Disclaimer: Aladdin is the property of D*sney, and I claim nothing but my own silly ideas.

A/N- I apologize to everyone who read this chapter yesterday, only to have it pop up again today completely different. When I posted this last night I was really unhappy with it, but the wonderful Cantare (whose story 'Antiphony' pretty much sets the bar as far as Jas/ Moze is concerned) was willing to help me out of the little hole I was digging for myself. Please enjoy this revised version and let me know what you think!

As always, Thank You for reading! :-)

Chapter 4

To get what you want

Mozenrath stumbled several times as they made their way to the Princess' camp, but he'd played his part so well that the girl was too furious to notice. The wizard lifted his hand to his hairline to brush away the droplets that formed across his clammy brow. He had no intention of letting her know that he was still not entirely himself after she'd left him standing at death's door for an entire month! The acrid taste of hatred rose up from his gut and stung the back of his throat at the thought of her calm face as the Advisor informed him of the truth of her actions, or lack thereof. He clenched his magical hand around the eel to prevent himself from striking out at her unprotected back.

Not that she'd had any scruples about backstabbing when their situations had been reversed. He remembered his moment of near victory with impossible clarity and damned her again in his mind for taking the power of the jinn from him. He'd been so close to getting everything he wanted and more. Then she'd gone and ruined it with a cowardly move born of weakness and too much time spent observing the behavior of common thieves.

How dare she release him and claim the moral high ground after achieving a cowardly victory! How dare she act self-righteous when she'd stolen so much of his dwindling life! It had taken months of communion with the black sand before he could bend it to his will and call himself it's Master. Now he'd lost even more precious time sitting in time out, simply because little Miss High and Mighty knew how to hold a grudge.

His mind swirled with the implications of her carelessness. The mamluks were unlikely to revolt in his absence, the sorcerer made sure they lacked that level of intelligence, but the magic of the sand was an entirely different matter. Mozenrath was beginning to realize why the Sultan had suddenly expressed the desire for an alliance. He cringed at the thought of the mess he was going to be cleaning up when he got home.

'If the Citadel is still standing…'

Thoughts of his home destroyed by rampaging magic conjured the image of priceless tomes ripped to shreds, rare potions tainted and destroyed as their protective flasks were smashed, and the fluorescent sands of his remaining life lost amongst the ashes. Mozenrath shook his aching head and tried to focus on reality. There was nothing to be gained by allowing himself to rage at speculation.

Not when he currently found himself at the mercy of Aladdin's spoiled shrew.

In the deadened place where his right arm had once been, the wizard felt the icy pinpricks of the gauntlet at work. It clawed up the bones of his forearm and sucked the heat from the muscle of his bicep as he performed a low-level healing spell. Mozenrath felt another throb behind his temple as the icy claws gripped higher and Xerxes' form twitched. It should not have required so much effort to revive the tiny creature, but he would not discontinue his attempts. The eel had proven to be an asset in more than one skirmish and Mozenrath was not taking any chances with the gauntlet's power so dangerously low.

He found it unlikely that the Princess knew anything about the crystal's power, and so his logic followed that she was probably ignorant of his current weakness. A good thing, considering he was uninformed of her strength. He considered the man they'd both left behind on the cavern floor. Who knew how much muscle the Princess had brought along with her or what magical tricks the jinn might have outfitted her with. Assuming she hadn't brought the entire gang along to ambush him as soon as he reached the tent. Though Mozenrath prayed fervently that she wasn't that stupid, for his own sake, considering the score between them stood in her favor... for the moment.

He seethed again, hating his powerless role in this mockery of diplomacy.

He would listen to her ludicrous schemes if it would grant him freedom from her grasp. Then he would return to the sands of his desert and meticulously plot both her and Aladdin's demise, even if it took every last glassy grain of his lingering existence. As a life long overachiever, he decided to make the best of his current circumstances and get a head start on his revenge by observing her carefully during this period of forced civility. Destane's voice called down the corridor of his memory…

"There is no time when a man does not display his weaknesses, boy. They are woven into the fabric of his being so tightly that even in the midst of the greatest victory, the eye may still follow along the strings until it knows his secrets better than the weaver's hand."

Mozenrath lifted his head slightly so that he could study his enemy without drawing her attention. There was little to see from his vantage point apart from plain robes and an embellished headscarf. His eye was drawn to that particular item of clothing over and over again as it glinted in the scattered pools of light that managed to cut through to the canyon floor. He felt a wave nausea come over him when he observed the pattern begin to ripple and swirl like a heat mirage. Mozenrath swayed on his feet as he pushed fingers into his eyes to erase the image. He could barely make out the soft scrape of the princess' footsteps over the blood rushing in his ears.

He was vaguely aware that she was speaking to him over the throbbing of his head.

"-enrath?"

The sorcerer removed his hand to see her looking back at him from her position at the crest of a small hill that no doubt marked the end of their journey. Neither her expression nor her tone was especially concerned or kind, but the look in her eyes was one that fueled his already overheated temper. He detested the pity in their depths more than her sickening self-righteousness. Mozenrath decided to make it difficult for her to ever look at him that way again.

"I confess to a having slight headache over all this nonsense." He kept his voice intentionally bland, "Though, I do look forward to hearing your father's childish propositions so that I may return to my Citadel and draft a refusal letter." He gently tapped his chin in mock contemplation, "How to begin… 'To The Greatest of All the Bumbling Incompetents.' No, no. Too complimentary. Perhaps I'll try ' Dearest King of Cretins,' or 'To the Illustrious Idiot of Agrabah." That has a very nice ring to it don't you think Princess? Why, he may like the title so much he could add it to his stationary. Then, at least the next victim of his unsolicited political advances will be adequately informed of what they're getting themselves into."

If Mozenrath believed that he had seen the limits of her temper, he would have, theoretically, been proven wrong in the next instant when he found himself face to finger with her shaking hand. She stood on the balls of her feet, trying to match his superior height, as she shouted into his smirking face.

"Do not insult my father in front of me. The only reason that we are even standing here is because he felt that it was wrong for us to keep you from your responsibilities!"

He snorted at her tone. As if she'd ever come down from the clouds long enough to take responsibility for anything in her whole pampered life!

"You and that disgusting creature would still be stuck in that ill conceived trap of yours if it hadn't been for him!"

The Sorcerer found himself unable to let such an insult against his intelligence slide.

"My 'ill conceived trap' was clever enough to catch the Jinn completely off guard! Tell me Princess, when was the last time you surprised a creature that old and powerful?"

Something about what he'd said hit the mark, because she suddenly shrank back from him and refused to meet his thunderous gaze.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or have you finally come to realize just how small a challenge you present to my overall goals?"

The Princess looked him in the eye without fear.

"You don't know me Mozenrath. I warned you once before not to underestimate what I'm capable of."

"A threat that has so far proven to have little truth behind it. What good is the ability to lock your enemies in an inescapable prison, if you lack the power to keep them there?" His next statement carried just a hint of reminiscence.

"How does it feel to realize that you are nothing more than a collared pet to be curbed at your master's whim?"

Mozenrath recognized the look of powerless frustration that fell over her face for a moment as she considered his point past the sting of her injured pride. Her answer came across clipped and final.

"What I lack in power, I'll make up for in determination."

She turned and quickly put some distance between them, resuming her hike with greater tenacity.

He doubted very much that the Princess realized how much she had just told him about herself. A very amateurish mistake. First she'd admitted that his release hadn't been her idea after all, dispelling his theories of naivety and guilt, and setting him on guard for ulterior motives. Second, the Princess had revealed a critical flaw in her persona as the dutiful daughter and fiancé. He recalled his taunts to Aladdin on the day of his imprisonment.

"…You who refused to be a Sultan, so you could play the Hero?"

"Beats some of your hobbies."

Mozenrath often found himself perplexed by Aladdin's lack of ambition. What if his reluctance had more to do with the Princess' own desire to rule? But of course, personal preference would mean nothing against hundreds of years of tradition…

The sorcerer displayed a small grin. Mozenrath knew the means used to exploit such desires. In fact, he might even go so far as to consider himself an expert on the matter.

A slight stirring caught his attention. The sorcerer's smile widened.

"Ma… master?" Xerxes garbled voice was barely more than a whisper at his wrist but the confirmation that his magic was not lost made him nearly laugh with relief.

Mozenrath saw this as just the encouragement he needed to move forward with the day's proceedings. Feeling far better than he had ten minutes before, the wizard followed the princess' trail over the crest of the hill and made his way into her camp.

Jasmine flung herself down the steep incline towards the camp so rapidly that she nearly twisted her ankle several times before she reached the bottom. Fazal and the other guards had made quick work of assembling the simple tents they'd packed that morning and the Princess didn't waste any time putting them to good use.

She quickly marched over to the nearest one and pulled back the flap while flinging herself inside at breakneck speed. The Princess buried her hot face in her hands as she let out a sob of frustration.

Jasmine didn't know what was wrong with her. First she'd gone and pitied him when she promised herself she wouldn't. Then she'd opened her big mouth and told him that she was only letting him go because her father had commanded it!

'Next time, why don't you just tell him that you're useless and save him the trouble of pointing it out!'

Jasmine scrubbed at her face some more, trying to wash away the memory of his words. She desperately wanted to escape her own shame. She removed her hands to take in the tent's furnishings and found herself face-to-face with Hasim.

If the Vizier was in any way shocked by her behavior, he didn't show it. She took a step back towards the entrance, as if to leave, but Hasim simply gestured for her to take a seat on one of the sparse pillows he had provided for that purpose. Jasmine took in the tightly rolled scrolls in the basket by his bedroll and decided that this was probably the place he had intended for their negotiations to occur. He made a great show of fanning out his robes around him as he sat on another pillow that lay closer to the basket.

"May I ask what is troubling you Princess?"

His voice was light and disinterested, and she suddenly felt very childish for having let him see her in such a state. She stared at her hands in embarrassment. When the minutes stretched out and she didn't answer he began pulling out the scrolls and examining each with a mild expression.

"If I had to guess at what has upset your highness, I would say that it has something to do with the behavior of Lord Mozenrath."

That got her talking.

"Actually it has nothing to do with him. He's exactly what I expected."

Liar, he is nothing like you expected.

The Vizier raised one fluffy eyebrow at this, but motioned for her to continue.

"I'm just frustrated by my inability to handle this situation. He baits me, as I knew he would, and I overreact! I just told him that I would have left him here to die if not for father's order. How am I supposed to convince him to take me seriously when he thinks I'm nothing more than my father's weak-willed lackey?"

Both of Hasim's eyebrows were high on his forehead by the end of this statement. Jasmine turned her face away again.

"I've failed Agrabah."

"I hardly believe that is true your highness."

When she looked back, his brow was once again relaxed and the Vizier had set his paperwork aside.

"You are allowing your personal feelings to cloud the issue at hand. You must stop."

Jasmine recalled all of the thinly veiled insults he had thrown her way over the years and feared another barrage coming on. The small man shrugged and sighed heavily before he began.

"His Lordship simply seeks to regain his footing. You forget that we are here because you imprisoned him and he could not escape on his own."

She was so shocked by this small, unexpected acknowledgement that she gripped the pillow beneath her for balance.

"I know where your true frustrations lay Princess. It is good you recognize the opportunity you have been given."

Jasmine was suddenly reminded of her own thoughts regarding the counsel's decision to exclude Aladdin's from the negotiations with Mozenrath. There is a comment being made regardless of the given reason. Her eyes widened.

"The choice is yours your Highness, but the first step towards autonomy lies in an alliance with the Lord of Black Sand. Prove to the nobles that you can bring them wealth and prosperity even in the face of adversity and they will love you for it. Show them that you are a strong enough woman to put aside personal preference and do what is best for the country as a whole."

She swallowed heavily, possibilities swirling behind her eyes.

Autonomy.

Independence.

Power.

"But… why?"

Hasim sighed again and spoke in the most human tone she had ever heard from the politician's lips.

"Because our monarchy cannot survive another weak-willed Sultan. By changing the law, your father has given you the ultimate authority to decide the Kingdom's future. Despite heavy objections from certain… conservative factions, the counsel has decided that it would be better to place our trust in one who has repeatedly shown great potential, as opposed to an untested and uneducated boy.

Jasmine suddenly felt very defensive, in spite of the fact that she was speaking out against her own interests.

"Aladdin is not untested, he has protected Agrebah from countless threats!" Her voice grew heavy. "Including from a man who once held your office."

There was an unspoken name in the silence.

Jafar.

The Vizier appeared unfazed by her subtle suggestion of treachery.

"Aladdin has proven himself an able defender, but you above all others should realize that this does not make him a capable leader."

Jasmine was abruptly reminded of a certain fruit-juggling incident that had resulted in the Shah in question deciding that he would not be returning to Agrebah for another formal banquet.

Ever.

She was ashamed that she couldn't contradict him.

"I will not lie and say that this path will be easy for you Princess, even with the Counsel's support. To change that which has always been is to walk a razors edge between success and disaster. But if you truly desire more than what your birth has afforded you, you must stand up and fight for it."

He stared into her eyes with such conviction that Jasmine shrunk back a bit from his gaze. He lifted the nearest scroll and seemingly picked up where he left off.

"Please have his Lordship informed that we will meet to discuss terms at sundown. That should give both of you ample time to prepare."

Jasmine stood shakily and walked to the exit once again. The amused note in Hasim's voice detained her as he spoke to her retreating form.

"Oh, and I wouldn't worry too much about shouting at him. His Lordship seems to take a great deal of pleasure in arguing with you. One does not take the trouble to engage an unworthy opponent."

She fled to the far side of the camp to attempt to process all he'd told her.

Mozenrath sat in front of a conjured mirror in the tent that had been erected for his use. He frowned at his appearance. Apparently his body had not healed during his imprisonment and there was a vivid purple bruise spreading across his jaw line. Combined with the dark crescents under his eyes and the cracked lips he could understand why the princess had been moved to pity. The mamluks he'd summoned to guard him while he freshened up looked less pathetic.

Xerxes was curled up in his discarded headdress, humming some ugly nonsense tune to himself as he picked through his scales and cleaned them. The sorcerer was unable to summon any sort of surprise at the animal's blasé demeanor, though he did wonder exactly how the eel had entertained itself during their extended stay in the crystal. The discordant sound of Xerxes garbled voice filled the tent and the sorcerer decided that he could form a pretty good guess. Apparently his assertion that his companion would make a complete recovery had been correct. But then, Mozenrath was usually correct about things.

He ran two fingers of his gauntleted hand across the bruise, wincing in pain as the cold magic crept through the tissue and repaired it. He then moved to his lips and undid the damage there. He had no intention of meeting with the Princess and her Advisor with the fresh markings of his defeat still livid upon his face. The sorcerer suppressed a shudder when he was done and wiped his hand across his sweaty brow again.

'Pushing yourself too far for the sake of vanity.'

But his appearance was very important if he was going to retain any of his pride. Mozenrath loosened the leather strip he'd used to tie back his hair over a month ago and retied it carefully so that none of the errant curls would come loose. He really needed to cut it again. Long hair could be a liability when one had a tendency to work with volatile substances,

Such as potions…

Or arcane booby traps…

'Or princesses.' He chuckled out loud at the thought of the girl attempting to get a hold of his hair to prove a point tonight. That would end very poorly for her and Agrebah.

Xerxes lifted his head from the delicate area near his rear flipper and smiled stupidly.

"Master happy?" The tiny creature was squirming with the desire to know if he'd guessed right.

"No Xerxes, I'm amused. I find the Princess and her methods of diplomacy very amusing."

The eel closed its eyes and nodded slowly, as if this was an important statement of purpose. Most likely, it had no idea what he was talking about and was pretending for the sake of his master.

Mozenrath could not have cared less either way.

He reached over to dump the fishy body out of his turban and adjusted it on his head. Xerxes floated up from a crumpled heap on the floor to hover over his master's right shoulder as the wizard stood and brushed off his dirty and disheveled clothing with distaste. Mozenrath decided there was nothing for it. He couldn't possibly waste any more magic on something so frivolous until he'd had something to eat. And drink. Definitely a few drinks.

With a flick of his magical hand, the mirror was dispelled and he exited the tent. His eyes met with the vivid colors of the Arabian sunset just as he emerged from the darkness. The Princess of Agrebah stood, silhouetted by the setting sun and flanked by her guards, looking for all the world like the Queen of the Desert as she waited for him to emerge.

Mozenrath signaled for the mamluks to remain behind as he moved forward to join the party that was forming in front of the Vizier's tent.

.

.

.

Jasmine found herself quickly reminded of just who she was dealing with as Mozenrath emerged from his temporary quarters. Night made its approach behind him, shrouding the twisted rocky peaks in shadows and deepening those in his face. The sorcerer's pet monstrosity hovered anxiously around his head, smiling cruelly with its needle-like teeth and mumbling softly to itself. But the most poignant reminder of the sorcerer's blackened soul was the undead soldiers that flanked him and stared blankly forward with rheumy eyes out of rotting faces.

Jasmine shivered and asked herself again how far she was willing to go, if she was truly able to commit to a course of action that would link her kingdom to this darkness all for the sake of her own goals.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on the newfound sense of purpose that had been following her since her conversation with Hasim. There was no guarantee that he would agree to anything, all she had to do was show that she was committed to Agrebah's well being. She exhaled heavily and allowed the rushing oxygen to carry away the nervous energy from her stomach. When she opened her eyes again the subject of her thoughts was standing an arm's length away.

Mozenrath's own face betrayed nothing except the barest trace of condescending amusement. He held out an arm to escort her.

"Shall we "move forward together" then?" He smirked at his own joke, Jasmine ignored him.

She refused the false comfort of his formality, but they moved into the warm glow of Hasim's tent side by side just the same.