A/N: Before we set out on the next leg of our voyage, I present and interlude... of a sort. *Bows*
Zoro cradled the paper in his hands, choosing each fold as precisely as he did every arc of his sword. Art, crafts, neither had been a strong point of his, but he knew subtlety and finesse in swordplay, and thus he knew form. He bent the sheet gently before making each crease.
If he weren't utterly absorbed and dedicated to his task, the night might have triggered a wave of nostalgia. Alone on an open, uncaring ocean, where even the moon couldn't be relied upon because of the clouds, in the hands of fate.
Adrift, though not aimless.
His vessel was just a step above dinghy, not suitable for a trip of any duration in the New World. His only companions were Wado, Sandai Kitetsu and Shusui at his hip. A lesser man would have been terrified, even more so with the anomaly of the night- things were quiet.
Zoro had never been a superstitious man. Things either were, or weren't. He paid the atmosphere of the evening no mind.
A droplet in the water caught his ear.
"Shit."
The wound on his shoulder began bleeding again. No surprise. The overbearing little monster that treated him wasn't around anymore.
Zoro had already folded Chopper's lantern.
The blood didn't bother him. What had congealed over the injury had cracked and a new black streak trickled down his arm, though. He couldn't start over if the paper got bloody- he didn't have any spares.
He craned his neck back and held the paper over his head. The slight discomfort of the position paid off, because the blood ran back up to his shoulder and dripped into the ocean, and he could work unhampered.
The wind shifted, and brought the smell of battle with it. Zoro refused to rush through anything. He saw no need, since the others had escaped. (At his insistence, to the shock of the crew, or those that were nearby. The witch had screamed the whole time getting off the island, cussing him out with every variation of the word 'coward' that existed, and a few that probably didn't. The dartbrow, for once, had made himself useful and helped coax Nami away.) He'd taken the small craft off the ship, though not the Sunny. Franky wouldn't have been caught dea…
Franky wouldn't have settled for such simple design, or sacrificed form for function, let alone allowed anything that could feasibly be seaworthy to exist without some sort of artillery.
The candles and paper were just gifts of fate.
Zoro practiced self-discipline to a fault. His emotions did not dictate his actions, and certainly didn't influence his concentration in a fight. His grief, when it came, was a private matter. He shouldered its weight quietly.
Now, for his nakama, he didn't even have time for that streamlined a process. Hence, the lanterns. He didn't have all the materials for a formal, textbook Toro Nagashi, not even the bamboo that would let them float.
That didn't matter. Zoro didn't plan on staying in the boat for too long.
His keen senses picked up movement in the dark, still a distance off. He traced a finger along the final fold. Satisfied after one last, scrutinizing glance of his eye, he rifled through his pocket for the lighter he'd stolen from Sanji. The cook probably lay passed out with a blue streak of curses falling out of his mouth.
That thought still didn't make Zoro's task any less weighty.
He knelt in the small boat. He lit one candle before setting it square in the center of the first lantern.
The faint buzz of a shout, probably someone reporting the sight of light on the dark ocean, reached his ears. He ignored it.
A dirge would have been perfect for the moment. Had Brook ever played them a single melancholy melody? Zoro could only remember uplifting, vigorous songs tinged with romance, even when Brook took it upon himself to wake the ship in the mornings. In those moments, they came off as more obnoxious than anything. An odd thing to remember, he thought, given how his fellow swordsman had fallen. Fitting, though, that Brook's 'voice' had been musical to his last breath.
He lit the musician's wick after Franky's.
"Roronoa Zoro!" Someone's voice, projected through a Den Den Mushi, called out. "We have our cannons trained on your vessel! You have sixty seconds to make your intentions known, after which time we will open fire!"
The marine said something else. Their terms for surrender, the fate of the Thousand Sunny (he knew already, even if he didn't witness it), things that didn't matter anymore. The swordsman observed the currents for the first time. The ocean, treacherous and deadly as it could be, seemed mercifully gentle. Provided they weren't disturbed, the lights would illuminate the night for a while.
He drew his gaze back to the three glowing lanterns, each of them flickering in turn.
As in life, they were waiting for their captain.
One sharp, green eye focused intensely on the candle for Luffy. Zoro didn't have any calligraphy tools on hand for any symbols or parting message.
Zoro didn't have anything to say. His Captain knew. They all did.
He flicked the lighter one last time.
"Fire!"
Zoro stood still, standing vigil over the four soft flames, wordlessly paying his respects before they set out on their final voyage.
Wado flew from its sheath and the first volley of cannon fire met with a flying blade that tore through them and sliced into the offending warship's hull. Waves rocked and metal groaned and shrieked as metric tons of water rushed upward to fill the vacuum, inciting outcries of panic.
Zoro closed his eye, grimacing and fighting to hold steady.
Even that much, such a minor retort, had reopened his wounds.
He could sense the other ships in the fleet coming- when they'd fled, he knew they hadn't really escaped. Only bought time with a few tricks.
Luffy never named Zoro his First Mate. Then again, it had never been necessary. And a First Mate's duty was to preserve the Captain's will.
Luffy's will, unspoken, yet true, was that their nakama live to see their dreams fulfilled.
So, he'd waited after they survived long enough, got far enough for the other two to accept rest before he set out alone for his ultimate mission. Zoro didn't have much to offer up. He had trained relentlessly, driven first by a promise, then two, and yet again renewed his drive when two somehow, somewhere during the journey, merged into one purpose. He carved and shaped his every part into an edge, sharpened even his smile into a weapon fit for cutting things down. He guarded and preserved a small, blunt sort of softness only for his nakama.
For them, Zoro would discard that softness.
The swordsman let his arm fall, struggling to meet Wado's blade with his eye. A lump formed in his throat, parched from the fighting and fresh blood leaking into his sleeves.
"Kuina."
A shudder of flustered, indignation-fueled rage and disappointment ran up his arm. The clouds parted just so, and Wado gleamed in the moonlight.
"Right."
He'd almost apologized. Almost permitted doubt. He should, she told him, be remembering his promises.
"The world may not think much of me now, but my name is gonna shake the world!"
He slid Wado back into its white sheath, assured it would fly as beautifully as it ever had.
Zoro touched each hilt in turn. Kitetsu, resonating with the swordsman's own soul, sang for blood, for retribution and vengeance, things Zoro would never be consumed by, yet which he… respected.
And Shusui, his heaviest blade, sat on his hip with all the same warrior spirit Zoro had felt when he first crossed paths with it. Nonetheless, its weight somehow felt more comforting than he could recall it ever being, despite the severity of his wounds.
Even if he didn't get to fight for the title he coveted again, he would carve a mark that left no room for doubt. People would speak the names Mihawk and Zoro in the same breath. More than that, he'd protect and do right by his proudest, most significant title- the unofficial First Mate of the Straw Hat pirates.
Zoro turned a steely glare onto the approaching fleet. He took his black bandana off his arm and tied it tight over his head.
'No one will ever look down on my Captain, or my nakama, for any failing in me.'
He dove into the ocean, slicing through the water and submerging.
Zoro was no stranger to being adrift.
But he had never been aimless.