Here we go!

As I promised, back on time (luckily^^'), as you probably noted, we slowly start to connect some things (unfortunatly rather by questions than by answers). In case something confuses you, don't be shy to ask, I will explain (or tell you why I won't ;-P)

One way or another, I hope you'll enjoy the upcomming chapters, I know I will ;-)


Chapter 21 – Pillow Talk

-Mihawk-

After a few hours of restful sleep, he woke up.

With a quiet smile, he stretched and got up. Rarely had he felt so recovered after a brief nap.

The short stay on Sasaki had been quite revealing. If one ignored the small confrontation with his former nanny even quite successful. He could be really happy with the recent events. Roronoa developed magnificently, Jiroushin had managed to be promoted and his dream came true.

Mihawk was a little worried that his future conversations with his childhood friend would cover only baby food and diapers, but he was more than willing to pay that price.

He sighed again, through the small window at the head of the bead he could see the already enlightened night sky; the morning could not be far away and accordingly Kuraigana could not be far away either.

So, it was time to check on his stubborn student.

But when he arrived upstairs, he found Roronoa laying deeply asleep in the middle of the deck, his long hair spread around him like a lake. Shaking his head, Mihawk wanted to wake him up, but then he noticed it.

Roronoa did not sleep, at least not like usually. Normally the young man slept on his back, either legs and arms stretched into different directions and silently muttering nonsense or quietly like a dead man, not moving at all.

But now he was just lying on the side, one arm strangely buried under his body, the other limply hanging over the middle of the body. He had not even taken off his shoes. As girl, he would have to freeze in these clothes and without a blanket, but the younger one did not seem to mind.

Slowly he realized it, Roronoa did not sleep, he had lost consciousness.

He bent down and gently slapped both cheeks, but nothing happened. Once or twice he called the other, but he did not expect a reaction and was therefore not surprised that the other did not respond.

"What happened to you?" He finally whispered, lifting the child up like a doll.

Roronoa did not move, laying lifelessly in his arms.

With careful movement, he carried the other under deck and laid him on the still warm bed. Attentively, he placed Roronoa in a lateral position and made sure that the other could breathe well before covering him with a blanket.

Then he crouched on the edge of the bed and ruffled his hair. Despite the concern, Mihawk knew he could not do anything. Since Roronoa was not asleep but unconscious, Mihawk would not be able to wake him up. He could smash his skull and the other would not react.

But Roronoa's heart beat stable and he was breathing steadily. Only his skin seemed worryingly cool. How long had the other been laying outside unconscious? But the more important question was why the other had fainted in the first place. Physically, he seemed to be fine and nothing had happened during the past few days that would explain a sudden fainting.

Although Mihawk knew better, he shook the other slightly.

"Tze, what in heaven's name have you done? Wake up, Roronoa."

But of course the other did not listen to him, probably as a matter of principle.

A short time later, they had finally reached Kuraigana.

Roronoa was still not conscious, so Mihawk wrapped him in a blanket and lifted him up.

On his way to the castle, no one met him, not that he expected somebody. It seemed to be an unusually good day, because the otherwise dense fog was enlightened by the morning sun, illuminating the otherwise so gloomy landscape.

The child in his arms was as light as a feather – almost lighter than the bag of clothes he had also thrown over his shoulder – and still did not move when Mihawk entered the castle.

"Zoro, Hawk Eyes? Are you back?" Perona called out almost immediately after the gate had fallen close behind him.

"I told you to call me Dracule," he replied dismissive as the young woman appeared on the other side of the anteroom. She had braided her hair into two wild braids and her pale pink dress was littered with ruffles.

"What happened?" Her round, colorfully painted eyes lay on the child in his arms. "Is he injured? Have you been attacked?"

Disapprovingly, he clicked his tongue.

"Of course not. Do you really think I would allow Roronoa to get injured by an attack?"

She looked at him with big eyes, but said nothing, and only a moment later did he realize what he had just said. He shook his head and rushed through the room.

"Stop this nonsense, ghost girl. As Roronoa and I have told you several times, these newspaper articles contain little more than a spark of truth." He walked past her. "I will bring Roronoa to bed. Please prepare tea and I would welcome some of your apple pie."

"And again, I'm not your maid."

He walked on and she followed him.

"But Hawk Eyes?"

"Dracule, it is not that difficult to pronounce."

"So, you admit at least that there is a spark of truth?"

Surprised, he stopped and stared at her. Perona, on the other hand, had an almost nasty grin on her lips and nodded knowingly as she twisted one of her braids around her fingers.

"I'll make some tea."

Shaking his head, he also turned around and moved on. It was pointless to discuss with her, she was worth neither his time nor his words.

Arriving in his student's room, he placed Roronoa on his bed. Then he looked for a chair and waited.

It reminded him of how he had kept guard at Roronoa's bed side for the first time, when he had not known yet who this fragile girl with the long green hair was; back when he had still thought that Roronoa had died once and for all.

After a while, the ghost girl showed up with tea and joined him.

"Shouldn't we call a doctor?" She asked, handing him a plate with pie.

Thankfully, he accepted.

"No, a doctor would take too long one way or another. No reason to be anxious. Physically, he is perfectly healthy, he might have caught a chill, but otherwise he is fine."

"He's unconscious," she said sarcastically, "doesn't look fine to me."

"He will wake up soon."

For a moment, she looked at him.

"Do you know that or do you just want to calm me down?"

He answered her gaze without any problems and made her look away.

"Stop it," she murmured.

"I am not doing anything," he smiled.

In consensual silence, they waited together and ate their pie.

After a while, however, the girl became restless. She got up and started pacing through the room, the clicking of her heels echoing from the stone walls and her braids swaying in rhythm. He, on the other hand, had taken the newspaper from the tea tray and was now reading it attentively.

"Could you please pursue an occupation that is less disruptive?"

She exhaled unnerved and sat down again, not that her rocking leg was much better, but at least it was quieter.

Sighing, he flipped another page, but he could not prevent from watching Perona out of the corner of his eyes frazzling one of her ruffles.

"It really makes no difference if you spend the meantime with something meaningful or not. Roronoa will not wake up faster just because you circle his bed like a mother hen."

Looking up from the printed words, he noted her folding her arms and staring at him.

"How can you be so calm?" She asked a note too loud. "Zoro is a stubborn idiot for all I care and maybe he can take a beating, but in that body he's weak. You weren't here the first few days; he collapsed every few hours when he had overdone it. But he has never been unconscious for as long as he is now."

Few ghosts escaped her body, she seemed truly disturbed.

"Maybe you're right, maybe he's fine. But what if… what if he needs help and we just sit around stupidly, waiting while he dies?"

Again, he sighed and folded the newspaper.

"Believe me when I say that this is highly unlikely. But even if this unlikely case were to occur, we could not change it. If Roronoa really needs urgent help, he is already lost, because neither you nor I can provide him with sufficient medical care in such a case and no doctor could come in time."

Horrified, she stared at him.

"Are you not even worried, not even a tiny little bit," she whispered, "or why can you stay so calm?"

Shaking his head, he got up, the ghosts rushed away and disappeared into nothingness.

"Just because you observe a situation with logic does not mean you do not worry," he said, looking down at her. It was incomprehensible to him why Roronoa had convinced him that she should stay.

This annoying girl with pink cotton candy hair and a penchant for cuddly toys and sweet stuffs had always been a nuisance for him. During training, she had often watched and had made unwanted comments. At meals or evenings together, she often created an inappropriate tension that never existed when he and Roronoa were among themselves.

Even her cooking skills had been rather a bother at the beginning, so that he had often stood in the kitchen himself – Roronoa was not allowed near the stove after he had almost blown it up one time.

He disliked her, from her loud voice to her ridiculous ghost tricks. Roronoa seemed to get along with her and she even seemed to like Roronoa, even if Mihawk did not know exactly why. However, she was mostly rude and disrespectful towards him.

But he could not deny that she had proved useful during Eizen's unexpected visit. While Mihawk himself had been on the battlefield, she had taken care of Roronoa, and he knew only too well that this was not an easy task.

Even now, she tried to help Roronoa within her means and her concern was obviously real, not faked. This girl and he had nothing in common, but at least one thing connected them.

"I assume that Roronoa will not come back to his senses for a while and I would like to use that time to take shower and change. Is it alright for you to take care of him in the meantime?"

After a second, she nodded.

"Yes sure, but..."

"I will not take long and if something happens, I would appreciate if you would inform me as soon as possible."

"Say, Hawk... Dracule why do you do this? Why are you training Zoro?"

This question actually surprised him, but he could not prevent a smile.

"He is a promising talent; it would be a shame to waste it."

So he turned to the door.

"And while we are at it," he continued, without turning around, "you also have skills that could be used properly. However, you have not even begun to explore the dimensions of your powers and your control is far from solid."

"What the hell? How dare you..."

"You intend to return to Moria, correct? If that is the case should you not act a little more like Roronoa and a little less like you?"

He went out and ignored her curses.

-Zoro-

You're not dead yet, traveler. Not yet.

Zoro opened his eyes.

Above him hung the heavy fabric of the canopy. He was obviously in his bed on Kuraigana.

Dimmed sunlight was caught by the old curtains and cast cold shadows on the ceiling.

"Welcome back, Roronoa."

Surprised, he dropped his head to the side. Next to his bed sat Mihawk, his legs crossed, a small book in his lap. As always, he wore a simple shirt and dark trousers, but something seemed different to him, even if Zoro couldn't exactly name it.

"What happened?" He grumbled, sitting up. His head pounded slightly, and he felt like he had after the fight against Moria, exhausted and irritated.

"I would like to hear that from you. I found you unconscious on deck."

"What?"

The Shichibukai nodded. "Three days ago."

He stared at the other.

"I was unconscious for three days?"

Again the elder nodded and then Zoro noticed it. The Shichibukai's hair was not as smooth as usual, his beard seemed more uneven, his eyes even more serious than ever.

"What is that look supposed to mean?" Mihawk asked, who had apparently noticed this observation immediately.

Zoro knew which book the other was reading without having to take a closer look.

"And you haven't slept these three days, or what?" He grumbled instead.

The other blushed slightly but withstood his eyes.

"There is no need to worry about me. Someone had to make sure you were not suffocating on your own tongue."

Zoro turned his gaze away and looked at his little hands.

"So," Mihawk asked again, "will you tell me what happened?"

"No idea," he answered honest, shrugging his shoulders.

"You want to tell me that you do not even know why you were unconscious for three days?"

Sighing, he massaged his temples and supported his elbows on his legs.

"That's what I mean," he replied rough.

"You seem to have headaches again." Zoro looked up and encountered the penetrating gaze of the Shichibukai. "Like on Sasaki, just before you fainted."

"What do you want to say with that?"

The elder got up.

"Nothing specific. It is obvious that these two symptoms are linked. But anyway, you should eat something and maybe you want to go to the bathroom." Mihawk placed the inconspicuous book on the small table next to the bed. "I will inform the ghost girl meanwhile; she was very worried."

Zoro simply nodded. His teacher behaved exactly as he knew him. Rational and controlled, and yet Zorro could see that the whole thing occupied him more than he would admit.

However, he really didn't want to wrack his already aching brain.

"And you really do not remember anything?"

The elder looked down to him, deep lines covering his forehead.

Again, Zoro rubbed his face and then brushed back his long hair.

"I do," he muttered, "but I only remember one single word. The moment I woke up I had the word traveler in my head."

Apparently astonished, the other raised an eyebrow.

"Traveler? Why?"

Zoro laughed dryly. "How am I supposed to know?"

A few minutes later, Zoro came out of the bathroom. To his surprise, Mihawk was already back, apparently reading.

The elder looked up briefly, but then continued his task, he must have read the book at least ten times by now.

Zoro had tried to transform himself, but it didn't work, maybe he was too exhausted.

He noticed the other's gaze.

"What?" He grumbled.

"Nothing," the Shichibukai replied, putting his attention back to his book.

Exhausted, Zoro dropped on the bed. It was annoying. Since he was able to transform, he had been permanently exhausted. All these confused dreams, then the headaches and now he even fainted. He didn't have time to spend unconscious in bed for days.

"Do not agonize your mind unnecessarily, Roronoa."

Confused, he looked up. Mihawk sighed and folded the book.

"It is a process your body is going through, that is obvious. Since you have your original body back, nightmares and sleepless nights plagued you. The recurring headaches and fainting are nothing more than a sign that the progress will soon have reached its peak."

Unimpressed, Zoro leaned back.

"How the hell do you know that and what is that even supposed to be? What happens when the process reaches its peak?"

The elder laughed slightly condescendingly. "Please, Roronoa, how could I know? Those are just some of my assumptions."

"So all your talking is nothing but a shot in the dark."

The Shichibukai did not respond, but Zoro could feel his hard gaze.

"You think it's going to be over soon?" He murmured, staring at the ceiling.

"I hope," said the other calmly, "further fainting would be really hindering your training, and I can imagine better occupations than to watch that you do no..."

"Yes, yes, I got it."

At that moment Perona came in and the calm was over. She had a tray of food and Zoro realized that he was almost starving. As he ate, she argued vigorously with Hawk Eyes, who answered barely but tried to ignore her if possible.

Over their conversation, Zoro's headaches grew again, which the Shichibukai seemed to notice, because after a short time he sent Perona out and also said goodbye with the request that Zoro should take a nap.

Unintentionally, he followed this advice after a few minutes.

When he woke up it was dark. Only the small bedside lamp offered some warm light.

The castle was quiet, he could hear the wind outside the walls, accompanied by the steady breath of Mihawk and the occasional movement of paper.

It had to be in the middle of the night.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Zoro whispered, breaking that pleasant quietness and sat up.

"I am not tired," the elder replied, looking at him. "You look better."

Zoro nodded. He felt much better than before, his headaches were nothing more than a quiet buzz in the background and he could remember his dreams, they were still confusing, but somehow he felt he knew them, recognized them.

"I'm better," he muttered, rubbing his face. "I think I remember something."

"You remember?" The other asked, confused, leaning towards him. "What do you mean by that? What do you remember? Why you fainted?"

He shook his head.

"No," he said, rubbing his neck, "no, not that. I'm not sure it's all like..." He couldn't put it into words.

"Whatever it is, it seems to be over soon," the other said after he had not spoken further. As often, it seemed as if he knew something that Zoro had no idea about.

"Until then, however, I would have a question for you."

Zoro looked at the elder, who held up the book he had just read. Zoro knew it. After all, he had written it himself or rather translated it.

It told the legends of Alciel, an ancient kingdom of warriors, destroyed an eternity ago, its descendants annihilated. According to Mihawk, there was hardly anyone who still spoke this language, perhaps no one besides Zoro himself. He had learned this language from his mother, who had already died during his childhood.

One of these stories, the legend of the swordsman Hakuryuu, had been the reason why Zoro had wanted to become a swordsman as a child. His mother had always told him this story in the past, and he had decided to translate these books for the Shichibukai, because after all, these fourteen books contained the first teachings of the art of the sword. Until now, however, he had only managed to translate the first, which contained only stories and fairy tales.

"What's with that?" He took the little book and looked at the page that the elder had opened. "That's the legend of Hakuryuu," he muttered.

"Exactly. I noticed that the end of this story differs from what you told me at Sasaki."

He looked up in amazement. "So?"

"Well, I wonder which version is the real one."

Zoro shrugged and snorted quietly. "It's just a fairy tale, Mihawk. Everyone knows that such stories change over time and generations. My mother probably told me what she was told, maybe in other words, and who knows if I remember everything correctly. Why are you dealing with something like this?"

Mihawk did not seem satisfied with this explanation. Disapprovingly, he pursed his thin lips and stared at the book in Zoro's hands.

"I want to know the truth, as simple as that," he finally said, almost like a disobedient kid.

"The truth?" Zoro laughed quietly. "It's a fairy tale. Who knows if Alciel ever existed and who knows what is true. Why is any of this important?"

The elder leaned back and folded his arms.

"You said the youngest of Hakuryuu's disciples wrote these books, correct?"

Zoro nodded.

Mihawk sighed. "This could explain why there is nothing in the story about Hakuryuu going mad and therefore killing his father - the king. A student usually adores their teacher and is blind to their mistakes."

"Excuse me?" Now Zoro laughed with sarcasm.

"You are probably an exception."

"Oh yes, for sure."

For a second, they both grinned.

"Is that the only difference that bothers you? That the book does not say that he went crazy? This is what this whole fuss is about?"

"Did you really not notice?" The elder looked at him seriously.

"What?"

"Please Roronoa. Hakuryuu owned the Hero's Sword, forged from the tooth of a dragon. For twelve of his disciples, he had twelve swords forged from it; you wrote these words yourself."

"What's your point?" Slowly Zoro got annoyed.

"It is obviously, Roronoa. This fairy tale is about the twelve supreme grade swords. The oldest disciple received the largest and most powerful one cut from the core of the Hero's sword. This is Yoru. This is the origin story of my sword."

His mouth fell open.

"Are you serious?"

The Shichibukai leaned even further forwards, an unfamiliar fire in his usual cold eyes and a broad grin on his lips. He looked much younger than usual, like a curious child.

"Yes, I think so. I mean, it all makes sense. No one knows where the supreme grade swords came from and the material of Yoru's Blade is unique. How could I have missed that the first time?"

Shaking his head, Zoro bit his lower lip with a grin.

"And if it's just a coincidence? Twelve is a number that is often used in old legends."

"And if it is not a coincidence?"

They looked at each other, just a few centimeters between them.

Zoro could feel it, this fire, this curiosity. He had never met anyone else who could be enthusiastic about such theories, about the art of the sword, who would stay awake at night to brood over such things. None of his friends had ever been able to understand him. Robin had sometimes talked with him about it out of sheer kindness, but it had never been one of her interests. Even Brook had politely teased him when Zoro had asked him about his rapier's history.

Mihawk had not only recognized his swords by name, but also knew their origins.

He had never told his friends about Alciel's legends, everyone knew fairy tales about heroes and warriors, Zoro had never thought that those could be special.

After a moment, he interrupted the eye contact.

"Can we continue to train at sunrise?" He whispered, and whatever tension had been in the air disappeared.

The elder laughed quietly and leaned back.

"Are you sure you will be fine by then? This morning you were still unconscious."

He just nodded and looked at the book in his hands.

"I want to get stronger," he whispered.

"Well," Mihawk replied, pulling the book out of Zoro's fingers, "then you should sleep now and recover as much as possible. I will come up with something very special."

He seemed so much gentler than usual, so much younger. Even when he got up there was still that little smile, that beam.

"Oh, there was another difference, by the way," said the elder, folding his arms.

"That would be?"

"According to this book, Hakuryuu did not wander the world to find students, and later, he did not send them off to spread his teachings."

"Why then?" Zoro asked, wondering that he couldn't remember it. Perhaps he hadn't seen the story between all the words.

"Not only the other countries wanted to destroy Alciel, Hakuryuu himself wanted to make sure that no one from his own people would survive."

He really couldn't remember that.

"Why should he have done this?"

The elder shrugged.

"I do not know, but I think that explains why no one knows anything about Alciel anymore. When the whole world is chasing you and even your own brothers in arms want to kill you, who would talk about their background?" In the dark room, the hawk eyes flashed, reflecting the spare light of the small lamp. "Of course, this leaves one question."

"And which one?" Zoro asked suspiciously.

"How come that your mother spoke this language and knew all those things without ever being hunted?"