A Matter of Losing His Son
Another scene for A Matter of Different Paths. Remember, this didn't actually happen~
Title: A Matter of Losing His Son
Rating: PG
Summary: In the moment of final loss, this was all Damas could give to Jak.
Time frame: A Matter of Time, chapters 20-21.
-A Matter of Losing His Son-
The silence that filled the air after the Metal Head's fall was broken only once by Sig's whoop of victory. It was a relief, and Damas did crack a smile, but it was short-lived, immediately overshadowed by the very serious situation at hand. In his arms, Jak struggled to stay conscious, and blood seeped from his broken body to stain Damas' hands and the floor beneath them. Damas didn't need to look the boy over to know that his wounds were bad. And without green eco...
Jak's fingers curled and caught at his armor, and he looked up at Damas with desperate, insistent eyes. He opened his mouth and, at first, all Damas could hear was a rasp. He winced, recognizing the significance of that liquid, bubbling breath - there was blood in Jak's lungs. The Metal Head had punctured them.
But then Jak repeated the effort, and this time there was sound mixed in. Vocal sound. The sound of Jak's first word.
"Fa...ther...?"
The Wasteland king drew in a sharp breath. He had not been called that by anyone, not even his own son, who had been too young to speak the last time he'd held his child in his arms. However, if Jak did not know who his father was, as seemed to be the case, hearing the Metal Head's claims would make it... understandable for the question to come up.
Still, Damas grimaced and shook his head, preparing to clear the misconception. It couldn't be true. Jak was too old. And he didn't believe in time travel.
Before he could speak, though, the teenager coughed, flecks of red staining his lips. His blue eyes closed for a moment, before he forced them back open with an obvious effort and focused on Damas' face. His mouth moved. There was no sound.
But Damas didn't need to hear to know what word he said.
Father.
The king closed his eyes and inhaled, long and deep, collecting himself. Something inside him hurt as he realized what was happening. When he looked at Jak again, he knew.
He knew.
His arms tightened around the child's shoulders. How could he deny him this?
"Yes," he said softly. The lie came more easily than he would have expected, more easily than it would have been to tell the truth to him. "You are... my son, and a warrior I would be proud to call my own." He had held up under torture, had fought until the end, and now...
He deserved this much.
For a moment, the pain in Jak's expression eased, softened with a look of wonder, and he weakly lifted a hand to touch Damas' face.
Little fingers on his chin, a playful laugh and a tug on his beard.
The world blurred just a little as Damas suffered the touch. Even now, he could not deny just how much Jak looked like his son. Blue eyes and green-blond hair, an upturned nose and a curiosity to explore with his hands. That hand rested briefly on his chin, wrapped around a lock of hair.
Jak smiled.
A gentle tug.
Then he closed his eyes and let his head fall against Damas' chest. It wasn't until his hand fell limp, though, that Damas knew he was gone. He drew another breath and slowly let it out, shuddering.
Precursors, why did this hurt so much? He pulled the boy close and bowed his head as grief wrung his heart. He didn't know why, beyond the resemblance, but it felt like he was holding Mar. Little Mar's hands that touched his face. Mar's green hair that tickled his chin. Mar's blue eyes as bright as the sky, only now they were closed forever.
Damas sobbed. Just once.
It felt like he'd lost his son again.
Title: A Matter of Losing His Son
Rating: PG
Summary: In the moment of final loss, this was all Damas could give to Jak.
Time frame: A Matter of Time, chapters 20-21.
-A Matter of Losing His Son-
The silence that filled the air after the Metal Head's fall was broken only once by Sig's whoop of victory. It was a relief, and Damas did crack a smile, but it was short-lived, immediately overshadowed by the very serious situation at hand. In his arms, Jak struggled to stay conscious, and blood seeped from his broken body to stain Damas' hands and the floor beneath them. Damas didn't need to look the boy over to know that his wounds were bad. And without green eco...
Jak's fingers curled and caught at his armor, and he looked up at Damas with desperate, insistent eyes. He opened his mouth and, at first, all Damas could hear was a rasp. He winced, recognizing the significance of that liquid, bubbling breath - there was blood in Jak's lungs. The Metal Head had punctured them.
But then Jak repeated the effort, and this time there was sound mixed in. Vocal sound. The sound of Jak's first word.
"Fa...ther...?"
The Wasteland king drew in a sharp breath. He had not been called that by anyone, not even his own son, who had been too young to speak the last time he'd held his child in his arms. However, if Jak did not know who his father was, as seemed to be the case, hearing the Metal Head's claims would make it... understandable for the question to come up.
Still, Damas grimaced and shook his head, preparing to clear the misconception. It couldn't be true. Jak was too old. And he didn't believe in time travel.
Before he could speak, though, the teenager coughed, flecks of red staining his lips. His blue eyes closed for a moment, before he forced them back open with an obvious effort and focused on Damas' face. His mouth moved. There was no sound.
But Damas didn't need to hear to know what word he said.
Father.
The king closed his eyes and inhaled, long and deep, collecting himself. Something inside him hurt as he realized what was happening. When he looked at Jak again, he knew.
He knew.
His arms tightened around the child's shoulders. How could he deny him this?
"Yes," he said softly. The lie came more easily than he would have expected, more easily than it would have been to tell the truth to him. "You are... my son, and a warrior I would be proud to call my own." He had held up under torture, had fought until the end, and now...
He deserved this much.
For a moment, the pain in Jak's expression eased, softened with a look of wonder, and he weakly lifted a hand to touch Damas' face.
Little fingers on his chin, a playful laugh and a tug on his beard.
The world blurred just a little as Damas suffered the touch. Even now, he could not deny just how much Jak looked like his son. Blue eyes and green-blond hair, an upturned nose and a curiosity to explore with his hands. That hand rested briefly on his chin, wrapped around a lock of hair.
Jak smiled.
A gentle tug.
Then he closed his eyes and let his head fall against Damas' chest. It wasn't until his hand fell limp, though, that Damas knew he was gone. He drew another breath and slowly let it out, shuddering.
Precursors, why did this hurt so much? He pulled the boy close and bowed his head as grief wrung his heart. He didn't know why, beyond the resemblance, but it felt like he was holding Mar. Little Mar's hands that touched his face. Mar's green hair that tickled his chin. Mar's blue eyes as bright as the sky, only now they were closed forever.
Damas sobbed. Just once.
It felt like he'd lost his son again.