A Matter of Time - Chapter Eleven
Sep. 27th, 2009 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lithic_runeTitle: A Matter of Time
Fandom: Jak and Daxter
Rating: PG13
Summary: When Jak first landed in Haven City, Erol wasn't the one to find him. Now he must face a future he is ill prepared for, and even with help from Sig and Damas, there's no guarantee that he'll survive.
Main characters: Jak, Sig, Damas
Ships: Genfic
Spoilers: Jak 1, Jak 2, and Jak 3
First chapter.
Previous chapter.
Next chapter.
As always, comments/suggestions/criticism welcome.
-Chapter Eleven-
Even as Damas hit the switch that lowered a platform down to the arena, he could tell that something was wrong with Jak. There had been no mistaking the fact that he had thrown up after his second to last battle, and now that the battle was over, his movement was slow and listless. He did notice the lowered platform, though, and made his way over to it, taking care not to step on any of the bodies that lay in his path. When the platform rose and Damas was able to get a closer look at him, the symptoms were even more obvious. The boy's skin was pale and his breathing was shallow, the pupils of his eyes dilated as far as they could go. Damas had seen enough warriors wounded in battle to recognize the signs.
Jak was in shock.
"Jak," he said, knowing that he needed to get the boy to focus. "Look at me."
The boy did as he commanded, the dazed look in his eyes clearing just a little when he saw who had spoken. That was good, but not good enough. He needed to be taken to the infirmary and treated. However, there were certain formalities that had to be dealt with. Damas cleared his throat, then picked up the beacon piece that he had reserved for the winner of this event.
"You did well," he said. He spoke so that the whole of the arena could hear him, but though he tried to keep his tone impersonal, there was just a hint of pride in his voice. Jak had fought well, and he had won despite his mistakes and disadvantages. He would be a good addition to Spargus once he earned his full citizenship. "And for your skill and bravery, this piece of a battle amulet is yours. With this you have earned the right to enter and leave Spargus at any time. Earn three and you will be recognized as one of our own by all within this city."
The crowd roared its approval.
Normally, he would have tossed the amulet to the boy after the end of his speech, but with the state that Jak was in, it was probably best not to risk it. He continued to stand there, staring blankly, as though he didn't comprehend anything that Damas had said. The king frowned. Definitely not good. He stood up, preparing to call someone over to take Jak to the infirmary.
But Jak cut him off with one lifted hand. Slowly, he pointed down at the arena, then at Damas, then at his eyes. His body trembled slightly and his breathing became heavier. You saw everything? Or perhaps he was asking You were watching?
Damas hesitated, uncertain why Jak was asking this, but he couldn't read the boy's face, so he just nodded. "Yes," he said neutrally. "It is one of my duties as king of Spargus to oversee the arena battles."
Jak's hand slashed through the air, his gestures jerky but vehement. He pointed at himself, then swept his hand to encompass the whole arena, then both hands rose to cross each other and part and...
"Slow down!" Damas snapped as the boy's motions became too fast and too complex and began to lose all meaning. "I cannot understand what you are saying. Breathe, Jak. And calm down." The boy was practically hyperventilating.
Something flashed in Jak's eyes, breaking past the glaze of shock. He clenched his hands into fists, but instead of lifting them to repeat anything he'd "said," he opened his mouth and rasped. There were no words in the sound, barely more than a vocal croak, but the emotion in it was clearer than anything he could have said.
Jak was furious.
Then without another word, gesture or otherwise, he turned and leaped to one of the exit balconies beside him.
"Jak!" Damas cracked the name out like a whip, but Jak just ignored him as he stormed out of the arena. For a moment, Damas was tempted to go after him, to demand an explanation. Unfortunately, there were far too many people watching. As king of Spargus, he could not be seen chasing after some child who was not yet even a citizen, even if the boy had just won his first arena challenge. Damas swore under his breath. "Kleiver, go after him!"
It was a sign of just how well Kleiver could read his voice when the Wastelander didn't even nod to acknowledge the command before disappearing from his own balcony. Still, Damas refused to leave the matter entirely in the other man's hands. He forced himself to wait an aggravating ten seconds, then turned and strode purposefully through the exit behind his throne. As soon as the curtain fell behind him, his pace picked up to match his racing thoughts.
What was going on here? What had upset Jak so much? Damn it, if only the boy could talk! Whatever he had been trying to say during that brief exchange, Damas was certain it held the key behind his anger. Once more, he tried to pick apart the flurry of gestures, but again they refused to yield up any meaning. The only thing he knew was that it had something to do with Damas watching him.
Emerging from the building that housed the arena, Damas immediately spotted the large figure of Kleiver at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Jak anywhere near him. "Where is he?" he demanded as he swiftly descended to join him.
Kleiver grimaced, obviously unhappy to have lost his quarry. "Little nipper's got a pair of legs on him," he said. "Took off faster'n a kangarat in a leaper pen. Last I saw him, he was headed for the ocean, but yeh know them Marauder brats don't like to travel straight lines. He'll prob'ly double back before he's halfway there."
Damas frowned distractedly as he started down Jak's most likely path. "Jak is not a Marauder," he said. "He is a guest to Spargus under special circumstances." Glancing up at the sky, he noted that the sun had almost set. That would make tracking Jak down even more difficult, but at least he knew that the boy could not leave the city. Damas still had the battle amulet in his hand, which Jak would need in order to open the city gate. Still, it was best to find him quickly. He was injured and possibly still in shock, and neither condition should be left untreated.
"Huh." Something about the way Kleiver said that caught Damas' attention and he turned to catch the large man chewing on the end of his mustache. Kleiver caught his lifted eyebrow and shrugged. "If he's not a Marauder, that might explain 'is behavior a bit. Kept tryin' to split off from the others before we got to the arena."
Damas stopped in his tracks, rounding on Kleiver so suddenly that the other Wastelander was forced to take a step back. "What did you say?"
Never one to take kindly to intimidation, even from the king, Kleiver scowled and drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "Kid was full of 'imself," he declared irritably. "Didn't want to stay in the group and wouldn't speak when I called him out on it. Just waved his hands like he thought I was deaf or some kind of bloody idiot. He-"
"He can't speak," Damas cut him off harshly. Suddenly the pieces were all falling together, forming a picture that explained all too well what had happened in the arena. Damas cursed himself for a fool for not seeing it sooner.
But there was no use wasting time laying blame, not when he did not know what Jak would try to do. "I want you to go to the gate and make sure he doesn't slip through when someone else leaves," he commanded. "I will search for him myself." And if it seemed strange for him to do that, at the moment he honestly didn't care.
This was his mistake. He would be the one to fix it.
-o-
The world was a lot colder outside of the arena - colder, in fact, than Jak remembered it being before. He wanted to blame it on the coming night, but the lingering heat in the sand between his toes told the logical part of his mind that it was still plenty warm outside. Shivering, he pulled his knees up to his chest. The cut he'd gotten from the swordsman hurt, and he thought it might still be bleeding, but he didn't care enough to look. He stared fixedly at the sand, trying to burn its image into his mind. Maybe if he stared long enough, he wouldn't see anything else when he closed his eyes.
The soft scrape of boots on rock alerted him to the presence of someone else, but Jak didn't so much as turn his head to look at them. He set his jaw. He already knew who it was. No one else had shown any interest in the beach, and there was only one man in Spargus who would be looking for him. Damas.
The footsteps muffled as the boots met with sand, then stopped completely when the man was only a few feet away. Jak could see him from the corner of his eye, standing right next to where he'd discarded his gun and his boots, but still he didn't look at him. Silence reigned, broken only by the lapping of waves.
"You did not intend to enter the arena." Damas' voice was quiet, and his statement wasn't a question. That was just as well, because Jak had no intention of answering. His fingers tightened their grip around his knees. He didn't want to acknowledge this man, this man who had just sat there and watched while people had fought and died, while he'd... while he'd...
"Was this the first time you killed someone?"
Jak flinched as though he'd been struck. That was exactly the thought he had been trying to avoid since the battle in the arena. Without his bidding, the image of the swordsman's eyes right before he fell in the lava flashed in his mind, erasing all the hard work he'd done with the sand. His stomach threatened to rebel again.
"...I see."
No. He didn't see. Feeling angry all over again, Jak reached down and slashed his finger through the sand in rough, jerky characters. GO AWAY. He didn't want to deal with Damas. He didn't want to try to explain that he had killed before, but that it had been different with Gol and Maia than it had been with the swordsman. He didn't want to talk about what had happened in the arena at all.
Unfortunately, Damas would have none of it. "No," he said sternly. "I will not go away. Whether you like it or not, you are now partially a citizen of Spargus, which means I have a duty to your wellbeing. You are injured and in need of medical attention, and I will see that you get it."
Jak scowled, his ears laying flat against his head. I don't want medical attention!
"You do not always get what you want," Damas shot back, harshness creeping into already-rough voice. "If we did, I would still have my wife and son. Accept the fact that you have killed and may be required to do so again in the future and move on, Jak. Life is not kind to those who live in the past."
Jak nearly looked at Damas at the mention of a wife and son, but the rest of what he said killed the impulse. Hands clenching into fists, he tried again to use his voice, an effort he knew Damas would have to understand because it was so extreme for him. I will not!
Again, the only thing that emerged from his mouth was a raw croak with only a few hints of nonvocal consonants. His voice never worked for him when he wanted it to, and it seemed the harder he tried, the more mangled his attempts became. The only times he could recall making any real sound were times when he'd been startled, hurt, or scared out of his mind, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what made those times different.
It didn't matter. Coherent or not, this was sufficient. There was a long moment of silence from Damas, making Jak wonder if the man was going to give up and leave him alone.
But he didn't. In fact, he did the last thing that Jak would have expected, his armor creaking as he carefully lowered himself to sit down in the sand beside him. Still he said nothing, and despite himself, Jak turned his head just a little, just enough so that he could try to see what the man was thinking.
Damas caught him looking. Their eyes met and held until, surprisingly, the king looked away and stared out over the water. Feeling somehow emboldened by this, Jak let head turn the rest of the way so that he could watch the man more easily.
"He knew he was most likely going to die," the king said at last. His voice was as solemn as his face. "They all did. If not by your hand, then by another. They knew that and they chose to enter, because for them, the arena was a better fate than the life they were leaving behind." A light breeze blew in from the ocean, stirring the bound pieces of his hair. Jak frowned. Why did that look so familiar?
He pushed the thought away, shaking his head angrily. I don't understand why they had to die at all!
Damas either understood him or was expecting the protest because he didn't need to pause to translate before replying. "The desert is a cruel place," he said matter-of-factly. "And so are its people. They are the castoffs and dregs of society. Violence is all that many of them know, and strength is the only thing they respect. The threat of death is the only consequence they fear enough to make them take something seriously, which is why a fight to the death was the method chosen to test those who wish to become citizens. Spargus is not a place for those weak of heart or those without the skills to survive."
Jak grimaced. He didn't want to admit that that made any sense, because it only did if you looked at it from a very horrible perspective. That a whole city could see things like that just shouldn't be possible.
Damas was looking at him again, watching him, reading his reactions. Suddenly, the man reached out and took his hand, placing something in it before Jak could even think to pull away. Startled, the teen blinked down at the thing in his hand. When he realized what it was, though, he scowled and tried to give it back. I don't want this.
"It is yours," Damas said, his expression hardening. His fingers, rough and calloused, wrapped around Jak's, forcing him to maintain his grip on the amulet. "You would dishonor the memory of those who fell if you refused it now. Their deaths would become meaningless. Is that what you want?"
Jak stared at the bit of metal for a long moment as he struggled with his emotions. Then, closing his eyes, he let his shoulders sag, defeated. No, that wasn't what he wanted. Suddenly feeling tired, he let his forehead rest on his knees. Fine. I'll keep it.
Perhaps sensing that the fight had gone out of Jak, Damas let go of his hand. He did not, however, get up or move away. Instead, he put his hand on Jak's shoulder and gently pulled him back. "Let me look at your chest."
Reluctantly, Jak let go of his knees and uncurled himself enough to let Damas push aside the torn and bloody cloth of his shirt. The fabric stuck to his skin in places, making him wince as it was pulled away. Damas eyed the wound clinically, then nodded. "It is not as bad as it could be, but it should still be treated."
Morbid curiosity prompted Jak to take his own look at his injury. The sword had split his skin cleanly from his collar bone to his sternum, though the wound wasn't very deep. The blood that was slowly oozing out of it and crusting at the edges made it look worse than it really was. The biggest danger lay in infection, and considering how dirty many of the arena fighters' weapons had been, that was definitely something to be worried about. Jak didn't resist when Damas handed him his boots, then helped him stand once he'd put them on. Damas picked up his gun as well and slung the strap over one shoulder. Jak was just as glad not to have the weight on his back.
Neither of them said anything else as they walked to the infirmary. Jak was too tired and emotionally drained to make the effort and he could only guess that Damas was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. The king kept his grip on Jak's shoulder, perhaps to steady him, or maybe to make sure he didn't run off. Whatever the reason, Jak appreciated the gesture. He was beginning to feel just a little lightheaded and the physical contact helped keep him grounded. When they arrived in the infirmary, he needed no prompting to lay down on a bed.
"Seem."
Jak blinked as the strange boy with the painted face appeared at Damas' side. Where had he come from? Jak hadn't seen him in the room when they entered, and with the distinctive way the boy dressed, he thought it would be pretty hard to miss him.
"King Damas," the boy, Seem, replied evenly.
Damas lifted a hand to indicate the boy on the bed. "Take care of his injuries and do not let him leave. Tell your replacement that I am to be informed if there is any trouble during the night. Jak." He turned the full weight of his stern gaze on the teen. "You are to obey Seem and the monk who replaces her as you would obey me. Do you understand?"
Jak didn't respond at first, distracted by what Damas had inadvertently revealed. He stared at Seem. He's a girl?
"Jak!"
Jak's attention snapped back to the king. What? Oh, yeah. He nodded once to indicate that he understood, then let his gaze drift back to Seem. The boy - girl - was already retrieving jars and bandages from the shelf and was studiously ignoring his attention. That was okay, he decided. He'd probably be ignoring her pretty soon, too. His eyes felt heavy and it was getting harder and harder to focus.
He didn't even notice when Damas left.
-End Chapter Eleven-
Next chapter.
Fandom: Jak and Daxter
Rating: PG13
Summary: When Jak first landed in Haven City, Erol wasn't the one to find him. Now he must face a future he is ill prepared for, and even with help from Sig and Damas, there's no guarantee that he'll survive.
Main characters: Jak, Sig, Damas
Ships: Genfic
Spoilers: Jak 1, Jak 2, and Jak 3
First chapter.
Previous chapter.
Next chapter.
As always, comments/suggestions/criticism welcome.
Even as Damas hit the switch that lowered a platform down to the arena, he could tell that something was wrong with Jak. There had been no mistaking the fact that he had thrown up after his second to last battle, and now that the battle was over, his movement was slow and listless. He did notice the lowered platform, though, and made his way over to it, taking care not to step on any of the bodies that lay in his path. When the platform rose and Damas was able to get a closer look at him, the symptoms were even more obvious. The boy's skin was pale and his breathing was shallow, the pupils of his eyes dilated as far as they could go. Damas had seen enough warriors wounded in battle to recognize the signs.
Jak was in shock.
"Jak," he said, knowing that he needed to get the boy to focus. "Look at me."
The boy did as he commanded, the dazed look in his eyes clearing just a little when he saw who had spoken. That was good, but not good enough. He needed to be taken to the infirmary and treated. However, there were certain formalities that had to be dealt with. Damas cleared his throat, then picked up the beacon piece that he had reserved for the winner of this event.
"You did well," he said. He spoke so that the whole of the arena could hear him, but though he tried to keep his tone impersonal, there was just a hint of pride in his voice. Jak had fought well, and he had won despite his mistakes and disadvantages. He would be a good addition to Spargus once he earned his full citizenship. "And for your skill and bravery, this piece of a battle amulet is yours. With this you have earned the right to enter and leave Spargus at any time. Earn three and you will be recognized as one of our own by all within this city."
The crowd roared its approval.
Normally, he would have tossed the amulet to the boy after the end of his speech, but with the state that Jak was in, it was probably best not to risk it. He continued to stand there, staring blankly, as though he didn't comprehend anything that Damas had said. The king frowned. Definitely not good. He stood up, preparing to call someone over to take Jak to the infirmary.
But Jak cut him off with one lifted hand. Slowly, he pointed down at the arena, then at Damas, then at his eyes. His body trembled slightly and his breathing became heavier. You saw everything? Or perhaps he was asking You were watching?
Damas hesitated, uncertain why Jak was asking this, but he couldn't read the boy's face, so he just nodded. "Yes," he said neutrally. "It is one of my duties as king of Spargus to oversee the arena battles."
Jak's hand slashed through the air, his gestures jerky but vehement. He pointed at himself, then swept his hand to encompass the whole arena, then both hands rose to cross each other and part and...
"Slow down!" Damas snapped as the boy's motions became too fast and too complex and began to lose all meaning. "I cannot understand what you are saying. Breathe, Jak. And calm down." The boy was practically hyperventilating.
Something flashed in Jak's eyes, breaking past the glaze of shock. He clenched his hands into fists, but instead of lifting them to repeat anything he'd "said," he opened his mouth and rasped. There were no words in the sound, barely more than a vocal croak, but the emotion in it was clearer than anything he could have said.
Jak was furious.
Then without another word, gesture or otherwise, he turned and leaped to one of the exit balconies beside him.
"Jak!" Damas cracked the name out like a whip, but Jak just ignored him as he stormed out of the arena. For a moment, Damas was tempted to go after him, to demand an explanation. Unfortunately, there were far too many people watching. As king of Spargus, he could not be seen chasing after some child who was not yet even a citizen, even if the boy had just won his first arena challenge. Damas swore under his breath. "Kleiver, go after him!"
It was a sign of just how well Kleiver could read his voice when the Wastelander didn't even nod to acknowledge the command before disappearing from his own balcony. Still, Damas refused to leave the matter entirely in the other man's hands. He forced himself to wait an aggravating ten seconds, then turned and strode purposefully through the exit behind his throne. As soon as the curtain fell behind him, his pace picked up to match his racing thoughts.
What was going on here? What had upset Jak so much? Damn it, if only the boy could talk! Whatever he had been trying to say during that brief exchange, Damas was certain it held the key behind his anger. Once more, he tried to pick apart the flurry of gestures, but again they refused to yield up any meaning. The only thing he knew was that it had something to do with Damas watching him.
Emerging from the building that housed the arena, Damas immediately spotted the large figure of Kleiver at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Jak anywhere near him. "Where is he?" he demanded as he swiftly descended to join him.
Kleiver grimaced, obviously unhappy to have lost his quarry. "Little nipper's got a pair of legs on him," he said. "Took off faster'n a kangarat in a leaper pen. Last I saw him, he was headed for the ocean, but yeh know them Marauder brats don't like to travel straight lines. He'll prob'ly double back before he's halfway there."
Damas frowned distractedly as he started down Jak's most likely path. "Jak is not a Marauder," he said. "He is a guest to Spargus under special circumstances." Glancing up at the sky, he noted that the sun had almost set. That would make tracking Jak down even more difficult, but at least he knew that the boy could not leave the city. Damas still had the battle amulet in his hand, which Jak would need in order to open the city gate. Still, it was best to find him quickly. He was injured and possibly still in shock, and neither condition should be left untreated.
"Huh." Something about the way Kleiver said that caught Damas' attention and he turned to catch the large man chewing on the end of his mustache. Kleiver caught his lifted eyebrow and shrugged. "If he's not a Marauder, that might explain 'is behavior a bit. Kept tryin' to split off from the others before we got to the arena."
Damas stopped in his tracks, rounding on Kleiver so suddenly that the other Wastelander was forced to take a step back. "What did you say?"
Never one to take kindly to intimidation, even from the king, Kleiver scowled and drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "Kid was full of 'imself," he declared irritably. "Didn't want to stay in the group and wouldn't speak when I called him out on it. Just waved his hands like he thought I was deaf or some kind of bloody idiot. He-"
"He can't speak," Damas cut him off harshly. Suddenly the pieces were all falling together, forming a picture that explained all too well what had happened in the arena. Damas cursed himself for a fool for not seeing it sooner.
But there was no use wasting time laying blame, not when he did not know what Jak would try to do. "I want you to go to the gate and make sure he doesn't slip through when someone else leaves," he commanded. "I will search for him myself." And if it seemed strange for him to do that, at the moment he honestly didn't care.
This was his mistake. He would be the one to fix it.
The world was a lot colder outside of the arena - colder, in fact, than Jak remembered it being before. He wanted to blame it on the coming night, but the lingering heat in the sand between his toes told the logical part of his mind that it was still plenty warm outside. Shivering, he pulled his knees up to his chest. The cut he'd gotten from the swordsman hurt, and he thought it might still be bleeding, but he didn't care enough to look. He stared fixedly at the sand, trying to burn its image into his mind. Maybe if he stared long enough, he wouldn't see anything else when he closed his eyes.
The soft scrape of boots on rock alerted him to the presence of someone else, but Jak didn't so much as turn his head to look at them. He set his jaw. He already knew who it was. No one else had shown any interest in the beach, and there was only one man in Spargus who would be looking for him. Damas.
The footsteps muffled as the boots met with sand, then stopped completely when the man was only a few feet away. Jak could see him from the corner of his eye, standing right next to where he'd discarded his gun and his boots, but still he didn't look at him. Silence reigned, broken only by the lapping of waves.
"You did not intend to enter the arena." Damas' voice was quiet, and his statement wasn't a question. That was just as well, because Jak had no intention of answering. His fingers tightened their grip around his knees. He didn't want to acknowledge this man, this man who had just sat there and watched while people had fought and died, while he'd... while he'd...
"Was this the first time you killed someone?"
Jak flinched as though he'd been struck. That was exactly the thought he had been trying to avoid since the battle in the arena. Without his bidding, the image of the swordsman's eyes right before he fell in the lava flashed in his mind, erasing all the hard work he'd done with the sand. His stomach threatened to rebel again.
"...I see."
No. He didn't see. Feeling angry all over again, Jak reached down and slashed his finger through the sand in rough, jerky characters. GO AWAY. He didn't want to deal with Damas. He didn't want to try to explain that he had killed before, but that it had been different with Gol and Maia than it had been with the swordsman. He didn't want to talk about what had happened in the arena at all.
Unfortunately, Damas would have none of it. "No," he said sternly. "I will not go away. Whether you like it or not, you are now partially a citizen of Spargus, which means I have a duty to your wellbeing. You are injured and in need of medical attention, and I will see that you get it."
Jak scowled, his ears laying flat against his head. I don't want medical attention!
"You do not always get what you want," Damas shot back, harshness creeping into already-rough voice. "If we did, I would still have my wife and son. Accept the fact that you have killed and may be required to do so again in the future and move on, Jak. Life is not kind to those who live in the past."
Jak nearly looked at Damas at the mention of a wife and son, but the rest of what he said killed the impulse. Hands clenching into fists, he tried again to use his voice, an effort he knew Damas would have to understand because it was so extreme for him. I will not!
Again, the only thing that emerged from his mouth was a raw croak with only a few hints of nonvocal consonants. His voice never worked for him when he wanted it to, and it seemed the harder he tried, the more mangled his attempts became. The only times he could recall making any real sound were times when he'd been startled, hurt, or scared out of his mind, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what made those times different.
It didn't matter. Coherent or not, this was sufficient. There was a long moment of silence from Damas, making Jak wonder if the man was going to give up and leave him alone.
But he didn't. In fact, he did the last thing that Jak would have expected, his armor creaking as he carefully lowered himself to sit down in the sand beside him. Still he said nothing, and despite himself, Jak turned his head just a little, just enough so that he could try to see what the man was thinking.
Damas caught him looking. Their eyes met and held until, surprisingly, the king looked away and stared out over the water. Feeling somehow emboldened by this, Jak let head turn the rest of the way so that he could watch the man more easily.
"He knew he was most likely going to die," the king said at last. His voice was as solemn as his face. "They all did. If not by your hand, then by another. They knew that and they chose to enter, because for them, the arena was a better fate than the life they were leaving behind." A light breeze blew in from the ocean, stirring the bound pieces of his hair. Jak frowned. Why did that look so familiar?
He pushed the thought away, shaking his head angrily. I don't understand why they had to die at all!
Damas either understood him or was expecting the protest because he didn't need to pause to translate before replying. "The desert is a cruel place," he said matter-of-factly. "And so are its people. They are the castoffs and dregs of society. Violence is all that many of them know, and strength is the only thing they respect. The threat of death is the only consequence they fear enough to make them take something seriously, which is why a fight to the death was the method chosen to test those who wish to become citizens. Spargus is not a place for those weak of heart or those without the skills to survive."
Jak grimaced. He didn't want to admit that that made any sense, because it only did if you looked at it from a very horrible perspective. That a whole city could see things like that just shouldn't be possible.
Damas was looking at him again, watching him, reading his reactions. Suddenly, the man reached out and took his hand, placing something in it before Jak could even think to pull away. Startled, the teen blinked down at the thing in his hand. When he realized what it was, though, he scowled and tried to give it back. I don't want this.
"It is yours," Damas said, his expression hardening. His fingers, rough and calloused, wrapped around Jak's, forcing him to maintain his grip on the amulet. "You would dishonor the memory of those who fell if you refused it now. Their deaths would become meaningless. Is that what you want?"
Jak stared at the bit of metal for a long moment as he struggled with his emotions. Then, closing his eyes, he let his shoulders sag, defeated. No, that wasn't what he wanted. Suddenly feeling tired, he let his forehead rest on his knees. Fine. I'll keep it.
Perhaps sensing that the fight had gone out of Jak, Damas let go of his hand. He did not, however, get up or move away. Instead, he put his hand on Jak's shoulder and gently pulled him back. "Let me look at your chest."
Reluctantly, Jak let go of his knees and uncurled himself enough to let Damas push aside the torn and bloody cloth of his shirt. The fabric stuck to his skin in places, making him wince as it was pulled away. Damas eyed the wound clinically, then nodded. "It is not as bad as it could be, but it should still be treated."
Morbid curiosity prompted Jak to take his own look at his injury. The sword had split his skin cleanly from his collar bone to his sternum, though the wound wasn't very deep. The blood that was slowly oozing out of it and crusting at the edges made it look worse than it really was. The biggest danger lay in infection, and considering how dirty many of the arena fighters' weapons had been, that was definitely something to be worried about. Jak didn't resist when Damas handed him his boots, then helped him stand once he'd put them on. Damas picked up his gun as well and slung the strap over one shoulder. Jak was just as glad not to have the weight on his back.
Neither of them said anything else as they walked to the infirmary. Jak was too tired and emotionally drained to make the effort and he could only guess that Damas was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. The king kept his grip on Jak's shoulder, perhaps to steady him, or maybe to make sure he didn't run off. Whatever the reason, Jak appreciated the gesture. He was beginning to feel just a little lightheaded and the physical contact helped keep him grounded. When they arrived in the infirmary, he needed no prompting to lay down on a bed.
"Seem."
Jak blinked as the strange boy with the painted face appeared at Damas' side. Where had he come from? Jak hadn't seen him in the room when they entered, and with the distinctive way the boy dressed, he thought it would be pretty hard to miss him.
"King Damas," the boy, Seem, replied evenly.
Damas lifted a hand to indicate the boy on the bed. "Take care of his injuries and do not let him leave. Tell your replacement that I am to be informed if there is any trouble during the night. Jak." He turned the full weight of his stern gaze on the teen. "You are to obey Seem and the monk who replaces her as you would obey me. Do you understand?"
Jak didn't respond at first, distracted by what Damas had inadvertently revealed. He stared at Seem. He's a girl?
"Jak!"
Jak's attention snapped back to the king. What? Oh, yeah. He nodded once to indicate that he understood, then let his gaze drift back to Seem. The boy - girl - was already retrieving jars and bandages from the shelf and was studiously ignoring his attention. That was okay, he decided. He'd probably be ignoring her pretty soon, too. His eyes felt heavy and it was getting harder and harder to focus.
He didn't even notice when Damas left.
Next chapter.
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Date: 2009-09-28 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 11:16 am (UTC)Hey there. :3
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Date: 2009-10-05 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-10-09 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 10:41 pm (UTC)