#Jak knows Damas is covering for him. He does *not* know how grounded he's about to be

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Aka "you've ruined a perfectly good Damas is what you did. Look at him, he's got anxiety"

(For context, I gave Damas a backstory of being last in line for Haven's throne, but also Last Man Standing. This had something to do with Praxis hating "the default king". Long post warning, it's a whole one-shot again)

At some point in his life, the Precursors had decided that Damas was their least favorite Maridius. Any time something went well for him, it had to be immediately balanced by something awful.

He found acceptance and camaraderie that he never had from his elder brothers among the Forward Guard in the war.

And then Menelaus and Nicostratus died stupid, pointless deaths trying to seize glory, leaving Damas the sole focus of his parents' hopes.

He found an escape from the pressures in running the numbers, working out which districts needed food more than soldiers, and which districts needed more protection than most.

And then Father died and Mother shut herself in a convent, no longer interested in anything to do with her disappointing youngest son.

He actually had support from people for focusing on them and not the nest-

And his eldest brother's childhood friend literally stabbed him in the back and left him to die in the desert.

For a time, he'd assumed things would never get better. That the Precursors were tired of reeling him in and out like a fish on the line. But the hook pulled once more and he found himself using the skills he'd learned from the guards who raised him, joining a rebellion against a tyrant and defeating him against the odds.

And then the Precursors let him have ten good years. They let him find love, and family. They let him become a father. And then they ripped it all away in the cruelest way possible.

Damas knew it was foolish to hope that Mar was alive. He knew Phobos had been right to move on from him -- from them -- and throw herself into operating the orphan barracks of the Cliffside district. But he couldn't let go yet.

So he'd endured. Two bitter years he'd endured. And when he found that scrap of a boy in the desert, only to watch him outdo warriors twice his age, he'd thought maybe things were getting better.

Jak was...hard to define. The kid had seen more combat than some of his most experienced scouts. He carried scars on par with the surviving child-soldiers of Atys's reign. And while he shared their distrust of authority in general, he had none of their understanding of ranks and rulers. He just...treated everyone like they were his equal.

And after the kinds of things he must have experienced in his short life, Jak probably had every right to consider himself the equal of any senior Wastelander.

And for a moment, Damas had foolishly let himself hope that the Precursors could leave well enough alone. That they'd just...let him have this-!

Annnnd then Jak had to go and break the one rule. The one law Damas had given him.

Do not compromise the Arena.

Six other candidates had been doing their third trial against the Leucas Freebooters in that Arena. Six other candidates whose results had to be thrown out, who had to wait for full citizenship, because Jak refused to fight, and Sig had decided to waltz into a trial without checking to see what the purpose of the trial was!

Damas was either going to lose his mind, or go fully rogue and declare war on the Precursors. He couldn't discount either option yet.

Deep breaths, Damas. Deep breaths.

Jak knew not to mess with the purity of the Arena. He knew that, didn't he? He couldn't have gotten this far without understanding how important it was to keep the trial balanced for all candidates! He had to have known the consequences for not only compromising the others' trials and putting them at risk of the Freebooters getting the upper hand on them, but open mutiny-!

He wanted to shake sense into the boy. Maybe smack him upside the head and hope it jarred his common sense loose. But he wasn't likely to get that chance.

Even if Sig had caused this, he had all three amulets. Jak only had two. Those two protected him from a lot, but not public mutiny. A challenge in private Damas could have handled.

He knew Jak -- he thought he knew Jak -- enough to make him understand whatever instruction or decision he had a problem with. He knew how to phrase things to make it sound like all Jak had done was ask for clarification.

He couldn't cover this one up. Not with this many witnesses.

Damas knew the name of the creature thrashing beneath his ribs. Terror.

It clawed at his lungs, coiled around them until he couldn't breathe. Kicked at his heart until he felt every beat like a hammer.

I can't lose him too. I won't lose him too!

He didn't know when, exactly, things had changed between them. Was it before he'd admitted that he'd never had a father to teach him- well, anything? Was it before his second trial, when Phobos had pointedly compared the boy to her own students? Was it her less than subtle hinting that he find his closure in helping the boy he'd dragged out of the mouth of death?

Did it even matter?

You've taken enough from me! You can't have him, too!

It was depressingly easy to mask fear with anger. He had been doing it all his life.

In hindsight, so had Jak.

Damas wondered later if that was why the boy didn't seem afraid. He glared at Damas the whole time, but in those eyes was a challenge: I see through you. You don't fool me.

Damas hoped no one else saw through him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, slamming the butt of his staff onto the stone with a ringing clang.

"One of those Freebooters could have shot you in the head -- shot your comrades -- because you threw down your gun! You placed yourself and them in danger!"

I stopped the trial because of you! Do you not grasp how serious this is?!

"Freebooters?!" Sig exclaimed in surprise before cutting himself off.

"And you, you're a veteran of the Arena! You have no excuse for this!" Damas snarled.

He knew he was going to have to set a punishment. If he didn't, the legislative council would. And he knew which of the two offenders they would favor.

"I shouldn't have to tell you the penalty for sabotaging citizenship trials!"

Sig risked a glance at Jak, then set his jaw.

"You're right," he said in a voice as artificially calm as Damas’s was artificially angry. "I don't have an excuse. I take full responsibility. Don't put this on Jak. He didn't know I'd be there."

Interesting. Sig was trying to protect Jak.

But in doing so, he was trying to force Damas into an impossible decision. One that would haunt him the rest of his life if he carried out the known sentence. After everything Sig had done for him, exile felt like blasphemy.

Damas clearly wasn't the only Spargan who thought so.

"Sire, think about this!" One of the Arena guards set foot on the pathway as if he intended to join the offenders.

"It can't end this way, it can't! Sig is one of us!"

One of his comrades, emboldened by his courage, joined him.

"He just came home from assignment!"

"Stop," Sig warned them, but was ignored.

"Lord Damas, Sig’s served faithfully as your spy in Haven two years! Surely it's not that surprising that he might forget to check a roster!"

"Char is right!" The first guard cried, "It's the newcomer who deserves no mercy!"

You'd better shut your mouth-

Damas knew they were just standing up for a fellow Spargan. He knew that if Jak had all three amulets, they'd be rallying on his behalf, too. But it rankled to see them turn on the boy so quickly.

"Sire, if anyone must be cast into the desert, it's him!" Rikard pointed a shaking finger at Jak.

The words were out before Damas had time to plan his next move.

"Absolutely not! I'm not letting him off that easy!"

Oh rot. He had to follow that up with something.

Think, Damas! Use your shiny, spiny, head for once and think like Obed taught you!

He thought of the old captain of the Krimzon Guard -- when that had meant something, when only the king’s honor guard wore those tattoos -- the man who had raised him when his own family hadn't been interested in such a weak channeler.

There's always another way, whelp."

Then you tell me, Obed! I don't know what to do!

He reached for that memory desperately.

*Sometimes, you face your enemy head-on. And sometimes, you wait until you see a weakness. A loophole."

"You're talking about my brothers again."

"Now, did I say that? Clean the gunpowder out of your ears, whelp, before you get me in trouble!"

A loophole. I can do that. I can still save them-!

Damas sucked in a calming breath through his teeth.

"You do make a point about Sig’s record of service. I would not be king if I did not try to keep you all alive."

Let this work, please, Obed, if you're still watching over me, let this work.

"This once, I will give you the opportunity to salvage this. In your absence, metalpedes have settled in Turquoise Canyon and begun harassing our artificact carriers."

He leaned on his staff and hoped no one saw the tension in his jaw for what it really was: fear.

"I want you to drive into the heart of the nest and take out anything that moves."

He turned on his heel to send a hard stare Jak's way.

"Unlike Sig, you get a choice right now: stay here and forfeit your second amulet, or go with Sig and repay the damage you did today with something that benefits your community."

He prayed Jak could hear the emptiness of his threat. That he would know what Damas needed him to do.

Jak was not technology-friendly. Anything that required precision or aiming was more likely to be used as a blunt force weapon. But put him on a turret gun and the boy was a prodigy. If he went with Sig, the odds of them both surviving skyrocketed.

Jak's glare melted into something uncertain, even a little fearful. He was weighing his options. Good. That would sell the act more to the guards -- who were, like all watchmen, incurable gossips.

Damas saw the moment the light clicked on for Jak. He knew that glint.

Jak nudged Daxter, almost too quickly to be seen, and Daxter nodded. To anyone else, it would seem he was responding to Jak.

Damas knew that Daxter was answering him on Jak’s behalf.

Message received.

"I'm not gonna let you send Sig in there alone."

Damas almost smiled. Defiant to the last. Never change, Jak. Unless it's to learn some common sense-!

"Then perhaps something good can come of this debacle. But understand this, boy: coming back from destroying that nest does not mean this discussion is over. I expect you to turn over your gate pass when you return. You're off scouting for three weeks."

"You're grounding us?!" Daxter shrieked.

"Keep talking, I'll make it a full month."

That one wasn't an empty threat. If he'd thought it would keep Jak out of harm's way, he'd keep him off missions indefinitely!

"We're going," Sig said quickly, and grabbed Jak by the arm before he could protest.

"I'd say good luck," Damas said dryly, "But then, luck won't help you."

which is why I'm sending Jak.

The second the elevator was out of sight, Damas dropped into his throne with the most long-suffering, exasperated groan he'd ever made.

"Someone tell me this is a dream and I'm actually dying of boredom in a financial meeting right now," he said sarcastically.

When no such reassurance arrived from the guards, he dropped his head into his hands with another irritated sound.

In the silence that followed, even over the water wheel they both heard him mutter,

"What am I going to do with that boy?"

Rikard was...not a bad guard. He did his job, and he stuck by his comrades. But he had a big mouth sometimes.

"You...favor the newcomer then? Is it his age?"

Damas aimed a tired glare at him over his fingers.

"Boy, if I told you some of the things I did at his age...."

He groaned again.

"This is boundary-testing. I've seen worse. Rot, I've been worse!"

Silence enveloped them again as the two guards stared at Damas, and Damas stared back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. After several seconds of owlish blinking back and forth, he said simply,

"Crap. I think I adopted him."

Char turned her head quickly to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh at the king’s slightly stunned expression.

"Do you...think this will be an adequate lesson?"

Rikard winced. At least he knew he was questioning Damas’s choices in parenting. Er, ruling.

"The nest? Perhaps. It's the confinement that's going to get him." Damas snorted. "You know how Wastelanders are about adrenaline. You ground a kid like that? End of the world."

Mar was exactly the same. Gods, if he's as stubborn as Jak at that age, I'm done for. Might as well write the epitaph now: "died of a heart-attack from idiot sons doing idiot stunts".

"As long as he doesn't set anything on fire in the Arena, sounds good to me," said Char, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Are we clear to return to our posts?"

"Can't set things on fire if I don't let him get two yards away from me, right?" Damas grumbled, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

Once alone, Damas dragged his fingers down his face and muffled a scream in his palm. He was going to get Sig for this. Babysitting. Indefinitely. Or maybe make him handle Arena trials for a while, let him feel that stress! And Jak? Jak was grounded. So, so very grounded. If he had to make Jak sit through meetings with him in the throne room to get it through his head, then so be it. No stunts, no racing, no "the Precursors made me do it" nonsense.

Briefly, he glanced up at the statue of the Oracle in his throne room. Gaudy thing, but it did house a lot of parts of the water wheel.

Damas flipped it off.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

(A little angst for you all, based on speculation in the Jak and Daxter wiki notes that after the Arena Defiance Fiasco, Damas brings up Sig being a spy more to cover for needing to give Jak an out than needing to give Sig one)

__________________________________________

The king of Spargus stands before his throne, unyielding as stone; unshakable and unforgiving.

Inside, he is panicking.

He doesn't understand what just happened -- yes he does, he just doesn't want to acknowledge it -- but he can't stop replaying the last two hours in his mind again and again. He should've known something would go wrong, good things never last-

Damas shakes the thoughts off and closes his eyes. He knows he can't take back the harsh words, spoken in a heady mix of anger and fear, more to appease his guards than the law. And he can't unsee the way Jak's eyes flickered from dark anger to a dull, lifeless acceptance. Damas thinks to himself that he would give anything not to see that blankness in the boy's face again.

Open defiance in the Arena. Not just by Jak, but by Sig! And for something that could have been resolved if they'd just told him they were friends!

Of course, he knows in his heart that if he'd pushed Sig to talk just that second more, asked him to stay a moment longer, they'd have had the chance to discuss Jak. Sig was angry, hurt about something, and just wanted a chance to take on Marauders in the ring. But now Damas wishes in vain that he'd taken the time to speak with his old friend about it.

As for Jak...

Damas tells himself not to take it personally. It's obvious that the boy has been more or less raised by dune-wolves. His idea of order and authority has been inherently poisoned by his experiences with Praxis.

Is this Damas’s fault? It has to be. He didn’t explain their laws well enough to Jak. He didn’t make it clear enough that the boy could come to him with questions.

I didn't tell him how dangerous it is to disrespect the challengers of the Arena-

And that, that is why he was so angry when Jak, Daxter, and Sig were dragged to his throne room by the Arena guards. Angry at himself, angry that Jak didn’t listen to him about choosing his battles wisely, angry at the world for pushing this situation onto him.

Because Damas is not the only warrior in Spargus who takes the purity of the Arena seriously. He's not even the most strict about it, by a long shot. Because while there are many Spargans who would advocate for leniency on the boy's behalf, there are dozens -- scores, even -- of Spargans who are undoubtedly furious at Jak for making light of the Arena. Furious enough to make his life difficult if he's not properly chastised.

Letting Jak claim ignorance as an excuse is out of the question. This goes beyond treating their proving ground with disrespect. Damas probably could've gotten away with merely chastising Jak before the crowd if it had been as simple as that. But the boy challenged him to his face, as if he was completely heedless of the consequences.

Does he have so little faith in me?

Have I done something to push him to this?

If Jak had been anyone else, Damas would have sentenced him to trial by combat, facing him in a duel to the death. It's the expected response to challenging a ruler's authority. That's how he became the king: challenging Atys over his sadistic love of bloodsport, and wresting the crown from his dead body.

But he can't. He can't consign Jak to that fate. Not when he knows Jak never had so much as a daydream of taking his place.

Even so, failing to punish such defiance would make Damas look weak before his people. If Spargus begins to see its king as weak, it will only be a matter of time before he is in the Arena, having to prove himself again.

Clearing out a nest of metalpedes is punishment, but not exactly a deadly test like most lawbreakers have to face.

No, that's not true. For most of his people, it would be a death sentence, with only the slimmest chance of success. Even Sig would have a rough time with a whole nest of the burrowing metalheads. But with Jak?

He tells himself that he's given them a moderately difficult challenge as community service at most, more to get them out of the city than to actually punish them. It's his fault Jak didn’t know the rules of the Arena, after all.

He tells himself Jak and Sig will be fine.

He tells himself that they're safer out there than behind the walls for now.

Damas moves stiffly to the window and stares out across the city without really seeing.

There is another reason he chose a task outside the city walls.

Of the thousand or so inhabitants of Spargus, over half of them were here when Damas overthrew Atys. They remember the last time a citizen challenged the king from the Arena. The majority of them fought by Damas’s side in the battles against Atys's supporters. They're fiercely loyal to him, and he to them.

Jak's defiance in the ring doubtless stirred their memory the way it stirred his.

And judging by the outrage on the faces nearest him, the Old Guard did not take kindly to a little upstart challenging their brother-in-arms as though he were Atys.

Damas isn't naive enough to believe none of them would challenge Jak to a duel in his honor, or just take the law into their own hands. The clearing of the metalpede nest will be enough to satisfy them -- at least where Sig is concerned. But Jak doesn't have his third amulet. This was supposed to be his last mandated trial, his rite of passage into their people once and for all.

Does Jak know that?

If the boy survives this-

He will. He will survive this. There is no "if".

There cannot be.

When the boy survives this, it will be seen as equal to an Arena trial: his transgression will be forgotten, as is their way, and he will be welcomed back into their ranks as though it never happened. But Damas is no longer sure that Jak knows that's what awaits him. After all, he was cast into the desert to die by Haven, was he not?

Will Jak believe that Spargus has also thrown him away?

"And you, newcomer! You deserve no mercy!"

Damas closes his eyes and tries not to think of Jak’s blank face.

There is a part of him that hopes Sig will tell the boy- make him understand. This "impossible" task was chosen in his favor to begin with. He needs Jak to understand how serious a challenge in public is. But he knows Sig won't jeopardize his secret. They can't risk Daxter accidentally spilling something where the wrong ears might hear it. Damas can't take the chance that someone might accuse him of favoritism.

Especially when he knows well and good that it's true.

He is playing favorites. He's pulling strings to shield a promising young warrior from consequences, and unless he wants to be brutally honest with himself, he doesn't know why.

I'll speak to Jak when he returns, he tells himself, He'll understand why I had to send him away. He'll know then that I didn't mean what I said.

But Jak doesn't return after he destroys the nest.

Sig comes back to some ribbing from his peers, but nothing worse.

Jak is gone again the instant his boots hit the ground.

Sig says something about getting a call from an old acquaintance and lighting out to the coastal oasis to deal with it. That oasis is much too close to the Marauder stronghold for Damas’s liking. There's an uneasiness in his bones, warning him of trouble like the approach of a sandstorm. If it's an old acquaintance of Jak’s, it's probably a Havenite. Damas doesn't like the idea of Havenites in his desert.

He doesn't like the idea of Havenites meeting secretly with Jak, either.

What right do they have to call him away? They're the ones who left an exemplary warrior to die in the wastes!

A thought whispers at the back of his mind as he wanders up to the city walls under the pretense of observing the night watch.

Is Jak planning to return to Haven? It's true that the boy has little love for the city that so betrayed him, but doubt squirms cold between Damas’s ribs like a blade.

Did those eyes look like a boy who planned to come back? Or a boy who planned to run?

Sig finds him there on the walls, staring out into the distance as though he can just will Jak to return. He says nothing at first, just stands there at his back, waiting. Sig always knows when there's something weighing on his mind.

"Were any of you injured?" Damas asks, never taking his eyes off the dunes.

"Outside of a little poison inhalation? Nah."

Sig steps into the little island of torchlight and leans his forearms against the parapet.

"Word to the wise, by the way: metalpede nests have a defense mechanism, apparently: poison gas."

Damas winces. "That's...good to know. I will warn the artifact carriers. If you see Jak before I do-" He grimaces and glances briefly at Sig. "Tell him- tell him he's saved lives, both by destroying the nest, and by discovering the gas."

Sig studies him intently. "You like the kid, then. Well enough to know what's important to him, at least. Wasn't sure after that scene in the throne room."

Damas furrows his brow and lets out a slow breath. "I didn't know you were friends, Sig. If I'd just thought of it sooner, I would've told you that was meant to be a candidate's final Arena trial."

"Well." Sig gives him an apologetic shoulder bump. "I wasn't exactly in a listening mood. Haven got me riled bad, throwin' me out like that. I spent the last month thinking I'd find that kid's bones in the dunes."

That certainly explains Sig’s distraction from before, now that he thinks about it.

He shoves away the idea that he might have been much the same had they not returned from their mission.

"When...when Jak returns, I'll speak to him about what happened." Damas forces himself to turn away from the desert.

"I should have been clearer about the expectations of the Arena trials. About our laws. I take responsibility for what happened."

There's a worried look on Sig’s face that bodes ill. The man twists his lips to one side in thought, then turns to take up the vigil Damas has just torn himself away from.

"He doesn't hold it against you. Kid's got all the self esteem of a kicked crocadog."

Sig shakes his head grimly. "Praise him for something, and he'll bend over backward to make ya proud. But if he fails at something, or something goes sideways? He assumes he's the screw-up. Every time."

Damas almost doesn't want to ask. "Because of Haven?"

Sig nods. Damas has known him long enough to see the anger bubbling under his skin.

"The kid has some...dark moods sometimes, put it like that. When he's in a low place, sometimes he disappears for a couple days."

"But he comes back?"

"Usually." Sig frowns and rubs his jaw. "Just...leave the door open for him, that's what I'd suggest."

There's something else bothering him. Something he's not saying.

"You aren't staying, are you?"

It's not really a question if they both know the answer.

Sig turns to look at him. "You know I'm not. Not until the mission is accomplished."

"Sig-"

Sig shakes his head hard. "Don't you tell me you're giving up, now," he threatens.

Immediately he looks like he regrets it.

"Sorry, I....sorry. I didn't mean that."

Damas feels so old then, so worn down. He places his hand on Sig’s shoulder. "I know. I...Sig, I ask so much of you as it is, but if-"

How does he say this? How does he casually suggest that he's afraid Jak will run back to the people who hurt him so badly? How does he tell Sig that it will be his own sorry fault if that happens, but that he'll never be able to tell Jak for both their sakes?

"If for some reason...if you should see Jak in Haven-"

A shrewd light enters Sig’s eye and he leans forward to poke a finger into Damas’s chest.

"This ain't about feeling guilty," he observes. "You care about him, don't you?"

And Damas can no longer deny that he does.

It feels foreign to him, almost like a betrayal, to acknowledge that his heart has made a place in it for Jak, where once there had only been Mar. It feels like confessing a sin, after how many years Sig has searched for his son.

"I do." Damas squeezes his eyes shut and sees Jak’s hurt look, painted on the inside of his eyelids. "He...needs guidance...affirmation..."

"You took him under your wing," Sig translates bluntly. "You started looking out for him, and now you're worried you scared him off."

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Rot it all, how do I get stuck befriending the exact same personality twice?"

Damas almost laughs at the perverse truth of it. Jak is very like him. Perhaps that's why he worries so much that Jak isn’t planning to come back. At least, not for a while.

"Alright. I'll make you a deal."

Damas raises his brows but can't bring himself to speak yet.

Sig folds his arms and watches the sky begin to fade from black to a muddy gray. "I'll watch for Jak in Haven. If they manage to get their claws in him again, I'll do what I can to get him out. But you're gonna have to step up your game when he comes back."

Indignation flashes through the king. "This isn't a game!"

"Look, man, that kid thinks he can count the number of people who actually give a crap about him on one hand," Sig interrupts, "You want him to stick around, he needs to know his mistakes aren't gonna be held over his head, y'know? He's a kid."

"I know!" Damas can't keep frustration from his voice. "But I can't tell him any of that if I don't know where he is!"

He closes his eyes, takes a moment to steady himself.

"I...am concerned for him. I know you haven't been able to see him these last two months, see how he has adjusted to Spargus but..."

But I don't want to lose him.

"You have to tell him, Damas," Sig insists, gentler now, "He's gotta know we're both in his corner."

The sun is rising now, red and implacable. In only a few hours it will be too hot to stand on the walltops. Or in an oasis. The city is stirring behind them, hurrying to complete their more strenuous tasks before the coolness of morning wears off. It is time to get back to work. There is still much to be done to prepare the city for the doom the monks so fear.

"If I do not hear from you or Jak after three days," Damas warns, "I'm sending out a search party."

The same thought won't stop ricocheting around his brain.

I can't lose him like I lost Mar. I can't lose another one.