Chapter Text
Lo’ak is fourteen years old, watching Neteyam die on that forsaken rock. Blood drenches his hands. He hears the wailing shriek of his mother as her firstborn son chokes on his last breath before succumbing to his injury.
‘I want to go home.’
Lo’ak is the reason he will not be able to.
Jake stands still on the sand, small waves lapping over his feet, arms crossed anxiously as he watches Lo’ak and the rest of the young hunters wade back up through the waters, hauling their catch for the day.
“It appears as though they’ve been successful,” Tonowari remarks mildly from where he stands next to Jake, eyeing the group as they finally reach the shore. They’re all sporting massive grins, giddy with adrenaline and pride, slapping each other's shoulders and hooting and hollering like all teenage boys do.
All of them except for Lo’ak, that is.
He smiles tightly at his father as his feet finally hit the warm, coarse sand, net dragging behind him. He doesn’t look Jake in the eye, and when Jake follows his gaze Lo’ak deliberately looks back to the rest of the group. ‘He’s probably still nervous from the responsibility,’ Jake thinks, so he clasps a warm, broad hand over his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly before letting him go.
“How’d the hunt go?” Tonowari asks, shifting Pril higher up onto his hip. By the look on the group’s faces he already knows the answer.
“It was very successful, sir,” Ao’nung answers confidently, breathless with delight, “there will be plenty for tonight.”
Jake knows it's true just from looking at the nets they’re hauling, nearly bursting at the seams with enough fish to feed the entire festival twice over, and then some.
“And the waters?” Tonowari presses, pulling his son’s attention away from his little sister. She huffs unhappily as Ao’nung stops pulling faces at her, but quickly resettles when her father starts to absentmindedly scratch behind her ear.
“They were a bit choppy,” Ao’nung concedes, eyes flicking to Lo’ak, “but nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Jake finally allows himself to relax, smiling faintly as Tonowari ruffles his son’s hair and walks over to instruct the rest of the group on what to do next.
He follows, but tunes him out, turning his attention back to his own son. Lo’ak is standing with the other Metkayina boys. Well, he says boys, but they’re really all young men, now. Lo’ak himself is 19, and he isn’t even the oldest in the group.
Regardless, Jake had decided that his second-born son had finally mellowed out enough to accept some real responsibility. Which was why when Tonowari had approached, asking if he would be willing to lead a hunt, Jake had gladly offered Lo’ak in his place.
“Would you not like to consult Lo’ak first?” the Olo’eyktan had asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I trust in his competence, but I do not want him to feel uncomfortable.”
“No, he’ll be fine,” Jake had replied. “Trust me, it will do Lo’ak some good. The kid needs to get out more. He seems to have some sort of confidence issues lately, or something. I want him to see he can do it.”
Tonowari had nodded slowly, fixing Jake with one of his unreadable expressions. Then he had simply said, “I will need him ready by sunrise.”
Jake had nodded, and that was the end of that.
Lo’ak hadn’t wanted to, of course. Jake suspected he wouldn’t. He had meekly asked if he had to, over dinner that night, and Jake stared at him, unyielding.
“Yes, Lo’ak. You’re not a child anymore, and you’re the eldest son.” Jake tried not to think too hard about that part, feeling bad as Neytiri looked back down at her plate. “You need to take on some real responsibility.”
And Lo’ak had immediately conceded, nodding obediently as he always seemed to do these days. Jake shoved another spoonful into his mouth, the loud crunching only amplifying the sudden awkwardness of the room.
Jake had known the hunt would be successful. Lo’ak wasn’t the reckless, impulsive teenager he used to be. Still, he had expected to feel more elated at the sight of his son returning from his first hunt as a leader.
Now, Jake looks at his son, still dripping water, shoulders slack with exhaustion, and feels almost angry.
It should have been Neteyam.
The thought surfaces, bitter and cloying, grief bubbling up his throat. It should have been his firstborn son leading the hunting party, splashing around and slinging harmless jabs back and forth with the others. But he didn’t get that chance, and he never would.
All because of-
Jake cuts that thought off. It’s not true, he reminds himself. You can’t blame Lo’ak anymore.
Still, the thought sits there, curdling in his chest, insidious and acidic. And when Lo’ak returns to his side after the briefing, all Jake can do is offer him a small nod of recognition and tell him to take a quick break before walking back to the village to continue setting up the festival.