, about how one of the Artifacts—the Ring, I believe—had brought her here. Someone unlocked the Hourglass with the Dagger and unleashed some sort of curse that turned everyone except for those protected by Artifacts into monsters, and so she, I, and two others survived to undo what had been done. But I was killed in the process, and so when they turned back time to before anything had happened, I remembered nothing." Lucan shook his head, but his derisive tone sounded a little off, even to himself. "Foolish, right? The worst part is that I almost believed her for a second . . ."

Raya raised an eyebrow; Lucan's smile faded.

"Raya . . .?" He couldn't quite ask the question. She remained silent, looking at him, and that was answer enough.

"You mean it was all true?" he questioned incredulously. He rocked back on his heels, stunned. He remembered the way the girl had looked at him: searching for something; smiling as though he were a friend—hurt, when he refused to believe her. Then he remembered what she'd said, looking at the Compass: "I wonder . . . can it find missing memories?"

"Raya?" he said suddenly.

"Yes, Lucan?"

"My Compass—it's an Artifact, not just an ordinary compass, right? So . . . what does it do?"

Raya smiled in satisfaction, and Lucan knew he had finally asked the right question.

"Finds things," she answered simply, confirming his suspicions. He drew the Compass out of his pocket and looked at it thoughtfully.

"I wonder," he said quietly, "can it find missing memories?"

It seemed only natural for Lucan to flip open the lid and rest his eyes on the blue-tinted face of the Compass, as though he had done it a thousand times, although he'd had little use for a compass when nearly all of his time was spent within the palace and surrounding city. My memories were taken away, he thought, wrinkling his brow a little in concentration, and I want them back. Find them.

A dizzying spin of perspective; a clouding of the vision; a door opened that had been tightly locked before.

There.

* Her skin is pale, with only a superficial golden coating; skin like he's only seen once or twice since the Compass took him away from his home world. Brunette hair falls to her shoulders, and her white sarong is streaked with blood. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she runs up against the gate and claws at it, yelling for help, but then her panicked expression changes to one of grim determination. She turns her back to the gate and faces the approaching sand creatures, with no weapons in her hands, and no hope of survival. And he can't just let her die . . .

* As he once saved her, she saves him. With no water available, he has nothing to fight with but his Compass, and he's barely able to defeat the two sand creatures that attack him; before the last one dissolves into Sand it inflicts a deep wound to his chest. The blood loss proves to be too much, and he loses consciousness. But as the darkness encroaches he reaches out for help, trying to contact Raya, trying to contact anyone—and suddenly his consciousness touches another, one that seems vaguely familiar, exuding fear and nausea and just a tendril of curiosity—and he manages to get out a plea for help before his energy fails him. He can only hope that the plea will be answered.

* I like her, he decides, watching her laughing with her friend—Farah—and occasionally glancing over to make sure that he and the Prince haven't killed each other yet. She's impulsive, insatiably curious, and relatively friendly—although she seems to have some sort of grudge against him. He's enjoyed trading mild insults and banter with her, but watching her defend her friends so fiercely on the drawbridge has made him reconsider his former rather dismissive evaluation of her: loyalty like that is something worth earning.

* He doesn't start to look at her in a different light until the next bridge they come to: a structurally unstable thing, its balustrades littered with sand-birds. By this time he's beginning to consider her his friend; they've bonded over teasing Prince and Farah, and weaseling information out of one another. Although Prince is usually in the lead, Jenny briefly takes charge to instruct Prince and Farah to cross first, and something about the interaction makes Lucan suspect that there's something more going on there than meets the eye. The royals reach the other side without incident, but Lucan fears that the bridge won't hold together long enough for another pair to cross. Nevertheless, he prepares to take his first step out, but is stopped by a small, cool hand slipping into his. He looks over at Jenny in surprise.
"Whatever you do, don't let go," she tells him. There's fear and determination in her eyes, and he finds that he'd be reluctant to release her hand even if she wanted him to.
"I won't," he promises.

* Small things. It's the small things that alert him to the fact that Jenny holds a different place in his heart than Farah or Prince do: a slip of the tongue while talking to Raya—'she', instead of 'they'; a meeting of eyes that leaves him feeling half flustered and half—somehow—understood; the small thrill he feels when something he says makes her laugh. Small things; easy to ignore if he wants to—but he doesn't.

* She seems to be in an uncommonly bad mood, so he buries his nose in a book and leaves her to her own devices as Prince works to open the gate. He doesn't look up for several minutes, and so his heart skips a beat when he glances around to see her lying in a tumbled heap behind him, several feet away from the sand vortex. His book is left forgotten on the table as he stands abruptly, knocking over the chair he was sitting in, and strides quickly to her side. He breathes easier on arrival, seeing the rise and fall of her chest and the healthy flush to her cheeks, and realizes that she must have pulled a Prince and gone into the vortex. But—why? Her eyes flutter open, blurry and unfocused, and he says quietly, "You could've warned me you were going to do that." He doesn't add 'I was worried,' but he thinks she understands that too.

* Freckles. He hadn't even noticed them the first time he'd seen her, but now he finds more and more that when she crosses his mind, the thought of them isn't far behind.
He doesn't mean to make it into a nickname.

* He feels a burst of pride and affection when she defends him from Leila's accusations, but the brief emotional high only makes his fall all the harder. She hesitates, looking at him, but turns away in favor of walking over to Leila and looking into the Mirror. His face is carefully composed, but his shoulders slump defeatedly, this final betrayal pounding at his heart's defenses. She looks up from the Mirror, and their eyes meet. Hers are searching, his despairing. But then something changes.
"Yes," she says decisively, stepping away from Leila. Lucan looks at her, noting out of the corner of his eye that the others do the same.
"Yes, what?" queries a confused Leila.
Her eyes are clear and confident. "I don't believe you."
He thinks that maybe he loves her.

* Doubt. Despite all that they'd been through, despite his attempts to eradicate it, he can't help but feel doubt. After all, last time the Dagger was conjoined with the Hourglass, things hadn't exactly turned out well. He tries not to let her knowledge of seemingly every twist and turn of their journey bother him, but his efforts to push aside—or at least ignore—his naturally suspicious thoughts fail more and more as they come closer to their destination: the Hourglass chamber. He's only known her for a few days, and yet already he cares for her like he has for no one else, and that bothers him. When he witnesses the kiss between Prince and Farah and realizes that they are in a similar situation, a horrible suspicion begins to simmer in the back of his mind. He's ashamed of his doubt, but he can't seem to destroy it. By the time they're crowded on the last lift to reach the Hourglass chamber it's reached the point that he can't bear to say his nickname for her, instead calling her 'Jenny'. It's not until Prince is about to plunge the Dagger into the Hourglass that all Lucan's apprehension boils over, and, hating himself even as he speaks, he steps in with a reluctant, "Wait."

* "I trusted you. I defended you, and you betrayed me. Why?" The disappointment in her voice is almost worse than the hurt. He apologizes, feeling desperately inadequate, but she brushes it aside, demanding an explanation. The only problem is, he doesn't really have one. Nevertheless, he tries. But she won't let him call her Freckles, and he doesn't blame her.

* Something crashes into his left wrist with mind-numbing force, and his fingers unclench reflexively, releasing the Compass. Burning poison spreads through his veins . . .

Lucan was trembling when his eyes opened. Freckles. How could I forget Freckles? How could I forget Prince; Farah? Disbelief colored his thoughts. His next feeling, though, was of pride. They did it. They succeeded in undoing the Sands. And Freckles . . . Freckles had come to see him. And he hadn't recognized her; hadn't believed her.

Lucan sat up, frowning as he replayed the encounter in his mind; each expression, each gesture, each word took on new significance when it had a back-story. The most important was this: She's forgiven me. Slowly, he smiled. If I'd known that all it would take was dying, I might've done it sooner.

"Do you remember?" It was Raya's voice, cutting jarringly into his musings, and this time she was there in person. He realized abruptly, glancing around the now shadowed courtyard, that several hours must've passed.

"How long was I out?" he asked, shifting to face the undine. She tilted her head at him.

"Almost five hours. Lucan?" She gave him a meaningful look, and he realized abruptly that she'd asked a question.

"Yes. Yes." He shook his head. "I can hardly believe that I ever forgot."

Raya hesitated, then questioned slowly, "Do you remember . . . how you died?"

Confused, Lucan raised an eyebrow. "I dropped the Compass—" He came to a sudden halt as he realized what Raya was asking. "You mean 'do I remember being a sand creature'," he said quietly.

"Yes," Raya admitted. "I take it you don't?" When he confirmed this with a shake of his head, she continued, "I wasn't sure. You weren't exactly . . . the usual."

He looked at her sharply, but something about her expression told him that he didn't want to know. If necessary, he could always ask later. He glanced down at the Compass still clutched in his hand, feeling an illogical, half-formed fear that if he let it go he would be transformed into some kind of monster.

Something tickled the back of Lucan's mind, and he sat still, waiting for the thought to become fully formed. Eventually, it did.

"I want to see her," he said aloud. "Them," he amended, for though his desire to see Freckles again was strongest, he also found that he missed the company of both royals.

"You will," was Raya's gentle assurance. "But you have night watch tonight on the Maharajah's sleeping chambers. I suggest you wait until tomorrow to approach your friends."

Lucan acknowledged the wisdom of the undine's advice; that didn't mean that he had to like it. It was with a wandering mind and impatient heart that Lucan left to prepare for the long night ahead of him.

Unfortunately, when dawn came, and with it his relief, Lucan realized that he was in no fit state to talk to anyone. Intelligently, that is. His impromptu 'nap' the day before seemed to have done more to exhaust him than to rest him. He dragged himself to the baths for a quick wash, then, upon reaching the barracks, fell into bed still dressed.

He slept for hours, only waking when his body's energy stores were fully replenished. There was a moment where, blinking groggily, he only felt a sense of impatience, and wasn't quite sure what exactly he was impatient for. But memory returned as he woke further, and he hurriedly combed his fingers through his hair as he buckled on his sword belt, sparing a moment to fondly caress the hilt of his weapon. He remembered now how he'd missed its comfortable, familiar weight in his hand.

As soon as he felt adequately put-together and had briefly scanned his mental schedule to make sure he didn't have guard duty again for quite some time, Lucan walked as quickly as he deemed reasonable to investigate Princess Farah's usual haunts. He reasoned that where she was, it was likely that 'Lady Jennifer' would also be. He was turned away at the door of Farah's chambers by the guard, but not before wrangling the information from the man that her chambers were, in fact, empty.

He was more fortunate in his next selection. A spacious courtyard, containing carefully tended grasses and ferns, a small fountain-fed pond in one corner, a single bench, and, seated on the bench, two women.

Lucan barely noted that the door guard was Kai, an acquaintance of his (one of the few whose company he actually liked, no less), instead letting a small smile make its way onto his lips as he watched Farah trying hard not to be amused as Freckles sent a heated glare at the sewing she held awkwardly in her lap. She cut her hair, he observed, and decided he liked the way the newly unburdened curls framed her face. She wore a sarong and top of golden brown, complementing Farah's outfit of muted scarlet, and, other than that, looked much as she always had. . . . Maybe cleaner.

"Hello Kai," he greeted. Deciding that the best course of action would be to just come out with it (Kai was an understanding sort), Lucan requested, "May I speak with Lady Jennifer?"

Despite the polite manner of the request, Kai looked askance at him. "Lucan? Why would you want to speak with her?" Lucan must've looked a little strangely at him, because the guard hurriedly continued, "No offense, but the Princess asked not to be disturbed."

His gaze drifting to the courtyard again, Lucan grinned slowly. "Trust me. They'll be glad to see me." Despite his confident words, he felt a small stab of uncertainty. What if he'd misread the signs? What if Freckles hadn't forgiven him after all? What if they hated him for what he'd done?

"Alright," Kai conceded reluctantly, and Lucan realized with a small start that some time had passed while he was worrying, "I'll ask if she wants to see you. Wait here."

Lucan obeyed, standing in the doorframe and clasping his hands in front of him. He watched as Kai approached the pair, feeling a stir of sympathy as the man blushed and stammered; watched as both of the women went unnaturally still, and Freckles stared down at the ground, her curious expression melting into pale impassivity.

Moments later Kai returned, saying, "You were right. The princess says to come in." Judging by his expression of barely-concealed interest, he wanted to ask more, but he had the grace to remain silent; at least for the time being.

Breathing carefully in and out, Lucan stepped into the courtyard and walked forward until he was only a few feet away from the two women. He glanced briefly at Farah's open expression (not hostile at all, he noted with relief), then turned to Freckles in time to see a confusing array of emotions—hope and fear with an overlay of sadness—displayed on her features before she imposed careful control over them once again.

Lucan found that his mind had gone blank, and all of the carefully formulated witty remarks and heartfelt apologies that he had constructed beforehand crumbled to dust the moment he reached for them. So, instead, he summed everything up in a single word: "Freckles."

He hardly had time to blink before she'd cannoned into his arms, but long practice enabled him to keep his balance despite the unexpected tackle. He chuckled, closing his arms around her and marveling at the feeling of absolute rightness.

"I hate you," she informed him. He couldn't quite help the half-smile that her words prompted, well aware that she didn't mean a word of it.

"I hate you too." I love you.

He'd tell her that, too. Eventually.

THE END

AN: I just realized that there was no version of 'I love you' anywhere in this story, so it had to be added. Besides, Lucan is a sop at heart. ;) (And all three epilogues closed with a cheesy one-liner . . . How pathetic. XD) Review! This lovely fic has finally come to a close and I must part ways from my cast of characters and I'm feeling rather nostalgic, so comfort me in my destitute state!

~Killer Zebra

P.S. I just wanted to say, thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed throughout this story! Your reviews have kept me motivated. Feedback is the best gift that a reader can give . . . etc, etc; other cheesy nostalgic stuff. ;D I'm serious though, you guys are awesome! Good luck with your own stories and reading. :)

Special thanks to The Ultimate Person and Riku's Music Lover, who've been there since Chapter One and stuck with me for some weird reason, and to QueenAlla, Ruth(less, Trinnerti, and Kiriona, who (almost) always took the time to review. You guys are unequivocally the best! :D

For those of you who didn't review, you're appreciated too! ;) I put this story out there for people to enjoy, and as long as I've accomplished that, I'm happy.