Archive of Our Own

A staccato, his melody drew from heartstrings that might never sing for anyone who could listen. The specs of snow fluttered over his face and no longer melted against his pale skin, settling like regrets in his heart. His teeth no longer twitched or felt wrong inside his mouth as he breathed into the cold world around him. Everything was pure white, even his pain.

The blood had stained the snow, but the color was now gone. Everything is overridden by more snow: nothing but the sound of the wind and ocean around him.

His body lay quiet with the rest of the crew as mere motionless limbs.

They had tried to outrun fate, from Paradise to the New World, to escape the Celestial rage that drummed like the storm above. A divine punishment, one they could no longer flee as he is the only remaining one, the last spec of the Lucky pirates to be seen alive.

And soon, he would join the rest of his family, including his father. He would be one with the deathly pale blanket that ate at the edges of his body and consciousness. A ravenous beast that looked so gentle, innocently lulling him to the last sleep he would ever get. He would go quiet like a tree falling in a forest with no one to hear him. His eyes flutter with the next flake that lands over his forehead, like the tender kiss of his mother once a long time ago.

He could still see her long chocolate hair cascading around him like a protective veil, the scent of her perfume warm and cozy, and her embrace a promise for a good night's sleep, vanquishing the monsters inside his closet—a vow for sweet dreams as cotton candy-flavored clouds in the form of a kiss to his temple.

A promise that he once swore to her as she laid as he did now, steps away from death’s doorstep and last words that felt heavier on his chest. /I will be gone, so you are going to take care of yourself/ he wished he could remember her before her skin became pale or her olive eyes lacked the luster from his childhood. Her voice seemed to fade away slowly, /But you don’t have the luxury…, my fletching, you have to care of them too./

/I am sorry, Mother./ Beyond his thoughts and memories, there was only snow; the cold settled, and his lashes fluttered with one more flake landing close to the corner of his eye. The haze clouding his vision was not from his lack of glasses or the tears he had no more to shed; the ember of life slowly snuffed away.

You are going to be good, won’t you?

The sound of the waves breaking awoke the last bit of consciousness he held onto; something approached the ice-covered shoreline. The ship was only a shadow that contrasted with the gray sky.

There were voices, not ones he recognized. It must be the cold, but he swore there was something warm over his chest: adrenaline or the will to continue as the last vestige from his crew. Elliot turned with stiff limbs, the ache of muscles a dull numbness, wondering if he was even moving as his blue fingers crawled with the edges of his nails, bloody and tethering with each pull.

The figure standing at the center of the snowfield didn’t seem to notice him. No one did. Not until he was grabbing onto the ends of a cape. Almost black smudges stained the tyrian mantle as Elliot held on. The brunet moved his lips uselessly and futile through the shame of acting rudely to this person, asking for help he did not deserve. Whoever it was, they did not speak yet. Elliot could feel the gaze on him. To believe there was a chance made his bloody fingers grasp them as desperately as he could manage.

His voice slurred, struggling to break through the dizzy surface to take one breath, the snow muffling him. He needed to say something, ask– beg for help, and it should not be for naught. The light in his father’s eyes was gone with the hope that he would survive, another promise he might not keep.

Elliot lifts his head just enough, his neck muscles straining. The start of a headache broke even through the numbness. “A-ah-” one noise, he only needed to say one word.

His open mouth gets stuffed with ice when another person steps on the back of his head, the hit taking his breath away. His body stays unmoving as he listens, “Let go at once, pirate! How dare you even consider–”

“Stop,” the voice is soft but commanding, and even he can tell it comes from the pure security of one’s bearings.

“But, Lady-” bewilderment made him waver, and the weight on his head lifted. He wished he could extend his gratitude as the shock had awoken his body’s last survival instinct.

“Would you really kill the only possible source of information we might get, right in front of your own commander?” a question that made the rest of the world grow quiet with a clear answer. The sound of shifting snow is new, but he can tell the person is closer, crouching perhaps in front of him. “Lift your head.”

There was no kindness, nor was it a question if Elliot could. Someone waited expectantly for Elliot Fletcher to act. He might be delusional, but he coughed up the snow and lifted his eyes to meet the young girl. Her pink hair contrasted with the pale world, her visible eye reminding him of when the sky was clear. She stared down at him, her coat pooling around her in a blanket of warmth, while Elliot could only open his quivering lips in inaudible noises. The bitter taste and cooper heaviness slowed down his marred tongue.

The stranger seemed interested enough to still speak to him, “Are you going to let go of me?” no answer, but he did offer her a slight head sway that made his world spin, “What would it take for you to let go?”

He took one long breath, even if his lungs screamed at him to stop, “H-help,” He managed as much with a long drawing of the vocal, hoarse voice from over-tense vocal cords and his throat closing halfway.

Of all the people in the world who could have stumbled on this island by chance, Reiju Vinsmoke wondered privately, /how unlucky was this person?/ her eyes glancing down to the hand holding onto her winter cloak; “Take him to the ship,” even then, there would be little to no mercy. The soldier had to pry off the man from her clothes before they could take him back to the ship. She expected almost no traces of their target, and as she continued investigating, the snow had eaten all tracks away. Turning her gaze to the nomadic palace's looming towers and sharp angles, she realized that her act would be in their best interest. With that reassurance, she added to one of the soldiers, “Tend to him. I need him alive.” The salute and confirmation were enough for her to start heading back and leave this frozen winter island behind.

“They…attacked,” Merciless, without a second to let his crew explain or his father’s silver tongue to get them out of the situation this time. Elliot lifts his gaze from his bandaged hands, staring back at the bright room and the girl sitting across the fine tea set and coffee table. She doesn’t speak, letting him disrupt the silence in the room.

She asked only once, /What happened to you?/ monotone and direct. Her pink lips pulled into a thin, faux smile.

He said what he could and no more. “Set sail…north,” he added after long breaths, achingly filling his lungs with air. It remains there, alongside the guilt in his gut. His tongue sat awkwardly inside his mouth, his pale lips barely parting as his eyes shifted with emotions solely in need to shed tears.

Reiju stared at him, crossing one of her long legs over the other; he could see her fingers tapping on the inked skin of her thigh. The coldness didn’t seem to mind her, or perhaps, it was all in his head. His eyes close as he tastes the blood at the back of his throat, clogging his airway with a raspy breath.

The doctors had fixed all his injuries. The report she got mentioned a life-threatening one on his right side and setting hypothermia, but seeing his recovery said enough; the scientific might of Germa66 had perks. But this young man had uttered no word through the pain. The medical bay might have been good at fixing broken bodies, but it was not a pleasant process, his condition should be optimal besides some discomfort, and painkillers had tended to even that. Reiju couldn’t understand why he was not speaking more about the tragedy, choosing to endure in silence instead of raging over his loss. She didn’t like how that seemed so fitting in this place, to lose all sense of humanity.

“What’s your name?” she politely asked. Late was not always wrong, her voice chirping into the silence to help break it. She gets a soft twitch, recalling the sight of an injured bird. This one, however, did not call for help.

It took him a second to bring his lips to part and hoarsely answer, “Elliot… Fletcher.”

“Elliot,” Reiju repeats, “My name is Reiju Vinsmoke,” getting a bow from the brunet. She wished he would stop acting so formally, but there was nothing she could do. Powerless in her stance and throne, she had no point thinking about how to help when she had no reason to. “Do you have a problem talking to me?”

Elliot shakes his head, making the lady lift a thin, oddly curled eyebrow. If he was not uncomfortable, then it could be his mouth. She had seen the soldier stomp down on his head while he was trying to speak, and if he had not voiced a complaint, the doctors wouldn’t bother checking. Reiju let go of a soft breath, “Show me your tongue.”

Regret might have been the least of her worries as the man slowly parted his lips, exposing his tongue to the room. The red and fresh mark was almost disturbingly recognizable, even with the blood that coated the pink muscle. The pointed edges seared like a hot knife to skin. A Celestial Soaring hoof was known to anyone wise to avoid upsetting or getting the favor of a God.

Quickly taking her stance, she closes her one visible eye. Having this knowledge would do neither of them good. She had no reason to protect a slave, nor did she want to divert their course to bring him in, “I can’t stop our chase, but you may leave the ship when we dock at the next island.” Leaving him there should be enough. The less she meddles, the better.

It felt like a deja vu as Elliot bowed to her until his forehead touched the floor. Such a vulnerable and open submission statement tasted worse than the medicine she had to take for her training.

“Allow…me,” he whispered.

Reiju could only guess what he meant. Every word he had spoken must be a toll on his tongue. And yet, he still chose to give her whatever information he had. The least she could do was listen. “You can’t stay. We are no charity organization. We are a military base.” thriving in war and violence for the best bidder. /No one should like it here/

“R-repay…” The word came as a stutter.

“Don’t assume wrong, Elliot. I got what I needed from you, and you have no reason nor benefit for us to accept you,” Reiju was not harsh but direct, and even then, he would only get worse treatment if he were to stay.

“Allow me…to pledge my life– atone.”

/Atone?/

She understood then that even if she were to warn or spare him from suffering as another tool for Germa66, Elliot might be more reluctant to go. This man was not seeking freedom but penance. Any punishment her brothers or soldiers might give him would be hell to endure. For what? A slow, torturous death to compensate for his sins. A pathetic soul only to wander in his remorse.

Death would be far kinder. “You are throwing away your humanity, signing off your future to a cause that will make you question everything,” her hands clasp into fists, staring at his messy brown hair, continuing to keep his head down. From now on, that might be the position he will live by.

“Long live….Germa66”

Breathing out under the gracing sun, his glasses reflected the light in a flutter of lashes. His green eyes stared at the light blue colors that melted into shades beyond the horizon. It had been a long memory since he started working for the Vinsmoke family. It would be brash of him to call two years of working under them celebratory and even less so when his job has been negligibly unproductive. His hands had taken time to heal, and his lack of audible response to authority had gotten him several scoldings. It must have been amusing to the rest of the servants. The Vinsmoke family only hand-picked their personnel, while Elliot had been allowed to stay in the name of the oldest sibling. He had much to prove for Reiju not to regret her choice, his body had healed, and mere scars marked his skin and tongue.
His hand shifted to angle the broom he was holding to clean the deck. The breeze was not helpful in his task, but perhaps that’s one of the reasons the head butler had given it to him. His punishment was a barrage of bruises, insults, and degrading status as a lowlife. He wondered when it had all become so typical. He continues dusting off the deck as he hears the soldiers holding the newspaper talk around him—the comics.

Elliot had seen them start spreading through the North blue like summer fires. His highness Judge had found them beneficial to the name Germa66, the word of his children as villains against Sora, the Warrior of the Sea, only making them a more significant threat. The government had been amicable with the army, letting them course through marked territories and work on breaking civil wars or stopping pirates.

Elliot controls his movements, the wind picking up his hair. It had grown far longer than he had ever let it. Gunter had always trimmed it for him. His grip on the stick tightened to the point that his palms turned white. There was no one to ask for help. The bangs fell over his eyes to the point that he could barely see past his glasses, but it did help to hide his eyes when he bowed. If he let them, however, they would become troublesome. He absently wondered how the masters handled their hairstyles. Master Niji had bangs resembling ebbing waves under waving crested moons, not a hair out of place for the expectation of his bed hair. The green hair of master Yonji was perfectly slicked back, and he seemed proud to wear it. They all were prideful in their looks, but a servant like him could not ask the personal servants to help him cut his hair.

Forgiveness would not come if he spoke just to ask for favors.

Elliot gulps down as he takes the broom and dustpan, letting the dirt slide into the trashcan to the side. He blinked behind his bangs; the sun started making him dizzy. Unable to recall how long He had been trying to keep the deck clean of any stray leaf or dust particle, the sun was beyond its cusp. Taking up the mop and bucket next, he ignores the aches of his muscles as the heaviness of heat and effort starts dragging him down like shackles to his shoulders and ankles. /This was nothing./ Nothing compared to what the masters went through at missions.

The Vinsmokes were young. They could be considered children anywhere besides the Germa Kingdom, but here? They are weapons, just like he was a tool. The comics depicted them as adults due to the public not being able to believe kids having such powers: able to stop bullets, take on fires like they were misted fog, and endure training with no ethics. Elliot wasn’t one to compare. He was human, insignificant compared to their mighty rule.

“You,” came a voice that rang like the strung of harps in the silence.

His head lifts from his mopping, and he freezes when the lower edges of his glasses meet the red hair of the boy- Master Ichiji. His hands let go first, and his knees buckle in action to let his body drop and prostrate himself to his owner. He had not heard him in the least. He makes a subtle noise of acknowledgment and nods to him just to show his respect.

Ichiji continues to stare down at him. It was the first time he had been so close or even been referred to by other than only servants or soldiers had spoken to him- this was the First prince.

No amount of imagination might have made him consider such a situation: his shoulder trembles, doubt, and confusion taking over the flaring warning in his mind.

“I require you to bring me the File 1-B0C2 from the archives to my room. I shall be taking lunch there,” his voice is an order. Ichiji did not care who this particular servant was and did not care for his name either. He needed something done, something so minuscule that any servant would suffice. He required only those who would perform and would not fall beneath his standards. The servant nods, giving a soft affirmative noise. The Master was expecting him to do his job, leave everything behind and act.

Elliot yelps inwardly, pulled by his hair, mid chocolate strand held by Ichiji to lift his head. The squint of his eyes comes from the blindness of the sun behind the red hair and shaded frame. There is silence– his lashes flutter to see his Master staring back—the gleam of seafoam peeks through the glasses. He cannot say what Ichiji might have been thinking, but they stayed like that for a moment longer.

Ichiji needed to see who would bring him his files, “You will do, but fix this,” a command. The hair had been in the way, and no servant should have such a deplorable appearance, like a shaggy homeless and not up-to-par uniform. Ichiji lets go, his footsteps fading.

/You will do/

His hair is let go, and the pace of his master fades just like he arrived, silent and whimsical. His brilliance left every nerve-ending flaring, his breath came in shaky intakes, and the sun's heat was overwhelming instead of tolerable. Elliot had been appointed by chance or fate; his master had trusted him with a job. He must change his hair, the Master had not been pleased, and his voice of disappointment was excruciatingly loud.

So long, for these two years, he had tried to find his place, even when he accepted the punishments but actively did not seek them. It would be a disrespect to the household that had taken him in. His mother had taught him better, and his father had pride in his work.

To be up to standard, to be at his every aid; beck, and call. To one day be useful to Germa. Ichiji had been the first to notice him, not by his failures but by an expectation. In the future, he wished to reach those expectations. Such a small delivery, but it was a purpose– to serve.

His life had been handed to the Vinsmoke family that day.

His only purpose was to attend to them to the best of his abilities. All his actions had a thoughtful consideration with their goals at the center; fixing his clothes, caring for his health, keeping himself in shape, and maintaining the status quo of the staff at bay from any treason.

Reiju met him again after the title of personal butler was bestowed to him years later, rising from the lowest tier of their command chain.

“Congratulations are in order,” she said gently, a small smile adorning her features as she brought the tea Elliot had prepared to her lips. The taste was mild and gentle, a perfect addition to her meal to let the food settle.

He steps back, holding the tray to his chest as his torso tilts in a curt bow. He owed it all to Reiju. Until his last breath, he could not say those words enough, “Thank you, Lady Reiju.”