THE FIRST DAUGHTER
PROLOGUE
DISCLAIMER: Eiichiro Oda owns the canon. I own this plot, and the characters that –aren't– canon. So there.
Midnight.
Nothing is heard but the gentle rush of the ocean, it waves lapping up against the rocky sides of a cliff. A lone, cavernous castle looms on top, hidden by the thick foliage of the nearby trees. The lights have all been put out, but under the light of the full moon, lighting isn't really necessary.
A lone figure sits by the balcony of a particularly tall tower. Stray strands of hair dance gaily in the sea breeze, completely oblivious to the heavy, depressing atmosphere. Why should it? 'Tis the cruel nature of things: The real world moves on, even if you think yours has stopped. Even if you think yours has crumbled.
Even if you think yours has turned into dust, swallowed by nothingness.
"Halcyonné."
Steps echo in the night, adding to the chorus of rustling leaves and whistling winds. A tall, cloaked man steps forward, his face half hidden in shadow. Long, dark hair streams down his head, his shoulders, his back. The figure sitting on the balcony ledge does not move, makes no indication that it heard its name being called. For that figure, there was only silence. Deafening, unending silence… to never again be broken by the sound of his voice… his laughter…
Monkey D. Dragon knew this.
He steps forward, joining the other figure by the balcony, though not going as far as sitting on the railings. Instead he stands behind the figure, silent, unmoving. No words are needed from him. It isn't his voice that needs to be heard, much less his words. Only one person can break the silence, and unfortunately that person isn't here. The best Dragon can do is wait, in silence, and mourn in it, too. And listen.
An owl hoots morosely from a nearby tree.
"I can't leave, you know." The figure finally says with a voice tight and hoarse with emotion. "It wouldn't be right."
"How so?" Dragon replies quietly, his deep knowledgeable eyes searching into half of the other person's face—the half that was exposed in brilliant moonlight. "Granted, you are not exactly replaceable—no one is. But then again, we will cope, and it's not like you're going away forever." He tilts his head ever so slightly. "The Rebellion is selfish, but not so much as to hold you back from the important things in your life."
The silence is broken, but by a humorless snort. A smirk graces Dragon's lips—after all, any reaction is better than no reaction at all.
"What about you, Dragon?" the figure asks. "Your son. You gave up your life with him for this. Compared to that, my problem is trivial. Insignificant, even. It's not important."
"But it is," the leader replies patiently. "I cannot deny that the Rebellion is selfish. Its needs must be met. But I also know my son will benefit from this. And I haven't exactly abandoned him, either. Leaving Luffy with Garp was the best thing for him. Had I brought him here with me, to build him up for a war he does not fully understand… that would be as good as sending him to battle with no bullets, no gun." He looks away, again, to that same direction where East Blue lies. "It would be nice, if he fought with the same ideals that the Rebellion has. But it would be better, if he completely understood them, and fought for them." He turns back to the figure now. "Your situation, however, is different."
"How so?" The figure asks, the tone teasing, playful, playing Dragon's words back to him. "We both had the same event: an abandonment situation in our lives, which marked the turning point of everything. They happened for the same reason: the abandoners left for the greater benefit of the abandonee. The only difference is that you were the abandoner, while I was the abandonee. "
The ghost of a smile tugs on Dragon's lips. "But Luffy is alive." He says simply, and in that moment, he knew that was all it takes for the figure to realize just how different their situations were. He continues on, however, to fully drive the point home. "If Luffy died—which I am thankful he didn't, and hope that he won't anytime soon—I'd take a leave of absence. Immediately." He stared intently at the figure. "It would be the right thing to do. I'd be paying my respects—as so would you, if you left."
"No," the figure replied immediately, the tone of a stubborn kid inflicted in its words. "He'd roll in his grave, or probably rise from it, to scold me for not doing my job." She smiled a little. "I didn't go with him for it, after all."
"But you are doing it." Dragon insisted now, a smirk gracing his strong features. "In any case, you'd get to see him again, wouldn't you?"
Soft, low chuckles flowed from their lips, before settling down to silence once more. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves, but this time they were gentler. As if the atmosphere of mourning finally kicked in, and was paying its own respects to the scene of mourning that they were in. The wind treaded carefully, as noiselessly as it would, through the trees, through the sea, stirring up objects as gently as its wild nature could allow.
Moonlight filtered through gaps in the clouds, putting a natural spotlight on the earlier, shadowed figure, who sat hunched over on the balcony. It sat straighter and looked up, a contemplative look in its eyes. The hood on its head falling back to reveal long, pale blue tresses, blue-grey eyes, and skin the color of moonlight—and not just because the real thing was shining on her. Her body was thin—more than what was the norm. In fact, she looked anorexic—only the healthy, pink glow on her cheeks said otherwise.
"You are doing your job. You will be, even if you go there." Dragon insisted, looking at her clouded, doubtful eyes. The young woman turned to look at her leader now, for confirmation of this fact. "It's your job as his child to be there for him, isn't it? As much as it is your job as a lieutenant to stay with the Rebellion. But this is one of the few cases that your duty as a child to your father comes first." A short chuckle. "So savor it. You don't get many chances."
Blue-grey eyes shone with unshed tears, and the young woman Dragon called Halcyonné gave a watery smile. She looked up at the moon again, as if looking to it for answers. A rough, familiar voice echoed in her head, filling her with words from a past that seemed so long ago. 'You know I'll always be here, waiting.' 'After a long, quiet moment, she spoke up.
"Two years." She whispered, more to herself than to her leader. She turned to him now, a new, determined light in her eyes. "I'll visit him… in two years. It sounds rude, but he can wait. He said so anyways." She said indignantly, smiling a little. "I'll finish my assignment first. Then I'll visit him." The small smile bloomed into a smirk. "At least then, I'd have something to brag to him about—if he does come out of his grave."
The older man before her snorted derisively. "Suit yourself." He said, shaking his head. He turned back towards the balcony, and Halcyonné turned to leap down from it to the rocky depths below. Dragon shook his head again, sighing in exasperation.
"Show off." He muttered under his breath, but smiled all the same.
Author's Note:
I'm sorry that it's so short, I promise the next chapter will be longer. Trying to lengthen something that's not MEANT to be ruins it, after all. Plus, this is just the tiny prologue; I'll put in the good stuff for later. And stuff. :)
RnR please, thanks—may they be good or bad. Thanks in advance! :)
phoeniqx