Archive of Our Own

The autumn sun warms the stone of the castle where it has dazzled through the towering windows. At the light of a sunbeam, Zoro stops to check the laces of his boots.

He tightens them, and has just redone the knot when the echoing taptaptap of his sister’s heels warns him of her oncoming wrath.

“And just where are you off to?” Perona calls out to him as she hunts him down.

Zoro stands, slinging his quiver back on. “Out,” he answers.

Perona finally reaches him and sees fit to immediately jab her manicured finger into his bicep. “We have council this afternoon.”

“You have a council meeting this afternoon,” Zoro corrects, adjusting the straps of his quiver to lay it in the center of his back. “I’m not listening to some boring trade agreements for hours upon end.”

“You can’t just skip-” Perona argues.

Proving his point, Zoro walks away.

Unfortunately- Perona follows him, like the pest she is. Her skirts rustle as she takes twice the steps he does to keep up with his stride.

“You’re the crown prince, this is an expected responsibility,” she huffs.

“No one expects my opinion, I’ll hardly be missed.” Zoro debates gruffly. “When the council holds concerns for our armies- I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be informing Mihawk,” Perona warns, turning her chin up as if that means something.

“He can scold me later-” Zoro tells her, sliding his bow comfortably around his chest as he reaches the outer doors of the castle.

“Zoro-” Perona frets.

He pauses, his palm flat to the wood of the door. His sister's stern frown twists with frustration, and he sighs, exasperated.

No matter if the blame lies with him, as the elder- Zoro knows she’ll be speaking to his absence at the council. “I just need to get out here for a day- Loose some energy.” He explains with a nod of his chin towards the heart of the castle. “This place is a damn hornets nest sometimes.”

The princess crosses her arms, buoying her emotions behind a pout.

“Just… Don’t wander far,” she cautions, her lips pinched tight. “We are in the season of the lifted veil right now.” She reminds him.

Zoro grimaces, palm running flat atop the hilt of his favored sword.

Right.

The Lifted Veil, the four weeks leading up to Samhain where the shroud between the mortal world and the fae realm grows faint.

It’s considered a dangerous time to wander the forests unaware. While Fae aren’t considered particularly violent- They are known for their trickery. And as a crown prince, Zoro would make a fine target of a mischievous scheme.

As Kuraigana’s Head General, however, Zoro is more than capable of handling himself.

Zoro smirks. There’s some irony to Perona’s caution. When they were young children, Perona had yelled for the fae to take Zoro away on more than one occasion.

But he’s probably more useful to her now than he was as a snot nosed kid who’d chase her across the courtyard with bugs and sticks.

Still, his sister means well.

“I can deal with trouble,” Zoro assures her confidently. “And besides- I know these woods.”

“You do not,” she drawls. “You get lost on your way to- Hey!”

Zoro pushes through the door as her voice pitches in complaint at his back. “I’ll see you later, Rona,” he gripes.

“You better be back before nightfall!”

He takes the steps at the castle stoop two at a time, hastening his way away from the clean-cut grounds and towards the outer battlements of the northern forests.

The gates open on Zoro’s approach, and Zoro has to wave off the guards when they pause to stand at attention.

“A damn hornets nest,” he mutters to himself.

Kuraigana’s autumnal forest holds a crisp atmosphere.

Leaves crush beneath the sole of his boots as Zoro walks through the brush. The canopy above shudders on the breath of the breeze.

Nearby, a skitter of leaves tells him that he’s sent some creature stirring. He continues on without sparing a glance.

Some miles back- Zoro’d picked up the trail of a stag. And despite the dense foliage lining the forest floor this season, he’s been able to follow it successfully.

Already he’s traced the winding path of a hillside, skirted the edge of a grassy field, and waded across a narrow stream.

A branch snaps from the tug of a clenched bite.

Zoro halts.

It’s in the pale light of a grove that he finds the beast- standing tall beside a bountiful thicket of berry bushes.

Zoro keeps his steps slow and even as he places part of his body behind the cover of a nearby tree. He purposefully leans into the trunk's shadow as he slides his bow overhead.

On any other occasion- Zoro’s preferable to the weight of a blade in hand. And still, he keeps the familiar weight on his hip. But in the depths of the forest, there are tools favored for good reason.

The stag dips its head to nibble on the leaves of a bush. Its warm breath steams the crisp morning air.

Zoro slowly knocks his arrow, hooking his fingertips around the line and pulling it back as the wood of the bow creaks with tension. He pulls the notch to align with his cheekbone, following the line of the arrow down the shaft as he finds his aim.

The stag lifts his head, snout turning as its ear flicks. Zoro stills.

He lines his shot- And-

Thwack!

Zoro’s bow is kicked askew by the punt of a heel, his arrow thudding bluntly into the trunk of the tree as the swordsman is toppled aside by the sheer force of the blow.

Alarm spiking, Zoro catches himself in a roll and releases hold of the bow to draw a blade before he’s even returned to his feet. Distantly, he can hear the thud of the stag's hooves as it gallops to safety.

He swings his arm up, locking his blade into a block-

And halts at the sight of his attacker.

For a moment, the light behind him fractures his outline, but as Zoro’s vision adjusts- he quickly realizes it’s a young man, likely no older than himself. He’s tall, with gleaming blond hair and distractingly long legs. His feet are planted firm and his cheeks are flushed a bright apple red.

“Are you daft?” The man snaps. “What do you think you’re doing-?

“What am I doing?!” Zoro barks back, “Why’d you ruin my shot?”

“I was stopping you from attacking a creature on fae land!” He waves towards the swordsman, as if it’s obvious.

“What?” Zoro snorts, lowering his blade a fraction. “Fae land? These forests belong to the Kingdom of Kuraigana.”

“Ohh… Does it now?” The blond scoffs, looking down his nose, “It’s amusing that you think the fae court appreciates mortal borders.”

“And I’ve never heard of any fae land here,” Zoro persists, genuinely puzzled. He pulls his blade back fully, twisting it around his wrist and sliding it into its sheath with a metallic tap. “If they’re causing trouble, though, I’m- ”

Zoro is cut off as the blond strikes at him again with the swing of his leg, the swordsman having to leap aside before his legs are swept out from under him. “Oi!”

“Do not give your name out in this forest, Mosshead,” the blond scolds, his brow pinches and he looks incredulous. “Have you been taught nothing?”

Which okay… Zoro has been told the rules of the fae before.

Possibly several times. Again- Perona’s fault.

The fae are manipulative, greedy creatures. They use glamor to sway the eye and their tongue to sway the mind. They’re often disguised as humans but can be spotted by an otherworldly beauty that can’t be fully cloaked.

Or so he’s been told. Zoro’s never actually met one before.

Wait-

Zoro looks at the blond again. The man has silken hair that hangs loose around his jaw, framing elegant features and an usual swirled shape to his brow. He wears a pale blue tunic of shimmering linen and navy trousers. His attire is ornamented with acorn caps in place of buttons and there are actual flowers pressed into the pleats.

A woven basket is hooked around the bend of his arm, snug against the lean line of his waist. Violet and burgundy berries sit nestled among an odd selection of weeds.

Zoro probably should have noticed these things earlier.

“Are you a fae?” He questions.

“No I am not,” The blond presses a tight breath from his lips. “If I were- I’d have let you shoot the stag and enjoyed the aftermath.”

Zoro’s brow furrows. “Then what are you doing out here?”

The man’s jaw tightens. He then lifts his basket in emphasis. “Foraging,” he says flatly.

Zoro stares, “on fae land?”

“I am foraging respectfully,” the blond snaps.

“Uh huh,” the swordsman drawls.

He steps forward and the blond immediately backsteps to compensate for the distance, blue eyes flashing warily. Zoro’s attention diverts, following the blond’s retreat with a curious eye.

“Relax, Curly,” Zoro grunts, reaching out to fist a grip around the shaft of his arrow and pull it free from the bark of the tree. He checks the tip for damage before reaching up to slide it back into his quiver.

Curly scoffs. “I’m not the one here who’s attired with- Honestly how many weapons is that…?” The blond gestures towards Zoro with a wave of a lithe hand. “Three swords? Who wields three swords?” He mumbles incredulously.

“Watch it,” Zoro bristles, his hand reflexively tightening around the hilt of a blade.

The blond’s curled eyebrow raises, as if Zoro has just proven his point.

Which- Dammit. Zoro grimaces.

Curly shifts his weight where he stands, and some of the items he’s foraged tumble about in his basket. Zoro scowls as he looks closer at the flora. There’s a long, narrow frond that twists into a curl at the tip. A bough of leaves that are inexplicably in the shape of a heart, and a handful of flowerbuds with hues of blue starbursting from the leaves.

He’s never seen anything like them before.

“What are you foraging for so respectfully?” Zoro asks, nodding towards the basket. “I don’t recognize any of those.”

The blond’s lips turn up in a barely withheld smile. He seems to quarrel with his words for a moment before he finally speaks. “Some ingredients only grow properly when the veil is thin.” He reaches into his basket and plucks a ripe red berry from a crooked stem. Then, after a moment of deliberation, he holds it out. “Here-”

He offers the berry from his palm and his pale skin dusted with the shimmer of pollen.

Zoro takes the berry with the pinch of two fingers. It’s oblong in shape, with a stem that creeps around the flesh like a helm. Finding nothing suspicious about it other than its lack of familiarity, he holds it to his mouth and plucks the berry free with the bite of his teeth.

It’s tart and juicy, a pleasant tang bursting across his tongue. “Mh,” he decides.

“I can’t believe you just ate that,” the blond awes. His oddly curled eyebrows risen near to his hairline.

“Why?” Zoro mumbles around his treat.

“You’ve no idea who I am,” Curly scoffs.

“I would have introduced myself if you’d let me,” Zoro gripes.

“And that could have been poisoned- or bespelled.”

“Is it?” Zoro checks, licking a bit of juice from his thumb.

Curly huffs, looking put out. “No,” he grumbles.

Zoro smirks, holding his palm out in question. And interesting enough, the blond obliges him- plucking a second berry from his store and dropping it in the center of Zoro’s palm.

The swordsman watches the other man’s face as he lifts the fruit to his lips. As Zoro slips the berry onto his tongue, his eye traces the elegant cut of the other man’s cheekbone- watching with intrigue as it tints a sweet rosy pink.

“What are you staring at?” Curly mumbles, his eyes skittering aside as he reaches a hand up, roughly carding through pale strands that catch the light with a honey shine.

Zoro doesn’t look away. “You blush easily.”

“I do not,” he bristles.

Zoro grins.

He’s just opened his mouth to debate that fact when, abruptly, a screeching whine rings out through the bushes.

At the noise, both men snap to attention, sharing a brief look of confirmation before they’re moving in tandem. Zoro is quicker, uncaring of the noise he makes as he cuts through the brush of the forest.

The high pitched whining continues, cut only by a thrashing of small limbs across fallen leaves. Zoro parts the boughs of a sapling, and finds the source of the noise.

A young hare, struggling to flee from the snare of a trap.

It’s a rudimentary setup, crafted of spry branches and hemp. The creature’s chest is heaving as it struggles, a dark beady eye flashing up at him.

Without thought, Zoro kneels- brazenly grabbing it by the scruff and holding it imobile with his left hand as he draws a blade with his right.

“Hold still,” Zoro mutters to the creature. And from over his shoulder, the leaves rustle at Curly’s entrance. Immediately, the blond sounds a sharp intake of breath.

“No don’t-!”

Zoro brings his blade down-

And the line of the snare severs with a clean snap.

The line draws slack. The rabbit’s heart beats with a racing patter beneath Zoro’s palm where he holds it firm against the earth.

“Oh,” with a shuddering breath, Curly drops to his knees at Zoro’s side, folding down onto the balls of his feet. He grabs a handful of berries from his basket and scatters them across the ground by the hare’s nose. “Shhh… Just a moment longer,” he promises.

The rabbit’s nose works in a snuffle through the dirt as it chases the scent of ripe fruit, and Zoro adjusts his hold of its scuff to let it reach the treat as he drops his sword aside.

Gently, Zoro reaches for the knot at its ankle. He teases it loose with a single finger, and slips it free of the creature’s limb, smoothing the fur and finding relief when there’s no injury beneath it. Satisfied, he glances over to check in with his companion before he releases it.

Curly nods once, and Zoro pulls his arm back in a swift movement, prepared for the wild creature to lash out. But instead- it holds incredibly still, as if uncertain. A black eye flitting over them both as its breathing slows.

Finally, it takes a single berry more between the gnaw of its teeth.

And then darts off into the underbrush- quick as a whip.

Zoro barks a laugh, “bold little shit,” he commends. He turns, sharing his amusement with the blond.

Only to find Curly staring back at him with round, incredulous eyes.

“What?” Zoro frowns.

“I thought… I thought you were going to kill it,” Curly says softly.

“Naw,” Zoro brushes him off. “Wasn’t my trap. I don’t hunt with’em.”

“Never?” Curly questions, skepticism clear in his tone as his blue eye flits over to the bow and quiver he wears.

“I don’t see the honor in it.” Zoro tells him firmly. “If I’m not skilled enough to take it down with my weapons, then that’s my burden.”

“That’s…surprisingly respectable,” Curly admits with a furrowed brow.

Zoro shrugs, gathers his blade and slides it home into its sheath. He stands, and Curly follows, gathering his basket once more.

“Are you going to be out here much longer?” Zoro asks.

“I will leave before dusk.” Curly replies, his voice light.

“Let me accompany you,” Zoro offers. “If I can’t hunt, there’s little else for me to be doing.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” The blond smirks. “If you recall- I disarmed you with a single limb, Mosshead.”

Zoro’s brain staggers- because that’s a good point. His gaze drops instinctively, tracing the lean line of the blond’s silhouette. He finds compact muscle that sinews beneath tidy fabrics and makes him consider poor decisions.

“You always fight with your legs?” Zoro asks, mouth dry.

The blond snorts. “You’d be amazed what people overlook when they’re staring too hard,” he replies, his tone pointed.

The swordsman snaps his attention back to the blond’s face, his ears heating. Curly smiles, bemused.

“So… foraging?” Zoro tries.

Sharp blue irises look Zoro over from head to toe, blatantly appraising him before he decides to speak again. “You can tag along, if you must.” Curly remarks. “Just don’t get in the way.”

Zoro smirks, “lead on then, Curly.”

The afternoon air has warmed beneath the rays of the overhead sun. Light dapples between the sway of leaves.

Curly meanders through the trees and brush with idle patience. It’s surprisingly peaceful, being able to enjoy the mild skittering of small creatures nearby and the hush of the autumnal breeze.

As sunlight filters through the canopy of leaves above, it glances across Curly’s shoulders and lingers atop the folds of his shirt. His blond hair shines like burnished gold as his sharp eyes watch the forest with irises blue as the sky.

He’s remarkably... elegant. Poised, with a sense of awareness and lethality to him that makes Zoro’s chest stir with interest.

They’ve walked together some distance when Curly tilts his head to peer aside at the swordsman. A thoughtful pinch to the bow of his lips.

Zoro meets his curious gaze and raises an eyebrow.

“You’re very loud,” Curly informs him.

Zoro scowls. “I’ve not said anything.”

Curly rolls his eyes, waving a flippant hand towards Zoro’s boots. “I don’t mean with words.”

“I’m just walking,” Zoro debates.

“You’re announcing yourself,” the blond corrects. “And you’re fortunate plants don’t have ears, or all my ingredients would be scattering for the underbrush.”

Zoro snorts, “but then we’d be hunting- and that’s not allowed.”

“So you were paying attention,” Curly smirks, “color me impressed. Mosshead.”

Zoro rolls his eyes. “I still don’t know that I believe we’re on fae land,” he argues.

“Between the solstices, everything beyond the river belongs to the Summer Court,” the blond declares boldly.

Zoro hums around a grimace. That sounds like some fae nonsense- But he sees little point in arguing the matter further with the other man.

He seems to be of the suspicious sort.

Besides, it’s not as if Zoro’s an expert on fae politics. He’s never knowingly met one.

Luffy claimed he had, once. A fae woman with red hair bright as flames, who lifted his coin straight from his pocket.

A story that would hold more weight if Luffy ever had any coin to steal. He’d also said that they’d parted as friends, but Luffy says that about most people he meets.

With nothing more to add to the matter- Zoro lets the subject drop, continuing to stride passively at Curly’s side as the quiet hum of the forest fills the air between them.

The blond walks with slow purpose, diverting from his path in brief intervals as he spies any flora of interest. He’s unabashedly tactile with the forest as he sees fit.

Curly bends to cup a flower in the palm of his hand, pressing a leaf into the petals before he plucks the stem.

When they pass a low set crop of wild grass with yellow, unopened buds, the blond pauses to brush his palm across the prickly tips of the fronds. He hums, an indecisive noise, before he reaches out and takes a small handful of the buds for his forage.

A dusting of yellow pollen clings to his fingertips, bright against his skin before the breeze steals it away.

Zoro watches him with one hand leisurely resting across his hilts and warm intrigue in his gaze.

The blond steps off towards a berry bush as they pass it. He tilts his head, looking it over before he reaches out to begin plucking fruits from the boughs.

“How much do you gather?”

“As much as I can without being disruptive,” Curly says, tucking the berries away with a careful hand. “We can take plenty from this one, for example, because it’s bountiful.”

Zoro takes the words as invitation and treads closer. He bends to sit on his heels and reaches out to pluck at an enticing berry.

The fruit squishes between his fingertips before he can even tug it off of the stem. He frowns, tossing the remains into his mouth before trying again- only to find the same result.

Curly teases a laugh beside him. “You’re gripping too tightly.”

“How else am I to get it off the branch?”

“Gently,” Curly advises, to Zoro’s flat featured reply. The blond snorts. “Use more than two fingers. Twist it off the stem, don’t pinch it.”

Zoro scrunches up his face into a frown and tries again. He reaches for a dark cluster of ripe berries and cradles the small fruit with two fingers and a thumb, turning his wrist as he teases it free of the stem.

“There you go,” Curly grins, holding his basket between them for Zoro to reach. “Careful now, Hunter, or you might start enjoying this.”

Zoro gathers another, gaining confidence with his movements. As the swordsman places the next fruit within the basket, their knuckles brush. He doesn’t withdraw- and finds that Curly’s skin is warm, like the smooth grain of a river pebble beneath the sun.

Silently, Curly takes his hand back and turns his head away. His ears shaded pink.

Zoro smiles.

They collect several handfuls from the bush before Curly directs them onward.

The blond guides him about the forest for the rest of the afternoon's dwindling hours. Zoro occasionally helping gather when the bounty is enough to share the effort.

The forest isn’t an unfamiliar place.

Zoro hunts at a regular frequency to help keep the castle’s pantry stocked and his skills sharp. He’s wandered the lands in every season. He’s seen the leaves turn with burnished oranges and soft yellows. He’s enjoyed the sharp scent of pine and the mellow taste of the breeze.

But Zoro’s never actually stopped to pluck a flower, or gather berries gentle enough not to bruise their flesh.

It’s refreshing, offering depth where Zoro’s never seen it before.

Curly’s company is bright, with his gleaming blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and sharp tongue. Zoro finds a bitter twist of disappointment knowing their time together is coming to a close.

The shadows have begun to stretch long between the trees and the light turns warm on the cusp of sunset. In the low sunlight, Zoro watches as Curly’s hair deepens into warm hues of amber.

Curly adjusts the basket on his arm and clears his throat, “I should head back.”

Zoro swallows, “oh.”

“It was… interesting to meet you,” the blond remarks, with a faint, teasing smile.

There’s a pause. It’s hanging and…. almost cold. Zoro can’t find the right words to reply.

But when Curly moves to step past- the swordsman catches him at the elbow, halting him with the faintest pressure of his fingertips.

The blond’s eyes lift in question, in surprise.

“Could I see you again?” Zoro blurts out.

“...Why?” Curly asks carefully.

“Because I’d like to,” he tells him simply.

Curly looks at him for a long moment, his glimmering blues softening as the turn of a smile catches on his mouth. “I’ll be here again tomorrow.”

It takes Zoro longer than he’d like to admit to find his way into the fae forest again.

He recalls a few of the landmarks he’d passed the day before while hunting the stag.

A steep hill, a field, a creek… or maybe it was a river? Curly mentioned something about a river.

What was the difference, anyway?

This morning, Zoro had managed to avoid Perona on his way out. It’s a feat he’s sure to pay for later if she finds out he’d wandered off again. But it was also a necessary effort as she might have noticed Zoro had brushed his hair this morning.

Yesterday, Mihawk had been expectantly disappointed by Zoro’s absence at council, but had not doled out any punishment for it. Zoro suspects because Mihawk had likely been as bored as Zoro would have and wasn’t mad.

Thankfully, there was no council to be had today. Zoro’s only duties are to review the latest squadron’s reports and draft his replies.

Which he will do this evening.

Now- Zoro trudges through the underbrush with purpose in search of his path back to the so-called fae lands. He finds a grassy field by mid-morning that looks somewhat familiar and believes himself to be on the right path.

He then passes it by three times more.

He crosses a stream that seeps water into his pantlegs, and glares at a particularly gnarled tree stump when it shows up for a second time.

They’d not set a destination, and Zoro is berating himself for that now. Especially since the fae decided to up and move their forest overnight.

The bastards.

There’s a copse of mushrooms growing from the base of the gnarled stump, and Zoro scowls at them as he tries to mark the direction to memory.

“Do mushrooms offend you?” A curious voice suddenly speaks up.

Zoro turns at once, and he can’t help the grin as he finds Curly watching him from the edge of the glade. “You’re here,” he grins.

“I’ve been here since sunrise,” the blond informs him. “I was beginning to believe you weren’t going to show.”

“The forest moved,” Zoro argues.

“It most certainly did not,” Curly retorts with a laugh. He’s clothed in a sage green blouse and brown corduroy trousers. A section of his hair has been pulled aside and pinned back with an orange blossom. The petals catch the fragments of sunlight and dapple a soft blush across his cheek.

Curly’s basket is once more tucked into the crook of his arm, a number of tall fronds, a slab of treebark, and glossy red apples rest within.

“Well I’m here- I came to join you,” Zoro gestures for the blond to continue on as he pleases.

Curly studies him for a moment, then turns and starts down a narrow path between the trees. “Come along then, my wandering Moss.”

Zoro smirks and moves to fall into step beside him.

The weather is pleasant, cool enough to be kind to exertion, but not so warm as to overheat.

Curly bends to kneel at the base of a tree, plucking acorns from the grass and inspecting them before he drops them into his basket.

Zoro halts beside him. There’s a flat shelf of mushrooms clinging to the bark of the tree, with violet caps and pale pink gills. Curious, he reaches out.

The blond’s attention snaps to him immediately. “Unless you are looking to hallucinate, I recommend you let those alone,” he advises.

Zoro withdraws his hand. “How do you know what’s safe?” He frowns; and though he’d not touched anything, he brushes his fingertips across his trousers for good measure.

“Teachings,” Curly replies simply.

Zoro scrunches up his nose at the vague reply, but doesn’t press. “And what do you do with your forage?” He asks instead.

“Ingredients are for cooking, Mosshead,” Curly smirks, slowing his words in tease.

“Does the thinning veil make them taste better?” He asks, as he can’t imagine what one would do with all of these unusual plants otherwise.

“Sometimes,” he admits, whetting his lips before he continues. “I enjoy seeing how they change. What they can become.”

“What can you cook with these?”

The question seems to make Curly pause. He sits back on his heels, wrists on his knees as he looks thoughtfully towards his basket. “I.. could show you?” He offers, his voice perked upwards.

“Yeah?” Zoro grins.

Curly glances around the glade, and then nods towards a fallen log, the surface of it smooth with age. “Sit,” he orders.

Zoro obeys without thinking, intrigue spilling into excitement.

Mist lingers low in the trees from the warmth of the day coming to pass. The haze of morning clinging to the distant view of the forest. Dewdrops still linger where the sun hasn’t yet reached between the canopy.

Curly twists them to and fro between the nearby groves, moving with quiet certainty as he gathers an armful of branches.

Zoro finds his heart staggering as the pale light catches between the leaves and drapes across the blond’s form like a cloak of ethereal light, slipping across his outline as though it can’t decide where to settle.

Zoro thinks it might be the first time he might believe there’s something special to this forest.

Curly turns his chin, noticing Zoro’s piercing attention. The sunlight cuts across his features and his blue eyes shimmer like facets of light reflecting across water.

“Is something the matter?” He questions.

Zoro shakes his head quickly, tucking the sight away to memory as he hastens to recover. “Not at all,” he replies.

Then again- maybe it’s not the forest that’s enchanting.

Curly deposits his firewood at Zoro’s feet, sitting back on his haunches before beginning to craft a simple firepit.

“Do you need any halved?”

The blond’s gaze flits briefly upwards. “No, great swordsman. I’ll be quite fine,” he says, quirking a smile.

Curly handles the fire with easy confidence, and leaves it to feast on the branches as he turns to the contents of his forage.

From the bottom of his basket he pulls out two broad fronds with deep green, waxy surfaces, spreading them out atop the grass. Next, he takes out a blooming yellow iris- a flower so large that the ends of the petals drape over the cup of his hands. Carefully, the blond tips the flower over the leaves as one might pour from a pitcher. And from the center of the flower- a glistening amber sap drips onto the leaves.

The blond pauses to breathe in the rising sweetness, eyes closing as he smiles to himself.

Setting the iris aside, Curly reaches once more into the basket with both hands and takes out several items. A handful of acorns, a slab of rough bark, and a fine metal grater with burred edges and a worn oak handle.

He uses the tool against the surfaces of his ingredients, grating a fine layer overtop the flower’s sap. His movements are smooth and practiced, the grounds falling in an even layer and releasing a warm scent of spice into the air.

Curly then plucks two brilliant red apples from his forage and sets them each in their own frond, before taking the edges of the waxy leaf and tucking it up and around to entirely cover the surface of the fruit.

His thumbs smooth the bend of the frond before he sets it into the coals. The embers crackling as they begin to lap at their treat.

As he adjusts them into place, Curly bites into the plush of his lower lip, a subdued and personal mirth gathering in the corners of his mouth.

At times, Zoro can’t see him properly, from the cloak of the smoke and the warp of air from the heat. His shape wavering between the shimmer of heat that rises around him. But Zoro feels the warmth of his passion spill beyond the reach of his lithe fingertips and it stirs something tender in the cage of his ribs.

And when Curly looks back at him on the opposite side of the flames, his irises flash the fires gold hues bright enough to swallow blue.

Zoro bites into the apple. The softened flesh melts beneath his teeth, warm and tangy, while the spices dusted across the skin kick at his tongue.

He leans back and pulls it away to eye his treat appraisingly. He turns his wrist to return for a fresh mouthful before he’s swallowed the first.

Curly watches him closely, head tilted, as if waiting for something. His own apple is cradled between the hold of his palms, steam rising in wisps and tangling with the angles of his face.

Zoro lifts his apple in example and smirks, gesturing for the blond to enjoy his own.

With a flush, Curly’s attention dips to his fruit. His shoulders easing as he lifts it to take a polite bite.

Zoro grins, taking interest in watching the blond enjoy his own treat once he’s whittled his own down to the core.

Curly’s bright blue eyes glimmer- almost molten in the low light. He exhales, and steam spills from between his lips, coiling like smoke into the air. He smiles, sharp and satisfied.

The steam thins, but the warmth lingers around the line of his shoulders. The soft edges of heat settling in his silhouette like sun-warmed stone.

Zoro can’t help it when he leans in, drawn to the other man. He cups his hand around the line of Curly’s jaw and pulls their foreheads together.

Curly’s breath catches, his eyes turn wide and his attention drops between them, to Zoro’s lips.

He doesn’t move away.

Softly, Zoro leads with the guide of his palm, tilting his own head as he presses their lips together. A quiet, warm greeting.

“Moss-” Curly murmurs against him.

“Zoro,” he corrects quietly.

Curly swallows his surprise. The line of his throat bobbing once, before he leans in to whisper his reply into Zoro’s parted lips. “Sanji.”

Sanji.

Zoro presses close, letting the treasure snug close to his heart. He steals Sanji’s lips again, soft as flower petals, and feels the race of his pulse beneath his skin.

They chase each other, sharing, trading kisses that scatter to the corner of mouths. Zoro swipes an eager tongue across the seam of Sanji’s lips and takes a taste when he’s invited in.

Sanji’s lips taste like apples, his tongue like ashes, passion and spices.

Zoro inhales, gathering breath as Sanji makes a faint noise against him. Lithe fingertips graze the sides of Zoro’s neck. And then- they stick to his skin, tugging with a mild zing of pain as they pull free.

Zoro grunts, nose scrunching up as they part ways.

“Oh-,” Sanji murmurs, holding his hand open between them as they look down to see that the pads of his fingers carry a glossy layer of sweet sap. “Whoops,” he flushes.

Tentatively, Zoro pulls back his own hand from Sanji’s jaw and feels the tacky substance tug there as well when he pulls it free. “Great…”

The blond snickers, “there’s a spring nearby. Here- Let’s put out the fire and we can go wash.”

The spring is a quiet corner of the forest. A tumbling set of waterfalls pools into a bed of clear water, with a quiet brook slipping away from its tail back into the depths of the forest.

Sanji leads them up to the pebbled edge of the water.

Zoro kneels into the damp silt of the earth, uncaring as it wets his trousers. He rinses his hands as best he can, before cupping a palm to bring some to his face, scrubbing at the sticky sap Sanji’s fingertips left behind.

The blond lowers himself beside him, sitting elegantly on his haunches as he cleans himself with swift, gentle movements. The water clings to his skin as it spills over his knuckles, pale skin reflecting brilliantly in the sunlight- iridescent and shifting faintly with the movement of the water.

“That’s better,” Sanji murmurs, shaking the excess water from his hands as he stands.

“Mh,” Zoro runs a cursory wash over the back of his neck, enjoying the cool water spilling across his skin after their time beside the fire.

A curious hand brushes across the tips of his hair, and Zoro tilts his head.

“You look right at home, Marimo,” Sanji teases, mouth curving into a fond smile.

Zoro reaches out, hooks an arm around Sanji’s waist and pulls them flush in the same movement that he stands. He leans in, teasing the pressure of their lips together.

Sanji’s breath rolls across his mouth, his eyes flitting between Zoro’s own as his hands come up between them, palms flat against Zoro’s chest. He doesn’t push- but the distance between them is held in place from the pressure.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sanji murmurs.

“Like what?” Zoro searches.

“Like this could mean something,” he whispers.

Zoro’s smile fades, confusion marring his features. “Doesn’t it?”

Sanji looks away. “I’m-”

At once- in the distance, a tinkling of bells echo out between the trees, paced in cadence and growing nearer.

Zoro scowls, “bells? Isn’t that supposed to mean-”

The swordsman is cut off as Sanji grips hold of his collar and yanks at him. “This way,” Sanji is whispering harshly, his grip like iron as he makes haste towards the waterfall.

“What- Curls?!”

Their feet slosh in the shallows as he drags the swordsman to the edge of the falls. “Hurry, the running water will hide you-” The blond hisses.

“It will also drown me,” Zoro points out, techily. “And what do you mean hide me? What’s going on? Hey-”

“Hush,” Sanji orders, his eyes searching closely for something behind Zoro as the spray of the waterfall scatters across the bridge of his nose, the droplets lingering against his skin and shimmering like scales. “And do not come out until he’s gone.”

“Curls,” Zoro urges.

Sanji shoves at him then, and Zoro feels the weight of the water crash over him for a brief moment- Before he’s stumbling into a narrow overhang beneath the cliffside. The water drapes over the rocks like a curtain before him. Sanji stands on the opposite side, the current distorting the shape of his silhouette.

The intent is obvious. Zoro fists a hand at his hilts. “I’m not a coward-” He growls.

“I know,” Sanji answers quickly. “This isn’t about bravery.”

Zoro exhales roughly, teetering on the cusp of action. Sanji’s features warp beyond the threads of falling water but the tension bleeds through. The bounding chime of bells grows louder.

“Stay hidden,” Sanji whispers, giving Zoro one final, desperate look before he turns away.

Zoro watches with a clenched jaw, his hand restlessly clenched around the hilt of a blade.

Sanji makes his way quickly to the opposite side of the spring. Along the way, he bends down, mid-stride, to yank a bundle of reeds from the silt bed. He shoves them into the crook of his arm and positions himself purposefully beside the next nearest thatch.

The chime of the bells turn deep, rounding out and twisting into the solid echo of steps across soil. A towering, slim shape emerges from the treeline, bright swathes of colors folded into the rounded view through the currents.

A masculine voice calls out, the tone formal and accusatory. “Sanji. What are you doing in these parts?”

“Good afternoon, Sire,” Sanji replies evenly, with a bid of familiarity that skitters unease up Zoro’s spine. “I’m gathering the forage that’s turned from the veil.”

Zoro shifts his position in the narrow crevice of air, searching. He finds a gap between the spill of the water near the left side and shuffles until his shoulder is pressed uncomfortably against the damp stones.

He’s rewarded with a narrow view of the encounter. He finds Sanji first, still shin-deep within the springbed and arms bundled close at his chest. He stands with his chin low, his features carefully slack of expression.

The fae- because there is no other truth of the matter- steps closer towards the blond. He is as tall and spry as a sapling, his shoulders leaning to the side in a fluid motion as he tilts to plant a hand on his hip. His mouth is curved in a distasteful sneer.

“Whatever for?” The fae snorts.

“I thought the chefs of the court may-” Sanji starts but the fae interrupts him with the lift of his hand- the blond’s voice sweeping aside into the breeze at the wave of his wrist.

“You may stop there,” he drones. “You’ve no need for such tasks.”

Sanji dips his chin, the line of his jaw tight.

“You will return to the court at once,” the fae continues. “Samhain is near upon us, you have duties to attend to.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“And stop bothering with this shape,” he clicks his tongue. “It’s not yours any longer.”

At once, Sanji sucks in a tight breath. His eyes flash- darting halfway to Zoro’s position before they stiffly return to the fae. “But Sire, I-”

The fae waves his hand again, tossing Sanji’s voice aside. “It sits upon your skin like flax stretched across treebark,” he complains with a sneer. Then, with the snap of his wrist, the fae plucks at the air, as if tugging on loose thread.

And Sanji changes.

Pale, shimmering light blooms across his shape, spilling off of his edges as if it’s unravelling him. At first, his skin dusts with aquamarine scales, rippling like the tide. The water of the spring gathers and clings, tugging on his silhouette. Then, golden fur creeps across his knuckles, and up the length of his forearms.

The reeds in Sanji’s arms fall. His shoulders fold inward, hands reaching across himself as if to hold his own body together as the strange features war for persistence across his skin.

“I must continue with the survey for the procession,” the fae drawls, turning away with disinterest and beginning to stride off towards the treeline. “Do make sure you’ve returned before me,” he advises sternly.

Footsteps echo into the jangle of bells as his silhouette slips between the shadows of the trees.

Meanwhile, Sanji has curled over himself, he groans and the sound tumbles into the bleated rasp of a deer. He shakes his head, but as his blond locks fall around his jaw they begin to shift, turning flat and downy.

And then with a final gasp, Sanji's entire silhouette shrinks and thins. His head tips back as his features elongate. Pale feathers catch the same fractured light that once clung to his skin.

Zoro stares from behind the waterfall, breathless as he watches a crane take shape upon the water.

The creature- Sanji makes a low, crooning noise as it folds its head close to its ivory, feathered body.

Without thought, Zoro crashes out of his hiding place. Water barraging his shoulders and slicking over his face as he cuts through. He lifts a hand, brushing the rivulets that stream down from his forehead and takes a few splashing steps towards the creature.

The crane’s head turns, a round blue eye pinning Zoro across the water. Zoro meets its gaze, voice caught in his throat.

“Curls…” Zoro tries, hand outstretched.

And then, with a bold stretch of its wings- the crane takes flight.

“Wait!” Zoro races across the water, desperate to try and catch him. But the creature is swift, it’s in the air before he can reach the opposite end of the spring.

The swordsman is left alone, surrounded by a scattered bundle of reeds, as he watches Sanji disappear on the horizon.

Zoro pauses at the crest of a hillside- glaring down into the valley as he decides which way to try next.

He’d been confident that finding his way would be easier this time- on his third trip into the fae woods. But he’s beginning to suspect some fae glamor deflecting a true course.

Then again, Zoro’s been told more than once that his sense of direction is abysmal.

Once, Mihawk had him transcribe a map of Kurigana's borders once, insisting that the exercise might bolster the information to his mind. The result, however, had apparently been so unfounded that Mihawk had ordered it burned, so as not to mislead anyone who reads it.

Zoro exhales through his nose and skirts the edge of a grassy field, searching for a sign of running water.

He knows there’s no guarantee he’ll even find Sanji, what with how he’d fled the day before.

And there’s definitely some fae bullshit involved.

But Zoro has to try.

A branch snaps- off to his left.

Zoro turns sharply, and spots a brown bear between the trees.

His hand reacts on instinct to his blade- unlatching it the first inch with his thumb. His muscles coil tight in preparation should it charge.

The creature stills at the noise and sudden shift in Zoro’s movement. A long snout lifts and turns, a wet black nose snuffling a deep breath in attention. Its fur is a rich chestnut, turning honey bright when the light catches behind the strands. An ear flicks.

Zoro meets the dark eyes of the creature- and remembers the crane.

The pinned gaze it wore. The scatter of scales and fur that had bloomed over Sanji’s skin. The way his shape had twisted and broken before he’d reformed into something else.

At once, Zoro’s hand snaps away from the hilt of his blade. Disgust coils low in his gut. He doesn’t know what’s going on and the fear of mistaking Sanji- of causing him harm, is too great to risk.

The bear continues watching him, its jaw working with slow movements. There’s a stain of purple on its maw.

The swordsman looks about the nearby forest, then back to the bear. He grimaces.

“Curly?” Zoro tries.

The bear blinks and shifts its weight, gait shuffling as it moves to face Zoro.

“That you?”

Expectedly, it doesn’t answer. But it also doesn’t seem affronted by Zoro’s presence- merely attentive.

“Look-” Zoro huffs, running a hand roughly through his hair. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but if it's you, Curls, can you just… give me a sign?”

The bear holds his gaze for a moment longer, watching.

And then turns away, placing its rear towards the swordsman and pointedly shoving its nose into a fresh berry bush.

“Oi,” Zoro scowls.

The bear’s stout tail flicks.

“Don’t ignore me, bastard-” He grits his teeth. “I just… I want to understand.”

A dark nose peeks out from the bear’s silhouette as it glances back at him, before just as quickly turning away to resume eating.

Zoro pushes air through his nose, his fists clenching uselessly at his sides. He thinks of the desperation on Sanji’s face as he’d shoved him behind the waterfall. The terrible noises he’d made as he’d twisted into shapes he shouldn’t wear.

“I want to help,” Zoro insists, “and if I can’t use a blade I’ve other resources. Other strengths. My father, maybe, he’s-”

“Moss.” A tight voice cuts in.

Zoro pivots, spinning away from the bear.

Sanji is leaning against an oak tree, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed.

“Curls-” Zoro swallows. He looks briefly back at the bear, still chewing on a mouthful of berries. “Uh.”

Sanji exhales, irritation already waning as he stands. “No need to be shy-” he drawls. “I think she was quite moved by your speech.”

“Shut up,” Zoro grumbles.

A bemused smile curves at the edge of Sanji’s lips.

The bear ambles off into the brush as Sanji quietly crosses the glade to stand beside him.

He’s dressed in an orange linen blouse and green trousers. The cut of his collar is embroidered with what looks to be real flowers finely threaded into the hem. A portion of his hair is pinned up with a forked twig, still green with life.

Zoro’s gaze tracks back to his face- and stops.

There’s a rough texture along Sanji’s temples.

Zoro blinks in quick succession, but the visual remains the same.

Tree bark. Pine, or maybe birch? The gnarled texture has tucked itself along the shadows of Sanji’s face.

Swallowing, Zoro reaches out. Sanji’s blue eyes drift low and aside as he lets him. The swordsman’s callouses catch on silken blond bangs, tugging them aside to reveal how far the texture goes.

Zoro’s breath catches.

The hidden half of Sanji’s face is almost entirely bark, the planes of his features sharp and angular, spar for his eyebrow- now twisted into the gnarled whorl of a knot. His previously obscured eye is round and dark like a doe, and finally- the texture softens and gives way to skin near his lips.

“It’s… harder to control with the veil this thin,” Sanji says quietly.

“What is?” Zoro strains, his palm hovering loose around the rough line of his jaw. “Curly, what is this?”

Sanji frowns, his arm turning inward to tuck against his side. He presses his lips together and Zoro follows the movement, dips his chin to try and catch Sanji’s eyes with his own.

“I promise Curls- I don’t care if you’re a fae, or a shapeshifter, or whatever.”

“I’m human,” Sanji replies quickly. “I am.”

Zoro chews on his lip, trying to decide what the correct words are to continue with. Sanji’s shoulders fall loose, his doe eye glistening with the reflection of the forest greens.

“I’ll explain, but… elsewhere,” Sanji exhales.

Zoro nods in easy agreement, and for the third day in a row he lets Sanji lead him through the twists and turns of the fae woods.

The incline grows steep, Sanji takes them up the cobbled path of a hillside before the peak flattens out into a sprawling field of pale grass and wildflowers.

Sanji leads them to the very center of the meadow, watching the treeline surrounding them as if it held eyes on each knot of the bark. Zoro remains silent, letting the blond determine where they’re to sit.

A low growing patch of wildflowers cusps the top of the field, reaching no higher than the height of their boots. The lush leaves and small flowerbuds create a soft bedding. Sanji folds into a kneel atop the flora as Zoro follows, throwing his legs out as rests a palm aside to lean near the other man.

Zoro watches Sanji as he lifts his hand to cup the bough of a wildflower between his fingertips. The wind dances across his face and lifts the curtain of his bangs, and with it, the texture of bark brushes aside. His skin returns, his eye turning blue and human once more, but in its wake- the breeze steals the soft tendrils of his hair.

The silken strands turn thick and stiff, carrying now fibers of wheat instead of locks.

Zoro feels as if he’s chasing Sanji’s visage through the autumn air, searching for a man where only nature can be found.

The blond plucks a stem from the wildflowers he cradles, pulling his hand close to his chest as he looks down.

“I belong to the fae court,” Sanji explains, spinning the stem of the flower between his fingers.

“What does that mean?” Zoro questions. “Belong how?”

Sanji reaches out and pinches one of the petals. He plucks it, and lets it fall to the forest floor.

“I was the barter in a deal of compensation,” Sanji says, speaking slowly, plucking petals as he divulges. “Several years ago, there was an army in the North Blue who marched through fae lands on route to their battle.”

Zoro swallows, his hands fisted across his lap, but he remains silent.

“On the King's orders - the army ravaged the woods of resources, careless to its source and greedy to replenish their own. Naturally, when the Fae Queen realized it- She demanded penance for the transgression.”

The petals twist and spin in the air as they fall. Until four petals remain, clinging to the small bud.

“In repayment- the King offered the Fae Queen servitude of his son.”

Zoro’s chest cinches tight. “That’s despicable.”

The blond shakes his head dismissively. He hovers his fingertips over the fourth petal, and instead- skips to pluck the third. “The King had three others to spare. This one wouldn’t be missed.”

Zoro reaches out, stopping Sanji’s hand before the petal can fall.

It’s abhorrent. Zoro’s stomach churns at the very thought.

“That’s not true,” he says hoarsely.

“Isn’t it?” Sanji debates lightly. “No one's ever looked for me.”

“Would you know?” Zoro argues, “would the Queen tell you if they had?”

The blond’s mouth opens, and he pauses, closing it without answer. His brow furrows and his lips turn into a tight frown.

“And this… servitude” Zoro bites through the word. “It's why you’re…” He frowns.

Sanji’s hand rests within the cradle of his own and as he adjusts his hold, Zoro feels the downy softness of fur beneath his fingertips.

“That came later, in fact,” Sanji admits, “It was a punishment- for cooking, when I wasn’t meant to be.”

“They will not let you?”

“A mortal's hands may serve, but they may not craft,” The blond recites, his chin held higher as he mimics another’s tone.

Zoro’s jaw tightens. For while he’s spent an objectively small amount of time with Sanji, he’s seen enough to know it holds importance to the man.

“For my disobedience, the Queen took my mortal shape,” Sanji explains, turning his hand over where it rests in the cradle of Zoro’s palms. “bound to the elements of the court, a mere reflection of what surrounds me.”

Zoro feels the prickle of coarser fur against his palm. He looks down, finding that the skin of Sanji’s upturned hand has turned leathery, and his fingernails narrowed and dark in the point of a claws.

“Animal features are easier to control,” he adds, as Zoro follows the narrow of Sanji’s wrist upwards.

The column of his neck and jaw is dusted in pale down, shading a burnished orange around the line of his jaw.

“Their shapes know where to go,” Sanji finishes.

Zoro swallows, reaching his other hand out towards the blond’s face, slow enough to be halted should he wish it.

Sanji merely tips his gaze low, letting Zoro brush the soft line of his jaw with his fingertips, continuing upwards.

His blond hair has transitioned to a gentle auburn and his eyes a rounded, dark chestnut. And most prominently a fluffy set of fox ears are now perched atop his head, tufted honey brown.

Gently, Zoro cups the curve of one ear, feeling the texture of the orange fur, he brushes a thumb across the top of a tuft and Sanji’s breath catches.

“You feel that?” The swordsman questions, “even though it is a glamor?”

“It’s weaker, but it’s still me,” Sanji mutters plaintively. “At least for now.”

Zoro slips his fingers down to the base of the ear, scrubbing gently. Sanji’s breath slows, eyelids lowering as he leans into the affection.

“Weak, huh?” Zoro grins.

The blond scrunches his nose up, his fluffy ears lowering to flattened points. Yet his face has tilted into the warmth of Zoro’s palm. The sight turns Zoro’s heart molten.

The grass sways in the breeze as Zoro leans in, bringing their foreheads together.

“No matter the shape you wear, I would still like to hold you,” Zoro tells him.

Short fur catches on his callouses as he cups his hand around the back of Sanji’s head, guiding him into a chaste kiss.

Sanji opens his mouth on a sigh, and Zoro tastes the flowers in the air as he parts his lips to meet him.

He deepens the kiss, slow and searching, and the downy fur beneath his fingers begins to thin. Zoro feels the soft round of his ears dissipate, and his hand cups Sanji’s nape where the skin has turned soft as flower petals.

When Zoro presses him into the grass, Sanji’s features shift to gleam a reflection of the surrounding blooms. Hair buttercup yellow, cheeks flushed rose, and his lips stained a kiss-bitten violet.

Zoro only spares a single, breathless moment to take in the brilliant sky blue of his eyes before he takes up his lips once more. Sanji moans as he licks his way back into the warmth of his mouth, fingernails pressing into the skin of Zoro’s neck.

The grass bends beneath them as they tumble across the soft fronds, trading kisses until they turn breathless.

Zoro lands with his shoulders pressed into the earth and Sanji perched atop his chest.

Zoro exhales slowly, grounding himself as Sanji brushes their noses together, the sweep of his bangs brushing across the swordsman’s cheek.

He rests a palm across the narrow of the blond’s back, holding him- firm and warm.

The softness of the moment tightens something in his chest.

“Curls,” Zoro prompts quietly. “What do we need to do?”

“What are you talking about?” Sanji murmurs.

“To free you of this,” Zoro persists. “Would it require a new barter? Coin or resources?”

“Moss, there’s nothing to do.” Sanji frets. “I just thought you were owed an explanation.”

“No,” Zoro says plainly. “That’s not enough.”

“It must be,” Sanji tells him firmly. “Because after today, you won’t see me again.”

“What?” Zoro replies sharply. “Why?”

“Samhain eve is tomorrow. The veil will return and the bridge between the moral and fae realm will crumble.”

“For how long?” Zoro scowls.

“Until spring,” Sanji explains, “but even then- That bridge will be elsewhere. This path only opens once a year.”

Zoro rolls his fingers into a fist, his chest feels tight. “Shit- Then we don’t have much time.”

“Moss-” Sanji insists, his hand landing firmly on the length of Zoro’s forearm.

But his fingertips feel like the velvet of mushroom caps and the curl of his brow mirrors the tender spiral of a fern.

Zoro’s chest tightens.

“What do I need to do?” Zoro insists.

“It can’t be done,” Sanji shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe that. I can’t,” Zoro growls, wrapping his arms tighter around the blond’s waist and pulling him snug. He presses their foreheads together and searches for a way to convince him. “I will see you free.”

Sanji’s breath falters. His hands tighten briefly around the fabric of Zoro’s shirt. Conflict flickers across his face- fear, longing, and something Zoro brazenly wishes to be hope.

“You would do this?” Sanji’s voice falls harshly from his lips. Strained, yet threaded with yearning. “You mean this?”

“I do,” Zoro affirms, holding tight.

Sanji looks away. “There may be a way… But it’s- I couldn’t ask it of you.”

“You aren’t asking me.” Zoro tells him. “This is my decision, Curls-

“Just tell me what I need to do.”

The next morning, Zoro begins his day before the dawn.

He follows the scent of rising bread to the kitchens first, and argues with the grouchy head chef until he’s finally handed a hefty pound of ground salt- with a warning of not to waste it.

From the blacksmith, Zoro borrows an iron dagger, still warm from the grindstone- which he sheathes in his boot.

Finally, he stops at the lumberyard, bartering for a bundle of rowan branches, which he will pay for another day with his labor. Zoro lashes the bundle of branches with a rope and hefts them over his shoulder.

And finally- Zoro sets off for the forest.

Zoro takes the winding path on the hillside, walks through the grassy field, and across the river into the forest of the fae.

He finds a patch of earth that is clear of any large stones- flat as one can hope for, and sets upon his tasks.

Zoro places the branches first, setting them out in the compass of a circle.

He lays them end to end, trading boughs out as he finds better placements to keep the circle round.

Zoro pauses.

He has no idea how closely they must sit to be effective, and the thought worries at him.

After a long moment of consideration- Zoro retrieves the rope he’d used to carry the branches and slices it into lengths, binding each bough firmly to the next.

“If it’s a barrier,” he grumbles to himself, “it shouldn’t have any gaps.”

Finally satisfied, Zoro gets out his pouch of salt and measures half of it in his palm. Carefully, he scatters it across the grass within the circle, sealing the area of protection.

The swordsman looks to the sky, squinting as he finds the pale autumn sun dipping low into the canopy of the forest. The boughs of the pine trees shudder and sigh as the wind catches between their branches.

Zoro takes a seat, folding into a stiff posture of meditation.

It won’t be long now.

The forest is bathed in hues of gold as the sun dips low.

The procession of the fae court reaches Zoro first through the sound of bells. A faint, rhythmic tinkling that echoes between the trees.

Next comes the light.

Hues of purples, reds, and pinks that begin to bounce and glow from indiscernible directions. Then, the rustle of fabric and the pitched harmony of festive instruments.

Zoro watches with rapt attention as the first members of the procession come into view between the trees. Their forms shimmer and gleam like panes of glass, and he has to blink to focus lest they hide from sight.

Dancers and musicians take up the outer branches of the procession- prancing among the leaves with hoots of merriment as they ebb and flow between the rest of the court. Their light and fluttering costume gives way to their status against the regal wear of the higher court.

There are several interwoven rows of men and women in organic regalia.

There’s no mistaking the Fae Queen as she comes into view. She stands twice as tall as any other among the court, with flowing pink hair and a dress that looks to be crafted from the petals of sakura blossoms and bespeckled with roses.

As soon as he’s spotted her, Zoro quietly gets to his feet. Keeping his knees bent and his body low into the shadows of the brush. He scours the line of those who walk behind her, searching among the gathering of her servants.

Finally- a gleam of wheat blond hair catches Zoro’s eye. And he waits only the single second he needs to catch sight of Sanji’s face before he pushes off in a sprint.

Zoro cuts through the brush with efficiency, darting a path through the trees.

Sanji has placed himself on the outer edge of the procession. It makes it easier for Zoro to snatch him up by the narrow of his waist and turn heel before anyone can intervene.

It doesn’t go unnoticed, however. Shouts call out the moment Zoro has rushed back into the brush.

Sanji’s grip is tight around the fabric of his collar. Zoro races around the bend of a stump, and stumbles to a halt as he realizes quickly he’s turned the wrong way. The blond swears into his ear as the swordsman urgently corrects his path.

Zoro launches them the final distance to the warding circle at the same time that a booming voice rakes over the forest.

Zoro’s heels dig into the damp earth as he makes it safely within the ward. He exhales heavily, and bends his knees as he lets Sanji onto his feet atop the salt-dusted earth.

“You alright?” Zoro asks, raising a hand to cup the side of Sanji’s face. The blond nods, and opens his mouth to reply… but there’s no sound.

Sanji’s mouth takes the shape of words, but no voice comes out.

“Curls- I can’t hear you.” Zoro says, lifting a finger to gesture to his own ear.

Sanji’s brows pinch narrow in distress, his hands landing on the swordsman’s shoulders as he continues trying to speak.

From behind them, a boisterous cackle rings out.

Zoro clenches his jaw, folding Sanji close into the embrace of his arms as he turns to watch the Fae Queen’s approach.

“What is this?” The Queen questions aloud, her head turned to her court and her voice pitched in amusement. “A little mortal boy wants to take my Princeling.”

“He’s not yours,” Zoro sneers.

“Is he not?” The Queen wonders, as if she’s been politely corrected. “Whom might he belong to, then?”

Sanji’s fingernails dig into the soft skin of Zoro’s neck; a warning and a reminder. Zoro squeezes his waist and doesn’t answer.

“Ah, the little mortal thinks he is clever,” she hums. Her amber gaze turns over the ground at their feet, tracing the path of the branches as her mouth presses into a fine line. “And I see you’ve gone to quite the effort."

Zoro clenches Sanji tighter to his side and does not break his glare.

The Queen clicks her tongue, and a few subjects of the court titter in laughter.

“Tell me then, little mortal-” She drawls, lips curling into a smirk as her amber eyes gleam. “Are you certain that you’ve snatched the right man?”

Within the circle of Zoro’s arms- Sanji suddenly gasps out a pained, involuntary noise.

“Curls!” The swordsman exclaims, turning to catch Sanji’s blue eyes growing wide with terror- just before the sight of him ripples and changes.

His blond hair shortens, darkening to a tawny golden brown crop before it flourishes across pale skin. The dip of his waist widens, turning warm, furred, and muscular as Zoro scrambles to keep hold. Sanji’s height increases twofold, coarse fur overtaking him entirely as two great paws land on Zoro’s shoulders and the creature’s head rears back with the snout of a predator.

The bear roars, and its entire chest rattles. A ferocious noise that echoes deep into Zoro’s bones and shakes his grip.

Zoro widens his stance and plants his feet. He grabs at dense fur and takes grip of the loose of its skin. The beast roars and hikes its weight back, straining against him.

Pain surges as massive claws dig into his shoulders. Zoro yells as they tear through his clothes like paper and sink deep into the muscle.

Tittering, bell-like laughter arcs overhead as hot blood wets down his back.

The musky, warm breath of the beast rolls across Zoro’s nape. A fang traces dangerously through the crop of his hair. Heart hammering fast- Zoro surges closer, tucking his head and torso into its belly, using its own mass as a barrier against its reach.

Zoro clenches his jaw and holds fast.

The sky darkens; time passes in a strained, lumbering pace. The procession chatters incessantly and the sound fades into indeterminate noise as Zoro focuses on remaining firm.

Every so often, the bear thrashes and roars, straining the grapple Zoro has on him. The swordsman can’t be sure if his actions are reflective of pain, or some other effect of the glamor. Zoro’s back and shoulders sting, the wounds have since clotted, cold and tugging with each movement of his arms.

What Zoro isn’t prepared for- is for Sanji’s form to change again.

It happens quickly.

One moment he’s straining to keep his grip on loose skin and fur, and the next his palms are slicking against a smooth, scaled surface.

“What- No!” Zoro gasps. He nearly loses hold as a cobalt blue serpent suddenly writhes against the circle of his arms.

The weight sags against him, slick and coiling. A fin slaps against his temple and a chorus of laughter rings out.

“You’re quite devoted, little mortal.” The Queen calls out to him. “But perhaps you should check for your princeling once more?”

The serpent writhes. The edges of the scales cut across Zoro’s bare arms, slicing ribbons of blood that only add to the difficulty of his grip.

With a sharp hiss- the head turns and Zoro clenches through a gasp as a hooked set of fangs sink into the meat of his neck. His vision swims as the wound burns, the pain traveling directly into the heat of his pulse.

A ripple of delighted murmurs pass through the court as Zoro’s fingers threaten to loosen. But he bares his teeth instead, forcing strength back into his limbs and focusing on the sea blue of the creature's scales.

Zoro catches a twist of the serpent's body within the grasp of his arms and locks them into a brace.

“I’m not-” Zoro gasps, breath heaving. “I’m not letting go of him!”

The night stretches thin. The court's laughter rises and falls in waves of attention, the glow of their lights blur into streaks of color in Zoro’s periphery.

The serpent shudders and jerks intermittently. Each time, Zoro assures his stance and seeks for purchase on slick scales.

The bells fade to a dull ringing in his ears. Shadows ebb as the crux of the night passes.

Zoro feels the next shift before it happens. The heat comes first- thick and cloying, and he tightens his grip as much as he can before the next creature takes shape.

The bloom of wings pries Zoro’s arms apart, and he has to scramble with his grip to catch the narrow belly of a bird before it takes flight. His vision fills with a mosaic of oranges and reds as flames ripple from the creature like a tide.

“Dammit!” Zoro curses, locking his palms around his elbows.

From beyond the circle- the Queen’s cackling laugh rings out, echoed by the jeers of her court.

The wings of the phoenix heave against him as they snap in attempts to fly. The bird trills, high and echoing.

Zoro’s arms tremble violently, muscles screaming for relief.

The sky above turns violet as the dawn pales the edges of the horizon. Stars fading beneath the creep of dawn. Zoro’s limbs ache and shudder, fatigue weighing on him like chains.

The court's jovial presence has waned. Unease skitters through the gathered fae as the sky begins to lighten.

Zoro turns his head, half of his face pressed firm against the belly of the firebird as he pins the other on the Fae Queen.

Her cherry lips are twisted into a frown, her shrewd gaze calculating.

She understands how this will end.

“You think we won’t return for him?” The Queen sneers. “The princeling is mine- His father reaped the price of his servitude when his army ravaged our woods.”

“You really believe you were handed fair compensation in the King’s eyes?” Zoro argues, pressing the words out between clenched teeth. “How quickly did he agree to your offer? Did he hesitate before he handed you his son?”

The Queen’s lips press tight, her glittering eyes narrow.

“I will be taking him free of here.” Zoro snarls.” And If you disagree- I suggest you take up your grievances with the King who slighted you.”

The Queen’s jaw tightens. For a moment- her gaze burns through him, ancient and furious. But then, with a slow breath, she turns her face aside.

A single, slender hand lifts to the air, and the court obeys.

The court recedes into the treeline like retreating mist. Murmurs of discontent chiming into hollow bells as the lights and music fade.

With the Queen’s leave, the thumping pattern of the phoenix’s wings slows- her presence taking with her whatever clutch of magic has turned Sanji restless with flight.

The forest draws quiet.

Pale threads of sunlight stretch between the trees, low and long. Dawn creeps across the forest floor with idle hands. Zoro takes in a tight breath as the light catches his face, refusing to slacken his grip- should the inattention cost him.

The phoenix croons, chest warbling against Zoro’s cheek. Wings tuck around Zoro’s shoulders as the creature's figure broadens and stretches within the grasp of his arms. The flames abate as if turning to banked embers. Ash spurns to the surface and spills in charcoal waves to the forest floor as the soot falls away to reveal pale skin and blond hair.

Sanji gasps as he falls against Zoro’s chest, breathes heaving as if taken with fresh lungs.

“I got you,” Zoro rasps, securing his arms around the blond’s waist as Sanji’s hands gather weakly at the back of his neck.

Sanji’s head rests against Zoro’s shoulder. “Is- Is it over?” He whispers.

“They’re gone,” Zoro murmurs, locking his knees to keep them upright as exhaustion rears heavy. “The sun is up.”

He feels the movement as Sanji cranes his head aside to search the dawning forest.

“Are you-?” Zoro swallows around a lash of pain that ebbs through his limbs, surging once before it soothes like the flow of a tide.

What had torn and burned now dulls to something amenable. The rake of fingernails across skin. The throb of a bite at his neck in place of venomous punctures. Heat fades to raw abrasion.

A lithe hand reaches for the line of his jaw.

Zoro inhales tightly. The hands he has splayed across Sanji’s lower back slacken just a hair.

He leans back, just enough to look.

To see Sanji.

Weary blue eyes crinkled in mirth, blond hair damp with sweat and tangled in disarray. His pale skin is matte with ash, dark streaks trace the corners of his eyes.

Nothing shimmers. There’s no fur- or grass or bark.

Every bit of him is real.

“Moss-” Sanji’s warm voice awes, “You did it.”

Zoro grins, the tension in his body finally loosening as he slackens his arms comfortably around the blond’s waist. “I told you I would.”

Sanji smiles, and Zoro tips his chin to meet their foreheads. They share a breath before Sanji leans in to press a slow, grateful kiss to Zoro’s lips. The swordsman tilts his head, chasing the pressure and stealing several generous kisses before exhaustion bids they take space to breathe.

The forest wakes around them as they part, the chittering and scamper of creatures beginning to noise among the leaves.

“Huh,” Zoro muses, reaching up to poke a weary finger into the swirl of his brow, “wasn’t sure that would stick around.”

“Shut up,” Sanji fusses, lowering his head to curtain his hair across his features.

“No don’t-” Zoro grins, catching his chin with a gentle hand. “I think I would’ve missed them.”

Sanji exhales, tension slipping from his shoulders as a smile teases at his lips. “Your taste is questionable at best, Mossy.” He quips, sliding a hand up to card through the short hairs at the back of Zoro’s neck. He tugs slightly, bringing their foreheads together once more. “But I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

The mid-morning bustle of the castle gives Zoro silent cover as he slips into the kitchens.

He takes a seat at the staff table without fanfare, and nudges a second chair near to kick his boots up onto the seat.

Breakfast has come and gone, the scent of fresh bread has begun to fade under the warm aromatics of savory stews and sauces. Hocks of meat sizzle on the spit where they’re roasting over a massive firepit.

Zoro slips his hands behind his neck and leans back, watching as a pleased smile curves onto his lips.

Sanji moves through Kuraigana’s kitchens with familiar ease. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the gold band on his ring finger glints in the light as he flicks his wrist to stir his pan over the heat.

The head chef clomps his way across the stone floors, a ladle held in his grip like a broadsword. “Is that demi-glace done yet, boy?”

“Maybe to your standards.” Sanji gripes over his shoulder. “I prefer serving meals of refined taste.”

“Watch your tongue!” Zeff harks, speaking over the hefty shluck of a cleaver. “Did you debone that trout yet?”

“All five!” The blond snaps. “Face it old man- you can’t keep up with me!”

“Oi!” The chef barks. “Try that again once you’ve handled the mold problem in my goddamn kitchens!”

Zoro smirks, enjoying the moment Sanji’s shoulders stiffen before he turns sharply to spot the swordsman at the table.

“Moss!” Sanji calls, his tone artfully balanced between excitement and admonishment. “You’re supposed to be at council!”

“S’boring,” he gripes, closing his eyes.

The blond snorts indignantly, “if dear Perona comes searching for you, I’ll kick you out for her myself.”

“I’ve no doubt you will,” Zoro smirks.

Poised steps cross the floor. A kiss lands on Zoro’s temple as a mug slides into place near his hand. Zoro cracks an eye and reaches out before Sanji can slip away, taking a loose hold of his wrist and pulling him back in for a generous kiss.

Sanji hums against his lips, indulging him before he glides away with a quaint smile.

Zoro lifts his mug and sips gratefully from the ale he’d been poured.

A courier slips into the kitchens and drops a bundle of post onto the kitchen table. A series of letters, addressed to the head chef- likely to be communication on trades and stock for the castle's pantry.

A newsletter among the envelopes catches Zoro’s eye- wrapped with twine and printed with bold stamped ink. He reaches for it, and tugs the knot free to unfurl the front page.

Zoro lets the paper fall back to the table and leaves it where it lay, grinning as he takes up his mug for a hearty sip.

Steam curls from the stovetop and the heat of the firepit cloaks the chambers.

Sanji is at the counters now, rolling out pastry dough with smooth, practiced movements. Flour lifts into the air and clings to his knuckles. Sunlight spills down into the chambers from high windows and drapes across his figure. The light shimmers across golden strands and gathers in his silhouette when the flour rises in the air.

Sanji looks up from his work, returning Zoro’s attention with a soft smile on his face, his sea blue eyes gleaming.

Zoro exhales slowly, heart warmed as a smile curves to his lips.

This, he thinks, is the shape Sanji is meant to keep.