(Fic) Final Betrayal Chapter Eight: Part 2 of 3
Title: Final Betrayal
Author: AstroKender
Pairings: nearly gen, but with somewhat irrefutable hints of Luffy/Zoro visa-versa. Other pairings hinted at and/or mentioned.
Warnings: Rated T for swearing, violence, blood, and angst. Contains Spoilers. Additional warnings for me just making shit up, like future crewmembers, fighting abilities and whatnot.
Spoilers: Current manga chapters, crew and Luffy’s relations. Do not read if you care about spoilers and are not up to date.
Notes: Wow, this chapter’s word count nearly hit the 10K mark! I had to post it in three parts. Enjoy!
Final Betrayal - Chapter 8
~mourning~
Sunset came too quickly and with it the somber reminder of current events. The sky was dark with heavy clouds that threatened to pour down on them at any moment. The horizon to the west was lit by the flicker of lightning rather than the soft glow of sunset. Tension was thick in the air. It was as if the emotions of the nine who stood upon the north beach had cast a pall over the island, cloaking everything in darkness.
The Straw Hats stood, facing the rising tide, in a semi-circle around a battered oak chest that sat open before them. Each held a smoking torch that cast a dull ring of illumination over the box’s treasures: the sole possessions of the swordsman, Roronoa Zoro.
It was odd that the man known as the greatest swordsman in the world would own so very few things. It told of the simplicity of which he had lived his life; living only for the present, looking ever to the future, leaving nothing behind but his name.
Leaving the rest of the crew struggling with their grief, without even a body consign to the sea.
They had agreed a week ago to hold this ceremony once they hit land. It was a way for them all to come to terms with Zoro’s death and a chance to make peace. Afterwards, they could move on, cracked but not broken. After this, they hoped, the pain would diminish.
Luffy stood front and center, his head bare and an achingly familiar black cloth tied around his left arm. His eyes were dark as he turned and scanned the others, meeting each of their gazes in turn. After the defeat of the four marine flagships, the captain had secluded himself from the others, showing himself only at mealtimes. Whatever realizations he came to that day had shook him greatly. He’d changed in a million small ways, leading the others to wonder if he would ever return to the Monkey D. Luffy they once knew.
Wordlessly, Luffy turned away from the others and walked up to the chest. Without hesitating, he reached in and picked up the glowing white katana: Wadou Ichimoji. He slid the sheath through one of the belt loops of his shorts, his eyes daring anyone to refute his claim to Zoro’s most prized possession. As if any of them would. Turning, he gave one last look to the crate of his swordsman’s belongings before walking back towards the others.
Everyone stood in awkward, pained silence, unsure as to what to say or do. Finally, Luffy’s hand raised up and he shoved Nami gently forward. The navigator stared back at him, stricken, and then reluctantly nodded her head. She walked to the chest on shaky legs that gave way once she reached her goal.
Nami knelt next in front of Zoro’s things and bit her lip. Her hands trembled as she shifted through the assorted items, trying to find the one thing that seemed all right for her to take. She couldn’t imagine Zoro actually wanting her to touch anything of his, let alone give to her. She blackmailed him and he cursed at her; such was their relationship. But he had been one of her dearest friends, and there was no way Nami could just walk away without carrying a piece of him with her.
In the end she chose two objects. The first was a money pouch, tinkling gently with Zoro’s hidden stash of beli. The small amount of cash didn’t come near to what the redhead said he owed her, but Nami figured she could take this and call it even.
The second object was a worn and faded shirt with a gaudy swirl design and two missing buttons. It was the shirt Zoro had stolen from one of Arlong’s men. It was the shirt he bled on as he fought with the others to free her and her village. Nami clutched the blue shirt to her chest as her vision blurred. She sat there until Usopp came up and helped her to her feet.
Usopp remained behind as Nami rejoined the others, his face long with sadness. It only took a moment’s deliberation before he lifted up a long black object. Yubashiri’s hilt and sheath remained in perfect conditions, even long after the blade had been broken and rusted away. The katana felt at once awkward and familiar in Usopp’s hands and his mind cast back to the day that he was forced to act as an extension to the blade. It had been terrifying at the time, but Usopp had later felt proud at being named as one of Zoro’s swords. Hana Arashi lifted up his brother blade and slipped it into his sash, copying Luffy’s earlier move. His chin tilted up proudly, Usopp swiveled around and returned to his place in line.
Sanji hesitated a moment, raising his hand to light a cigarette and then quickly deciding against it. He stepped forward in three long strides and stared into the chest with an inscrutable expression. After a long moment of contemplation, he snatched up an object with such severity it was as if it’d been stolen from him.
It was a wine bottle. The bottle that Sanji had given to Zoro after the swordsman had defeated Hawk-Eyes Mihawk. It was an excellent year, the finest wine in Sanji’s stock. It lay back in his possession now, heavy and unopened. Zoro had never even gotten the chance to drink it. His face twisting up into something between anger and grief, Sanji stepped away and melted back into the group.
Chopper was the next one to go and waded through the sand on his tiny legs as tears flowed uninterrupted down his furry face. Unable to see into the chest in his current form, the reindeer turned humanoid and reached his large hand carefully into the chest. Following Nami’s lead, Chopper picked out two items. His hand pulled back, closed delicately around one of Zoro’s white shirts. It still smelled of the swordsman and Chopper found himself inhaling the scent deeply. The shirt was wrapped around the first aid kit that Chopper had made especially for Zoro (since he would hardly let the doctor treat his more serious wounds, let alone the little nicks and scrapes the he’d somehow get on a daily basis). While the swordsman had huffed and hawed at the time, Chopper knew he had appreciated it.
With Zoro gone, it seemed as if Chopper hardly had a job on the ship now. With that thought he let out a hiccupping sob and shrunk back down to his original size.
Robin took a moment to comfort him before stepping up to take her turn. Zoro had kept a surprising collection of books in Sunny Go’s library; they ranged from books on swordsmanship to military histories and battle tactics to mediation and self-hypnosis. But, the book Robin had always found the most interesting to be in the swordsman’s possession was a battered paperback of fiction. The book was short -barely a hundred pages- and told the story of a man’s fight to stand out among men; to love whom he chose and live how he willed. Even though it was forbidden, even though it meant certain death, the man carried the courage to stand out and seek his own destiny. Robin had often wondered if the swordsman had drawn any parallels between that man and himself, or had he held him up as an example of what to strife for. This book was Robin’s reminder that Zoro was a more complicated man than he had seemed, and she could think of no other of his possessions that spoke so clearly to her.
Franky swaggered up and then stopped, scratching his head. His relationship with the swordsman was one of mutual respect and casual camaraderie; he hadn’t the foggiest clue of what to take from this chest of personal objects. But if this was how Strawhat wished it to be, then who was Franky to balk? Spying something familiar in the chest, the cyborg latched on to it like a lifeline.
Late one night, when Zoro had relieved Franky from his watch and the cyborg wasn’t yet ready for sleep, the two had put their heads together for modifications on the lookout tower. The gym elements of the room had pleased Zoro, but it wasn’t really up to the swordsman’s training needs. They had talked long into the night; as Franky sketched up plans for extended platforms, open airways and heavier equipment.
Unfortunately Nami had forbidden them from filling the crow’s nest with any more testosterone than it already possessed, and the plans were scrapped. It made Franky’s throat tighten to see that Zoro had kept the diagrams all this time regardless.
Brook stepped forward and his skeletal hand lingered over the famous meitou Shuusuui: the sword that returned his shadow to him and freed him to walk in the sun once more. He couldn’t help but feel nostalgia for the blade. But in the end, he couldn’t take it. A sword was such a personal possession; Brook didn’t feel he truly carried a claim to one of Zoro’s katana. In the end, he chose the varnished oak box that contained a whetstone, sword oil, and various other materials for maintaining a priceless blade. His own cane sword had suffered neglect due to laziness and his pursuits of other interests. Brook held the box to his chest and vowed that this would no longer be the case.
Kidd hesitated the longest, not knowing the swordsman very well and still feeling somewhat responsible for his death. He opened his mouth to protest, but a warning look from Luffy stopped him and sent him skittering forward. He stared into the chest uncertainly, unsure what to grab and too afraid to break the almost sacred silence to ask. Finally, the boy chose a small hand weight; the one that Zoro had teasingly offered him when he had motioned to the swordsman that he also wished to become strong. Everyone had gotten a good laugh out of it. Kidd had been angry at the time, but now saw the incident of Zoro’s way of including him into the group. He stepped away from the chest clutching the tiny weight and praying that his mom would somehow find the swordsman and make his transition into the afterlife more comfortable.
When everyone had retrieved their mementos and stood together once more, Luffy began to speak. The flames of the torches fluttered and flickered, alternatively highlighting and shadowing his features that tilted blankly upwards. His voice was low and hoarse but steady, as he delivered a eulogy to the roiling sky.
“Zoro, you were our rock. Everyone leaned against you,” Luffy’s head lowered a fraction. “Especially me. You sheltered us without coddling us. You stood strong and sturdy against everything that came our way. You never hesitated. You always gave it your all.”
A chorus of sobs broke in, from Nami and Chopper, and Usopp and Kidd. Luffy continued, his hands clenching tightly at his sides.
“You were the greatest swordsman: the best in all the world. But you weren’t just that. You were also a great warrior, a great pirate, a great friend….”
Tears were flooding down Franky’s face and it seemed as if Brook was holding back through supreme effort alone. Standing between them, Sanji bit his lip until it bled, his hand clenching around his torch in a white-knuckled grip.
“You were always there for us.” Luffy’s voice had gotten quieter, losing momentum as his shoulders began to tremble. “And now you’re not. And-and I don’t know how to deal with that.”
Luffy stopped speaking altogether, his hand coming up to his forehead to tug at his hair as he fought desperately for control.
“Luffy…” Robin watched him with sorrowful eyes, her heart aching for him.
“But I’m not going to give up!” he shouted out suddenly, declaring the words like a battle cry. He held his left hand aloft, his ring glinting in the torchlight. “We made a promise; a promise on our claim to the legendary One Piece. And I’m going to keep that promise, even if you’re not by my side,” his voice cracked. “You wouldn’t expect anything less. You always expected more than what we thought we could give… and you were always right.”
The tears Luffy had been holding back began pouring down his face. His hand clenched and lowered to his chest, resting against the abused muscle called his heart. Swallowing, he took a deep breath and made to finish his speech before grief made him unable to speak. His eyes held an angry glint as they rose to the heavens once more.
“Damn you for leaving me like this. I won’t forgive you. Someday I’ll find you and punch you straight in the face! And afterwards, maybe we could go adventuring together again…somewhere in that great, unexplored place where you must be.”
Luffy fell silent. Brook took this as his cue and raised his violin. Resting his chin on the stringed instrument, he played. The melody was haunting --heartbreaking-- but it carried with it an undercurrent of strength and triumph that put the listener immediately in mind of their fallen friend. Brook had worked on this piece of music for an entire month, in secret, and now finally Zoro’s Farewell was lifted into the winds and carried across the sea, to mix with the flashes of lightning in a spectacular accompaniment.
The music reached its crescendo as memories of Zoro flooded their minds. Chopper wailed into the wind. Sanji lowered his head, letting his curtain of hair cover his dampening face. Robin closed her eyes, letting the violin speak for what was in her heart. Standing together, struggling not to fall apart, the Straw Hat’s mourned.
The sounds wrought by Brook’s violin faded and Luffy stepped forward once more. Closing the lid on the chest, he lifted it and placed it on a raft set at the water’s edge. Kicking out with his foot, Luffy sent the raft with Zoro’s belongings out with the current. Jarred by the waves, the chest slowly drifted out to sea.
“Usopp,” he called out wearily.
Usopp handed his torch over to Franky and pulled Kabuto off his back. He shoved the point of the slingshot deep into the sand and used his uninjured arm to pull it back. A firebird star was loaded inside the thong, prepared to consign the swordsman’s possessions to ash. Usopp took careful aim, but his vision kept wavering as tears clouded it. He stared for a long time at his target, his arm shaking. Suddenly, he released the weapon’s tension and let its ammo fall harmlessly onto the sand.
“I can’t do it!” he choked, before brushing past the others and running full-tilt into the crashing surf.
Usopp waded out until his feet could no longer touch the bottom. From there he swam towards the chest floating on its lonely raft. Panting and crying and choking on the sweeping waves, the sniper grabbed for it and tugged it back to shore.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, on land again, collapsing to his knees. “I just can’t. This is all we have left of him. I just can’t give it up.” His hand reached out to clutch at the chest protectively.
Luffy stared long at the sniper, and inscrutable expression on his face.
“Luffy?” Brook asked quietly, his voice uncertain.
“It’s fine,” he said finally. “Take it back to the ship.”
Turning away, Luffy dowsed his torch in the wet sand and walked off into the darkness.
~kinship~
It was a bloody sunset that tinted the waters of the Grand Line, before gradually giving way to the blue-black of night. Gossamer clouds wafted across a gibbous moon, painting the ship in shades of grey. It was a cool night: downright chilly, if one thought about it. But, far from complaining, this fact gave the crew of the Red Hair Pirates hope that they’d soon reach their destination. A glance at the charts said they’d reach Drum Island by morning. Until then they worked a dog’s watch while the ship crashed through breaking waves at full sail.
Ben sat by the prowl, enjoying his evening cigarette and brooding on the young swordsman lying unconscious below deck. The wind blew sharply here, deafening all else but it’s steady hiss. The cold was biting against his ears and cheeks, and the sea spray lay on him like a layer of frost, but nowhere else was there a better place to be alone with one’s thoughts.
“You should be abed by now,” a soft voice chided from behind.
Apparently, tonight, nowhere was sacred, Ben mused to himself before turning his eyes from the opaque waters below. Shanks’s normally bright presence was washed out by the moonlight. His eyes still glowed strongly though; no amount of darkness could quench that light. Ben’s eyes lingered on them as he chewed thoughtfully on the butt of his smoke.
“The same could be said for others,” he said at last. “Up late drinking again, Captain?”
Shanks stepped up to the other, lending some body heat against the frigid wind. “Oh no you don’t,” he huffed crossly. “No delving into my demons when yours are so clearly occupying your mind.” Those bright eyes seemed to bore right through Ben. “Well? A beli for your thoughts?”
Ben raked his nails idly across the wooden pulpit, his smooth brow furrowed. It was some moments before he opened his mouth to speak. “Why do you think it was Roronoa up on that stand, instead of our boy Luffy?”
“Hmm…” Shanks hummed neutrally as he stared up at the moon. “Hard to say.”
“Was he playing the martyr, you think?”
“Could be. Could be deeper than can be explained.”
“Luffy certainly thinks the world of him.”
“Aye.” Shanks frowned up at the sky. “Don’t know if I’d peg the swordsman for a martyr but people, being people, are infinitely unpredictable. Only the man himself can tell us for sure.”
Ben flicked the cherry-red ash of his cigarette downwind. “Then we may never get the answer.” His eyes flicked to his captain. “I fear we’re running a losing race against the clock.”
He felt Shanks heavy gaze as the other regarded him. “You’ve got a lot invested in this lad,” the redhead said at length.
Ben shrugged noncommittally, refusing to meet the other’s eyes. “Maybe.”
“And why is that, I wonder?”
“I don’t know, Shanks. I don’t know what it is.” Ben spoke quietly, his voice barely heard over the wind. “We’ve never spoken --hell I’ve never even seen him conscious-- but I feel some sort of kinship when I look at him. I get the feeling we’re alike in some way.”
Shanks’s face scrunched up comically as he pondered. “Well, you’re both First Mates.”
“I thought his official title was Swordsman.”
“Bah.” The redhead tsked irritably. “You saw Luffy back when Roronoa was off fighting Mihawk. You heard how he spoke of the lad. You saw his eyes.”
“Aye….”
They were both silent for a moment. The sea looked like a dark surface of jagged glass. The moon hid behind a cloudbank and the wind seemed to pick up, piercing through their clothing with bitter bites. Ben watched Shanks shrug closer into his heavy cape. After the battle with Aokiji, the redhead hadn’t had much of a taste for the cold. Ben felt bad for keeping him out here.
With some effort, he shrugged off his somber musings and turned away from the bowsprit, indicating his readiness to move on to warmer surroundings. He pinched out his cigarette and gave the other man a smirk that bordered on rakish.
“And of course, the other similarity is the fact that both the lad and I have to constantly deal with exasperating, foolhardy, stone-headed captains with no real concept of self-preservation. Though,” he said in an aside. “To judge by this one’s scars, he’s got a good deal of that last fault as well.”
Shanks began to snigger but stopped abruptly. “Handsome, stone-headed captains. You forgot handsome!” Shanks pouted as he maneuvered his First down the deck and towards the cabins.
Ben smirked. “No I didn’t.”
“Knave! I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”
A snort. “No you haven’t.”
Shanks laughed heartedly in response.
The frantic slap of boots across the wood planks interrupted the two’s moment of mirth. “Beckman! Beckman!” the figure suddenly rounded into view. “Boss, Sir!”
Ben regarded the newcomer, the smile gone from his face as if it were never there. “What is it?”
The younger man had his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. “It’s Roronoa…”
One look at his subordinate’s face showed that the news wasn’t good. Ben frowned. Seeing this, the man paled.
“Y-you said to let you know if anything changed, sir.”
Ben’s face seemed to age in front of Shanks’s eyes. “Thank you, Rockstar. Go on back, now. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Go on without me,” he told the redhead as he altered his course towards the sickbay. Shanks ignored him and kept pace.
“Looks like neither of us is getting any sleep tonight,” he sighed.
“You’re coming?” Ben couldn’t mask his surprise. Shanks hadn’t looked in on the young man even once since they set sail.
“Aye, if this truly is the end for the World’s Greatest Swordsman…” Shanks’s eyes were dark. “As an emperor, it’s only proper to bear witness to the death of the King’s knight.”
On to Part 3!
Back to part 1.
Author: AstroKender
Pairings: nearly gen, but with somewhat irrefutable hints of Luffy/Zoro visa-versa. Other pairings hinted at and/or mentioned.
Warnings: Rated T for swearing, violence, blood, and angst. Contains Spoilers. Additional warnings for me just making shit up, like future crewmembers, fighting abilities and whatnot.
Spoilers: Current manga chapters, crew and Luffy’s relations. Do not read if you care about spoilers and are not up to date.
Notes: Wow, this chapter’s word count nearly hit the 10K mark! I had to post it in three parts. Enjoy!
Final Betrayal - Chapter 8
~mourning~
Sunset came too quickly and with it the somber reminder of current events. The sky was dark with heavy clouds that threatened to pour down on them at any moment. The horizon to the west was lit by the flicker of lightning rather than the soft glow of sunset. Tension was thick in the air. It was as if the emotions of the nine who stood upon the north beach had cast a pall over the island, cloaking everything in darkness.
The Straw Hats stood, facing the rising tide, in a semi-circle around a battered oak chest that sat open before them. Each held a smoking torch that cast a dull ring of illumination over the box’s treasures: the sole possessions of the swordsman, Roronoa Zoro.
It was odd that the man known as the greatest swordsman in the world would own so very few things. It told of the simplicity of which he had lived his life; living only for the present, looking ever to the future, leaving nothing behind but his name.
Leaving the rest of the crew struggling with their grief, without even a body consign to the sea.
They had agreed a week ago to hold this ceremony once they hit land. It was a way for them all to come to terms with Zoro’s death and a chance to make peace. Afterwards, they could move on, cracked but not broken. After this, they hoped, the pain would diminish.
Luffy stood front and center, his head bare and an achingly familiar black cloth tied around his left arm. His eyes were dark as he turned and scanned the others, meeting each of their gazes in turn. After the defeat of the four marine flagships, the captain had secluded himself from the others, showing himself only at mealtimes. Whatever realizations he came to that day had shook him greatly. He’d changed in a million small ways, leading the others to wonder if he would ever return to the Monkey D. Luffy they once knew.
Wordlessly, Luffy turned away from the others and walked up to the chest. Without hesitating, he reached in and picked up the glowing white katana: Wadou Ichimoji. He slid the sheath through one of the belt loops of his shorts, his eyes daring anyone to refute his claim to Zoro’s most prized possession. As if any of them would. Turning, he gave one last look to the crate of his swordsman’s belongings before walking back towards the others.
Everyone stood in awkward, pained silence, unsure as to what to say or do. Finally, Luffy’s hand raised up and he shoved Nami gently forward. The navigator stared back at him, stricken, and then reluctantly nodded her head. She walked to the chest on shaky legs that gave way once she reached her goal.
Nami knelt next in front of Zoro’s things and bit her lip. Her hands trembled as she shifted through the assorted items, trying to find the one thing that seemed all right for her to take. She couldn’t imagine Zoro actually wanting her to touch anything of his, let alone give to her. She blackmailed him and he cursed at her; such was their relationship. But he had been one of her dearest friends, and there was no way Nami could just walk away without carrying a piece of him with her.
In the end she chose two objects. The first was a money pouch, tinkling gently with Zoro’s hidden stash of beli. The small amount of cash didn’t come near to what the redhead said he owed her, but Nami figured she could take this and call it even.
The second object was a worn and faded shirt with a gaudy swirl design and two missing buttons. It was the shirt Zoro had stolen from one of Arlong’s men. It was the shirt he bled on as he fought with the others to free her and her village. Nami clutched the blue shirt to her chest as her vision blurred. She sat there until Usopp came up and helped her to her feet.
Usopp remained behind as Nami rejoined the others, his face long with sadness. It only took a moment’s deliberation before he lifted up a long black object. Yubashiri’s hilt and sheath remained in perfect conditions, even long after the blade had been broken and rusted away. The katana felt at once awkward and familiar in Usopp’s hands and his mind cast back to the day that he was forced to act as an extension to the blade. It had been terrifying at the time, but Usopp had later felt proud at being named as one of Zoro’s swords. Hana Arashi lifted up his brother blade and slipped it into his sash, copying Luffy’s earlier move. His chin tilted up proudly, Usopp swiveled around and returned to his place in line.
Sanji hesitated a moment, raising his hand to light a cigarette and then quickly deciding against it. He stepped forward in three long strides and stared into the chest with an inscrutable expression. After a long moment of contemplation, he snatched up an object with such severity it was as if it’d been stolen from him.
It was a wine bottle. The bottle that Sanji had given to Zoro after the swordsman had defeated Hawk-Eyes Mihawk. It was an excellent year, the finest wine in Sanji’s stock. It lay back in his possession now, heavy and unopened. Zoro had never even gotten the chance to drink it. His face twisting up into something between anger and grief, Sanji stepped away and melted back into the group.
Chopper was the next one to go and waded through the sand on his tiny legs as tears flowed uninterrupted down his furry face. Unable to see into the chest in his current form, the reindeer turned humanoid and reached his large hand carefully into the chest. Following Nami’s lead, Chopper picked out two items. His hand pulled back, closed delicately around one of Zoro’s white shirts. It still smelled of the swordsman and Chopper found himself inhaling the scent deeply. The shirt was wrapped around the first aid kit that Chopper had made especially for Zoro (since he would hardly let the doctor treat his more serious wounds, let alone the little nicks and scrapes the he’d somehow get on a daily basis). While the swordsman had huffed and hawed at the time, Chopper knew he had appreciated it.
With Zoro gone, it seemed as if Chopper hardly had a job on the ship now. With that thought he let out a hiccupping sob and shrunk back down to his original size.
Robin took a moment to comfort him before stepping up to take her turn. Zoro had kept a surprising collection of books in Sunny Go’s library; they ranged from books on swordsmanship to military histories and battle tactics to mediation and self-hypnosis. But, the book Robin had always found the most interesting to be in the swordsman’s possession was a battered paperback of fiction. The book was short -barely a hundred pages- and told the story of a man’s fight to stand out among men; to love whom he chose and live how he willed. Even though it was forbidden, even though it meant certain death, the man carried the courage to stand out and seek his own destiny. Robin had often wondered if the swordsman had drawn any parallels between that man and himself, or had he held him up as an example of what to strife for. This book was Robin’s reminder that Zoro was a more complicated man than he had seemed, and she could think of no other of his possessions that spoke so clearly to her.
Franky swaggered up and then stopped, scratching his head. His relationship with the swordsman was one of mutual respect and casual camaraderie; he hadn’t the foggiest clue of what to take from this chest of personal objects. But if this was how Strawhat wished it to be, then who was Franky to balk? Spying something familiar in the chest, the cyborg latched on to it like a lifeline.
Late one night, when Zoro had relieved Franky from his watch and the cyborg wasn’t yet ready for sleep, the two had put their heads together for modifications on the lookout tower. The gym elements of the room had pleased Zoro, but it wasn’t really up to the swordsman’s training needs. They had talked long into the night; as Franky sketched up plans for extended platforms, open airways and heavier equipment.
Unfortunately Nami had forbidden them from filling the crow’s nest with any more testosterone than it already possessed, and the plans were scrapped. It made Franky’s throat tighten to see that Zoro had kept the diagrams all this time regardless.
Brook stepped forward and his skeletal hand lingered over the famous meitou Shuusuui: the sword that returned his shadow to him and freed him to walk in the sun once more. He couldn’t help but feel nostalgia for the blade. But in the end, he couldn’t take it. A sword was such a personal possession; Brook didn’t feel he truly carried a claim to one of Zoro’s katana. In the end, he chose the varnished oak box that contained a whetstone, sword oil, and various other materials for maintaining a priceless blade. His own cane sword had suffered neglect due to laziness and his pursuits of other interests. Brook held the box to his chest and vowed that this would no longer be the case.
Kidd hesitated the longest, not knowing the swordsman very well and still feeling somewhat responsible for his death. He opened his mouth to protest, but a warning look from Luffy stopped him and sent him skittering forward. He stared into the chest uncertainly, unsure what to grab and too afraid to break the almost sacred silence to ask. Finally, the boy chose a small hand weight; the one that Zoro had teasingly offered him when he had motioned to the swordsman that he also wished to become strong. Everyone had gotten a good laugh out of it. Kidd had been angry at the time, but now saw the incident of Zoro’s way of including him into the group. He stepped away from the chest clutching the tiny weight and praying that his mom would somehow find the swordsman and make his transition into the afterlife more comfortable.
When everyone had retrieved their mementos and stood together once more, Luffy began to speak. The flames of the torches fluttered and flickered, alternatively highlighting and shadowing his features that tilted blankly upwards. His voice was low and hoarse but steady, as he delivered a eulogy to the roiling sky.
“Zoro, you were our rock. Everyone leaned against you,” Luffy’s head lowered a fraction. “Especially me. You sheltered us without coddling us. You stood strong and sturdy against everything that came our way. You never hesitated. You always gave it your all.”
A chorus of sobs broke in, from Nami and Chopper, and Usopp and Kidd. Luffy continued, his hands clenching tightly at his sides.
“You were the greatest swordsman: the best in all the world. But you weren’t just that. You were also a great warrior, a great pirate, a great friend….”
Tears were flooding down Franky’s face and it seemed as if Brook was holding back through supreme effort alone. Standing between them, Sanji bit his lip until it bled, his hand clenching around his torch in a white-knuckled grip.
“You were always there for us.” Luffy’s voice had gotten quieter, losing momentum as his shoulders began to tremble. “And now you’re not. And-and I don’t know how to deal with that.”
Luffy stopped speaking altogether, his hand coming up to his forehead to tug at his hair as he fought desperately for control.
“Luffy…” Robin watched him with sorrowful eyes, her heart aching for him.
“But I’m not going to give up!” he shouted out suddenly, declaring the words like a battle cry. He held his left hand aloft, his ring glinting in the torchlight. “We made a promise; a promise on our claim to the legendary One Piece. And I’m going to keep that promise, even if you’re not by my side,” his voice cracked. “You wouldn’t expect anything less. You always expected more than what we thought we could give… and you were always right.”
The tears Luffy had been holding back began pouring down his face. His hand clenched and lowered to his chest, resting against the abused muscle called his heart. Swallowing, he took a deep breath and made to finish his speech before grief made him unable to speak. His eyes held an angry glint as they rose to the heavens once more.
“Damn you for leaving me like this. I won’t forgive you. Someday I’ll find you and punch you straight in the face! And afterwards, maybe we could go adventuring together again…somewhere in that great, unexplored place where you must be.”
Luffy fell silent. Brook took this as his cue and raised his violin. Resting his chin on the stringed instrument, he played. The melody was haunting --heartbreaking-- but it carried with it an undercurrent of strength and triumph that put the listener immediately in mind of their fallen friend. Brook had worked on this piece of music for an entire month, in secret, and now finally Zoro’s Farewell was lifted into the winds and carried across the sea, to mix with the flashes of lightning in a spectacular accompaniment.
The music reached its crescendo as memories of Zoro flooded their minds. Chopper wailed into the wind. Sanji lowered his head, letting his curtain of hair cover his dampening face. Robin closed her eyes, letting the violin speak for what was in her heart. Standing together, struggling not to fall apart, the Straw Hat’s mourned.
The sounds wrought by Brook’s violin faded and Luffy stepped forward once more. Closing the lid on the chest, he lifted it and placed it on a raft set at the water’s edge. Kicking out with his foot, Luffy sent the raft with Zoro’s belongings out with the current. Jarred by the waves, the chest slowly drifted out to sea.
“Usopp,” he called out wearily.
Usopp handed his torch over to Franky and pulled Kabuto off his back. He shoved the point of the slingshot deep into the sand and used his uninjured arm to pull it back. A firebird star was loaded inside the thong, prepared to consign the swordsman’s possessions to ash. Usopp took careful aim, but his vision kept wavering as tears clouded it. He stared for a long time at his target, his arm shaking. Suddenly, he released the weapon’s tension and let its ammo fall harmlessly onto the sand.
“I can’t do it!” he choked, before brushing past the others and running full-tilt into the crashing surf.
Usopp waded out until his feet could no longer touch the bottom. From there he swam towards the chest floating on its lonely raft. Panting and crying and choking on the sweeping waves, the sniper grabbed for it and tugged it back to shore.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, on land again, collapsing to his knees. “I just can’t. This is all we have left of him. I just can’t give it up.” His hand reached out to clutch at the chest protectively.
Luffy stared long at the sniper, and inscrutable expression on his face.
“Luffy?” Brook asked quietly, his voice uncertain.
“It’s fine,” he said finally. “Take it back to the ship.”
Turning away, Luffy dowsed his torch in the wet sand and walked off into the darkness.
~kinship~
It was a bloody sunset that tinted the waters of the Grand Line, before gradually giving way to the blue-black of night. Gossamer clouds wafted across a gibbous moon, painting the ship in shades of grey. It was a cool night: downright chilly, if one thought about it. But, far from complaining, this fact gave the crew of the Red Hair Pirates hope that they’d soon reach their destination. A glance at the charts said they’d reach Drum Island by morning. Until then they worked a dog’s watch while the ship crashed through breaking waves at full sail.
Ben sat by the prowl, enjoying his evening cigarette and brooding on the young swordsman lying unconscious below deck. The wind blew sharply here, deafening all else but it’s steady hiss. The cold was biting against his ears and cheeks, and the sea spray lay on him like a layer of frost, but nowhere else was there a better place to be alone with one’s thoughts.
“You should be abed by now,” a soft voice chided from behind.
Apparently, tonight, nowhere was sacred, Ben mused to himself before turning his eyes from the opaque waters below. Shanks’s normally bright presence was washed out by the moonlight. His eyes still glowed strongly though; no amount of darkness could quench that light. Ben’s eyes lingered on them as he chewed thoughtfully on the butt of his smoke.
“The same could be said for others,” he said at last. “Up late drinking again, Captain?”
Shanks stepped up to the other, lending some body heat against the frigid wind. “Oh no you don’t,” he huffed crossly. “No delving into my demons when yours are so clearly occupying your mind.” Those bright eyes seemed to bore right through Ben. “Well? A beli for your thoughts?”
Ben raked his nails idly across the wooden pulpit, his smooth brow furrowed. It was some moments before he opened his mouth to speak. “Why do you think it was Roronoa up on that stand, instead of our boy Luffy?”
“Hmm…” Shanks hummed neutrally as he stared up at the moon. “Hard to say.”
“Was he playing the martyr, you think?”
“Could be. Could be deeper than can be explained.”
“Luffy certainly thinks the world of him.”
“Aye.” Shanks frowned up at the sky. “Don’t know if I’d peg the swordsman for a martyr but people, being people, are infinitely unpredictable. Only the man himself can tell us for sure.”
Ben flicked the cherry-red ash of his cigarette downwind. “Then we may never get the answer.” His eyes flicked to his captain. “I fear we’re running a losing race against the clock.”
He felt Shanks heavy gaze as the other regarded him. “You’ve got a lot invested in this lad,” the redhead said at length.
Ben shrugged noncommittally, refusing to meet the other’s eyes. “Maybe.”
“And why is that, I wonder?”
“I don’t know, Shanks. I don’t know what it is.” Ben spoke quietly, his voice barely heard over the wind. “We’ve never spoken --hell I’ve never even seen him conscious-- but I feel some sort of kinship when I look at him. I get the feeling we’re alike in some way.”
Shanks’s face scrunched up comically as he pondered. “Well, you’re both First Mates.”
“I thought his official title was Swordsman.”
“Bah.” The redhead tsked irritably. “You saw Luffy back when Roronoa was off fighting Mihawk. You heard how he spoke of the lad. You saw his eyes.”
“Aye….”
They were both silent for a moment. The sea looked like a dark surface of jagged glass. The moon hid behind a cloudbank and the wind seemed to pick up, piercing through their clothing with bitter bites. Ben watched Shanks shrug closer into his heavy cape. After the battle with Aokiji, the redhead hadn’t had much of a taste for the cold. Ben felt bad for keeping him out here.
With some effort, he shrugged off his somber musings and turned away from the bowsprit, indicating his readiness to move on to warmer surroundings. He pinched out his cigarette and gave the other man a smirk that bordered on rakish.
“And of course, the other similarity is the fact that both the lad and I have to constantly deal with exasperating, foolhardy, stone-headed captains with no real concept of self-preservation. Though,” he said in an aside. “To judge by this one’s scars, he’s got a good deal of that last fault as well.”
Shanks began to snigger but stopped abruptly. “Handsome, stone-headed captains. You forgot handsome!” Shanks pouted as he maneuvered his First down the deck and towards the cabins.
Ben smirked. “No I didn’t.”
“Knave! I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”
A snort. “No you haven’t.”
Shanks laughed heartedly in response.
The frantic slap of boots across the wood planks interrupted the two’s moment of mirth. “Beckman! Beckman!” the figure suddenly rounded into view. “Boss, Sir!”
Ben regarded the newcomer, the smile gone from his face as if it were never there. “What is it?”
The younger man had his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. “It’s Roronoa…”
One look at his subordinate’s face showed that the news wasn’t good. Ben frowned. Seeing this, the man paled.
“Y-you said to let you know if anything changed, sir.”
Ben’s face seemed to age in front of Shanks’s eyes. “Thank you, Rockstar. Go on back, now. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Go on without me,” he told the redhead as he altered his course towards the sickbay. Shanks ignored him and kept pace.
“Looks like neither of us is getting any sleep tonight,” he sighed.
“You’re coming?” Ben couldn’t mask his surprise. Shanks hadn’t looked in on the young man even once since they set sail.
“Aye, if this truly is the end for the World’s Greatest Swordsman…” Shanks’s eyes were dark. “As an emperor, it’s only proper to bear witness to the death of the King’s knight.”
On to Part 3!
Back to part 1.