Authors Notes: Hey again! Another chapter done and dusted! I think revision is driving me a little insane. I spend all day doing revision, then all night writing. I don't think I can keep this up, but my brain won't let me rest! But, by this time next week I'll be getting ready to sit the last exam and then it'll be all over!

Thanks for reviews guys, although has anyone else noticed things have gone a bit weird on ? The stories are all in the wrong order, and some of them disappear from time to time, along with reviews ect. Is this just me or have things been going a little strange for you too? Never mind, though, it's not that important!

In case anyone is interested: I wrote a short one-shot and posted it. It's called Forever Friends, about young Dastan and Bis. Just something that came into my head and I had to type it out. Would appreciate some review's to know what you think! :D

TashaB - Thanks for the Zolm compliment! He's such a brilliant character! Unfortunately no D/T angst yet, but they'll be back next chapter!
Holding Infinity - I love that you're reading this without any previous Prince of Persia knowledge XD If anything happens in the story that confuses you, drop me a line and I'll explain the background to it!
Starfish - Yes I love my OC too. She's great fun to write. I have full intentions for D/T fluff fest, but it might be a few chapters away. You're going to have to wait for it! xx

Another Zolm/OC chapter, but our lovely Tamina and Dastan shall return in the next one! Thanks again for reading, and help me keep sane by leaving a review if you'd be so kind!

Woffles92

Chapter 3 - A Night With The Gypsy

With hawk eyes, he watched her devouring the plate of goat stew that had been placed in front of her. It had probably been the first time that she'd had a decent meal in weeks by her appearance. Outside the light was dimming, and the inn keeper was lighting candles and lamps around the room.
"You not going to eat?" she asked through a mouthful of food, taking the first break to speak since she had begun eating.

"Denial strengthens resolve," he replied simply.

"Suit yourself," she muttered, and continued to stuff her face in a most unladylike manner.

Around the eating room of the inn, unwelcome eyes were giving them scorn. They had seen the young woman's appearance and concluded immediately that she was most probably a prostitute, whom he was planning to copulate with. Everyone knew it happened, but it was a private matter, and to dine with her in public was to bring disgrace on himself and the inn. That was what the brothels were for. Needless to say, Zolm paid their contemptuous glances no heed.

Nasreen took another break from her food.
"Do you have a name?" she queried, "I'm Nasreen, but I suppose you already know that by now."

He didn't answer; he had no desire to humour her. She was much less interesting when she wasn't being threatened.

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me your name, then what's your business in Nasaf?"

More pointless conversation, but he couldn't resist answering this one.
"I was visiting an old friend," he replied, allowing himself a brief moment of amusement at the statement. The hinted smile gave a sense of villainy about his face.

"He speaks!" she cried with mock surprise.

"I'm no mute," he answered plainly, "Words are valuable and I have no desire to waste them."

She traced her slender fingers around her wooden cup of cheap wine. Then, those startling eyes looked up at him, piercing so deep that it would have made a lesser man feel somewhat threatened. He wondered if this was what people thought, if they were lucky enough to get close enough to look into his eyes and live.

"What do you want to talk about then?" she queried.

He pondered for a moment, wondering if there was actually something which he wished to know. In fact, there was.

"Why do you invest in stealing? Surely there's a more," he paused and raked his eyes over her as to make a point, "lucrative and obvious option for a woman such as yourself."

She arched a slender eyebrow.
"You mean why I am not spread eagle on the floor of a brothel while some man screws me?"

Again, the frankness of her words surprised him. She didn't talk, or act for that matter, like any other women he'd ever met. He shrugged in response, giving her a look that said: Those are your words, not mine.

"It's simple," she explained, "I may not have a coin to my name, but I still have some self-respect. Besides, who's to say that stealing isn't so lucrative when you're as good as me. I'm in a nice tavern, eating a healthy meal, and I'm about to spend the night on a comfortable straw mattress with a roof over my head. I'd say things are pretty lucrative for me right now!"

He was about to argue the point, that she hadn't in fact been given her bed for the night, yet, but he decided not to.

She lifted the wooden goblet, drained the wine and slammed it down on the table much like a rowdy soldier in a garrison drink house.

"Now it's my turn to ask you something."

"We had no such agreement," Zolm commented.

"But it's only fair," she teased, pursing her lips. "So, what, of mysterious one, is your name?"

He averted her eyes in annoyance. Surely there was something of greater interest to her than his name? What about the pouch she was concealing between her breasts, wasn't she curious about it?

"Well?" she prompted impatiently.

Meeting her eye, he remained silent.

Disgruntled, she stood up from the cushion on which she had been sat for the meal.
"Fine, if you're not going to answer me, then I might as well turn in for the night. Now, if you would be so kind as to show me to my room?"

Although she had been annoyed at his refusal to answer her question, her mood was still playful. Zolm raised himself from his perch, slowly and with pristine control over his every movement. He brushed past her, making his way toward the direction of the stairs to the rented rooms.

"I believe you mean my room," he correct as he took the key from beneath his robes and unlocked the door.

"Are we sharing then?" was her flirtatious question as she entered through the door he held open for her. A small lamp in the corner had been lit, and shed enough light to be able to see. The room was cramped and mattress was raised up from the floor on a small wooden platform. A small window led to the world outside, and a stool rested below it. On the stool was a bowl of water and a cloth, presumably for washing.

"I have no need of beds. I plan on spending tonight in meditation," he replied. He would have relished a night of slumber to prepare for his impending journey, but he couldn't risk losing consciousness while she carried both his precious incense and had access to numberous weapons.

Without another word she glided over to the stool and shrugged off her outer robe. It was the first time she'd removed her hood since he had met her and he could see now that her black hair cascaded all the way down her back, almost reaching her hips. She wore a long purple tunic that would have once been a very vivid purple or blue, but was now so worn and faded that it was impossible to tell. The loose pantaloons she wore underneath were the pale brown of a fabric that hadn't been dyed, and the slippers on her feet were frayed.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she caught him looking. As she sat down on the bed to remove her slippers, he began to remove his outer clothing. The heavy travelling cloak was removed first and folded with painstaking precision. Everything he wore was black, and she wondered how he could stand the heat. Leaving her footwear on the floor she sat on the bed and watched him as he slowly undid the turban around his head. Underneath, his black hair was short and greasy, and she was shocked by how pale his skin appeared, even in the dim light.

"I can see you don't spend much time in the sun," Nasreen remarked as she hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.

The ghost of a smile played on his lips.
"Although I was born here, my birth parents were from the cold North. My father was a merchant, or so I've been told."

"So you didn't know them," she guessed accurately. He shot her a look that was both irritated and confused.

"You said they were your birth parents, implying that they weren't the parents that you grew up to know. Please, go on."

Once again she was infuriatingly good judge of people. He hesitated. His past was something that he never really talked about, not even to his Hassansin brothers. Then, he threw caution into the desert winds. Besides, she would probably work it out for herself sooner or later.

"The story I was told, is that when I was born and my father first saw my eyes, he declared me a demon who must be destroyed. He tried to throw me on the fire, to 'send me back to the fiery hell from whence I came' and he nearly succeeded."
To aid the short tale, he turned his head to left to reveal the right side of his face. She already knew that his cheek had been scarred, but now she could see that the disfigurement continued. His right ear was partially marred and mangled, and the injury continued down his neck and disappeared under his shirt.

"But one of my mother's serving girls rescued me. She couldn't bear to see an innocent..." He paused at the word innocent, as if it amused him, "... child suffer. She offered to take me. She was dismissed from service at once, of course. A caravan of nomads found her wandering in the desert soon after and took her in. Naturally, she married one of them and they were the parents I knew."

He ended the tale here, fearing that any more would reveal too much of his part in the sacred Hassansin brotherhood.

"How wonderfully tragic," she sighed.

He made no further comment. Arranging himself on the floor he was preparing to enter into his meditation. Glancing up once more, he could see that she was still staring at him. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," she purred, then patted the mattress beside her, "There's room enough here for two."

He closed his eyes, but continued to speak.
"For one who said she was uninterested in the life of a whore, you're doing a remarkably good job of acting like one."

He would have expected his words to sting her, but instead of taking offence, she just giggled.
"At least this way I can choose with whom I share a bed with. So, what do you say?"

He opened one eye, like a dozing cat which had been disturbed.
"Regretfully," he replied, without any hint of the aforementioned regret, "I must decline."

"As you please," she sighed and before he close his eye again, he watched her curl up on the bed.

The sensation of something being awry snapped him out of his meditations as the first morning light was breaking on the horizon. His senses had not failed him. Nasreen was climbing out the window.

Instinctively, he grabbed his small eating knife from the pocket of his robes and hurled it at her. She dodged and although it missed her it caught her robes, pinning her to the frame of the opening. Zolm jumped up to seize her but she just tugged until her garment ripped and jumped down on the first level roof of the building beside the inn. Landing with feline accuracy she turned and looked up into his thunderstruck face. She kissed the palm of her hand waved a goodbye. Then she leapt down onto the street below, using a pile of sheep's wool beside the house to soften her landing. She disappeared from sight into the darkness of the early morning.

He banged his fist furiously against the wall so forcefully that he left an imprint on the hardened mud wall. The little devil had managed to escape him. He had deliberately meditated instead of sleeping so as to prevent something like this from happening. There was nothing for it. If he was to complete his mission for Nizam he needed that incense back, and that meant tearing Nasaf down bit by bit until he found her. Whirling around to put the remainder of his clothing on he was halted by the sight of the bed she'd been sleeping in. The ragged blanket she had slept under was neatly folded and placed on top of it, was the little leather pouch.

Confused, he picked it up, and sniffed the contents.

It was his precious vision inducing essence, in full. Binding the string at the top closed, he puzzled over what had just happened. It was worth a fortune; she had guessed that much early on. It could have bought her several months' worth of food and lodging if she had managed to sell it right. She was a thief who had kept her bargain. Now there was a foreign concept.

He shook his head disbelievingly, and began to dress. He had a long journey ahead of him.

Two weeks later, his brush with the gypsy girl in Nasaf was forgotten as he stood behind the Princess Tamina's dressing screen listening to a late night exchange between her and her betrothed Prince Dastan. He grinned with wicked glee at the pleasure of his being there unseen. If only they knew what awaited both of them.

He positively tingling with anticipation.