The paths of time
-Mihawk-
It was pleasantly calm, only the slight moving of the gentle sea, a good way to wake up. However, he was not really willing to wake up just yet, so he turned on his side and with eyes still closed felt for this pleasant heat source but found nothing.
Sighing, he pulled the blanket around him. He was alone in his bed, so Roronoa had already gotten up, for whatever reason. Was he already training again or did he want to prevent one of his crewmembers from looking for him in the coffin boat? Although no, Roronoa did not really care for something like... Mihawk raised his head in confusion. He was not in the belly of his ship. It smelled different, the waves were different, the sounds were different, but... not unfamiliar, and this room was anything but unfamiliar.
Very slowly, he sat up, trying to grasp the situation. He realized pretty quickly that this was not a dream, it was real. But what did that mean? The previous evening Roronoa and he had fallen asleep in the belly of the coffin boat, now he woke up here in this place, on this ship.
There were several possibilities, but the most likely one made his stomach cramp. He looked down at his hands and had to swallow.
He took a deep breath and urged himself to stay calm, to first of all collect facts. So he got up, pulled aside the curtains around his bed, which he had probably only half-heartedly drawn close the night before. In fact, everything looked exactly as it did in his memories, perhaps a little dimmer, the wood a little darker.
Then he stepped in front of the mirror with the washbasin and sighed softly, seeing his young, beardless self. He had not really needed the mirror, he could feel it, in his bones, his muscles, a tension that he had not known for a long time, but that had accompanied him for decades. His fragile but indispensable control, which he had been forced to maintain at all times. But he did not feel that alone. He could feel the difference, his transgressions, his weaknesses, a miracle that Yoru had let him lead like this.
His gaze slid over to his sword.
"Can you give me the answer? What is dream and what is reality?"
As he had expected, it answered him knowingly, but without giving him an answer. Still, it sounded much more amused than he could remember hearing it when he had been this young.
Slowly the realization reached him and squeezed his throat. If this was really the reality right now, then the possibility was quite high that he... that everything...
He leaned forward and grabbed his thighs, controlling his breath as the emotions rushed over him. He should have known, he should have known! Of course, things had gone too perfectly. Kuraigana, the fight, his control, and... Roronoa.
And then he became aware of it, his gaze slid over to his bed, and panic rose in him as he rubbed his hair and reality hit him hard. His knees went weak, and he stumbled to the chair where his clothes were lying, almost falling on it.
His heart ached, God, how his heart hurt, while his head was still trying to comprehend what his heart had long since understood.
A knock on the door startled him and for a second there was such an irrational hope that of course could not come true when the door opened.
"Captain, where are you? It's already... Hey, what's going on?" It was Jiroushin, of course it was Jiroushin. Who else would have dared to seek him out in his bedroom? But it wasn't Jiroushin either, not the one he knew, even if he really looked way too much like him, as if the time had been far too merciful for him. "Hey? What...? Hawky?"
He trembled under that name, which Jiroushin had hardly ever used at that time — this time — because Mihawk had hated it, had despised all weakness, all gentleness.
But now, just now, everything broke in him, because... because he realized that everything that had happened had been nothing more than a dream. And maybe he could regain it all, his control, his strength, but what did not exist could not be regained. Maybe it had been just wishful thinking, a desperate hope to meet someone who could understand him, who could understand the art of the sword, who could defeat him, who could ... love him.
"Hey!"
He looked up as Jiroushin grabbed him by the shoulders.
"What happened?"
How was he supposed to tell him? How was he supposed to tell him that he had just lived in a dream, for several decades? That he was no longer the man who had gone to bed the previous night because he had lived, had grown older? That he had just realized that he had lost someone who might not even exist. As if such a person existed.
But there was one good thing about this body, before Mihawk had regained his control, had softened, had opened up. This body did not break, although Mihawk almost wished it would, although he wished that tears would come to his eyes and that he could mourn, in the arms of his best friend.
After all, we didn't even know if you were capable of such feelings at all, Hawky.
Shakily, he took a breath, leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, had to calm down.
"Are you okay? Should I get Makoto?"
"No," he whispered, trying to sound harsh and condescending, but his voice betrayed him. "It's nothing..." that could be treated with medicine. "Just give me a moment."
"Of course. Did you have a nightmare?"
He stared at Jiroushin, grabbed his forearm in an unconscious gesture of uncertainty, and that was when he realized it, his gaze slid down, to the bracelet on his skin, hard the contrast of the black cross to his pale skin, and it felt so strange, so wrong.
He heard another knocking, a little further away, probably to the anteroom.
"Ca... Captain? Jiroushin?"
"We'll be right there," Jiroushin replied seriously.
"All right. Everything is ready to set sail. We're just waiting for the order."
"Good, we'll be right there."
Except for the soft click of the closing door, it was quiet.
"Okay, tell me, what's going…?"
"Which island did we dock at?"
"What? But you know that... Otoyk, of course."
A lightning bolt swept through Mihawk, Otoyk... Otoyk in the East Blue... He knew what year it was, he knew what time he was in, he could remember it. Today they would leave for the Twin Cape after stopping here to get their ship and the... the coffin boat...
He jumped up.
"Jiroushin, is the coffin boat fully repaired?"
His vice looked at him with wide eyes.
"Yes, but what is...?"
"Fine, I can work with that. You will stay here for now. I am going to leave and..."
"Wait!" Jiroushin had grabbed him by the forearm, he had already been about to leave the room. "What are you up to? You're not even dressed yet."
Yes, he was right. Mihawk had to calm down, but how could he?
But when Jiroushin looked at him like that, he realized something else. Much might be lost, maybe even everything, but when he looked at his closest friend since childhood, he knew that maybe he could change something, prevent something, save something. And it was precisely this thought that brought some calm to his chaos.
"Mihawk, talk to me. What happened? You seem… Are you alright?"
Almost gently, he got rid of Jiroushin's grip, knowing very well that this would only confuse the other even more.
"I am sorry, Jiroushin, I did not mean to take you by surprise."
The other's eyes widened in horror. Oh yes, he would have never apologized at the time. Sighing, he turned away and hurried over to his clothes. He had really been a strenuous fellow, hadn't he?
"I am aware that my current behavior must confuse you but rest assured that I am not acting heedlessly. I just have to... there is something of the most crucial importance that I must convince myself of as soon as possible."
The other made a sound that was supposed to show consent but could hardly conceal his suspicion while Mihawk got dressed.
"And what is it about? And why did you think of it so suddenly? You behave odd, almost like a completely different person."
His gaze swept searchingly around the room, but he could not find his hat, and only then did he remember that he had not worn one at that time. Sighing, he met the much too clever look of his vice.
"I cannot give you an answer just yet, but you are right. It may be that things will change from here on." He took his sword and Yoru greeted him with amusement. "I will probably be back at sunset, maybe a little later. If I have not returned by tomorrow morning, follow me."
To his surprise, however, Jiroushin stood in his way.
"You can't be serious. Captain, last night you told me that we would leave for the Cape as soon as the repairs were completed. You were already unhappy and impatient, and now you want to waste a whole day? You can't expect me to accept this without an explanation."
But Mihawk understood, he could see Jiroushin's insecurity, as he had always been Mihawk's voice of reason when his own had fallen silent. Jiroushin had to assume that this was exactly the case right now.
"Jiroushin, I trust you like no other." This would probably only increase his mistrust. "But I cannot tell you, not yet. It is... I know it must sound like madness, but I am not ready to show you that part of myself just yet."
Jiroushin trembled under this unaccustomed honesty between the two of them, but he remained serious. "You know that your madness has never deterred me?"
It made Mihawk smile. He had completely forgotten how strong Jiroushin had been back then, to be able to keep up with his hardness, to be able to endure it.
"It is not madness what I am going to show you. But for this reason, I still need this one day. I have to see it with my own eyes, otherwise I cannot keep sailing."
"What do you have to convince yourself of?"
He walked next to Jiroushin, grabbed his shoulder, but looked at the door, could not look him in the face.
"Whether at some point there can be color again in this desolate world."
With that, he left, leaving Jiroushin obviously confused, ignoring crewmembers who greeted him, who asked him questions, leaving it to Jiroushin to take care of them. His old familiar coffin boat was waiting for him, not quite as he had known it for the last few years — which did not exist — but still as he had wanted it back then. The small boat that allowed him to fight without putting his crew in danger.
Then he set sail. It was still almost night; the morning would be a long time coming. He had wanted to leave for the Cape early, and that was his luck now. He knew that he would be on the sea for about four hours, and he would need that time to organize his thoughts. Jiroushin had given him some calm and clarity, but emotions were bubbling under his fragile control.
It was truly a strange feeling, and he still was not totally convinced whether this was actually the reality or not. His logic wanted to see it objectively. It had been nothing more than a dream, a pipe dream that had seemed like decades to him. Nothing about his current situation should make him doubt it. But... But he wanted to doubt, had to doubt, hope.
Nevertheless, he did not act foolishly, the rational part in him had been stronger, always had been. Maybe it had really been just a dream, but he still had to take the signs seriously. If this had only been a dream, it was because his subconscious wanted to warn him about the coming weeks, but now he was prepared, now he could think of a strategy, now he knew that this time he was ready to take that one step more. This time he would not let himself be put in chains.
The hours until he had reached the small island had passed more slowly than they should have. As if time had now completely become his enemy. He had tried to use this eternity for clever thoughts, to think of a backup plan in case they really wanted to make him a Shichibukai, in case they wanted to use his crew as leverage. But the slower the minutes had passed, the harder it had been for him.
Now he jumped ashore, hoping that he had drawn the right conclusions from Roronoa's incoherent and incomplete information. It did not take him long to find the small, remote village by the big forest. But such villages were a dime a dozen in the East Blue, so that alone should not give him hope.
Oh.
For a moment, time seemed to be on his side again, when suddenly it seemed to stop.
A small child, a few years old, an axe on his back, ran past him with a broad grin, towards a troop of forest workers who were already greeting him loudly.
Oh Lord, what a joy. He was alive, he did exist.
Without even noticing Mihawk, the boy with the grass-green hair ran across the street, did not even seem to see him, while Mihawk did not notice anything else but him, felt so many emotions that he could not at that time.
So it had not just been a dream, maybe not the future, but a possibility, maybe a...
"You shouldn't be here, Wanderer." He hurried around. "But the Dracules don't like to follow the rules of others either way, do they?"
"Roronoa Zakuro," he whispered, his head already bowed, as he had never done in that time, and would rarely do so even in his time.
"Then you know who I am," she said, her voice authoritarian, her accent foreign to him. "Not that there was any doubt about that the moment you saw my son."
"Is... is it really him?" he asked a stupid, childish question, but his heart still would not believe what his eyes had seen.
"Is this the first time you have walked the paths of time? Apparently, it is," she continued after a moment when he did not answer. "Well then, raise your head, in this time I am no longer someone to bow down before."
Mihawk followed this request. "No matter how much time may pass and how few may still know this name, none of it changes your origins."
She showed a smile, subtle and mischievous, as he knew it from Roronoa, so much from him. "A Dracule through and through." Then she turned and left. "Follow me, Wanderer."
He did as he was told, noticing how the confusion of the past hours turned into curiosity, the tightness into tension, the urgency into expectation. A variety of scenarios played out in his head as he processed her words and the last moments and watched her.
She was about the same height as Roronoa, her grass-green hair elaborately braided and pinned up, as Perona had sometimes tried to do with Lady Loreen, but in relation to this woman Lady Loreen had usually seemed quite childlike. With every movement, her body told him more about her, the tension in those muscles, the pride in that posture. Neither the worn clothes nor the emaciated state could hide this woman's past, and Mihawk wondered how she had managed to hide for so long.
Finally, they stood in front of a hut Mihawk knew only from sparse stories. It did not look at all like what he had imagined. According to Roronoa's words, he had expected a small blow of brittle wood and broken bricks, but at first glance this little house differed little from the surrounding ones, except that it stood far apart. It was small, simple, of low quality, like everything in this village, but nothing less.
This image was confirmed when he entered, and he recognized this type of dwelling. A small entrance where the shoes were supposed to be left and behind it a small step and a simple wooden floor with a fire corner in the middle of the room. Now he understood Roronoa's origins. Sparse furnishings, no chairs, sitting on the floor, by the fireplace.
He bent down and kicked off his boots, noticed her gaze and put them to the side, took Yoru off, and leaned it against the wall. He waited for her nod, then stepped up that step into the living area of this tiny house.
"You show a lot of respect for a Dracule," she spoke in her strong accent.
"There are only a few who deserve my respect," he replied clearly and followed her to two worn pillows. She knelt down elegantly and with a sigh he also sat down, had never liked sitting on the floor.
"I would offer you tea, but our meeting will be over before the water boils." Again, she showed that smile that reminded him too much of Roronoa. "Well then, we should use the time, so ask your questions."
They were both silent for a moment while his thoughts continued to draw conclusions.
"You knew that I am not from this time and that I would come. How?"
She tilted her head with a raised eyebrow, an absolute image of her son, if it were not for this arrogance.
"Well, I can see that you are not from this time, Wanderer, and I knew you would come. You Dracules have always had a... urgent desire for knowledge and I know the answers to your questions, so you had to come to me."
"Beyond the boundaries of time and space?"
"What are a few ridiculous boundaries? They did not apply to me, why should they apply to you, who have long since cast off the boundaries of humanity?" She nodded gently. "But that's not what you want to ask, is it?"
He held her gaze.
"Ro... Your son said you only speak the language of Alciel, but we are talking right now. Have you lied to your son?"
"Another other question," she remarked, looking over at the fireplace. "I speak more languages than there are left in this world, but just because I speak a language doesn't mean that I deign to talk to someone."
Sometimes you remind me of her.
"But you are talking to me?"
She showed that faint smile again, but this time it was a threat.
"You don't give me a choice. It's a shame that as a Dracule you don't even speak the language of your ancestors anymore."
Oh yes, this was fun.
"Forgive this fault on my part," he replied and noticed how he was getting warm. Finally, finally, "but I would like to comply with your request and ask my first question."
"Go ahead."
"The name of the Guardian who was... was killed by my ancestor, his name was Hakuryuu, wasn't it?"
"No." He looked up in surprise. Had he made a mistake in his train of thought? She smiled. "The dragon Hakuryuu never existed, a name that the stories came up with as a reminder of the white treetop under which our people once lived. But quite right. The one whom the stories call a dragon, to whom the stories gave the name Hakuryuu, who watched over our people, who was our blood and our shield, is the one whom you call the Guardian."
His heart beat faster.
"And when you... You told your son that Hakuryuu would return because... you said this because... Hakuryuu has long since returned."
She closed her eyes and nodded reverently.
"Unfortunately, my highly esteemed husband never understood it, desperately hoped for an heir... and was never allowed to meet his child." Her pain was well hidden, but Mihawk could still see it when she looked at him. "The pain of betrayal has been felt by every Roronoa, but I knew the man you call Hakuryuu would live on, in a few months."
"But not only you, right?" he asked. "The foundling Hakuryuu, history says he lost his mind and turned against his own people, but that is not the truth."
"No, it is not, not quite. Of course, the other wanderers also knew that rebirth follows the bloodline, and they... clouded his mind. He thought we wanted him dead, and at that time there was probably no one left in the world who could stop him. My husband provided me... us the necessary time to flee. The rest of Alciel's people were not granted this. Well, with the exception of one bloodline, of course." She showed him a faint smile. "You may call it fate, or irony, that the only bloodlines of Alciel that still exist today are those of the Dracules and the Roronoas."
So far, she had confirmed the basic assumptions on his part, which did not surprise him much, so it was time to ask the important questions.
"Because we are destined to fight each other forever?"
Then her eyes widened.
"Is that what your ancestors taught you?"
He hesitated before finally admitting: "Unfortunately, my mother did not have the opportunity to teach me. Forgive me that my knowledge is incomplete."
It was unusual to be looked at with such pity.
"No, I am sorry. What a burden not to know your true heritage." Then she smiled. "My boy, you know about the thirteen paths of martial arts, don't you? Well, the Dracules have always been masters of the sword. No one could wield the sword like them, not even a Roronoa, not even the foundling Hakuryuu, who had taken all thirteen paths. There was only one exception, and yes, he died at the hands of a Dracule, for no one else would have been worthy to kill him."
He looked at her confused. "But... then...?"
"If you had said fight with each other, I wouldn't have contradicted you," she said softly before looking out the window. "It's no coincidence that you feel so connected to my son. Even for a Dracule your love for the sword is incomparable, but my son will understand it, for he already feels it."
"But did you not forbid him to take the path of the sword?"
"Absolutely. I didn't want to pave the way for him, because that's the only way he can make his own." She smiled. "In addition, this body is no longer suitable for teaching him how to fight."
He nodded. It was obvious, not so much the weakened body, but Mihawk could feel how little Haki was in her. He had always wondered why she had sacrificed herself instead of fleeing with Roronoa, but a look told him the answer.
"Was that your sacrifice to overcome time and space?"
She laughed softly. "Oh, the intelligence of a Dracule can be very refreshing. Indeed."
"How did you do it, you and your son?"
"Oh, he wasn't much more than a stowaway at the time," she remarked, unconsciously stroking her abdomen. "You have to know, the old trees carry an incredible amount of power, and if you ask, they help. Oarnos was besieged by the traitors, the Tree of Time far too far away, so I went to see Flora. I gave what I could give, and Flora let me sleep for hundreds of years. Because I hoped that in a later time my child could grow up without being persecuted. But when Flora fell, I awoke, in this cruel world."
She lowered her eyes.
"It is very painful to live in a world where so much suffering has been inflicted on the trees. But we don't choose what time we live in, only what we make of it." Then she looked at him again and a faint smile appeared. "Even if you don't remember, it must have been difficult for you. So many generations, so many lives that you must have waited, just like this world, so many years. But the time is near, one can already hear the air whispering."
It cost him a lot of strength not to roll his eyes at such words. Silvers Rayleigh had always liked to speak in myths and parables as well. It was not his kind of thinking or language. However, he took one thing away from these words.
"So I was destined to meet your son?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe, or maybe it was the countless decisions of many that led you to each other by chance." Then she looked at the fireplace as if the flames were telling her something. "You should ask your questions; you don't have much time left."
He did not hesitate.
"I still have important ones. First of all, what does Oa mean? Or rather, does it mean guardian?"
It was obvious how she tried to read him before finally nodding.
"That's right, child, who no longer knows his own language, it is a word ending that can mean protection or protector, but also guard and accompaniment. But since you don't know the old legends, you can't know the true meaning, of course."
"Will you tell me?"
She seemed almost thoughtful, as if she did not know if she should really do so.
"According to a legend, as old as this world, as old as the trees of this world, there were once two spirits, Oa and Ro, they were considered the guardian gods of this world. Before the first trees bore their blossoms, the two spirits united to form Oaro, Sword and Shield. For a long time, there was never only protection or guardian in our language. Every Oa or Ro you find in a word were once Oaro, Sword and Shield, Attack and Defense, Leadership and Follow, Escort and Resistance. Over time, every language changes, more complex terms are simplified, expressions are shortened, Oaro becomes Oro, Oaronos becomes Oarnos, Roaronoaro becomes Roronoa. But you, young Dracule, should never underestimate the importance of those syllables."
"Is this the reason why you named your son Zoro, a hidden homage to the old spirits?"
"Maybe," she replied with a smile, "or maybe I just liked the name."
"Well, I see," he replied without wasting time, knowing that she would not go into more detail, and that was not necessary, he had received the information he wanted, and his time was apparently short. "Then I come to my next question. The Guardians. Unlike the Wanderers, they are not reborn based on a bloodline, are they?"
She raised an index finger.
"You are asking the question wrong. The task of the Wanderers is to walk the world. They live, die, and are reborn, in an eternal cycle that only they themselves can end. There were only a handful of Wanderers who decided to link their path to a bloodline."
"The traitors."
"No, the ones who followed before they became traitors, and the one who didn't. Guardians, on the other hand... Guardians are born when time needs them, when the trees need them."
"When the king needs him?"
She smiled but said nothing.
"And now? Are the Guardians alive?"
"Are you sure you want to know this? Such knowledge could be dangerous."
He nodded. She closed her eyes thoughtfully and at first, he wondered what she was doing, but then he understood why she seemed to know so much. For a moment her body seemed almost unsteady, then her smile grew, and she raised a finger. Who knew what else the centuries under the influence of one of these trees had caused.
"All but one, but they too will be born soon."
He had known it! He had known it.
"Your next question?" She looked at him again, her body as inconspicuously weak as before.
"The story says that Hakuryuu had twelve dragon swords forged from his heroic sword. The hero's sword, which is said to have been forged from a fang of the dragon. But if the dragon never existed, then..." He pointed to his sword with one hand. "Not only Oarnos was nourished by the blood of the Guardian, was it?"
"How did you notice?" Her eyes lit up.
"So it is true. The legend describes the origin of my sword, not just my sword, therefore... that is why the first supreme swords all react so clearly to him, greedy for his blood."
"And that is why you have such an interest in those swords."
He looked at her.
"Thank you for your answers, but there is one thing you should know. Neither is your son the Guardian, nor am I that Wanderer. It may be that we are descended from them, that our lives are connected to theirs, but we live our own lives and walk our own ways."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Oh, what unusual words for a Dracule. Don't you usually cling to your fate?"
"If my fate is to kill Roronoa, then I will betray it myself."
His statement seemed to amuse her, but then her gaze fell again on the flames.
"You still have time for one last question," she said.
"I do not need any more answers," he replied. "But I want to use the time to tell you one thing. Your son is happy. He follows a man he considers worthy. He followed my instructions and now he is the best swordsman in the world. But most importantly, he always follows his own compass of morality and honor. I ask you to be proud of your son, even if you will never see his way."
"I am proud of him, every second of my being," she said before nodding slowly, "but I am also grateful for your words. It pains me not to be able to accompany his path for much longer, but thanks to you it will be a little easier for me to part ways."
"I cannot take away your suffering, but let me tell you one more thing," he said. "It may be presumptuous, but I do love him, and I will not allow him to die before me."
She smiled.
"I thank you, young Dracule, and I wish you happiness, too. However, I must give you a warning. If you seek your happiness with my son, it will be a lonely path. He won't be able to decide for you."
"A Roronoa who is intimidated by fate," he laughed softly. "You shouldn't underestimate your son or me."
She tilted her head questioningly.
"It may surprise you, but my path is anything but lonely. I never asked your son to decide, and he is – just – selfish enough not to want to decide."
"Is that so?" it escaped her, and she also showed a smile. "What luck."
Then she got up and Mihawk did the same as she approached him. For a moment he thought the fire was about to burn down, but then he noticed that the darkness seemed to creep out of the corners of the room, seemed to obstruct his vision.
"It's time for you to go back," she said, grabbing his hand. "Please tell my son the following words..."
His eyes widened.
It did not take him a second to recognize the gentle rocking. The coffin boat. He was about to close his eyes again, when he noticed that he was still holding someone's hand.
His gaze slid to the side, Roronoa sat next to him in bed and even in the darkness of the night he could see Roronoa staring at him with a wide eye. Mihawk had grabbed his hand, still holding it. A wave of relief flooded through him, so grateful was he at that moment, so humble that it had not been a dream, that he was here now, that Roronoa was with him now. But then he noticed Roronoa's gaze, almost glassy.
"Roronoa, what is the matter?"
Never before had the other looked at him like that.
"What did you just say?"
"Excuse me?" Confused, he also sat up. "What are you talking about?"
"You've just said... Did you dream?"
Please tell my son the following words.
They looked at each other.
"I met your mother... I think. It was a dream, but it was also..."
"Real?"
He nodded and he could see how different emotions glided over Roronoa's face, which he rarely showed otherwise.
"Have her words reached you?"
Roronoa's unharmed eye widened for a moment, then he averted his gaze and nodded gently.
"What did she say?"
Almost absent-mindedly, Roronoa spoke a few words in that long-forgotten language that Mihawk did not understand, and it was almost as if her voice echoed in his words.
He raised a hand, touched Roronoa on the shoulder.
"What do those words mean?"
And then Roronoa seemed to return from his thoughts, he grinned smugly at Mihawk, obviously enjoyed having knowledge ahead of him for once.
"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"
Thinking of all the knowledge he had gained, he graciously played along.
"Yes, I would like to know."
"Well, your problem." Roronoa yawned expansively and then fell back into the sheets. "I will definitely continue to sleep now. Next time, try to be quieter in your time travels."
"She was very proud of you."
There, in the sheets, Roronoa looked up at him, a gentle smile, but a glassy look.
"I know," he whispered.
"However, she was also quite rude," Mihawk remarked and dropped down next to Roronoa, giving him closeness without Roronoa having to ask, "she did not even offer me tea, tze."
Roronoa laughed softly.
"Did you have to sit on the floor?"
"Yes, on an old, tattered cushion by the fireplace. You really did live quite... simple."
"Oh, you were lucky, visitors weren't usually allowed to enter past the entrance area."
"Oh really?" He looked at Roronoa, who shrugged his shoulders and looked up at the ceiling, yawned slightly, no longer so burdened by deep thoughts.
"No." Then he yawned again.
"And I cannot convince you to tell me the meaning of those words?"
Roronoa looked at him with a grin.
"No."
He sighed. "Well, then it is probably time for me to learn that language."
"If you think so," Roronoa laughed softly. "I'm going to sleep on now. Good night."
For a moment, he watched as Roronoa closed his eye, yawned again, and then actually fell asleep within seconds, a truly special gift. For a heartbeat, he almost looked like the boy from twenty years ago.
"Good night, my little frog."
Hey everybody,
I know some of you have been waiting for some answers, so here you got them (although I'm not sure, whether they actually answered any questions or just caused more^^') I hope you enjoyed it.
Next time we'll also play a little bit with... what if... ;-)