I'll try and explain things on the way, but this sequel follows on directly from the final scene in 'Traitor' and a majority of the events and history written into that story will be contained here. I highly recommend reading 'Traitor' first. There are spoilers for the movie, though this is another alternate ending.

Vision was ripped away from him. He was shrouded in darkness for what felt like eternity, unable to feel or see with only his thoughts to remind him that he couldn't actually be dead.

He'd been here before, in this abyss. He somehow knew that. However, knowing that he was here again only brought him a sense of foreboding, until the gloom around him gradually lightened. Colours began to blend through the inky blackness and a city street slowly formed before his eyes. But sand whipped through the air, blurring his sight and making it impossible to focus on anything other than what he held in his hand.

A dagger.

But it didn't stay that way forever. The sands cleared and he merged with the world around him once more. Sights and smells and sounds bombarded him and he looked around, a little dazed.

Until one particular voice caught his attention.

"Prince Dastan! Prince Dastan!"

Turning, his foggy mind still struggling to catch up, he said incredulously, "Bis? You're here!"

"Of course I'm here," replied his long-time friend, looking at him a little strangely. "Our men have surrounded Alamut's palace. The battle is over."

The battle. Images hit him all at once. Of days spent crossing the dry desert, of crawling through darkened passages, and the dull memory of a throbbing ache in his shoulder.

The Sandglass. Tamina. Garsiv. Nizam.

But visions wared in his mind. A recollection of the chilling sound of his name echoing through the Sandglass chamber in a blood-curdling scream as Tamina plummeted into the chasm below fought against the not so distant memory of her pressed against him with her lips brushing his as their hands gripped the glass hilt of the dagger. Prince Dastan couldn't make sense of time in his mind, but even in the confusion he knew one thing.

He had to hurry.

"Not yet."

Leaving Bis' side he dashed through the city, pushing past scurrying citizens and straggling soldiers, keeping his eye on the palace and the tip of the temple that could be seen above the stone and clay buildings. Bursting through into an open square, he saw several soldiers laying canvases and rugs out on the grounds, setting pegs into the dirt and putting together a makeshift camp.

He recognised this place. He and his men had made camp here five weeks ago.

They truly had already overcome Alamut's forces. Again.

Spotting one of his own men amongst the bustling crowd, Dastan hailed him over. "Roham," he panted, recalling a time not too long ago when he'd saved this man from what would have been a deadly blow from the hand of his own brother. That had been in Nasaf. That had been well over a week ago.

But in reality, it had never actually happened.

Clearing his mind of those thoughts, he clasped the man by the shoulder and asked, "Has the army moved in on the palace? Where are Garsiv and Tus?"

"They're approaching the palace now," Roham replied, frowning slightly. "They plan to confront the Alamutian royals."

Tamina. "Which way did they go?"

Dastan was off before the man could even turn fully. Seeing him motion down one street out the corner of his eye, the Prince raced down the cobbled path, weaving through the ever growing crowds of people. He must be close.

A fanfare sounded close by and he could see the Persian banners and the steps of the High Temple rising above the heads of the people crowding around him. Frustrated that he couldn't get through, Dastan drew one of his swords and yelled out a harsh, "Move!"

The Alamutians, already frightened and wary of the army who had barged its way into their city, immediately scattered out of his way, leaving a clear path leading to the large open courtyard where the army and the royal guard had gathered. Sheathing his sword once more, Dastan ran through and into the middle of the gathered army. Soldiers around him moved away in surprise, but he ignored them all.

He only had eyes for Nizam, Garsiv, and Tus who were riding slowly through the square toward the grand white marble staircase. They were moments away from overrunning Alamut's palace.

Again.

Not again.

"Wait!" Racing through the soldiers, ignoring their cheering for their victorious monarchs, Dastan pushed men aside in his haste to reach the palace stairs before his brothers. "Wait!"

Ironically, it was Nizam who first heard him and turned in surprise.

Brushing off the congratulatory pats on the back that he was receiving from his comrades, he fought his way through and began to ascend the marble staircase to gain some ground, ahead of Tus, Garsiv, Nizam and their company. He needed to stop this now. The crowd parted around him and he turned to address the masses that had gathered.

"Brave soldiers of Persia, we have been deceived into attacking this holy city!" Out of the corner of his eye he could see that his family had dismounted, looks of confusion clouding their features. "Alamut has no weapon forges."

Murmuring rang out around him, but above the din he could hear Garsiv's throaty chuckle. His brother apparently thought Dastan's words a joke, until Tus began to speak.

"Dastan," scolded their eldest brother, looking around with a tight smile on his face. "Have you gone mad?"

He truly thought he had when the possibility first occurred to him, but almost five weeks had passed since then. "I cannot stay silent in the face of treachery. This war was set up by one trusted above all others." Pointing at the very man, who was walking up the marble staircase with a growing look of concern on his face, Dastan accused loudly, "Our Uncle Nizam."

Climbing higher than where Dastan stood, making a show of his superiority over the boy, Nizam addressed the masses with a convincing smile on his face. "Dastan has fought hard today, perhaps too hard. What he needs now is to get out from under this burning sun to rest and gather his wits!"

The men surrounding them laughed, but the Prince could only look up at Nizam with derision on his face. The nerve. Weeks of hatred for the man he thought of as family built and burned inside of him, but he had to control himself if he was to get through this.

He couldn't let himself be locked behind the iron bars of the Alamutian dungeons, not again.

"The weapons we found are forgeries! There are no weapons here Uncle, and you know it. And the 'spy' who supposedly intercepted them was hired by you," Turning to face the shocked crowd around them he yelled, "To pursued all of us to invade Alamut!"

Three times he had stood on these stairs, once before to accuse his Uncle of orchestrating the entire attack against the city. But never had he felt this tug of desperation.

If he failed again to protect his family, what then?

"What is this Dastan, victor's remorse?" said his Uncle behind him, his voice carrying easily in the relative silence that Dastan's words had wrought. "You yourself lead the attack! Brought us this great triumph!" He looked smug and far too confident, and Dastan felt his resolve waver – but then strengthen once more. Nizam knew nothing of his involvement and had no knowledge of his ever being locked away for calling traitor against the King's brother. It wasn't like before. Now Nizam would never know, he would never remember a time that by all accounts had never actually come to pass.

Garsiv began to ascend the stairs as their Uncle spoke, looking more and more concerned for Dastan and seemingly needing to be closer to his brother's side. A show of solidarity, perhaps, as the Persian army cheered at Nizam's words.

Smiling knowingly, Dastan addressed the soldiers and his brothers. "I should never have let the attack happen." Below them Tus looked around, stunned, and similar expressions were mirrored on the faces of the soldiers around them at the younger Prince's words. Setting his gaze on his eldest brother, he added, "When I knew in my heart that it was wrong."

Tus climbed the last few steps to join Garsiv, his shock and confusion morphing into consideration and musing.

Turning away from the two of them, Dastan marched up the stairs, planting himself directly in front of Nizam and staring him in the eye. He felt no love for this man, this traitor. He had loved his Uncle, but this man was not the member of his family he had come to know over his years as a Persian Prince. This man was not his family.

Leaning close, Dastan murmured, "It will never be you. You will never be King. You don't have the heart." Nizam tried to look away, his gaze drifting to the crowd standing close around them, but Dastan continued regardless. Nizam needed to know he had failed. "You will die in the shadow of a great man."

Nizam's fleeting smile slowly faded at those last words and the soldiers standing close enough to hear them started murmuring amongst themselves as what he had said spread quickly through their ranks.

Again the memory of another time flashed through his mind, of the same actions being repeated in similar circumstances happening to him in another time, and he watched as a frustrated Nizam instinctively dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword.

Draw, Dastan thought to himself, his gaze lifting from the sheathed sword to his Uncle's face. Draw it, end this … But once again, Nizam simply let the weapon fall to his side, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Garsiv, seeing the exchange, gestured at the royal guard and yelled, "Get him down from there before he makes an even bigger fool of himself!"

But Dastan moved past the man who had started forward, ignoring him completely, to address his eldest brother. "Tus, before you left Nasaf father told you this." Descending the stairs, determined to convince his brothers by any means possible, he stood before them and looked Tus in the eye. "That a true King considers the advice of counsel, but always listens to his own heart."

Tus, looking suspicious and perplexed, spoke slowly as he thought over the words. "Father and I were alone. How could you know that?"

Dastan, sensing Nizam moving in to stand close behind him, brushed Tus' question aside and instead replied, "He was right. He knows us and he knows what we're capable of. Just listen to your heart." He stood still, his gaze seeking his brother's, imploring him to listen to reason. He had to believe that the bond they shared would be enough. He prayed that it would be enough.

"He defies your order in the attack and now wants to turn back," Nizam murmured, seeking to sway Tus' decision as he always had. It hadn't gone unnoticed by the younger Princes that in grooming Tus to be the future King, Nizam had also earned himself the power of influence over their brother's decisions. But for once Tus' eyes stayed trained on Dastan's face, seeking answers for this unexpected claim. "Tus," their Uncle said, drawing his attention away. "Take measure here."

Nizam's tone sounded almost pleading, but Dastan had to agree with his words. Tus did need to take measure.

Tus looked torn, not knowing which of the two he should listen to. His father's most faithful advisor, a man they had all relied on since birth to always have a guiding word, or his own brother who he would trust with his life?

But he couldn't decide. "The spy knows the truth," he said finally, his distress and uncertainty clear in every word. "Find the spy, bring him to me! We'll wring it from him!"

Though the fear of a repeat in time ripped through him at those words, Dastan understood his decision. As always his brother had chosen the diplomatic option, a third party that would give him the answer he sought. But the last time Tus had spoken to the paid spy that Nizam had hired, Dastan had been dragged into the cold stone dungeons below the Alamutian city. Tamina had told him once before that some aspects of time could not be changed, no matter what one did to prevent them.

But Dastan forced his thoughts away, instead nodding understandingly at his brother. He looked to his Uncle then and his expression set as his eyes hardened. The man didn't seem to like that the eldest chose not to believe his words. Nizam met his gaze for just a moment before his eyes dropped away, thinking about what had just happened and how it had come about.

High above them, looking down from the uppermost chamber of the Temple, Princess Tamina watched the exchange with thinly veiled curiosity. Sound couldn't travel as far as where she stood, but it would have been hard to mistake what was unfolding on the ground below.

One warrior had stopped the march on her palace. One warrior had brought the entire Persian army to a halt.

"Find out who he is and what he has said," she murmured quietly to the man at her side, her champion and closest advisor. They were alone at the open archway, but behind them the room was filled with priests, servants and chanting council members. Their conversation was not private even within the walls of the High Temple.

"He's the man who attacked me and stole the item from my grasp," was his short reply.

Startled by the news, Tamina turned to look at him, watching as his hard gaze never strayed from the scene below. "He has the dagger."

It had been more of a statement than a question, and a single nod was the only reply she was given. Her eyes strayed to his battered arm, which he held closely to his side. This warrior may have ceased the attack but he was still Persian and he had stolen from them. He had stolen something sacred and they must get it back.

About to order that the dagger be retrieved from the warrior's possession, by any means necessary, Tamina paused. Once again her gaze was drawn downward and she watched silently as the Persian royals and the warrior retreated from the steps of the palace.

"Princess Tamina?" queried the trembling voice of the elderly Regent. "Princess, the Persians have what they came here for will surely now leave. Perhaps we should consider retrieving what is ours before it is lost?"

But she didn't speak. Her mind called for retribution, but something deep inside told her to stay her hand until she spoke with the Persians, or the warrior himself. Something told her that this man should not be killed.

"We will wait," Tamina said, loud enough for her voice to be heard throughout the open room. The High Council members immediately protested her decision, but one look from her advisor had them silenced. "They will seek me out eventually and only then will we determine a course of action." Her tone was resolute. Her word was final.

Her champion bent close, murmuring into her ear, "Are you sure that is wise, Princess?"

Of course she wasn't sure. "Keep an eye on him, Asoka. Follow his every move. Make sure he does not leave the city."

Watching as he bowed and moved to do her bidding, Tamina looked back down at the swarm of enemy soldiers littering her city in time to see the Persian Princes locked once more in argument.

"We will head to camp," Tus said quietly to his two brothers as he collected the reins of his horse. "We need to work this out in private."

"Now? We're on the steps of the palace! Tus, we need to press our advantage."

"We'll lose any ground we have if we don't present a united front, Garsiv," Tus replied, frowning and looking around at the soldiers crowded close. Too many ears were listening in on their conversation already. "We cannot venture further until this matter is solved."

Cursing, Garsiv gestured behind him and warned, "We'll lose Alamut."

"We won't," Dastan said surely, stepping between the two. His words stopped them short and both brothers looked at Dastan, considering him. Keeping his eye trained on their Uncle who stood several horse-lengths away, he added, "Retreat is the wisest course if we are to have any hope of a peaceful reconciliation here."

However, Garsiv wouldn't settle for that. "We'll barricade them in. Soft actions will only make us seem weak. An army on their doorstep will force their cooperation."

Thinking of the myriad of tunnels crossing beneath the palace, the temple, and the city itself, Dastan shook his head, holding out a hand of warning as he began to say, "That won't—"

But he was cut off. Laying a subduing hand against his arm, Tus shook his head. "You've said enough, Dastan." He spoke quietly, but his words were firm.

Dastan wasn't out of the woods just yet. He still had to prove what he knew.

Gaze trailing high above them, over the vaulted roof of the Alamutian palace, Dastan looked for a moment at the spiralling tower of the temple. He'd need Tamina's help if he was going to convince his brothers of Nizam's treachery.