Chapter Text
The Lost City of Argos, said to be founded by the legendary Argonauts that assisted the Greek hero Jason on his quest for the golden fleece. Damian thought it was bull.
His mother insisted otherwise.
“Your grandfather spent many years searching for this city, my love,” She’d tell him. “Scholars once wrote about a great power it held- he intended for us to be its keepers.”
Well, of course his long-dead grandfather would think such things; he had built a League of Assassins and led them as the Head of the Demon, after all. He probably believed a great many other things Damian cared even less about. What really bothered him was his mother’s belief in it. Damian was bothered a great deal that his mother put so much importance in a man he’d never met. It had always been the two of them, for as long as Damian could remember; but for just as long, his mother would speak of his grandfather, of how proud he would be of Damian, of how perfect Damian was to succeed him.
It rankled, to be raised in the shadow of a man he didn’t even know.
But Damian was, as ever, his mother’s son. So they would occasionally fly out all over the world, searching for this fabled city, and Damian would do as he was told. Sometimes he led expeditions into jungles or sandy ruins; sometimes he sat with old, respected members of communities in some of the most remote places he’d ever heard of and tried to understand the stories they told; sometimes he just killed. Whatever his mother told him to do, Damian did, because he knew that she loved him, as much as he loved her, and everything she did was for the greater good. Even if it hurt. Even if it was difficult. How much had his mother suffered and sacrificed for the sake of what was right? Damian could do it, too. He had to.
There were men that would destroy this world in their greed, and it was his and his mother’s work that stopped them. Even if it meant replacing evil with death. Even if it meant casting aside humanity to become a demon. It was his pride to be her son.
It was the reason Damian found himself far across the sands of Egypt, working from a settlement that his grandfather had apparently founded long ago. They’d recently acquired the services of an American academic, who his mother claimed had an expertise in archaeology; one that could help them finally crack the code when it came to the multitude of ancient texts and documentation that were said to contain the location of the fabled lost city. Dr. Lana Lang was in possession of a document that she refused to sell; claimed it was her father’s life’s work, and she could not be parted with it.
Since his mother hated brute force, she’d offered the American a job instead.
“Dr. Lang,” Damian called, lifting the tent flap.
“Damian! Come in, please,” The woman ushered, and Damian ducked in at her admittance. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”
“It’s good to see you in such high spirits,” Damian noted. “I’ve seen such weather bring warriors low.” It was a blisteringly hot day; with the sun reflecting off the sands without a cloud in the sky. Even Damian was sweating, and he was in his usual gear- a pair of white dimiye and a sleeveless, long-necked shirt, made of a highly breathable material specially designed for the heat -save for the rich, green mantle his mother had once gifted to him, as proof of his lineage.
Dr. Lang was certainly feeling the desert heat, the back of her short, white safari jumpsuit soaked, but she still smiled winningly at him. Damian was quite fond of her; he hadn’t known blonde western women could have such curly hair before he’d met her. He often dropped by to see if she needed anything, or just for the pleasure of her company. Unlike the highly trained men and women he often oversaw, the doctor treated him as an older women would a young man, with an air of greater authority beget by life experience. It was, while misplaced, also somewhat refreshing, and so Damian liked talking to her.
It helped him get some use out of his English, too.
“I’ve got some great news,” Dr. Lang gushed. “I’ve managed to figure out some locations; somewhere between the Amazon basin and modern-day Brazil. I doubt it’s the actual location, but-! It’s the first time I’ve ever known a place!” She seemed so overwhelmed, Damian allowed her to grasp his forearms tightly in her excitement. “I can’t believe this, Damian! All my father’s work, his legacy; I never imagined I’d ever-” Her eyes were wet; Damian took both her hands off his arms and squeezed her fingers.
“I’m happy for you, Dr. Lang; truly.” His sincerity seemed to remind her of something, and she sniffed, wiping under her eyes and calming herself.
“Oh, this really is all thanks to your mother, you know. Never would have imagined I’d get such an opportunity otherwise,” She sighed. “Anyway, Damian, I did have something to ask you. The mail. Has it come yet?”
Damian blinked at the sudden change of topic, but shook his head. “Afraid not, Dr. Lang. Were you expecting something?” It couldn’t be to do with work, could it? Dr. Lang knew that she only had to ask, and Damian would have any equipment she needed readied immediately. Then again, maybe she had arranged for something with one of his officers and he just hadn’t been informed yet?
Dr. Lang waved off his worries soon enough, patting at her cheeks as she calmed further, breathing deeply.
“No, no, nothing like that; I just wanted to know if I had any letters.”
“Letters?”
“I’ve been keeping contact with a friend from my hometown. He worries,” She explained, turning towards her desk, covered in papers. “Ever since my father passed, he feels like he owes it to him to check up on me.” She sighed, but she was smiling. “It’s sweet and all, and he’s a good friend, but a woman can handle herself, you know?”
Damian nodded smartly. “I do.”
Dr. Lang smiled, genuinely. “Of course you do. You know, I think the boys back home could learn a thing or two from you, Damian.”
Damian allowed himself some pride at that acknowledgement. He was, after all, not only his mother’s beloved son, but her most trusted ally. “It should arrive sometime today. Shall I ask for you?”
“I’d appreciate it. Thank you, Damian.”
He bowed slightly. “Of course.” She pat his shoulder as Damian turned to leave, and he exited the tent in a much better mood than when he had entered. Work always did distract from one’s ruminations.
Damian strode out to the lookout men just beyond the perimeter of their encampment. They were leaning casually against some of the ruins, chatting, but straightened up as he approached. He raised a hand, waving off the formalities. “Has the mail carrier arrived?” He asked them.
“No, sir. Not yet. Shall we notify you when he does?” One offered.
“Please do,” He confirmed, and let them be. When he popped his head in to tell Dr. Lang the news, she was absorbed in her work, and only offered a hum of disappointment in response, so he left her to it.
The rest of Damian’s day was spent mostly covering for his mother’s duties; she was seeing to something of the upmost importance, and would not be disturbed until nightfall. Damian wondered at what it was, but she would surely tell him soon enough, so instead he focused on arranging for space for their awaited deliveries, dealing with problems, and generally trying to run a desert outpost with no easy access to resources as efficiently as possible. By the time the sun was setting, the only thing left for Damian to worry about was the fact the mail hadn’t arrived yet. One day late wasn’t exactly their biggest concern, but it was something to make note of, given their precarious location.
His mother disliked having to discipline their men, but it was sometimes an unavoidable necessity. Damian could do it, in his mother’s steed, but she didn’t like him to; for some reason, she would prefer he lead with respect rather than fear. To Damian it made no difference, but he was loath to disappoint her in any way, so he arranged to have the mail carrier dressed down by one of his higher-ranking men if he appeared without suitable excuse. As night fell, and whatever his mother’s business was loomed closer, Damian found himself becoming more and more alert. Waiting. Rarely did she keep secrets from him. Rarer still did he like them.
Often, his mother acted out of a misguided concern for him. Much as he loved her, that aggravated him; though she was the reason for his life’s blood, sometimes she treated him more like a child than a young man. Even though she had raised him herself, taught him everything he knew, and assured him of his excellence, still she insisted upon the fact that in the end, she was his mother, and ‘mother knows best’. This felt like those times, only… more. Something was different about it, and he couldn’t exactly name what it was, but he knew he disliked it.
Damian was coming to understand himself as a man who desired to know, above all else.
So he stalked around the tent he’d been living in for the past few weeks, ‘brooding’, as his mother often put it, and wondered what she was up to now. This search for the City of Argos was one they had undergone numerous times, but never before had his mother seen fit to hide anything about it from him. Was it even related? It had to be, didn’t it? It was a trial to get even mail out here, why would she bother with something that wasn’t absolutely necessary? This little surprise of hers was going to change the very nature of their current expedition, and for that reason, Damian was incredibly apprehensive.
Damian was abruptly snapped from his thoughts by a shout, then another, and then a clamour; he swept out of the tent, and was immediately met by the most ridiculous sight.
A single, unknown man, strangely dressed, physically swinging one of his men right over his head with one arm, as if he weighed nothing. As he was bodily flung through the air, another advanced from behind with a sword, and Damian watched as the blade physically broke over the man’s shoulders, and he only turned to look in recognition. Damian was so startled he took a physical step back in recoil, but the meaty thud of a body landing snapped him to action. He had seen things, done things, that would make grown men weep, and yet the sight of a man who looked barely older than he was, throwing his men around like rag dolls, was what stalled him.
Damian drew his sword and strode forward, barking out orders in Arabic; “Fall back! All of you!” They did so, looking to him for further instruction, and, as expected, the intruder followed suit, eyes narrowed.
He was white, about Damian’s own age, and looked extraordinarily out-of-place in the desert, with denim jeans and an oddly-designed zip-up jumper. His black hair and blue eyes also made his features quite striking, Damian’s artistic eye could admit. “Who are you?” He asked, in English. “Why are you attacking my people?”
The other stood at a loose ready, but answered; “They attacked me. I’m here to see someone.”
Damian, slowly, lowered the tip of his sword. He could still, in moments, theoretically slice this man open, for all the good it would do him, but to one who didn’t know swordsmanship, it gave the appearance of disengagement. And this man fought bare-handed. “Who?”
“Lana Lang.”
Damian paused, and wondered again after the mail. “Give me a name,” Damian finally decided. “I will ask if she’ll see you.”
At this, the man looked resolute. “I need to see her,” He stressed.
“Then I will tell her that,” Damian said, patiently. “But as she is my guest, I’ll be asking her first.”
At this, the young man paused, hesitated, before finally replying; “Super… boy. From Metropolis,” He added the last part hastily, making Damian clearly aware that ‘superboy’ would not be immediately familiar to the woman.
Damian nodded. “Very well. I shall inform her, if you’ll wait here.” Superboy nodded, straightening warily, eyeing his men. “Excuse me,” Damian said to him, before turning. One of his men stepped up immediately. “Hold him here,” He told him, in Arabic. “No one is to engage.” The man nodded. Damian went to find Dr. Lang.
She had been told already, it seemed, since he saw met her barrelling out of her tent. “You have a Superboy of Metropolis here to see you,” Damian informed her.
She was panting, nodding to him as she caught her breath. “Yes, yes, where is he?” Damian dipped his head and turned, leading the way back quickly, eager to find out the meaning of all this.
Damian heard the commotion before he saw it, and was immediately peeved that his orders hadn’t been heeded, but stopped short when he saw what exactly it was.
“Mother?” There she stood, right next to the Superboy, who was suddenly on his knees, curled inward. Beside her stood a man; taller, older, and had every one of their men bowing in deference.
His mother looked to him, her face warm with happiness. “My love, come here. Meet your grandfather.”