Disclaimer: None of the characters from Prince of Persia belong to me. However, the mentioned-once Artunis was indeed conjured from my imagination.

A/N: Before I get slammed for continuity errors, I know that Dastan was picked up off the streets when he was like ten or twelve, but for all intents and purposes, he was more like two. And I have no idea the age difference between the princes, so I just kinda made it up. Enjoy!

"Alright, boys." King Sharaman strode into the nursery. "Artunis is sick and can't come in to care for you today. I trust you shall all behave in my absence?"

"Yes, Father," the eldest brother replied dutifully.

The middle one sighed. "Yes, Father."

The king smiled and nodded to both, then looked around at the lack of answer from his littlest son. "Dastan? Where are you?"

With a wild little shriek, a shaggy-haired blur burst from behind the window curtains and charged his father, slamming into his leg and clinging with all his might.

Sharaman chuckled. "There you are, Dastan."

"I knew he was there," the middle boy pouted.

"Of course you did, Garsiv," smiled the king, removing his son from his leg and bringing him up to eye level. "You'll be good, won't you?"

"Where you going?" the little boy demanded, stroking the leather straps of his father's armor. He loved the texture, the smell, the sound it made when the man moved.

"To Azad."

"Fighting?"

"Yes, fighting."

Dastan gave his father a warning look. "Careful. No swords."

"That's all fighting is, Dastan," Garsiv scoffed.

"Oh no, that's not all fighting is," Sharaman said. "But you'll learn that another day. I'm going to be late. Wouldn't want the army leaving without me, now would we?"

Dastan wrapped his little arms around his father's neck. "No."

Sharaman smiled and hugged his son in return. "I'll be back tonight. Tus, keep an eye on your brothers."

Tus nodded dutifully. "Yes, sir."

The king set Dastan down and marched out the door, waving. "Farewell!"

"Goodbye, Father!"

"Goodbye, Father."

"Bye-bye." Dastan waved forlornly.

Garsiv shot a look at his older brother. "Just because you're in charge doesn't mean you can be bossy, alright?"

"I'm almost eleven," Tus said as though that explained everything.

"Well I'm seven," Garsiv replied.

"Three," Dastan piped up.

"Just go back to playing," Tus said. Garsiv huffed but returned to "sharpening" his wooden sword.

Dastan followed him. "Garsiv, I help?"

"No."

"Whyyy?" he whined.

"You're too little."

"I not little!"

"Yes you are."

"Noo!"

"Yes."

"Not little!"

"You are too little."

"Tus! Garsiv call me little!" Dastan tattled.

Tus looked up from his book. "Leave Dastan alone, Garsiv."

"He's bothering me!"

"Dastan, don't bother him."

Dastan folded his arms over his small chest. "I not a bother."

"Yes you are," muttered Garsiv.

"Garsiv!" Tus said sharply.

"Sorry."

Little Dastan abandoned his endeavors to help his brother and wandered instead to the big jeweled chest in the corner of the room. With a tiny grunt, he pushed up the heavy lid and began rummaging through the contents. Finally he found what he was looking for: a long, thin spear with a blunt tip. However, that wasn't enough.

Dastan resumed his toy hunting, retrieving a snug pair of gloves, a small shield, and a helmet which he promptly plunked onto his head. Then, grabbing the spear, he pushed his back against the wall and began inching towards where Garsiv was sitting.

He got within three feet of him, then let out a murderous war cry and ran forward, whacking his brother on the head with the spear.

Garsiv let out a yell and whirled around. "Dastan! I'm gonna kill you!"

Dastan squealed and began a fast retreat. Garsiv bounded after him, wielding his sword like a madman and shouting a new threat every three seconds.

Tus looked up and groaned. "Stop it, Garsiv. Dastan, stop. Hey! Quit running!"

"Garsiv gonna kill me!" Dastan wailed, running to Tus and scrambling into his big brother's lap.

"He's not going to kill you," Tus said, but at that moment Garsiv, who had begun a swing at Dastan that was too far along to stop, hit Tus across the face with his wooden sword.

Time seemed to freeze. Dastan stopped lamenting his young death, Tus stopped scolding, and Garsiv stared with wide eyes at his brothers.

"I'm going to kill you, Garsiv!" Tus shoved Dastan off his lap and stood up, and this time Garsiv began scrambling backwards.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry!" he gushed desperately.

"Get Garsiv, Tus!" Dastan cheered.

"Hey!" Garsiv said, indignant. Dastan shrugged innocently.

Tus took advantage of this momentary distraction and tackled his brother, wrestling the sword away from him after being smacked several times with it. Dastan crept forward in order to see better and, with a squeak, was yanked into the pile by Garsiv.

"No! Too little! No!" he protested.

"You just said you weren't too little!" Garsiv exclaimed. "Ouch!"

Dastan was yanking his hair. "I JUST A BABY!"

"You're just a pain in the—that was my nose!"

"YEAH. WAS."

"Tus, he hit me in the nose!"

"You hit me in the face!"

"That was an accident!"

Dastan leaned his head in front of Garsiv's face. "Uh…you bleed."

Tus sat up, rubbing his aching face. "Yeah…your nose is bleeding, Garsiv."

Garsiv let out a small, yet shrill, yelp. "Bleeding? My nose is bleeding?"

"Um, yes," Dastan said helpfully. "All here." He gestured to his upper lip.

Garsiv whimpered. "You made my nose bleed, you little rat!"

Dastan folded his arms over his chest. "You was a mean brother."

"Boys."

All three looked up to see their father standing in the doorway. He raised a brow.

Tus stood and walked past the king. "It was them."

Garsiv scrambled quickly after his brother. "Dastan started it."

Dastan climbed to his feet and followed. "Was, uh…ghost. Woo."

King Sharaman was left in the nursery by himself. He sighed and shook his head. "Ghost."

And that ghost is gonna haunt you unless you review. Woooo! I know this wasn't my best work, but I was entertained, at least. Hopefully someone else was too. x3