A/N: So, guess who has finally worked up a bit of a buffer! This girl!
Ok, so it's not much of a buffer, but this chapter was done around the same time as last week's update. Next chapter is at least half written. Booyah!
I wanted to make a quick shout out to the excellent Dragoscilvio, who has come up with a BRILLIANT idea for a One Piece fic. If you're a fan of Kingdom Hearts, imagine Zoro wielding 3 keyblades. Now go and read her new fic Dreamer's Destiny. So much fun! - Dragoscilvio is a frequent commentor, so you can find her in my review section if you'd like a link. I've also favorited the story.
Final Note, please read King Bouffant's lines like Him from the Power Puff Girls.
Ch. 15 – Pride and Prejudice
At Navy Headquarters, Captain Coby greeted the mail coo with a smile on his face. Taking the proffered paper from its beak, he paid it cheerfully and sent it on its way. The smile vanished the moment he lowered his glasses and saw the front page.
"Like, breakfast's ready, Captain. If you don't hurry, they're going to start eating without you," a girl with cropped, red-orange hair said as she approached him. Once covered in piercings and sporting a rainbow of hair dye, Coby's new sous chef had decided without prompting to try for a cleaner cut, more mature look. She had yet to completely lose her childish manner of speaking though. "Oh em gee, is that the news coo? We get it earlier here on the Red Line!"
She took a step back in alarm when she saw the intense expression molding his brow. As he tore into the newspaper to find the rest of the story, a loose leaf fell to the ground at the captain's feet. A wanted poster.
The navy sous chef lifted it with dread on her face and gasped aloud. "But…but that's the Sun Queen."
Angry tears threatened to spill from the corner of Coby's eyes as he handed her the newspaper. In a matter of moments, she wept more openly than her captain, her hand over her mouth:
"But isn't this, like, the country we just helped save?" she sniffled. "I thought you got promoted over this."
"The promotion was because I saved our people, Nausicaa-San, not the other side," Coby pointed out. He didn't say it aloud, but he couldn't help but notice that his new promotion as Captain of Navy Head Quarters left him stationary. They couldn't call him in to Ilium again like they had before.
"It doesn't say anything about the princess," Nausicaa noticed. "Do you think she's alright?"
"We have no way of knowing," Coby replied, turning away from her. "Tell them to start the meal without me. I think I've lost my appetite."
"Papa!"
Princess Vivi dashed into her father's study, an envelope in hand, to see King Cobra still pouring over the paper.
"This is horrible," he moaned for the umpteenth time that morning. "It says they've capture Cygnus. And your cousin is MIA, presumed dead, yet they have a wanted poster for her."
"It gets worse," Vivi added grimly. "This just arrived."
The Navy's seal hung hap-hazardly off of the envelope that Vivi had already torn into. She handed it to her father and he deftly slid out the notice within. His dangerous eyes constricted with rage as they took in its contents:
"It says we could have refugees headed this way," Vivi repeated needlessly, still processing the information herself. "And that we are to turn them away for the 'safety' of the kingdom. How can we possibly do something so horrible to Helena-chan's people?"
Cobra crumpled the notice in his hand. "We can't," he said matter-of-factly. "My sister gave her life protecting Ilium. That alliance was sealed with her blood."
"But what can we possibly do?" Vivi pointed out in despair. "If we openly disobey this order, our own people could suffer!"
"It's a good thing that a certain rebel leader is a particular friend," Cobra pointed out. "Do you think Koza can help us with this?"
"I'll talk to him," Vivi said, nodding pensively. "Maybe there's something we can work out under the radar. After all, it's not like we can totally control the rebels' movements." She winked at her father knowingly.
"But where to put them, assuming they come," Cobra pondered aloud.
"There are still plenty of places Crocodile left desolate in the more central parts of the country," Vivi put in. She immediately thought of Toto and the Oasis he had successfully dug free. Though it had water now, it remained a ghost town but for the determined old man. People had been too afraid to move back in. But perhaps an outside group without her peoples' superstitions…
"I know just where we can put them," the kind-hearted princess declared.
King Bouffant of the Island of Macaroni gave a snarl, his enormous wig teetering precariously on his head. "More notices?" he trilled in an angry squeak, taking the message his only daughter offered him. "I've already turned away three boats of refugees just today and sent the navy after them. It's not even lunch time yet! What more does the World Government want?"
His daughter, Princess Antoinette looked at him apologetically, her tiny face dwarfed by her own enormous wig. She was only thirteen, and more timid than the princess of Alabasta. She hadn't thought to open the message before handing it to her father.
She knew he had good reason to be annoyed. Two of her older brothers, Pompadour and Popinjay had both died in Ilium only a few weeks ago. She mourned their loss, but more than that, her father mourned the lost opportunity to win a piece of Ilium's prosperity. The World Government would lay claim to the everything now.
As he read through the latest message, however, a smile spread across his powdered face, lifting the heart-shaped beauty mark on his cheek. "Oh, now that's better," he tittered.
"What does it say father?"
Antoinette hadn't dared to ask. The question came from her oldest brother, Prince Macaroon.
At first glance, one wouldn't think they were related. Though his father and sister wore ridiculously oversized wigs and silk clothing, powdered makeup and heels, he wore a simple great coat and boots, and not a spot of makeup. If he could get away without wearing a wig at all he would, but to appease the law he wore a white-powdered ponytail under an unremarkable tri-cornered hat.
Having had more sense than his younger brothers, he hadn't gone to court the neighboring queen when they had. The news that they had been slain had not surprised him when at last it came; time and again he had begged them to come home, but they wouldn't listen.
King Bouffant grinned at him. "Oh, something a big softy like you will love, Rooney. Or At least partially. They say that the Navy will be returning the three refugee ships I turned away to our shores."
Rooney's eyes narrowed. "Why would you be happy about something like that?" he asked.
"Well, we and any of the kingdoms that lost our sons to that massacre in Ilium's hall are being given compensation," he went on, a sadistic gleam in his eye. "Any refugees that come to our shore are to be considered a gift."
"A gift?" Prince Macaroon asked. "Father, you don't mean…"
"Free help," Bouffant trilled.
"Slaves," Macaroon translated. "Father, you can't. This won't end well."
"Rooney, don't…" Antoinette begged almost inaudibly, but Macaroon didn't drop his father's gaze.
"Defying me again, boy?" Bouffant snipped.
"You already tax our people to the bone!" the prince cried. "What more cheap labor could you possibly want?"
"Precisely. This should offer our people some relief from there burdens, wouldn't you say?"
"I won't let you do this," Macaroon snapped, balling his fists. "You selfish, pompous, cowardly…"
"That's enough out of you," Bouffant shrieked, striking his son across the face. "Guards, get him out of my sight. In fact, if he loves defending the foreigners so much, he can join them."
Macaroon's eyes widened in alarm, but it was too late. He'd pushed his father's buttons one too many times. It didn't help that as the one voice of reason in Bouffant's court, he had always been infuriatingly right about everything he warned against.
Helplessly Antoinette watched the guards drag her brother away, but all she could do was hide behind her fan and cry.
Aboard the Thousand Sunny, Luffy silently took in the news Nami related to him out of earshot of Zoro and most of the crew. She happened to have found him in the kitchen, finishing a late afternoon snack he'd begged out of Sanji. The cook listened from where he had just dropped one of the dishes he'd been washing, eyes wide beneath his curly brows.
"We have to tell Zoro," Nami concluded. "He would want to know."
"We can't tell him," Luffy replied, a serious scowl on his face. "She made me promise. She made us all promise."
"But Luffy…!" Sanji started, not yet bending to clean up the broken glass.
"We can't tell him, but we can go back and help," Luffy concluded, cutting him off.
"Help how?" Nami cried. "We just made it past the Red Line, for crying out loud! It's practically impossible to go back now! – and we don't even know if Helena's alive."
Robin had followed the navigator in, and held the latest paper open, expression calculating:
"At this point, all of the damage has been done," she observed unhappily. "Her father and Hector have already been sent to Impel Down, and her people are scattered. Ilium has been completely destroyed."
Nami waved a vindicated hand in Robin's direction. "You see? Going back would be pointless. We need to tell him."
Luffy wore an uncharacteristically somber expression, his half empty platter untouched since the conversation had begun. "Why would you want to tell him," he pressed angrily, "If you're not going to let him do anything about it?"
Nami gaped at him. Robin let her gaze fall sadly back to the paper.
"The Captain is right," she said. "Even without the provisos, telling him at this point would just be torture. Perhaps we should wait until we hear further news."
Sanji sighed, but then squared his shoulders. "If there's a wanted poster out for her, we can rest assured she's still alive," he put in. "Zoro's Queen isn't one to just roll over when the going gets tough. If she needs our help, chances are she'll reach out to us somehow."
Luffy nodded pensively. "Then we wait," he said, though he didn't look like he loved the idea.
"We wait," the others agreed.
When Helena awoke, she found herself alone in a surprisingly comfortable, albeit musty bed. Dim light from a cloudy afternoon filtered through her window. Someone had cleaned and bandaged her topical wounds, including the burn on her face. She pushed herself upright, holding her head and trying to get her bearings. How on Gaia's green earth had she come here?
She had been having the strangest dream. Zoro had been trying to kill her. Only he was a monkey. He had a lot of monkey friends. She couldn't move to defend herself, but then Mihawk showed up and most of the monkeys ran away at the sight of him. The Zoro monkey he bribed away by tossing a bottle of wine.
She swung out of bed, dizzy and on the verge of vomiting. As she staggered to her feet, she noticed she still wore the torn, sequined death trap, her crown and her chains of office, but her sea prism dagger and the broken Peleus were conspicuously absent.
Confused, sick, and feeling vulnerable, she staggered across her room to what appeared to be a washroom connected to her bedroom. After disgorging what little she had in her stomach, she cleaned her mouth and face, then looked around for a weapon.
At best she found a towel rack, only it was drilled into the stone wall. In her weakened state she couldn't get it loose. Logic started to kick in just in time to prevent her from drawing a nearby plunger to use as a bludgeon. Whoever had tended her wounds probably bore her no ill will. Perhaps she should try to find him or her.
Anyway, there wasn't much about her life at this point worth defending.
Stumbling out of the bathroom, she found her benefactor gazing at her from where he now leaned against the doorframe to the bedroom.
"Mihawk?" she gasped.
Her strength nearly failed her completely, the room started to spin. She managed not to collapse in an embarrassing heap on the floor, directing her stumbling steps until she could sit on the edge of the bed.
She held onto the bed post, her court training screaming at her not to show weakness in front of an enemy. Was he an enemy? - She willed the room to stop spinning, and it somewhat obeyed, allowing her to sit upright at least:
"Were you the one who rescued me?" she asked, hoping she didn't belay any weakness in her voice. On top of the strain of recently emptying her stomach, her throat felt like it was still coated in ash. Her lungs weighed heavily inside her. She resisted the urge to cough.
He nodded.
"Why would you do a pointless thing like that?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.
He smirked. "I've been asking myself the same question. I gave up a good bottle of wine to save you."
Wait, so the monkey dream was real?
"Where are my swords?"
"I don't know that either of your weapons could be described as that at this point," Mihawk commented blandly. He lifted what remained of her mother's sword to his eye level, inspecting it with a pensive air. He had cleaned it. "You could have treated her blade with more care."
Helena chuckled wryly, and again resisted the urge to cough. "I think she would have wanted me to go out swinging, don't you?"
He snorted, perhaps pleased by her response, though he didn't say anything.
"But why disarm me?" Helena demanded, brow furrowed beneath her crown. "Surely I am no threat to you."
"Hardly," he retorted, voice even and calm as always. "I thought you might do harm to yourself."
Helena sobered, but didn't drop his gaze. "And what business," she articulated icily, "Would that be of yours?"
"It's not," he replied. With calm, unruffled steps, he entered the room and reverently placed what remained of Peleus on the nightstand beside the bed, and then her Sea Stone dagger, which he produced from his belt.
"Try not to make a mess," he said, and she couldn't tell if it was some kind of morbid joke or an actual request. "Though if I were you, I'd be sure my affairs were in order before opting for honorable suicide." He placed a folded newspaper beside the blades and turned to leave.
Helena watched him go, mouth dropped open but with no retort on her tongue. When he reached the doorway, he glanced back at her:
"Dinner's in an hour. You may be able to find some clothes in the next room over, should you desire a change."
When Mihawk's footfalls disappeared from down the hall, she allowed herself to give in to the urge to cough. Flopping backward onto the bed, she fought the dizziness threatening to overwhelm her again. After a moment, she reached a trembling hand to the nightstand and retrieved the latest newspaper.
Blazoned on the front page she saw her kingdom burning. It had all happened so recently, and yet to see it printed on paper, heedless of the people suffering beneath all that smoke and fire, brought all of the futile rage she felt to the fore. She shot upright and read the headline aloud through blistered lips:
"Ilium Falls: Fleet Admiral Sakasuki Secures JUSTICE?!"
Russet eyes aflame, she tore into the article, muscles growing more and more tense with each word she read. They had spun the story in their favor, of course, calling her deranged, calling her father a lunatic. It branded her people as zealous pagans who worshipped dangerous gods.
She shook with anger and sorrow as it all sunk in. Her father and Hector would be executed ignominiously. – her people, now branded as zealots, faced the same or worse wherever they landed. And she could do nothing to help them. She had failed them all completely.
Teeth gritted in her mouth, she took what remained of her mother's sword, and held it up in front of her pensively.
Mihawk had been right to think she would contemplate honorable suicide. Every minute she drew breath now was a minute more to her disgrace. There wasn't really much else left for her, something he likely understood as a fellow swordsman.
And yet he'd spoken cryptically of getting her affairs in order first. Her kingdom was gone. The nursemaids had presumably carried out Code Black. What affairs did she have left to organize exactly? Did he know something she didn't?
Perhaps she would ask him over dinner. After all, one could always kill oneself later.
Mihawk eyed his new charge as she made her way to the dining table that evening. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or not to see her there. If he were honest, he was a little surprised that his cryptic remark had been enough to keep her alive.
She had cleaned herself up, and wore an old, empire waisted gown, something the previous owners of the castle had left behind. – She must have found it somewhere other than the room he'd directed her to, because he'd sent her to Perona's. Perhaps Gothic Lolita chic was a little too far outside the realm of Helena's tastes.
Taking a seat across from him at the foot of his long table, she held herself rigid against the chairback and folded her hands into her lap, waiting for him to speak. How different from Leda she was! Though fair skinned, she had her mother's face – her eyes and lips, even the turn of her nose – but Helena's manners and refinement came completely from her father.
"I see you're not dead," he observed.
Helena looked him in the eye. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"
"Perhaps," he replied, but he didn't answer her question right away. Gentry had just come in with the food.
A look of surprise lifted the brows on Helena's face, for her server was, in fact, a humandrill dressed in a waistcoat. He politely and skillfully placed a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of Helena before seeing to his master, then bowed and exited toward the kitchen.
"You have interesting servants," she observed.
"His name is Gentry and he was very difficult to train," Mihawk informed her. Perona had done most of the leg work there, having grown tired of being treated as the housekeeper herself. "Please refrain from drawing a weapon around him."
"I seem to recall being surrounded by monkeys like him. One acted like Zoro…"
Mihawk smirked ever so slightly. "Yes, your husband's humandrill has given me a good deal of trouble, but please be sure not to tell him that. Fortunately, he has developed a similar taste for alcohol."
"I was beginning to think Captain Circe may have gotten to him again," Helena chuckled, making Mihawk raise an eyebrow. "What's a Humandrill?"
They started their first course as Mihawk explained the dark history of the island to her. He noticed that though she tried to hide it, her hands shook as she ate and she looked unhealthily flushed. She clearly didn't feel well, but whether her illness was physical or emotional, it was hard to say. Perhaps she was still in shock. In that case, she should have had her first meal in bed, but he hadn't felt like coddling her. Anyway, she didn't complain, and listened to him attentively.
"This place has become your ideal training ground," Helena noted when he had finished.
Gentry came out with the second course; some fresh fish the mandrill had caught that morning, and prepared in a garlic butter sauce. Her hands had lost some of their shake after eating the soup, but she straightened back away from the next plate as Gentry set it before her, looking almost nauseated. She quickly hid her discomfort though, continuing the conversation:
"When you implied that I might have some affairs to set in order, I had thought that perhaps my husband had been transformed into a monkey and needed rescuing." She chuckled wryly, and he could hear the rasp she tried to hide in her throat. "Is there something you know that I don't, or were you just being facetious? This newspaper contained nothing helpful to me. I can't do anything for my people, or for Father or Hector now."
"It's not about who the paper mentions, but who it doesn't," Mihawk pointed out, surprised she hadn't extrapolated the information herself. "It's about your daughter."
"Naturally the paper wouldn't mention her. They haven't announced her existence before now," Helena replied airily, reaching for the glass of wine before her. "If her nursemaids carried out Code Black properly, the paper won't have anything more to say."
"Code Black?" Mihawk asked as Helena drew the wine to her. He decided to stay on topic rather than question her: "She has been kidnapped by Boa Hancock."
Helena stared at him, glass halfway to her lips, and seemed to immediately forget her thirst.
"I saw her aboard the Kuja's ship on my way out," Mihawk informed her. "I thought at first that that might have been where your nursemaids had intended to send her, but then I saw Hancock throw her over board."
"What?!" Helena gasped. Her surprise lowered her guard just enough that she broke into a coughing fit.
"She seemed to change her mind about the child's usefulness and rescued her," Mihawk concluded, buttering himself a roll as she finished coughing. "I have heard nothing of the World Government capturing her, so I believe it is safe to assume that they don't know Hancock has her. She is likely at Amazon Lily now."
Helena put down her wine, undrunk, and stood.
"I have to go," she said. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Just where did she think she was going?
"The only boat off of the island is mine," he informed her point blank.
"And if I try to commandeer it?" Helena demanded, the fire igniting in her countenance. Yes, that was more like it. He could definitely see her mother in her now, taking over the defeatist attitude she'd spouted before.
"I wouldn't recommend it," he replied with a wry smile.
"Then I will strap logs together and make a raft," Helena informed him.
"You sound like your husband," Mihawk observed, taking a sip of wine.
"Who knows what that selfish witch wants with my daughter. Even if her intentions are somehow miraculously altruistic, it's only a matter of time before Cipher Pol figures out where she is."
Helena made her way unsteadily toward the door. Mihawk didn't doubt her resolve, but he did doubt her ability, even if she were up to full health:
"You aren't strong enough to defeat her," he pointed out calmly.
Helena glanced back at him, her brow furrowed. "Do you think I'm going to let that stop me?"
"You'll be stopped, whether you try or you don't."
Helena whirled on her heel, her mother's fire now burning at full flame in her now. "Not strong enough to beat Hancock. Not worthy of my husband's name. Not worthy of my mother's sword. Do you ever say anything useful, or do you get a kick out of tearing people down when they have nothing left?"
"I'm not pointing out your faults. I'm pointing out the flaws in your plan," he told her coolly. Though he didn't let her see his regret, he winced a bit internally at the harsh things he had said back in Ilium. They had been true, but perhaps unnecessary. "And offering to help you."
Helena glared at him. "Help me how?" she demanded.
"By training you," he replied evenly.
He fully expected her to humble herself at this most generous offer. The hatred in her glare intensified, however. "No thank you," she retorted with regal disdain. "I don't want your help."
Mihawk blinked at her in genuine surprise. "No?"
"No," Helena snapped, and her illness and frailty disappeared in an instant as she stood tall, looking down on him where he sat. Though she no longer had a kingdom, she was all queen now. "Expected me to fall at your feet at that offer, did you? I would rather die than grovel to you."
"I see," he retorted, a vindictive smile threatening to crack his stoic demeanor. "I insulted you, and now your pride won't permit you to accept my help."
"That's not it," Helena informed him, growing taller still. "I remember how Andromache used to write to you when I was a child, always hoping for a response. Now I know it wasn't just a response she wanted; it was forgiveness. And you just couldn't give it to her, no matter how many olive branches she extended. You let her suffer, even after losing her best friend. –You're pathetic."
Mihawk didn't know quite how to respond to this brutal honesty. He'd expected it from Andromache, not from her. Helena wasn't done however. As she went on, her insults burned not only with her mother's fire, but with her father's bold wit:
"I used to respect your title and skill, but now I realize I want nothing to do with a swordsman who fights only for himself. I think it's pathetic that you lift your sword only to find a challenge, and never to defend what matters most. You're bored because you yourself are boring, sir. Boring and predictable. A simplistic, empty dream can hardly fill the void in your soul. - I can't wait for Zoro to dethrone you so the world can see what honor really looks like."
As Helena spoke, Mihawk made an uncomfortable realization. – She didn't just have Leda's face; she had her voice.
"There is nothing you could teach me that would be worth knowing," she concluded, turning on her heel. "Good evening, sir."
"YOU ACTUALLY SAID THAT?" Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji cried, "TO MIHAWK?!"
"Almost verbatim," Helena replied, grinning sheepishly. Zoro chuckled. When Helena glanced over at him, she saw him smirking, lounging against the chair back with a proud look on his face.
"Well, go on then, what did he say?" he prodded.
"I'm not exactly sure," Helena replied apologetically. "I, um, kind of fainted after that."
Zoro burst into laughter. "Pretty pathetic," he informed her.
She smacked him on the head. "I don't need you to tell me that."
"Sorry, Ohimesama."
She smacked him again for good measure.
"It turns out I had developed pneumonia from being drowned and resuscitated, and my battle wounds weren't helping."
Not that her wounds had been nearly devastating enough to reflect the devastation she had caused. She'd suffered more from the pneumonia than anything else. – and she had never fully recovered. Oh, her fever had broken quickly, she could breathe just fine now, but the queasy feeling had never left.
She kind of suspected it might have to do with losing, well, everything. But she didn't want Zoro to think her weaker than this whole scenario already painted her, so she didn't go into it. She had also deliberately omitted her thoughts of performing hara-kiri on herself.
"When I came to, he was actually asleep in a chair by my bedside," Helena went on. "I don't know if a man like that can be humbled, but it seems he felt intent on proving to me, or perhaps to himself, that he does in fact have a heart. He started by nursing me back to health."
Zoro smirked again. "Despite how he comes across," he said, "Mihawk's actually not a bad guy."
"Yes, that's something I came to realize," Helena replied with a nod.
"Why take care of me?" Helena demanded, finally lucid enough to address him from where she lay like a pathetic lump in bed. He had just taken a damp cloth from her forehead, placing his cool, rough hand on her brow in its place. "Are you this determined to train me? I thought I was a disappointment."
"You are," he responded bluntly and without humor, removing his hand. Helena didn't know whether to laugh or roll her eyes so she just stared at him.
He looked a little more disheveled than he was wont to be. – His hair uncombed, facial hair untrimmed, his shirt the same simple white tunic he'd worn when she'd first fainted, though a few days had passed.
"But perhaps there is something I can do to remedy that," he went on. "I owe it to Andromache, and to your mother."
Helena raised a brow, unimpressed.
"…and perhaps, in part, I owe it to you as well," he amended. "But I won't beg. This is the last time I will offer. Refuse, and I'll drop you off at the nearest island. You'll have to make your own way from there."
Helena contemplated him a moment.
"Can you stand to train me if I don't carry on her dream?" she asked him pointedly. "I still don't care to be the strongest."
Mihawk eyed her a moment, but when he replied, his voice no longer held a note of disdain. "Then I will resign myself to making you strong enough," he said. "Your fever has broken. We begin first thing tomorrow morning."
"Why wait?" Helena asked, pushing herself upright.
Mihawk grinned.