Disclaimer: I don't own PoP. I know I said that I wasn't going to say this again but I lied. I thought it would be better to be safe than sorry with these
Disclaimer things.
The sand shifted under the horse's feet as The Prince marched forward into battle. The sun fell into his eyes as he marched and he brought his hands up to shield his eyes. His father marched beside him as well as his father's best men. These were the men that would help him in his infiltration. He watched them out of the corner of his eyes. They seemed so calm, so unfazed by the battle that lay before them or the secret plan they were about to carry out. He wished he was as calm as they were; his own heart beat rapidly in his chest, thumping hard against his ribs. But then again, they were experienced with war. Perhaps they had ceased to think of it as killing. They were only just doing their job. Yes, the Prince thought, that was how they remained so calm now and avoided dreams of guilt at night.
Farah was in that palace. The palace he was to infiltrate was Farah's home and he would have to capture her. He had no choice but to follow his father's orders…
But if he did it then he could see her again and she could be his.
No…
He had fought this battle with himself many times now. Though he had just heard of his part in the plan the night before, he had thought on it many times since then, staying up in the night debating what to do.
There actually was no reason for debate. He could not avoid doing this.
But he wanted to have an opinion on it. He wanted to know what exactly he wanted.
He wanted her…
But he could not have her.
Unless he captured her.
But he could not do that to her…
He cursed under his breath. The repetition in his head was irritating. He would just do what he was told to do. Everything would play out then.
But yet he wanted to know what he thought about this…
He sighed and forced himself to forget this.
He couldn't really but he forced it into the back of his mind.
"Don't be nervous," a voice said to his right. He turned and saw Arash, who was mounted on his horse that was standing right beside him. "Your father told me you were. It will be easy and I have seen you in battle. You are very skilled," He paused for a moment a thoughtful smile of his face. "Though it seems that you have more experience in this than a few months of battle could have given you. You're a natural." He clapped his hand on his back in support and left to stand by the King.
They thought he was a natural; that he knew how to fight so well with barely any experience. But he had experience.
No. He didn't. He changed the timeline. It didn't happen.
But then why did he have the experience? Why did he remember it all? It had to have happened!
But technically it didn't.
Did it or did it not happen?
He growled to himself in irritation of his confusion, holding his head in anger. He hated this uncertainty. Why did this have to happen to him?
But his anger stopped as he saw the palace over the horizon, tall and foreboding in the distance.
"Get ready Prince," a soft voice whispered behind him. He turned. It was Arash. "I am going to be advising you through this," he said smiling. "Your father will give us the signal and then we will sneak around the back of our siege and infiltrate the castle."
"I don't want anyone hurt unless necessary," The Prince said suddenly, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "And if anyone finds the Maharajah's wife," he said more forcefully, "Bring her to me."
Arash smiled. "Yes your majesty. We will be sure to leave the best prize for you." With that he rode away.
The Prince was suddenly disgusted with himself.
A prize. That was all Farah was. A medal of honor, to boast with, to show that yes, he did infiltrate the Maharajah's palace, and he had come back with the best treasure it held.
He suddenly felt ill.
But now was no time to be ill.
The army marched on, the men oblivious to the infiltration still knew that this would be a decisive battle, and the tension mounted.
"Fight well, soldiers," his father announced regally to all. "This war has gone on long enough."
It was much shorter last time, the Prince reflected, and then cursed himself for doing so. There was no last time.
There was no last time.
No experience.
Nothing happened with Farah.
Perhaps it was part of his curse for opening the sands that he had to remember things that didn't happen.
But he never opened the sands….
He cursed loudly again, aloud, and several heads turned in his direction but did not say anything. But there looks were enough. They thought him mad.
They were probably right.
The signal.
Out of nowhere it came and the Prince followed Arash into battle, attacking those who came in his way, not yet following the plan. But soon Arash led him and the men away from the battle and once far enough away he moved aside and allowed the Prince to lead. Arash nodded at him in assurance. The Prince avoided his eyes but continued to lead the men.
"Do not kill or injure unless necessary," he said calmly, "Only take the women as slaves unless they provoke you."
"And if you find the Maharajah's wife, give her to the Prince," Arash interjected, smiling knowingly at him.
The Prince nodded feebly, his insides turning to jelly out of nervousness, and his head swimming from disgust at himself. With these feelings churning inside of him, the Prince began the barrage on the palace.