#and then Jak’s in that room for less than twenty minutes and he's demanding that Damas lets him stay and fight for him

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Demolition Trio Redux: in which we actually get to see Damas and Mar's reunion this time. For context, there's a yet-unwritten part that goes directly before this where on the way to Spargus, everyone got caught up in repelling a Marauder attack.

“Hey, don’t run off.” Jak tightened his grip on Mar’s hand and looked around.

He didn’t want to say he was nervous. That sounded ridiculous after all the things he’d fearlessly stared down in Haven. But this place was filled with warriors. The city was open to the sky, and the buildings were nearly all low, keeping it from having that same claustrophobic sense that Haven had. But that just made the Wasteland Palace loom even higher over their heads.

A Wastelander limped by -- Jak recognized her from the skirmish outside the city walls -- and slapped Sig on the back as she passed. “That was some fine driving…for a sniper.”

Sig cracked a grin at the playful jab and reached over to ruffle Jak’s hair. “Can’t take credit for that! That was all this rookie. He’s a natural with the Dust Demon, I’ll tell you what!”

The scarred woman looked Jak up and down with mild interest. “Alright then, kid,” she said approvingly, “That’ll earn you some amulets around here.”

“Earn us what?” Daxter asked, bewildered.

The woman jumped. “Rot me, did that thing just talk?”

Before Jak or Daxter could protest, Sig cut in gracefully. “He, actually. And yep, he’s a talker for sure. Think of him like…” Sig made a face and waved a hand in a noncommittal gesture. “Like a Lurker offshoot species. That’s as near as I can figure, at least.”

“Huh.” The Wastelander shrugged. “Hope he don’t mind the heat.”

She eyed their small party again, and this time her gaze landed on Mar. Her eyes widened, and her jaw worked for several seconds before she managed to produce sound.

“...oh. I expect you’ll be heading up?”

“Yep.” Sig rolled his shoulders. “You reckon he’s about done in the clinic?”

Ah. He must have meant that guy with the spikes. Privately, Jak wasn't so sure Sig’s buddy would be done by now. There may not have been that many wounded for Jak to bring to the clinic for Sig, but the guy doing the triage had been clearing out the bandits alongside them about ten minutes earlier. In Jak’s experience, having to switch from one intensive job like that to another wore you out, made the next job take longer.

“Should be...yeah, yeah, he should be done…” The woman seemed stunned. “You…you actually pulled it off. Most of us thought-” She shook her head. “Nevermind what we thought. That’s why you’re King’s Second and not us.”

In short order, Jak, Daxter, Mar, and the crocadog were all bundled into a rickety looking wooden elevator. It wasn’t the worst moving platform Jak had ever had to wait on, but the dog certainly wasn’t enjoying himself. Neither was Mar, at second glance. Jak wanted to reassure him, to tell him something like “don’t worry, you’re almost home”, but the words seemed to stick in his throat and wither away.

Home. This was Mar’s home, according to Sig.

There was some irony in the fact that Jak had gone from despairing of his babysitting duties to developing an ugly, uneasy feeling under his ribs at the idea of separating from the kid. And he would have to separate from the kid. He’d known for a long time that he hadn’t been born for a loving family and secure home. He was just a tool to make sure others got those things. Tools didn’t stay in the house when there weren’t things to fix.

The elevator stopped in a room filled with water. Pots and patches of earth lined the borders of the chamber with small date palms and tomatoes in various states of growth, and creeper vines appeared to be taking over one of the uneven metal walls. Someone -- probably many someones -- had worked very hard to create an indoor oasis, with tiered pools and streams leading up to a raised platform.

That’s where the throne was.

And that’s where Sig’s badass friend from the infirmary was pacing.

Waitwaitwait- He's the king?! But he was just- He fights with everyone else? In spite of everything, a trickle of awe began to color Jak’s thoughts.

Maybe this wouldn't go too badly.

When the elevator locked into place, the man with the crown of spikes was already in motion. He clattered down the stairs and paused at the edge of one of the pools, straining to see into the lift. The expression of fear and hope on his face twisted in Jak’s heart.

Here we go…

“Damas, I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce them after the battle.” Sig stepped out onto a pathway of stones and waved the boys out after him. “You met Jak in the infirmary, bringing in the wounded -- Jak, this is Damas. The little fella here is Daxter -- that’s who kept screaming on the radio.”

“Hey, never let Jak drive like that again, and I won’t blast everyone’s eardrums out,” Daxter interjected.

Damas looked at Jak the same way he had in the infirmary, staring at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

“You're…I…yes, you are, aren’t you? Yes, I can see…" He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Sig…is Mar-?” Damas couldn’t finish the question.

Jak took a deep breath and reluctantly let go of Mar’s hand. “It’s…it’s okay, Mar-mar. You can go. He…I…he's good, I think. He won't hurt us.”

Mar squeezed between Jak and Sig and squinted at the man before them. He fiddled nervously with his amulet and eased a step forward. This wasn’t Uncle Sig, but he did know this man. He knew those spikes. He knew that staff. He just didn’t remember what this person was like.

“Daddy?” he asked timidly.

Damas cried out and pressed his fist to his lips. Then he surged forward to fold the little boy into his arms.

“Mar-!”

He laughed, rough and raw, and buried his face in Mar’s hair.

“It’s you! It’s you! My baby, my little warrior!” he whispered, and the laughter began to sound more like tears. He leaned back to examine every inch of the child’s face. “Do you remember me? Do you remember home?”

“I think so. You got a big big dog. Is her Chopper's mommy? And we jumped on the bed.” Mar answered, glancing down at Chopper, who was trying his best to squeeze into Damas's arms beside him, “Is that right?”

“It is.” Damas squeezed Mar’s arms, and scratched Chopper behind the ears. “Ghost missed you and Chopper, too. And you know what? I didn’t- I didn’t change your room. Not even a little. You can still- still jump on the bed if that’s what you want. My heart, I missed you so much!”

Jak looked away from the happy scene. It wasn’t for him, he knew that. But he couldn’t help bristling a little at the way this stranger was clinging to Mar so tightly. Didn’t he know Mar didn’t like being squeezed too tight? And Mar didn’t like strangers! But…Mar wasn’t acting like this was a stranger. He was warming up to him the same way he had with Jak. And the puppy was prancing around them both, practically begging the king to pet him. Jak swallowed down something cold and heavy in his heart, and pretended not to notice when Daxter nudged his head comfortingly.

Daxter understood.

Daxter always understood.

“Young man.”

Jak forced himself to look back up at the warrior king, hoping his face showed none of the envy he was trying to bury. This was Mar’s father. Of course the kid would be more attached to him! But after having been “Big Brother” for two months – after risking the wrath of both Baron and Underground to keep Mar hidden – he couldn’t help feeling a little stung that the little boy wasn’t clinging to him quite so tightly.

Maybe because Mar was the only person who was not afraid of the darkness in him.

Or perhaps there was a part of him that was jealous of the kid, rather than the king. Mar had gotten what Jak had long since given up hope for: a rescue. A family. Someone to say “I will protect you even when you fail. I will love you in spite of your flaws. I'll never stop looking for you.” Someone who could -- and would -- fight his own battles, rather than expecting a child to do it for him. Someone enemies ran from, and friends ran to.

And now Mar would be safe from Praxis and Errol here, probably forever. This place was filled with people who didn’t hesitate to fight back. People who were free to go where they wished, and followed their leader because they wanted to, not because they feared him.

Jak wanted to know what it was that made the warriors so loyal to Mar’s father. How had Praxis successfully betrayed and usurped him?! Jak had just witnessed this man fend off an army of bandits, only to go straight to the infirmary afterwards, up to his elbows treating his own wounded soldiers! He didn’t act like he thought he was better than them, he acted like he was one of them. Damas expected obedience, but it seemed like he was earning it more than demanding it.

“Young man,” Damas said again once he had locked eyes with Jak, “There are no words that can truly express the debt I owe to you for protecting my son.”

He passed his hand over Mar’s head, and the child leaned into the touch with a pleased smile. “To know that he was not merely alive, but safe-! I can- I can tell you’ve taken very good care of him.”

"He’s…he’s a good kid,” Jak said awkwardly, uncomfortable with the praise.

“You um, he doesn’t like to sleep without a light on. Just. Just so you know.”

The king’s grave eyes softened in a way that reminded Jak of something he couldn’t quite place. His Uncle, maybe?

“I will keep that in mind…Jak, yes? It is no simple matter to earn Sig’s trust, and that is reason enough for me to trust your judgment.”

Daxter almost fell off of Jak’s shoulder.

“Wha-? That easy? No giant, deadly test? No insults? We don’t even have to save your butt? You just trust us to know what we’re doing from the jump?!”

He gripped Jak’s collar. “Jak, I think we need to move outta Haven, we’re getting too used to being disrespected.”

Damas raised his brows at Sig, who shrugged in answer. It wasn’t like Daxter was completely wrong.

The king seemed to shrug that off, then returned his attention to Jak. His eyes occasionally flicked upward to Jak’s hair, but for the most part they stayed locked on his face as though he was trying to memorize it.

“Although I know that no reward could ever truly suffice for bringing Mar home," he began, "if you require anything before you-”

“Make me one of your warriors!”

Jak was as surprised as the king by the boldness of his own outburst. Where had that come from? This guy wasn’t Torn, or Krew! He couldn’t just interrupt him and make demands!

On his shoulder, Daxter jolted and gave him an incredulous look. Sure, he knew Jak wanted out of Haven. But requesting -- no, demanding -- to be taken into the service of some warlord he’d just met? That just wasn’t Jak! What had brought that on?

Damas leaned back on his heels, clearly caught off guard. He stepped down from his rock and studied Jak as though seeing him for the first time, then asked simply, “Why?”

Jak couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being tested somehow. He squared his shoulders, determined to meet that challenge as the king -- and Mar, snuggled against his chest -- approached.

“Because you’re different," he declared.

"You’re out there with the rest of them, not hiding in forts and castles. You fight like hell itself to keep these people safe, I saw you. I saw you doing the dirty work. Your people are free, I can see the difference. And-”

He cut himself off, embarrassed by his gush of words. He hadn't meant to just spill everything like that. So much for his edgy persona! But the truth was, he'd never met anyone who had earned his respect that quickly.

“And?” Damas prompted gently.

Jak looked away and mumbled, “And I’d…be able to protect Mar.”

Damas looked at him with a strange, soft, knowing expression on his face. Then he chuckled warmly and shook his head.

“I can see why Sig likes you,” he said, and stroked his chin. “But becoming a citizen of Spargus is not a simple task, young one. There are competitions amongst outsiders – most often to the death if not to the point of critical injury – to secure a place in this city. Facing them would very likely mean risking your life. Is that something you can do?”

Jak’s eyes flashed. “So in other words, you want me to earn a place here.”

Before Daxter could protest, he grinned. “Suits me.”

Damas mirrored his sharp smile. “Then I see no reason not to grant your request."

He reached out and dropped a friendly hand on Jak's shoulder. "I look forward to seeing you complete the challenges of the Arena. But in the meantime, speak to Mako at the base of the tower, and he will arrange a place for you and your friend to stay the night."

Jak blinked. “We can stay? We didn’t earn it yet.”

The king shook his head, and the smile widened a little more. “You earn citizenship, young one. Not shelter. No one is going to turn you out into the desert.”

He gave Jak’s shoulder a little nudge. “Get some rest. I understand that I am asking much of you, leaving your brother with someone who is a stranger to you. But you have my word that he is safe. And so are you.”

Jak leaned back on his heels and blinked at Damas with something between confusion and wonder. Safe. When had he ever been safe? Or rather, when had anyone cared about him feeling safe?

Maybe this is just what leaders are supposed to be like...

He took a steadying breath, then looked down at Mar. It felt wrong, leaving him behind. How was he supposed to ensure that no one was coming to send Mar to the Tomb if he couldn’t hear him breathing in the night? How was he supposed to protect him if he couldn’t see him?

“Mar, I’m gonna be back, okay?” Jak bent slightly to look the little boy in the eye. “You…you be good, okay? Don’t…I dunno, color on the walls or anything.”

Mar wrinkled his nose at Jak. “Okay,” he answered, but his expression was anything but sincere. “Have a good nap, Jak-jak. Have a good nap, Daxxer.”

Barely a minute after Jak had left the throne room, Sig let out a low whistle.

“Now that, I didn’t expect. With how hell-bent on killing Praxis that kid is, I figured he’d want to go back to Haven pronto.”

He folded his arms and smiled. “Guess you made an impression, huh boss?”

Mar turned and blinked up at Damas with a hopeful expression. “Big brothers are staying? Right, Daddy?” he signed quickly.

Damas bounced the tiny boy in his arms. “Yes, Mar. If that is what they want, then Jak and his friend will stay.”

Mar hissed in elation and threw his arms around Damas’s neck. It wasn’t taking him long to open up to the man. With every word Damas spoke, Mar was finding him more and more familiar. He didn’t bother to question the way everything seemed to just fit into place like Big Brother’s puzzle gun. Some things were just so.

"Can Jak-jak sleep in my room?" he asked, so close to Damas’s face that the man was practically cross-eyed trying to read his signs.

Damas quirked a wry smile. "I'm not certain he'd fit, my heart. Let's let him get used to the city before you decide his living arrangements, eh?"

“Damas…” Sig shifted and looked a little uncomfortable. “About Jak-”

Damas frowned and held Mar a little tighter. “I do not doubt your story – or rather, Onin’s – my friend. He looks…so much like his mother did at that age…But this is not something that I can easily process in a day. I…”

Damas sighed. “Do not take that as a reflection upon you or the boy. It is just…it is a lot to take in, Sig. And I would rather let him find his footing in Spargus before I broach the subject of his past with him.”

It was, Sig could admit to himself, probably the wisest move. Jak probably wouldn’t believe either of them if they told him outright that he had been Mar in another life of sorts. That blabbermouth moncaw in the soothsayer's tent had suggested that Jak still thought he was in his own timeline. At best, he’d think they were delusional. At worst, he might assume they wanted to use him the way Krew did. The idea of losing the kid’s trust hurt Sig. More than expected.

“Then why let him go to the Arena now?” Sig asked quietly, “Why not wait until you’re ready?”

Damas shook his head and looked out at the elevator Jak and Daxter had taken.

“I’ve seen those eyes before, Sig. He needs a chance to prove to himself that he can make it based on his own merits. Not based on who others say he is or must be.”

He locked eyes with Sig. “He needs the chance the Arena gave me, when Praxis left me in the desert to die. And then, when he understands that his blood – or whatever eco circulates in his blood – does not determine what he makes of his life, then I will ask him about the Damas of his world.”

“And if he really doesn’t remember anything?” Sig pressed.

With a shrug, Damas smiled down at Mar and answered, “The Arena is a new beginning for those leaving their old lives. They build their place in the community from the ground up. It seems fitting, then, that if Jak cannot remember his old life, we help him to build a new one here.”

“And what about Praxis?”

The smile on the king’s face turned brittle and dangerous. “The boy isn’t the only one with a score to settle, my friend.”

[pixelatedperils]

#Damas is here afraid this alternate reality son won't want anything to do with him like 'you're not my real dad!'#and then Jak’s in that room for less than twenty minutes and he's demanding that Damas lets him stay and fight for him#overall Damas is having a very good day and Jak is thinking this day went way better than he expected

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Demolition Trio Redux: in which we actually get to see Damas and Mar's reunion this time. For context, there's a yet-unwritten part that goes directly before this where on the way to Spargus, everyone got caught up in repelling a Marauder attack.

“Hey, don’t run off.” Jak tightened his grip on Mar’s hand and looked around.

He didn’t want to say he was nervous. That sounded ridiculous after all the things he’d fearlessly stared down in Haven. But this place was filled with warriors. The city was open to the sky, and the buildings were nearly all low, keeping it from having that same claustrophobic sense that Haven had. But that just made the Wasteland Palace loom even higher over their heads.

A Wastelander limped by -- Jak recognized her from the skirmish outside the city walls -- and slapped Sig on the back as she passed. “That was some fine driving…for a sniper.”

Sig cracked a grin at the playful jab and reached over to ruffle Jak’s hair. “Can’t take credit for that! That was all this rookie. He’s a natural with the Dust Demon, I’ll tell you what!”

The scarred woman looked Jak up and down with mild interest. “Alright then, kid,” she said approvingly, “That’ll earn you some amulets around here.”

“Earn us what?” Daxter asked, bewildered.

The woman jumped. “Rot me, did that thing just talk?”

Before Jak or Daxter could protest, Sig cut in gracefully. “He, actually. And yep, he’s a talker for sure. Think of him like…” Sig made a face and waved a hand in a noncommittal gesture. “Like a Lurker offshoot species. That’s as near as I can figure, at least.”

“Huh.” The Wastelander shrugged. “Hope he don’t mind the heat.”

She eyed their small party again, and this time her gaze landed on Mar. Her eyes widened, and her jaw worked for several seconds before she managed to produce sound.

“...oh. I expect you’ll be heading up?”

“Yep.” Sig rolled his shoulders. “You reckon he’s about done in the clinic?”

Ah. He must have meant that guy with the spikes. Privately, Jak wasn't so sure Sig’s buddy would be done by now. There may not have been that many wounded for Jak to bring to the clinic for Sig, but the guy doing the triage had been clearing out the bandits alongside them about ten minutes earlier. In Jak’s experience, having to switch from one intensive job like that to another wore you out, made the next job take longer.

“Should be...yeah, yeah, he should be done…” The woman seemed stunned. “You…you actually pulled it off. Most of us thought-” She shook her head. “Nevermind what we thought. That’s why you’re King’s Second and not us.”

In short order, Jak, Daxter, Mar, and the crocadog were all bundled into a rickety looking wooden elevator. It wasn’t the worst moving platform Jak had ever had to wait on, but the dog certainly wasn’t enjoying himself. Neither was Mar, at second glance. Jak wanted to reassure him, to tell him something like “don’t worry, you’re almost home”, but the words seemed to stick in his throat and wither away.

Home. This was Mar’s home, according to Sig.

There was some irony in the fact that Jak had gone from despairing of his babysitting duties to developing an ugly, uneasy feeling under his ribs at the idea of separating from the kid. And he would have to separate from the kid. He’d known for a long time that he hadn’t been born for a loving family and secure home. He was just a tool to make sure others got those things. Tools didn’t stay in the house when there weren’t things to fix.

The elevator stopped in a room filled with water. Pots and patches of earth lined the borders of the chamber with small date palms and tomatoes in various states of growth, and creeper vines appeared to be taking over one of the uneven metal walls. Someone -- probably many someones -- had worked very hard to create an indoor oasis, with tiered pools and streams leading up to a raised platform.

That’s where the throne was.

And that’s where Sig’s badass friend from the infirmary was pacing.

Waitwaitwait- He's the king?! But he was just- He fights with everyone else? In spite of everything, a trickle of awe began to color Jak’s thoughts.

Maybe this wouldn't go too badly.

When the elevator locked into place, the man with the crown of spikes was already in motion. He clattered down the stairs and paused at the edge of one of the pools, straining to see into the lift. The expression of fear and hope on his face twisted in Jak’s heart.

Here we go…

“Damas, I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce them after the battle.” Sig stepped out onto a pathway of stones and waved the boys out after him. “You met Jak in the infirmary, bringing in the wounded -- Jak, this is Damas. The little fella here is Daxter -- that’s who kept screaming on the radio.”

“Hey, never let Jak drive like that again, and I won’t blast everyone’s eardrums out,” Daxter interjected.

Damas looked at Jak the same way he had in the infirmary, staring at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

“You're…I…yes, you are, aren’t you? Yes, I can see…" He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Sig…is Mar-?” Damas couldn’t finish the question.

Jak took a deep breath and reluctantly let go of Mar’s hand. “It’s…it’s okay, Mar-mar. You can go. He…I…he's good, I think. He won't hurt us.”

Mar squeezed between Jak and Sig and squinted at the man before them. He fiddled nervously with his amulet and eased a step forward. This wasn’t Uncle Sig, but he did know this man. He knew those spikes. He knew that staff. He just didn’t remember what this person was like.

“Daddy?” he asked timidly.

Damas cried out and pressed his fist to his lips. Then he surged forward to fold the little boy into his arms.

“Mar-!”

He laughed, rough and raw, and buried his face in Mar’s hair.

“It’s you! It’s you! My baby, my little warrior!” he whispered, and the laughter began to sound more like tears. He leaned back to examine every inch of the child’s face. “Do you remember me? Do you remember home?”

“I think so. You got a big big dog. Is her Chopper's mommy? And we jumped on the bed.” Mar answered, glancing down at Chopper, who was trying his best to squeeze into Damas's arms beside him, “Is that right?”

“It is.” Damas squeezed Mar’s arms, and scratched Chopper behind the ears. “Ghost missed you and Chopper, too. And you know what? I didn’t- I didn’t change your room. Not even a little. You can still- still jump on the bed if that’s what you want. My heart, I missed you so much!”

Jak looked away from the happy scene. It wasn’t for him, he knew that. But he couldn’t help bristling a little at the way this stranger was clinging to Mar so tightly. Didn’t he know Mar didn’t like being squeezed too tight? And Mar didn’t like strangers! But…Mar wasn’t acting like this was a stranger. He was warming up to him the same way he had with Jak. And the puppy was prancing around them both, practically begging the king to pet him. Jak swallowed down something cold and heavy in his heart, and pretended not to notice when Daxter nudged his head comfortingly.

Daxter understood.

Daxter always understood.

“Young man.”

Jak forced himself to look back up at the warrior king, hoping his face showed none of the envy he was trying to bury. This was Mar’s father. Of course the kid would be more attached to him! But after having been “Big Brother” for two months – after risking the wrath of both Baron and Underground to keep Mar hidden – he couldn’t help feeling a little stung that the little boy wasn’t clinging to him quite so tightly.

Maybe because Mar was the only person who was not afraid of the darkness in him.

Or perhaps there was a part of him that was jealous of the kid, rather than the king. Mar had gotten what Jak had long since given up hope for: a rescue. A family. Someone to say “I will protect you even when you fail. I will love you in spite of your flaws. I'll never stop looking for you.” Someone who could -- and would -- fight his own battles, rather than expecting a child to do it for him. Someone enemies ran from, and friends ran to.

And now Mar would be safe from Praxis and Errol here, probably forever. This place was filled with people who didn’t hesitate to fight back. People who were free to go where they wished, and followed their leader because they wanted to, not because they feared him.

Jak wanted to know what it was that made the warriors so loyal to Mar’s father. How had Praxis successfully betrayed and usurped him?! Jak had just witnessed this man fend off an army of bandits, only to go straight to the infirmary afterwards, up to his elbows treating his own wounded soldiers! He didn’t act like he thought he was better than them, he acted like he was one of them. Damas expected obedience, but it seemed like he was earning it more than demanding it.

“Young man,” Damas said again once he had locked eyes with Jak, “There are no words that can truly express the debt I owe to you for protecting my son.”

He passed his hand over Mar’s head, and the child leaned into the touch with a pleased smile. “To know that he was not merely alive, but safe-! I can- I can tell you’ve taken very good care of him.”

"He’s…he’s a good kid,” Jak said awkwardly, uncomfortable with the praise.

“You um, he doesn’t like to sleep without a light on. Just. Just so you know.”

The king’s grave eyes softened in a way that reminded Jak of something he couldn’t quite place. His Uncle, maybe?

“I will keep that in mind…Jak, yes? It is no simple matter to earn Sig’s trust, and that is reason enough for me to trust your judgment.”

Daxter almost fell off of Jak’s shoulder.

“Wha-? That easy? No giant, deadly test? No insults? We don’t even have to save your butt? You just trust us to know what we’re doing from the jump?!”

He gripped Jak’s collar. “Jak, I think we need to move outta Haven, we’re getting too used to being disrespected.”

Damas raised his brows at Sig, who shrugged in answer. It wasn’t like Daxter was completely wrong.

The king seemed to shrug that off, then returned his attention to Jak. His eyes occasionally flicked upward to Jak’s hair, but for the most part they stayed locked on his face as though he was trying to memorize it.

“Although I know that no reward could ever truly suffice for bringing Mar home," he began, "if you require anything before you-”

“Make me one of your warriors!”

Jak was as surprised as the king by the boldness of his own outburst. Where had that come from? This guy wasn’t Torn, or Krew! He couldn’t just interrupt him and make demands!

On his shoulder, Daxter jolted and gave him an incredulous look. Sure, he knew Jak wanted out of Haven. But requesting -- no, demanding -- to be taken into the service of some warlord he’d just met? That just wasn’t Jak! What had brought that on?

Damas leaned back on his heels, clearly caught off guard. He stepped down from his rock and studied Jak as though seeing him for the first time, then asked simply, “Why?”

Jak couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being tested somehow. He squared his shoulders, determined to meet that challenge as the king -- and Mar, snuggled against his chest -- approached.

“Because you’re different," he declared.

"You’re out there with the rest of them, not hiding in forts and castles. You fight like hell itself to keep these people safe, I saw you. I saw you doing the dirty work. Your people are free, I can see the difference. And-”

He cut himself off, embarrassed by his gush of words. He hadn't meant to just spill everything like that. So much for his edgy persona! But the truth was, he'd never met anyone who had earned his respect that quickly.

“And?” Damas prompted gently.

Jak looked away and mumbled, “And I’d…be able to protect Mar.”

Damas looked at him with a strange, soft, knowing expression on his face. Then he chuckled warmly and shook his head.

“I can see why Sig likes you,” he said, and stroked his chin. “But becoming a citizen of Spargus is not a simple task, young one. There are competitions amongst outsiders – most often to the death if not to the point of critical injury – to secure a place in this city. Facing them would very likely mean risking your life. Is that something you can do?”

Jak’s eyes flashed. “So in other words, you want me to earn a place here.”

Before Daxter could protest, he grinned. “Suits me.”

Damas mirrored his sharp smile. “Then I see no reason not to grant your request."

He reached out and dropped a friendly hand on Jak's shoulder. "I look forward to seeing you complete the challenges of the Arena. But in the meantime, speak to Mako at the base of the tower, and he will arrange a place for you and your friend to stay the night."

Jak blinked. “We can stay? We didn’t earn it yet.”

The king shook his head, and the smile widened a little more. “You earn citizenship, young one. Not shelter. No one is going to turn you out into the desert.”

He gave Jak’s shoulder a little nudge. “Get some rest. I understand that I am asking much of you, leaving your brother with someone who is a stranger to you. But you have my word that he is safe. And so are you.”

Jak leaned back on his heels and blinked at Damas with something between confusion and wonder. Safe. When had he ever been safe? Or rather, when had anyone cared about him feeling safe?

Maybe this is just what leaders are supposed to be like...

He took a steadying breath, then looked down at Mar. It felt wrong, leaving him behind. How was he supposed to ensure that no one was coming to send Mar to the Tomb if he couldn’t hear him breathing in the night? How was he supposed to protect him if he couldn’t see him?

“Mar, I’m gonna be back, okay?” Jak bent slightly to look the little boy in the eye. “You…you be good, okay? Don’t…I dunno, color on the walls or anything.”

Mar wrinkled his nose at Jak. “Okay,” he answered, but his expression was anything but sincere. “Have a good nap, Jak-jak. Have a good nap, Daxxer.”

Barely a minute after Jak had left the throne room, Sig let out a low whistle.

“Now that, I didn’t expect. With how hell-bent on killing Praxis that kid is, I figured he’d want to go back to Haven pronto.”

He folded his arms and smiled. “Guess you made an impression, huh boss?”

Mar turned and blinked up at Damas with a hopeful expression. “Big brothers are staying? Right, Daddy?” he signed quickly.

Damas bounced the tiny boy in his arms. “Yes, Mar. If that is what they want, then Jak and his friend will stay.”

Mar hissed in elation and threw his arms around Damas’s neck. It wasn’t taking him long to open up to the man. With every word Damas spoke, Mar was finding him more and more familiar. He didn’t bother to question the way everything seemed to just fit into place like Big Brother’s puzzle gun. Some things were just so.

"Can Jak-jak sleep in my room?" he asked, so close to Damas’s face that the man was practically cross-eyed trying to read his signs.

Damas quirked a wry smile. "I'm not certain he'd fit, my heart. Let's let him get used to the city before you decide his living arrangements, eh?"

“Damas…” Sig shifted and looked a little uncomfortable. “About Jak-”

Damas frowned and held Mar a little tighter. “I do not doubt your story – or rather, Onin’s – my friend. He looks…so much like his mother did at that age…But this is not something that I can easily process in a day. I…”

Damas sighed. “Do not take that as a reflection upon you or the boy. It is just…it is a lot to take in, Sig. And I would rather let him find his footing in Spargus before I broach the subject of his past with him.”

It was, Sig could admit to himself, probably the wisest move. Jak probably wouldn’t believe either of them if they told him outright that he had been Mar in another life of sorts. That blabbermouth moncaw in the soothsayer's tent had suggested that Jak still thought he was in his own timeline. At best, he’d think they were delusional. At worst, he might assume they wanted to use him the way Krew did. The idea of losing the kid’s trust hurt Sig. More than expected.

“Then why let him go to the Arena now?” Sig asked quietly, “Why not wait until you’re ready?”

Damas shook his head and looked out at the elevator Jak and Daxter had taken.

“I’ve seen those eyes before, Sig. He needs a chance to prove to himself that he can make it based on his own merits. Not based on who others say he is or must be.”

He locked eyes with Sig. “He needs the chance the Arena gave me, when Praxis left me in the desert to die. And then, when he understands that his blood – or whatever eco circulates in his blood – does not determine what he makes of his life, then I will ask him about the Damas of his world.”

“And if he really doesn’t remember anything?” Sig pressed.

With a shrug, Damas smiled down at Mar and answered, “The Arena is a new beginning for those leaving their old lives. They build their place in the community from the ground up. It seems fitting, then, that if Jak cannot remember his old life, we help him to build a new one here.”

“And what about Praxis?”

The smile on the king’s face turned brittle and dangerous. “The boy isn’t the only one with a score to settle, my friend.”