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All That Glitters	By : sillyneko345 Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 7251 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the game this story is based on (Jak and Daxter). I make no money from writing this.

Chapter List
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AN: This one is for the lovely Sione, a great friend as well as a talented artist and highly respected fellow author. She’s such a dear. I sincerely hope she enjoys it, and I hope everyone else who reads it might like it a little bit too (even if it is my first attempt at a Jak & Daxter AU).

Characters: Jak, Daxter, and all the rest belong to Naughty Dog, Inc. I just have fun shaking up their world from time to time… or all the time, rather.

For your info: As far as AU's go, in theory this one is pretty similar to the actual game world. For example, there are still Precursors, wastelands, metal heads, and eco. Just think 'Jak 3 looks and setting with a quasi-fairytale twist' and you'll be fine.

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     It was late afternoon in the desert kingdom of Spargus when Jak was rudely awoken from his catnap. He started as a small rock pinged off the lens of his goggles, coming fully awake at once. This could be bad. Had somebody found out his favorite napping spot? Looking down through the leaves of the big tree he was camped in, the green-blonde soon let out a sigh of relief.
     “Good. It’s just you.”
     In the sun-dappled patch of shade below, Daxter grinned wryly up at him. Who else would it be? The redhead was still the only one who could routinely find Jak when he slipped away to gods knew where, to the ire of his father and the palace officials.
     Jak sat up on the thick bough he had been draped across for his snooze, stretching mightily with bare arms over his head. “What’s up, Dax? Wanna come up and have a nap with me?”
     An eager look flashed across the smaller boy’s freckled face, but only for a moment before Daxter shrugged ruefully.
     “We can’t? What, am I late for something again?”
     With somehow sarcastic politeness Daxter gestured out of the little glade, hidden among bushes, tree trunks, and flowering shrubs. The rest of the palace gardens were awash in golden sunlight. By the length of the shadows out on the grass, Jak could clearly see what time it was. He had completely missed his late morning history lesson with Samos. He had missed lunch. He had missed afternoon drills with Torn. And he was late for the audience his father had requested of him.
    “Damn.” One mild curse would have to suffice. Jak easily swung down from the high limb, landing effortlessly next to his friend. Not that he wanted to, but the longer he put it off the worse the consequences would be down the road. Besides, Daxter would take the heat if he returned without the truant in tow. Jak certainly didn't want that. “Guess we’ll just have to find another time to hang out. Sometime after everyone's done screaming at me.”
     The little redhead laughed silently, long ears flicking to and fro. Jak smiled. Daxter might be unable to speak, but he sure was expressive enough. Sometimes Jak could swear he knew exactly what the other was thinking. He reached out to throw a companionable arm across thin shoulders.
     “Well, I better get moving. Dad will be mad enough as it is. Can you come with me?”
     Daxter nodded amiably, the thick gold collar around his neck glinting in a stray sunbeam slanting through the foliage as he did so. Apparently he hadn’t been given any instructions past “find that hopelessly irresponsible boy.” Jak was glad. They hadn’t been able to spend much time together lately.
     “Good. Let’s take the long way.”
     Rather than heading directly across the gardens and into the main building, the two climbed the long flight of stone stairs leading up to the wall that surrounded the entire palace complex. Or rather, Jak climbed. Daxter did nothing so much as scamper to the top in quick little bursts that never failed to amaze his bigger companion. The little guy was remarkably fast, and incredibly light on his feet.

     “Give me a chance, will you?” Jak laughed as Daxter skipped tauntingly up the steps just ahead of him. He knew better by now than to challenge races, despite how much longer his own legs were.
     Their pace slowed as they reached the top. Jak was in no particular hurry, and the view from the wall top was impressive, as usual. Casually he ambled along, Daxter at his side, surveying the somewhat hostile domain.
     The city of Spargus sprawled before them in all its dusty, rough and tumble glory. A few homes, a few taverns, a few shops. A lot of military barracks. The imposing structure of the Arena, Spargus’ chief source of both entertainment and capital punishment. A peaceful community, they were not. Past the city stood another, larger, wall. Past that protective barrier, the unforgiving wastelands.
     Jak glanced back down into the gardens, taking a moment to be thankful for the small green oasis they provided. While napping in the quiet shade, it was possible to forget that one’s home was surrounded on all sides by blistering desert. He and Daxter could hide away there from time to time, relax and share a little snack that one of them—usually the redhead—had swiped from the kitchens.
     The hot sun beat down, urging Jak to wrap his headscarf over his face for a little protection. It was a bright red strip of fabric, ratty and tattered, but it was his favorite and was seldom anywhere but draped around his neck. He decided to forgo it this time, however. They would be out of the sun shortly.
     Jak shielded sharp blue eyes, gazing out across the wastes. “Another scorcher, huh, Dax?”
     The redhead nodded absently, obviously intent on something else. On his tiptoes to see over the stone parapet, he too was gazing... but not at the city. Daxter’s own equally blue eyes were fixed much farther away. Across the far horizon a line of mountains stretched, dark and majestic against the burning foreground of parched sand and rock. Jak looked too, and couldn’t help but frown a little.
     The mountains. A cooler, greener, richer land where he had never been, and where Daxter had surely come from.
     There were very few real slaves in Spargus. Nearly all of them were prisoners of battle that for one reason or another were never sent to the Arena to win their freedom or released through any other means. And none of them had come to city quite like Daxter had. It had been... what, three years ago now? Nearly four? Jak could still recall the incident quite clearly.
     “Something special for the king,” Samos had said, when he had returned from a long bout of travel in the legendarily mystic mountains with a struggling young redhead in chains. Of course, the old Court Sage’s accompaniment of royal guards had been the ones to keep the boy under control. He twisted, squirmed, bit and kicked like a monster despite the manacles and other fetters. They couldn’t keep him bound forever, though, and King Damas had needed the soldiers elsewhere, so the boy had been turned loose to acclimatize to a new life of servitude.
     Jak had been all of fifteen at the time and the new, extremely unwilling, addition to the palace staff had looked even younger. To his never-ending annoyance, all the other boys Jak’s age saluted when he walked by. He didn’t know what was supposed be so special about the fiery-haired kid sobbing hopelessly in the corner, but he did see potential—someone who might become a real friend. Added to that, he had felt plain bad for the new slave. Obviously the boy was unused to captivity of any kind. Jak had even tried to remove the redhead’s heavy collar for him at the other’s franticly mimed pleas, only to be immediately knocked in the head by Samos and his ever-present walking staff.
     “Don't you take that off of him, my boy,” the sage had growled darkly. “Never take it off. There's something very strange about this brat that even I haven’t been able to fathom yet. If he ever gets free the consequences could be dire.”
     Jak still had no idea what Samos had been talking about, but that had settled that. The collar had stayed on, despite its wearer’s pitiful snivels and whimpers. But that didn’t deter Jak from his mission of good will. With Damas preoccupied with other things more often than not, the green-blonde had been left to his own devices; namely, making sure his mysterious new ‘friend’ choked down enough food in his misery so as not to starve to death. He began to eat on his own soon enough, of course. But then the escape attempts had started.
     Jak chuckled quietly. Dax was damn lucky he had been so young and small. Runaways were usually given the Arena treatment after just one offense, and Daxter had tried to bolt... it was impossible to remember how many times. One of the last times he had made the attempt had found him running hopeless circles in the maze-like gardens like a frightened dune hare. He and Jak had literally run smack into each other, in the small glade they would eventually come to see as their secret place. Of course Jak hadn’t called his friend out. They had hidden quietly in the tiny grove, sheltered underneath what Jak now considered to be his napping tree, until the searchers finally gave up. It had also been Jak’s presence at the meek redhead’s side when they finally turned up hours later that saved the miscreant from a real beating. Samos’ patience with the matter had been wearing dangerously thin by that point.
     From then on Jak had been protective. He gave the redhead a name when it became apparent that he couldn't speak to tell Jak what he was called. He had given his newly christened Daxter a shoulder to sniffle on when he needed it, permission to roam the main palace grounds at will (as long as he didn’t try to run away again), and a pair of hand-me-down goggles to wear when the blowing sand became extreme, as it often tended to. After that Daxter wore the metal and leather gear on top of his head at all times, almost a match to the bigger pair Jak himself now wore.
     All that had been a long time ago, now. Daxter did not actively pine anymore. Time heals all wounds, or so the saying went. But Jak wasn’t naive enough to believe that his friend would ever forget whatever it was he had been forced to leave behind. Dax would never be completely at home, completely content, in Spargus.
     A soft sigh from the redhead caught Jak’s wandering attention. He went over to stand beside his friend, sharing the view. Dax himself was lovely scenery, to Jak. The green-blonde smiled as a gust of hot wind off the wastelands blew sunset hair into even further disarray, and reflexively reached out to pet the locks back into place.
     “Come on, Dax. Better get moving.”
     Reluctantly Daxter nodded. Turning away from the sight of the mountains, he followed Jak back down the steps and across the dusty parade grounds, abandoned in the heat of the day. Their next stop was the palace itself. Jak could only hope that the confrontation awaiting him inside wouldn't take too long.

- // - // - // - // -

     The throne room was cool, quiet, and dim at this time of day. All the royal audiences had been finished much earlier in the morning. Even Damas was strangely absent. Jak's booted footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor while Daxter padded soundlessly in simple cloth foot wraps.
     "Huh." Jak was unimpressed. "I'm not that late. The least he could do is be here in time to lecture me."
    Daxter just shrugged. It was highly likely that he didn't give a damn where the king of Spargus was, so long as he wasn't nearby. It was no secret that Damas scared the redhead. Hell, Damas scared a lot of people. He was a formidable man. Jak, however, considered himself exempt from intimidation. The guy was his father, after all, and if he ever carried through with any of the threats he so casually threw in Jak's direction during periods of seething annoyance with his only offspring the kingdom would be heirless in the blink of an eye.
     "Looks like we're waiting, then. C'mon, Dax. Pull up a seat."
     Jak collapsed backwards to slouch insolently upon the large rock-hewn throne at the head of the room and pulled the redhead to him by the length of rope that served as a belt. Daxter let out a quiet squeak of surprise and protest that Jak cheerfully ignored, grabbing his smaller friend around his slim waist and hauling him into his lap.
     Daxter immediately put up a struggle, squirming and wriggling, trying to push away with his hands planted on Jak's broad chest. The green-blond just laughed at his friend's obvious annoyance.
     "Come on now, Dax, only for a minute. You can stand being my lap pet for that long, can't you?"
     An irritated snort. One long finger firmly flicked Jak in the middle of the forehead.
     "I am not an idiot!" Jak pretended to be offended. "And this is the thanks I get for being so nice to you all the time..."
     Seated sideways across Jak's lap, Daxter offered a smug half-smile that showed the barest hint of slightly bigger than average front teeth. His ears flicked saucily as he turned his head away, obviously snubbing his teasing captor. Clearly he was no one's pet. He might not actively try to escape his situation of perpetual servitude anymore, but that original spirit of defiance was far from gone.
     "Well, excuse me for presuming I might have some special privileges." Jak couldn't help but grin. He just adored this little guy. Dax was endlessly amusing. "You know, I've heard of slaves happily jumping into their masters' laps when they're treated well, and I don't get any favors at all. You're so ungrateful, Daxter."
     The redhead was now laughing silently in wry amusement, keeping Jak from getting too comfortable with a boney elbow braced on his shoulder. Ungrateful, indeed!
     It was actually pretty wonderful to be able to laugh and tease like that with someone. And Dax was a pleasantly slight weight in his lap, warm and inviting. Yep... one day, when Jak was in charge, this was all he would do, all day long. He couldn't resist. Stealthily he leaned up, one hand coming up behind Daxter's neck to hold him still. Just one little kiss wouldn't hurt anything...
     "Get the hell out of my chair, boy!" Damas bellowed. For a relatively large man he could walk amazingly quietly when he wanted to.
     Jak shot to his feet as though he had been burned, keeping a tight hold on Daxter. For his part, the shocked redhead reflexively grabbed onto Jak and clung like a sand burr. His eyes were hilariously wide, ears laid back as far as they could go.
    "You know no one sits on that throne but the king," Damas growled in annoyance. "I must have told you that a hundred times. And put that down!" He was pointing at Daxter.
     "Damn it, Dad, don't sneak up on people! It's rude." Jak immediately set the redhead back on his feet, nudging the smaller boy behind him somewhat as he did so. Out of sight, out of mind. Damas had been finding excuses to keep them apart as of late; he didn't need one more.
     "Some people would consider it rude to stand your father up when he asks to see you." The king huffily took his rightful seat, still looking perturbed that someone else's rear had been resting on it. "Let me dare to presume you were asleep in the garden again, shirking your duties without a care in the world?"
     "I... might have been. But it isn't like I missed anything important."
     Damas sighed deeply, leaning back on his throne and wearily massaging his temples. "Jak, please. You would not believe how tired I am of having this conversation with you. You're a prince. Try to act like one and show a little responsibility for your duties!"
     "Oh, and where were you all afternoon doing big important kingly things? Hanging out with your harem?"
     "Trying desperately to father another boy child so I can finally throw your impossible punk ass out into the desert where it belongs without destroying the royal bloodline in the process," Damas replied calmly.
     "Good luck with that. You're pretty old... you'll probably need it."
     "Not too old to chase you down with this belt, brat!"
     Even though arguments of that type were common it was better to be safe than sorry, and Jak prudently backed up a few steps as his father threateningly half-rose from his seat. He nearly tripped over Daxter, who had been hiding behind him and shaking with suppressed mirth.
     "Okay, alright, I'm sorry. I'll try to do better. Can I go now?" He had better places to be, better things to do. Dax hadn't darted off at the first sign of impending trouble, so Jak still harbored the fond hope that he might yet be able to coax him into a kiss, away from prying eyes.
     "No, you may not. Believe it or not there is a very serious matter I wanted to discuss with you. But since you didn't see fit to meet me on time we'll have to have this talk over dinner, and until then you will not leave my sight. Understood?"
     Damn it. No chance of sneaking off now. "Fine, I understand. But can Daxter come to dinner?"
     The redhead peeked out from behind Jak hopefully.
     "Of course he can. He can do what servants do at dinner, and serve." Both young men seemed to wilt under the decision. "Now come along, Jak. And you." He snapped his fingers at Daxter. "Get to the kitchens and find something to do."
     Jak held back a grumble as Daxter left his side with a sigh and a reluctant nod, headed for the palace kitchens. Even though he occasionally wished the redhead was more clingy, more like a normal, willing subordinate ready to please, Jak knew it would have killed him to see his friend cringe and scrape. The little guy had moxie, that was for sure. None of the other servants, let alone the real slaves, would dare turn their back on King Damas without bowing first. The concept of reverence seemed to escape Dax entirely, and for some reason he was allowed to get away with not showing it.
     "You know, Dad, he is my friend. Could you maybe, I don't know... not order him around like that?" The irritated sarcasm flowed thick as Daxter trudged out of the throne room and Damas beckoned Jak to follow as he did likewise.
     "Oh, of course. My humblest apologies." Damas snorted. "Jak, he's a slave. Their purpose is to be ordered around. I swear, where do you get these ideas... you'll be nicely asking Samos to let him go free next. Now, forget about it and get over here. We're going to consult with Commander Torn about your amazing lack of attendance at drills lately."
     Perfect. Exactly what he needed, crap from his dad and crap from Torn, the dreadlocked and perpetually scowling leader of the Spargian military troops. With a strangled groan Jak squared his shoulders and obeyed, trailing after his father. This was not going to be a pleasant affair, but at least he had dinner and seeing Daxter again to look forward to.

- // - // - // - // -

     Dinner was, as usual, a relatively simple affair. Damas, Jak, and Samos sat at a small table at the head of the large dining hall, while the officers, soldiers, and a few nobles sat at various other long, bench-lined tables around the room. Unable for once to eat and run, Jak was glad of the distraction Daxter provided.
     "Boy, another biscuit!" Samos hollered.
     Daxter obligingly handed over a honeyed biscuit from the basket he had been stationed with at the start of the meal. Jak chuckled silently; as soon as the Court Sage's back was turned, the redhead happily stuffed one of the sweet treats into his own mouth. There was a reason he wasn't normally ordered to serve at mealtimes.
     The monotony of the situation was further helped when Keira slipped into the seat beside her father. "Good evening, everyone. Sorry I'm late."
     She didn't look sorry in the least, Jak noted. She looked tired, dusty, and quite happy as she accepted a biscuit from Daxter, who had by that time singlehandedly nibbled away half the contents of the basket without anyone but Jak noticing. Keira had probably been out prowling the city without permission again, the green-blonde suspected. Samos would shit a brick if he really knew what his darling daughter got up to all day.
     Indeed, the sage began to fuss over her immediately. "Keira, sweetheart, there you are! I was beginning to get worried. And oh, goodness, what in the world is this you're wearing? You look like a common city girl!"
     Keira dusted daintily at her patched overalls and Wastelander's cloak. "Daddy, for goodness sake. It's not like I have to impress anyone. Jak doesn't care. He looks more like a commoner than me."
   Jak glanced down at his dingy tan-colored pants, dirty boots, sleeveless blue tunic, and mismatched pieces of miscellaneous armor. "What's wrong with my clothes? At least I look better than Dad does. He's like a walking armory and taxidermy display stand."
     Damas warningly cleared his throat. "What we're dressed in is not important, Samos. Our clothing is meant to withstand battle and the elements, not win fashion awards. That goes for all Spargians. Now, Jak. Since you seem to be done eating and ready to talk, I need you to pay attention and listen to me for a moment."
     "Is this that big, important thing you wanted to discuss?"
     "Yes." The king nodded solemnly, a very serious and quite noble look creeping into his eyes and across his strong features.
     Jak promptly tuned out. Instead he turned his attention to the much more interesting affair of watching the light of various candles, torches, and eco-lights shine on Daxter's red hair. Covertly he slipped the smaller boy a candied nut from his own plate, which Dax readily accepted. Apparently his dislike of the whole ‘pet’ business did not extend to refusing tasty handouts.
      "As you know, Jak," Damas began somberly, "long ago, when you were only a small child, I ruled far away in a city called Haven. Those were happy times. We were peaceful and prosperous. But then I was betrayed by my trusted companion, Praxis. He led a rebellion among the soldiers, and I was forced into exile along with those still loyal to me."
     If he admits I already know all this, why is he repeating it? Jak wondered absently. Old men could sure get to like the sound of their own important-ish voices. Unconcerned, Jak covertly stuck his tongue out at Keira, a time-honored dinner table tradition they had been practicing behind their fathers' backs since toddlerhood. Grinning, she thumbed her nose and returned the gesture across the table. Daxter hid a silent laugh in his sleeve. Damas, as usual, failed to notice.
     "It's a shame you had to be raised out here, Jak, away from our ancestral kingdom. However, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Possibly through sheer dumb luck and decent genetics, you've grown into a strapping young man. Even Torn agrees you're one of the best rookie soldiers we have. Full of unlimited potential, if you would just put forth a little effort to keep improving."
     All this drama for another lecture. Typical. Jak narrowly resisted the urge to start spinning his silverware. His eyes followed Daxter almost of their own will as his father droned on.
     "But now, my slacking son, you will have the perfect chance to prove your ability. Spargus will soon be in very grave danger. Praxis wants me defeated once and for all, the line of rightful rulers destroyed. At this very moment his army is marching across the wastelands, led by his most devious general. But I tell you, Jak, Spargus will not fall! We will turn the tables on that madman, and then—!"
     Jak wasn't really listening to what promised to become a full-on rant. His father had often been known to overreact. When Daxter stepped up beside his seat and offered a pitcher of wine, the green-blonde gladly held out his cup. It was amusing to see how hard the redhead concentrated on pouring out just the right amount for his friend from the heavy container, one eye squinted shut and tongue trapped between his teeth as he carefully tipped the pitcher.
     When he was done, not a drop spilled, Jak nodded his thanks and reached out to lightly tickle Daxter under the chin. Dax's ears went back as if he were about to swat the hand away in protest, but almost immediately he was smiling slightly and leaning into the touch with eyes falling half-lidded in pleasure. Jak had no idea why, but the little guy had always liked his chin and behind his ears scratched. It was cute as hell—almost like an animal habit of some sort.
     Jak couldn't help it, really. The redhead made him feel like no one else could, playfully amorous and carefree. He grinned and reached higher to affectionately pet Daxter's smoothly freckled cheek, using his thumb to gently wipe off a few stubborn biscuit crumbs clinging at the corner of the redhead's mouth. Dax tried to lick them off at the same time, but before Jak could chuckle at the warm tongue accidentally touching his hand—
     "Knock that off this instant!!" Damas thundered, slamming a massive fist down onto the table.
     Plates and silverware rattled alarmingly under the force of the blow. Both Jak and Daxter jumped in surprise at the outburst, Jak rocketing back to reality as the wine pitcher slipped out of the redhead's hands in his shock. Daxter scrambled to catch it, fumbling but only managing to slosh the wine over his hands and shirt. Moments later the heavy pitcher, made of molded and baked clay, hit the stone floor of the dining hall with a loud crash.
     Jak winced. Keira cringed. No way was this going to turn out well.
     Daxter's ears hung low and disheartened as the splashed wine dripped down Jak's boots. He shifted from one smudged and dusty foot to the other sheepishly, eyes downcast. What he was trying to say was perfectly clear. Sorry. It wasn’t on purpose.
     Samos glared pointedly as his favorite vintage trickled across the flagstones. "And this is why I advised that the little miscreant not be given serving duty..."
     Jak ignored the sage and turned instead to his unhappy friend. "Hey, it's okay, Dax," he said soothingly, grabbing a linen napkin from the table. "It's no big deal. We'll get this all cleaned up in no time and—"
     "Jak, what in all the hells is wrong with you?" Damas demanded on a growl. He too was glaring, but not at the spilled wine.
     "What?!" Jak demanded.
     "What? What do you mean, what? I just told you we're on the brink of being invaded, and you're off in La-La Land! Now pay attention to me, damn it, and let that boy do his job!”
     "Yeah, in a minute," Jak growled right back. Turning his back to his father he caught Daxter's hands in his own and began to help wipe off the dripping red liquid. Now Dax would be all sticky and uncomfortable; it wasn't like anyone went out of their way to make sure the slaves got to do their own laundry on a regular basis. Damn it, this was all because of Damas' stupid temper...
     Abruptly the king of Spargus surged out of his seat. "I have had just about enough of this."
     Faced with such a menacing spectacle, one that was quite possibly out to rain down correctional violence upon his relatively small person, Daxter positively quailed. Jak jumped to his feet in an instant, placing himself silently but very firmly between his father and his best friend. The accident hadn't been Daxter's fault! Even if it took a coup d'eta to prevent it, Jak wasn't going to let Damas touch a single red hair on the little guy's head. Hands clutching rather desperately at the back of his tunic as Dax hid behind him let the prince know that the effort in his defense was much appreciated.
     "This ends tonight," Damas promised darkly. He strode around the table and up to Jak until they were almost nose to nose; they would have been, had Jak been just a bit taller. A thick finger landed in the middle of the green-blonde's chest and pressed hard as the king laid it on the line. "I don't know what exactly is going on between you and this little brat, Jak, but it's going to stop. I want you to take him, fuck him, and get the hell over it already!"
     Jak froze, ears twitching upright in pure shock. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. "Uh... come again?"
     "You heard me, little mister. You can't concentrate on anything lately, and he—" he jabbed the finger at the small form still hiding behind Jak "—is the reason why. Well, I want it over with! Take tonight to get whatever this is out of your system, and get your thoughts back on what's really important around here. Like, say, the fate of our kingdom!"
     "Really?" Jak almost couldn't believe it. He couldn't be that lucky. "You won't care?   You're serious?"
     "Damn straight I'm serious." Damas pulled back to scan the table nearest theirs. "You! Come here for a moment."
     One of Torn's top officers immediately rose from the table's long bench and came to attend the king. Jak noticed that it was Sig, a huge but good-tempered man that he had admired since childhood and considered a friend of sorts. He was satisfied; Sig would be kind enough when dealing with Daxter.
     “Your highness?”
     "Take this boy up to the servants' quarters and see to it that they make him as close to presentable as possible," Damas instructed, effortlessly fishing the startled redhead out from behind Jak by the back of his ragged shirt. "A bit less like a street beggar and a bit more like the consort of a prince, if that can be managed. I'm aware they don't exactly have much to work with. Then take him up to Jak's rooms. And better make sure he doesn't get the smart idea to tiptoe out once he gets there, hmm?"
     "Yes, your highness." Sig saluted smartly, no hint of what he thought about the command showing in his voice or demeanor. He was all military business. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go." The big man took Daxter by the arm as Damas shoved the redhead forward.
     "Go on, Dax," Jak encouraged as Daxter looked beseechingly at him, the beginnings of real worry showing clearly in his blue eyes. "It'll be alright. No one's going to hurt you. I'll be up a little later, okay?"
     Daxter did not seem reassured in the slightest. He made a grab for Jak as Sig escorted him by, letting out a reluctant little whine as his fingers brushed the green-blonde's tunic but did not secure a grip. He drug his feet, but Sig was much, much stronger. The redhead was finally pulled out of the room, still looking back over his shoulder uncertainly.
     When they had gone and some semblance of order reigned once again, Keira gave Jak a stern stare from across the table. She crossed her arms over her chest disapprovingly. "You're terrible. Don't you have any shame at all?"
     "Should I have?" Jak was feeling cocky. He wanted to preen. So what if most of the dining hall had just heard him be granted a pleasure slave for the evening? The prince was used to being publicly given nice presents, and this seemed like the most awesome gift yet.
     “Uh, yeah! Didn’t you see him? He was scared to death, poor thing.”
     Jak felt the briefest twinge of uncertainty, but quickly dismissed it. Daxter would never be afraid of him. The very idea of it was just silly. “Nah, I bet he’s just nervous. He’ll calm down and be fine after a while.”
     “Uh-huh." She looked entirely unconvinced. "De-nial.”
     "While we're on the subject," Samos interjected testily, cutting off Jak's response. "This thing with the slave. It's not going to have any merit on the fact that you and Keira will be married at the winter festival next year." It was less a question than a pointed reminder.
     "No, of course not."
     Duh. He and Keira had known they were intended for each other since they had been about nine years old. The two also knew that together they would be a formidable ruling force. Unless something drastic happened between now and then the marriage would go through without a peep of protest from either friend—they just wouldn't care what sort of dalliances the other had on the side. There would be much less courtly drama in their lives that way, something both Jak and Keira were looking forward to immensely considering what their fathers put them through on a daily basis.
     The sage harrumphed, fiddling with his mismatched spectacles. "That's all well and good then, I suppose. So long as nothing so much as a finger gets laid on my baby before her wedding night! Better the slave boy taking the brunt of raging teenage hormones than—"
     "Don't be crude, Daddy." Keira cut him off with a calm napkin to the face. Jak just snickered. Samos was a well-known prude.
     Damas sighed. He looked like he had a headache coming on. “If you two are really done with dinner, you are excused. Jak, I know this is asking the impossible, but I want you to at least try and spend the remainder of the evening on something constructive. Practice your sword drills. Take a moment to think about what I said! Spargus will need your strength if we’re going to win against Praxis." He paused for a long moment, then caught his son's attention once more. "Oh, yes. And, Jak?”
     "Yeah?"
     "After tonight." The growling voice became even lower and more threatening. "One way or another, I will see to it that you will have absolutely nothing more to do with that little redhead. So make sure you take this opportunity to enjoy yourself."
     Jak offered a mock salute. Whatever the big dude in charge needed to believe. "Of course, Dad. Whatever you say. Thanks for dinner, see you tomorrow, bye!"
     "Hey, wait!" Barely bothering to nod respectfully to her father and the king, Keira was up and after Jak as he quickly made tracks out of the hall. "Jak, wait for me! I have to tell you something!"
     "Just watch yourself, Jak!" Samos yelled after their retreating figures. "And whatever you do, do not take that boy's collar off! Are you listening to me?!" There was no response to the warning. Jak and Keira had already disappeared. The sage grumbled moodily as he settled back into his chair. "Remind me again why anyone bothers to have children..."

     Damas massaged his pounding temples tiredly. "Tell me about it."

- // - // - // - // -

     "Jak, please slow down! You're not really going up there right this second, are you?"
     The green-blonde finally deigned to slow his pace so Keira could keep up without jogging. "No. I'm going to the armory for some practice, like Dad said. It'll take the servants at least 'til sundown to get Dax a change of clothes ready, anyway."
     "Well, you better practice long and hard while you're down there. The invasion threat is real, you know."
     Somehow, Jak was much more inclined to heed Keira's matter-of-fact declaration than his aging warrior-father's apoplectic ranting.   He slowed to a stop, facing her in the dark passage. "How do you know that?"
     "Simple. I keep my eyes and ears open down in the city. I was at the traders' market today—the big one they hold once every few months, where even some of the less bloodthirsty Marauders come?"

     "Yeah, I know it. It's pretty rough down there."
     "Oh, pffft. And I'm a pretty tough girl. Anyway, I got to chatting with this one guy I've never seen around here before. Very handsome, in that dark and slightly disturbed way." She polished her nails on the front of her overalls with an air of triumph. "His name was Erol. I charmed the pants off him, if I do say so myself. Apparently he's seen Praxis' army on the move, Jak. He told me they have enough manpower to raze Spargus to the ground—warned me to get out of the city if I value my life. Really nice guy, actually."
     The tactical gears in Jak's mind were already turning. He wasn't an entirely worthless future ruler, after all, despite his father's fears. "Good. If he talked to you once, odds are good he'll talk to you again. The market lasts two more days, right? Go back tomorrow and try to find him. See if he can tell you anything else. Exactly how many troops Praxis has, what kind of weapons, how many supplies, how fast they're marching; anything that will help."
     "I had already planned on it. I'm wearing that really low cut top, too."
     Jak smiled. "You know, sometimes I think I should be grateful our dads are roping us to each other for all eternity. You'll be a pretty conniving queen."
     Keira grinned right back. "Ha! Someone's got to be there to take responsibility for your stunts. Admit it, the Kingdom of Mar would be doomed without me." Satisfied with getting in the last word, Keira sauntered off. Halfway down the corridor, though, she paused and turned back. "In all seriousness, Jak. Just remember to be nice to Daxter tonight, huh?"
     Jak managed to look offended. "What? I am nice. I'm really nice! When I'm not, you know. Hunting metalheads or killing people in battle."
     "Yeah, you're nice, but you're also enthusiastic. Don't forget yourself, be too rough, and break your new toy the first time you play with it."
     "Thank you, mom. Have fun on your date tomorrow."
     With that the two went their separate ways. Jak, true to his word, made for the armory and his favorite sword. However, all thoughts of the impending invasion attempt and the battle it would bring were forcefully evicted from the forefront of his mind as he traversed the palace. He could think about the serious side of life tomorrow morning.
Nothing was going to ruin tonight for him, not if he had anything to say about it.
     Just a little longer. Just a little while longer and I can go up there and we'll—
     The tingle of anticipation was strong. Finally! At last he could shower on Daxter all the physical affection he wanted without the negative repercussions of it coming back on Dax ten times harder than they would on Jak. His long wait for just such an opportunity, the many half-formed fancies, the sometimes bitter confusion and longing he felt to make the little guy more than just a subordinate he was friendly with; it was all about to become redundant. Jak was, after all, a prince, and princes were rarely denied something that they desired.
     Now if he could only occupy those couple hours until sunset...

- // - // - // - // -

     They had barely passed the doors of the dining hall when Daxter began to struggle in earnest. He bent and twisted in Sig's strong grip as he was led deeper into the palace, dragging his feet and tugging back in the opposite direction as he was pulled along. The soldier lectured him thoroughly.
    "None'a that, now, little fella. We're going whether you like it or not, so you might as well make this easy on yourself and—ouch! Damn it all!"
     The redhead had bitten his arm. With the bigger man's hold on him loosened somewhat Daxter tried to run, but Sig caught up to him in three massive strides and had him firmly back in custody in seconds.
     "Come on, kid, I'm just doing my job!" he said almost pleadingly. "Do us both a favor and cooperate!"
     Dax went totally limp, falling to the floor at Sig's feet. The exasperated soldier was left holding the wrist of what appeared to be a completely unresponsive body.
     "Oh, like I'm honestly gonna fall for that. And I'm not gonna drag you up there, either, so it looks like we're doing this the hard way."
     In one heave Sig bent, grabbed, and hoisted the redhead over his shoulder like a sack of turnips. Given the sheer size and weight differences between them, it was no huge feat. Realizing his mistake Daxter began to thrash and kick in desperation, whining incessantly. It had no effect whatsoever on Sig, who strode onward as if he wasn't carting an extremely unwilling passenger.
     "Just hold yer horses, cherry. We'll be there in no time." Suddenly Sig's voice faltered and he broke his stride the smallest bit. "Well... I dunno if 'cherry' is gonna be the most appropriate thing to say, considering..."
     At the comment Daxter froze in evident shock, then went limp for a second time on a defeated whimper. Seemingly worn out, panting faintly, he stayed draped over his captor's broad shoulder without further protest. Oh, this sucked. It sucked so very hard.
     "I hear ya on that, kiddo." Sig was frowning now. "Ya know, I've known Jak since he was two feet tall, and I'd have never expected him to be the kind who'd do somethin' like this. It's a little disappointing, actually. Thought for sure my little chili pepper was better than forcing somebody who didn't want it."
     Aided by Daxter's apparent surrender and subsequent placid behavior, soon they had arrived at their destination of the servants' wing. This time, however, rather than trying to get away from Sig, the redhead refused to let go when the big man tried to deposit him once more on the floor. He hung on the big soldier's arm, staring up at him pleadingly.
     "Come on, now... don't look at me like that." Sig patted his head awkwardly. "I really do feel for you, little guy, but it's not my place to help you out. I'd be shackled in the Arena first thing tomorrow morning if I let you go, and even if I did you'd never get outside the palace grounds without getting caught."
     Daxter sighed forlornly. It seemed he knew that well enough by now. He sagged under Sig's huge hand ruffling his hair.
     "Cheer up, cherry. Like I said, the more you cooperate the better this will probably go for you. Let's just..." Sig stepped past his meek charge to knock authoritatively at the door to the head servant's room. When he turned back, however, the redhead was gone. "What the—?!"
     Daxter was flying back up the corridor at a dead sprint, running as if his virtue was at stake. Which, coincidentally, it was.
     "Hey! Get the hell back here!"
     Snarling under his breath at the unfairness of it all—this had so not been on the contract when he had signed on—Sig charged after the fleeing slave, beginning what was to become a thirty minute chase. Only when Daxter had been caught for the second time that evening and delivered, with instructions, into the hands of three of the more able-bodied servants did Sig pause to lean against the stone wall, panting heavily. That little sucker was fast!
     "Don't... don't you hurt him, now," he ordered wisely as the thrashing, growling redhead was manhandled in the direction of the washrooms. "Prince Jak will be mighty pissed if you rough his little pal." A few of the hired help from around the mostly-hostile outlying desert weren't exactly patience or sympathy incarnate. The threat of royal ire hanging over them would probably go a lot farther to ensuring Daxter's well being than anything Sig could say to them.
     "Oww! Shit, boss, I think he just gave me a black eye!"
     "Hold his arms better, then! Damn it, I said hold him!"

     "Don't worry about it, he'll get his back if he tries to fight the prince this way. Maybe the gods have a sense of humor and Jak will forget the lube, huh boys?"
     Sig winced at the raucous laughter, then at the howl of pain as Daxter managed to land an infuriated kick right where it counted. The soldier had serious doubts about leaving the redhead alone with those guys. However, there wasn't much more he could do. He had already carried out his orders; he could only hope the servants would carry out theirs without any undue cruelty. With an uncomfortable half shrug, Sig turned away from the struggle and began the walk back to whatever might be left of his interrupted dinner.
     "Good luck, cherry. I hope you don't need it."

- // - // - // - // -

To be continued...

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(2nd)AN: Ahh... that first finished work of the summer. Now, I know that was a little different, but I hope you enjoyed it a little anyway.

Up on the list of things to work on: the final installment of the Fun & Games/Hush saga, and then the next chapter of this fic—wherein we find out just what Daxter's fate will be.   Is Jak really going to be such a jerk?! Find out next time!

And now, something special, just 'cause Sione asked so nicely. Outtakes!

- - - - -

Jak: Hey, Dax! Wanna climb up and have a nap with me?

Dax: (nods eagerly)

Jak: No, wait a second, I better come down there. Sex in a tree could get awkward.

Dax: (balks, then sniffles) //That's all you want me for, isn't it...?//

- - - - -

Jak: Good luck with that... you're pretty old.

Damas: Not too old to chase you down with this belt, brat!

Jak: (backs up and trips over Daxter) Whoa!

Damas: (pounces) *smack smack smack smack!!* Victory!!

- - - - -

Damas: Sig! Get over here a moment.

Sig: Yes your highness? (salutes)

Damas: I want you to... is that a chicken wing in your hand?

Sig: Uh, he-heh... (tosses the wing)

Torn: Oww! Dear God, my eye~!! Who threw that?!

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All That Glitters