The Gilded Cage

A tale based on

Hans Christian Anderson's 'The Nightingale'

and Eichiro Oda's 'One Piece'

A great many years ago, in a distant land there thrived an empire of beauty long forgotten and beyond imagination. But the most beautiful of all was the palace of the Emperor -- indeed, it was the most beautiful palace in the world. From the finest porcelain, paints and silks was born a world full of color and texture unlike any seen before. And if it was possible to outshine the palace itself, this could only be achieved by the surrounding gardens. The rarest and the tallest and the most colorful of flowers reached for a crystal blue sky, each determined to best the flower beside it. And the gardens stretched farther than the eye could see, far over the hills toward the ocean. Beyond the reaches of the royal gardeners, the garden flourished into a great, green forest with towering trees that looked over the vastness of the blue sea and the majestic ships that rode the tides.

It was in this forest that there nestled a small inn, a ryokan well known among travelers simply as The Nightingale. An unassuming place but it welcomed all, the weary and the hungry, regardless of standing or breeding. No hungry traveler was ever turned away from the Nightingale.

And the proprietor of this ryokan was a young man who could prepare fine, elaborate meals that would fill the forest with the most delicious smells. The faintest of scents wafting on the breeze could lure a fisherman from the shore to the depths of the forest and the welcome of the Nightingale and the soft voice of the young man as he cooked.

Now, these gardens were so vast that even the Emperor, to whom they all belonged, did not know every person, every creature, or every plant that dwelled or ventured within its borders.

So, there came a day when a visiting ambassador from a neighboring kingdom sat at his banquet table and engaged the young Emperor in conversation on the subject of his empire. But when he asked about the Nightingale, about the beautiful inn and the beautiful young man who lived there, spinning out the most delectable dishes with a cheerful, lilting voice, the Emperor knew not what to say, for he had no knowledge of such a place, of such a creature. And here was a traveler, claiming that all the richest of tales spoke of this Nightingale as the greatest wonder of all the Emperor's lands.

The Emperor immediately summoned his most trusted and knowledgeable counselor and asked the man whether he'd heard any such tales as this. But the counselor knew not of the place or nor of the man.

"Why is it that the men of other countries know my treasures better than I? No, this will not do. Find the Nightingale and bring the proprietor to the palace. I must taste these dishes myself, see the man who prepares them."

This, the counselor agreed to do, though he knew not where to even begin looking.

A young man by the name of Usopp, the Emperor's counselor was an intelligent man of high standing and rank but he was a coward and a liar. And for all his intellect, he did not know where to find the Nightingale. His knees trembled at the prospect of searching the vast forest alone. So he searched the palace instead, high and low, for anyone who knew of the ryokan, who had tasted its fabled meals or had heard the voice of its kind owner. But like himself, none that he met or spoke to had traveled the forest and none had ever smelled the alluring scent that the Emperor's guest spoke of.

"Your majesty," quivered the counselor, nervous both at the prospect of displeasing the Emperor and at the prospect of being eaten by wild beasts in the forest, "no member of the court has heard of the establishment, of the Nightingale or of the man in the forest. My lord really must not believe every rumor that comes by his door. Is it possible that the ambassador was speaking in jest…"

"Not everyone is such a liar as you, Counselor," the Emperor interrupted. "This information was given to me by the ambassador of the great and mighty Emperor of the Akagami Kingdom. Would you dare to challenge his word? I will sample the Nightingale's food this night and I will meet the cook who lives in the woods. And if I do not, I shall take up my swords and run through the whole of the court when the meal is complete!"

The counselor's knees quaked and again he scoured the palace. Indeed, most of the court scoured it with him, for they knew very well that the Emperor could quite easily run them through, no matter that he might be easily placated with wine. At last the counselor met a young boy who worked in the kitchens, and though he wondered suspiciously at the loaf of bread the boy was eating at the moment they happened to cross paths, he did not hesitate to speak of his quest.

"The Nightingale?" the kitchen boy puzzled. "Ah! You mean the restaurant in the forest! With the best food in the world -- I can smell the meals from miles away and every bite is better than the one before it!"

Now, the kitchen boy was brave and strong, though he was a scrawny thing, and he knew the forest quite well. So the counselor told him, "If you take me to see The Nightingale, I will personally see that you are allowed to dine with the Emperor's court and have the largest, finest meal you could imagine! There will be pigs roasted larger than horses and cakes as tall as trees!"

The boy, who called himself Luffy, but who the palace's cooks mostly called 'nuisance', agreed vigorously, eyes wide, mouth watering at the prospect of such a large, delicious meal. Though the Nightingale's food was by far the best in the Kingdom, the kitchen boy was not one to turn his nose away from any offer of food. "All right." He nodded, grin wide and friendly. "Let's go now! I'm nearly starving anyway!"

Luffy was confident and sure-footed as he led the counselor from the palace and through the vast gardens to the edge of the forest. The counselor followed close behind, eager to have their endeavor done and over that he might return to the safety of the palace. He sniffed at the air for a trace of the smell that would lead them to their goal. Great winding vines of jasmine climbed the base of trees and their scent caught on the breeze as they neared.

"Oh, there it is," the counselor said eagerly. "It does smell delicious -- such exotic spices!"

The kitchen boy raised a brow and failed to stifle his laughter. "That's just the flowers! Don't you know anything?" Luffy shook his head in pity for the sheltered counselor and they continued their trek through the woods.

The counselor pouted at the teasing but soon a new scent met his nose as they passed near a bee's nest. "Ah, we've found it for sure this time -- the sweetest deserts must be baking just around the bend!"

The kitchen boy rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "No, no, no. That's only the wild honey in that hollow tree there. And how could you ever mistake the harsh buzzing of bees for the soft soothing song of the Nightingale's chef as he sings while he cooks?" Luffy seemed genuinely aghast for a moment, though the offense was quickly forgotten as they drew closer and closer to the place they sought.

It was not long before a third scent wafted under their noses, though this smell was not spicy or even at all pleasant and the counselor wrinkled his nose. "Is it possible that the chef is making kimchee this day...?"

However, a soft growl from behind startled the two young men and it was only Luffy's sprightly nature and Usopp's unmatched terror that allowed them to outrun the pack of wolves that chased them through the forest. Finally the soft smell of flavored smoke curled around them and the kitchen boy pointed from a distance at a splash of color in the branches of a tree where a young man lounged, a long pipe in his slender fingers.

"There he is!" the boy exclaimed, hurrying up to the tree, urging the counselor to follow. "Hello, Sanji." He smiled and bowed a polite greeting. "This is Usopp, First Counselor to our great and mighty Emperor Roronoa. He has a favor to ask you." Luffy turned to the counselor, grinning and pulled him closer to the tree and the young man, dressed all in feathery blues and browns, bright eyes sharp and darting like a bird's, who stared down at them. "Go ahead, Usopp," the kitchen boy encouraged.

"Ah…" the counselor stammered slightly, nervous under the man's sharp gaze. But he bolstered himself and stood up straight. "His majesty, the powerful and wise Emperor Roronoa Zoro requests the presence of the proprietor of the Nightingale Inn this night to sample his culinary stylings with the royal court! You are in his highest favor!" And quite suddenly, the counselor bowed so low his long nose nearly touched his knees.

The young man raised a slender eyebrow and blew a ring of purple smoke that wafted and curled up through his pale hair. Then he leapt from the tree branch, landing softly and skillfully on the forest floor before straightening and looking the counselor up and down. "Please follow me," he coaxed, voice smooth and soothing as he crooked a finger toward the counselor, who he'd never met and the kitchen boy, who he perhaps saw too often.

Without another word, he led them into The Nightingale, ushered them to two rather rough mats around a low wooden table. "Please sit. I will only be a moment." Then he bowed his head politely and left them in anticipation.

When he returned it was with two simple dishes which he lay before them with a half-smile and a murmured, "Please enjoy your meal," before he backed from the table. "If you desire anything, call out to me, for I must retire to the kitchens and begin preparations for the afternoon tea." A few minutes after the young cook had left the room, a quiet lilting voice drifted from the kitchen, murmuring words the counselor did not know, in a tune he had never heard.

Stunned, the counselor stared after the ryokan owner, the man that Luffy had called 'Sanji'. The kitchen boy was quick to tear into his meal but Usopp was distracted by the voice, unlike any other he had heard, until Luffy brought his attention to his own meal by trying to sample it himself.

The food was simple but upon the first bite, the counselor's eyes widened, for it was indeed as marvelous as the ambassador had claimed. And just as Luffy had said, each bite was better than the last. Inspired, the counselor rose suddenly to his feet and called out to the proprietor.

"Most esteemed sir!" he cried, impassioned. "You must cook for the Emperor and his court, this night! For you truly are the finest treasure in the Emperor's kingdom!"

The singing ceased and after a moment the young man reappeared, wiping the back of a pale hand across his brow, mouth and cheeks pink from the heat of his cooking fires. He hesitated at the request, reluctant to leave his inn and his kitchen. But he knew it could mean trouble, for him and the Nightingale, if he refused. So drawing a tight expression and giving a brief nod, he agreed.

"My meals taste best when partaken of under the forest's own canopy, but I will do this thing for my Emperor as he wishes," he spoke quietly, formally.

*

Of all the rooms in the palace, the Emperor's throne room was perhaps the most breath-taking. Draped with the finest silks and the most detailed of embroidery and the softest pillows in the kingdom, every glance was awe-inspiring. It was here that the counselor addressed the court, "I present the owner and proprietor of the Nightingale ryokan! The most acclaimed, Sanji."

However, when he led Sanji past the brightly colored curtains and into the finest finery of the palace, the Emperor's gaze merely studied the man slowly, clearly unimpressed with his lanky appearance and dull dress. And from his throne, scattered with silk and pillows, he placed a bored hand beneath his chin and regarded Usopp. "Are you quite sure, counselor, that this is the man I seek?" For the Emperor was a cynical though good-hearted man. "Can something so very plain truly be the finest treasure in all of my kingdom?"

"My highest, most imperial majesty!" the counselor cried, for he worried at the Emperor's disdain of this most amazing discovery. "I assure you, I have seen the ryokan, I have tasted the most magnificent food, I have heard the voice of this man -- and he is indeed the finest treasure in the land!"

Meanwhile, the young innkeeper bristled at the Emperor's tone as he stood from the low bow he had offered. His attire was simple, it was true, and he was as thin as though he never partook of his own food, that was also true. But to have his greatest skills doubted on the basis of his outward appearance ruffled his feathers and brought a sharp spark to the gleam in his eye.

"Perhaps if your majesty would care to sample my fare, he would feel able to judge for himself his humble servant's worth," his normally soft, unconcerned voice held a trace of insult and of daring. He was confident, but not impolite.

This remark drew the Emperor's eye from the counselor and he met evenly the chef's stare. There was something to be said for one who could remain confident under the scrutiny of the Emperor. And for a long moment, he regarded the ryokan owner before he carelessly turned his gaze. "Very well," he said. "This night there shall be a feast and you shall cook for my court."

*

The palace was decorated more elaborately than ever before to welcome the greatest treasure of the kingdom. The gold and porcelain sparkled and shimmered with the dancing light of a thousand lamps. Banners in every possible color and shade beneath the sun were strung and draped. Bells tinkled from the flowers, from the trees, from the toes of servants. A great pavilion was erected in the courtyard and furnished with polished cherrywood tables and sprawling silk pillows and the most delicate and beautiful china in the kingdom. And in the center of the pavilion was placed a fine brass grill which danced with flame upon which the chef was to prepare the meal.

Usopp the counselor was present, as was the rest of the Emperor's court and even the little kitchen boy was allowed a place at the gathering, in thanks for his service. The cook was provided with the finest meats and spices and vegetables and the court ate and watched and listened (for he continued to sing, in the lilting foreign tongue) even as he tossed and grilled and fried and steamed and prepared course after course of incredible and delicious dishes.

All those gathered were cheered and amazed and chattered amongst themselves over the heaping plates of food that tasted better than anything they could imagine, remarking about the plain, thin, unassuming man who could cook and sing and enchant them all so thoroughly.

When the Emperor saw his people happy and satisfied, he turned to the plate that had been laid before him. From across the pavilion, the young cook paused in his seasoning of a side of meat to watch expectantly as the Emperor took his first bite.

The Emperor never could have expected the flavor that flooded his senses with that first taste. The perfect blend of spices, cooked to perfection. Nothing in his perfect palace could compare to the taste, texture -- not the most exotic incenses or the softest silks or the most delicate porcelain. The flavor swirled over his tongue and it was so magnificent, so amazing that even as his gaze met that of the chef across the pavilion, a tear formed in his eye.

But the Emperor then swallowed and became aware of the wetness that tickled his cheek and he turned away from the cook, wiping away the tear with a finger. "It is very spicy, isn't it," he said to the counselor at his side and coughed faintly before continuing with his meal.

But as he ate, the Emperor's eyes again found and would not leave the cook for suddenly he was not thin or plain -- he was slender and graceful with hair spun of gold and fingers of ivory. His every movement was flowers in the breeze, his hands were dove's wings. He continued to work, fast and efficient and he sang softly that siren's song of the forest in words that the Emperor could not understand. And the Emperor could not remember now if the Nightingale was so lovely because the food was so delicious or if the food was so delicious because Sanji was so beautiful.

The celebration lasted long into the evening until everyone was so terribly full they could eat no more (except for the little kitchen boy who continued to collect leftovers and make short work of them). The Emperor raised his glass in a toast to the most precious treasure in his kingdom, to the Nightingale and a chorus agreed with him and cried praise to the chef.

*

The Emperor offered the palace to the chef for the night and refused to let him decline. When the meal was complete, the young chef was led to the sprawling rooms offered for his private use. Intricately embroidered silk robes were laid out on the expansive bed and detailed tapestries decorated the far-stretching walls. Baskets of exotic fruits spilled across the polished tables; tiny, brightly colored flowers sprinkled the floor-mats in the corners and delicate swirls of scented smoke reached lazily for the ceiling.

The young cook of the Nightingale was left alone then and he stood in the middle of the vast room, amazed and overwhelmed at the size and colors and complete luxury of the space. The room alone was three times bigger than the Nightingale and he felt all of the sudden quite lost. There was nothing to do then but sit and wait. Wait for the sun and the new day and the walk through the woods that would take him back to his home and his kitchen.

While he sat, limbs cushioned by pillows and silks, Sanji rolled a bright red fruit back and forth in his hands and thought about the feast. He was of course, immensely satisfied to have had fed and cheered so many people, but he thought mostly of the Emperor and a strange satisfied feeling spread through his chest at the remembrance of the tear, of the pure, honest emotion that his food, his singing, maybe even his presence had drawn from the man.

And perhaps this was why he let himself be convinced to stay one night. Very quietly, as he let his fingers polish the sleek surface of the fruit, he began to sing to himself.

*

Directly after the great feast, the Emperor excused himself for the evening but his counselor tagged at his heels, spouting babbling praise over the evening. The texture of this and the aroma of that and oh, the man's voice… The Emperor only folded his hands in his robs as he walked, silent, until the counselor cried emphatically, "He must stay!"

At this, the Emperor raised a brow, a faint frown tugging at his lips. "What?"

The counselor skidded to a halt, nearly running into his Emperor as the tall man stopped to question this last proclamation. Usopp gave a nervous cough and continued. "That is, as your trusted counselor, I would humbly suggest that Your Majesty order this man to stay. Here at the palace. To cook! And sing!" With each statement, the man's hands waved higher and more enthusiastically in the air before him.

The Emperor scowled faintly. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of that man being around his palace each day. He was indeed quite stubborn and unwilling to admit to the revelations the evening had forced upon him, refusing to acknowledge how much he'd enjoyed the man's presence or his cooking. "He will not be easy to keep, I'm sure," he muttered under his breath. "He is full of insolence. You saw him in the throne room this afternoon."

Usopp hesitated only a moment. "The young man is, of course, not used to the court or its etiquette. Only give him a time to accustom himself to the ways of the palace and he will present marvelously. My Emperor must see his potential!"

Zoro grumbled non-committally. "I see his potential for causing trouble," he grunted. "However," he continued, raising a hand to silence his counselor's further protests, "if you believe he would be a good addition to the palace, and that it would please my court... then I shall consider it."

Usopp bowed low, and when he raised his head again, he was smiling wide. "A wise consideration, Majesty. Indeed, I believe the Nightingale's chef will prove a wondrous addition to the court. The people will be happy." And with another bow, and another, he backed from the Emperor's presence to scurry off, bursting to spread the news.

*

That night as the Emperor lay to sleep, for once in his life, he lay awake in his bed. The image of that man gnawed at him, his infuriating grace and beauty and skill. He hated the fact that he had to argue with himself over Usopp's advice and the points that he made. He didn't want that man to stay in his palace. But he wanted less for him to leave. But really, this was ridiculous, for, as the Emperor, it was entirely his position to order the ryokan owner to stay -- not for himself but for the good of his court. For the good of his people and the good of his country. With this in mind, he swept from his chambers and through the halls of the palace. The guards at the entrance of Sanji's rooms bowed low to him as he stepped past them and into the finery of the guest rooms. In the doorway he stopped, green eyes narrowed, determined. "Nightingale."

Sanji sat in the fine chair he'd placed by the window, leaning against the sill and staring out at the moon. He'd been singing quietly to himself when the Emperor interrupted and didn't answer until he was able to bring the song to a lilting finish. Only then did he turn his head to regard the man standing in the doorway. He did not stand nor greet the Emperor, only blinked and waited expectantly for the man to continue.

The wind was somewhat taken from the Emperor's sails with this lack of respect but it also served as a point against the continued presence of the man in his court. His tense shoulders forcibly relaxed somewhat as he wandered into the room with an obvious air of disinterest, not bothering to give reason for his visit. He was the Emperor, after all. His gaze fell on the bed as he walked past, fingering the silks that lay there untouched. "Are they not to your liking?" he asked, tonelessly.

The young man turned to the fine fabric that lay spread across the equally-fine sheets. "I have little use for such fineries. They would only become soiled while I cook," he explained simply.

Zoro frowned only faintly as he slowly rounded the sprawling bed, stepping closer to Sanji. "It is requested," he began, lifting his eyes to look the chef squarely in the face, "that you remain here at the palace as a member of my court."

Sanji matched the Emperor's stare with one of his own, no sign of surprise on his face. "I'm afraid that's not possible." He could not truly fathom leaving his inn in the woods for any length of time, even for an Emperor.

"I'm afraid it is possible," the Emperor responded, something that was not quite a threat in his voice. "You have brought great joy to my palace this night -- I have never seen my court so enthralled or delighted before. You are an asset to my country." Though the words he spoke were of the utmost compliment coming from the Emperor, his voice was flat, hard.

Sanji's eyes narrowed at the implied request-turned-order. And then he stood, revealing himself to be quite nearly as tall as the Emperor when he wasn't bent over a stove, or bowing respectfully. "I do take pride in bringing happiness to people. As such, I cannot possibly bear to be parted from my inn for longer than the one night I have agreed to. I do apologize." His voice as well, stayed firm, unbending, eyes never drifting from the face of the Emperor.

"You will, I can assure you, bring happiness to far more people by serving my country here than from your little shack in the woods," the Emperor shot back, fighting off the bristle that wanted to creep up his back. He did not want to order the man to stay. He did not want to appear to want him here that badly even if it was his prerogative as Emperor.

Sanji was not so easily moved however, and brushing a stubborn strand of hair from his brow, spoke again. "You have never visited the Nightingale. Forgive me, but you speak of what you do not know." Secretly though, he knew the Emperor had a valid point. In terms of simple numbers, he would reach more people here at the palace. It was more a matter of deciding whether they were equally important in their multitude as were the smaller, more intimate visitations of the Nightingale's own patrons.

"I have heard enough to know that you serve lost fishermen and wayward kitchen boys," the Emperor responded, his patience failing him. "In my palace you will serve foreign dignitaries and the highest in the court." His voice dropped then and he turned away. "I have asked you kindly. I will not ask again."

Sanji nodded, "Then if you don't mind, I really aught to be returning." With nothing further, the young cook stepped past the Emperor, failing to offer even a respectful bow of departure.

The Emperor's face hardened; he stayed where he stood, back to the door. "The guards will not let you pass," he said. "I hereby order you to provide your services to my court until further notice."

Sanji's steps slowed to a stop but he did not turn. He did not bow. He did not even speak for a long moment. There was nothing more to do; he could not disobey an order from the ruler of the kingdom which he called home. He was not happy with this, but that was that. "As his Majesty demands," he finally spoke. "If you would excuse me, I must rest tonight if I am to offer my skills to your people on the morrow." Still he refused to look at the man who stood behind him.

The Emperor turned then and hesitated slightly before he stepped up behind the other man. When he spoke again, his voice had softened by the slightest measure but there was no remorse in his words. "You will not be unhappy." This, however, was a promise and not an order. "You shall have everything you desire."

After a moment, the golden-haired boy faced the Emperor and found his eyes again. "While I am here, all I will need is access to utensils and ingredients and other such tools of my trade. This is all." He paused for a moment before continuing. "As for my desires, I desire nothing more than the woods who offer their spice and scent to my dishes, the faces and laughter and aura which inspire my song. While I remain here, do not speak to me of my desires when they are not yours to grant."

Any sympathy the Emperor may have held for the chef quickly drained with these words and his face twisted in distaste. He brushed past Sanji then, glancing over his shoulder from the doorway to snap, "You will make yourself presentable when serving the court. Around here we have washer women if your clothes are soiled." With this, the great double doors of Sanji's rooms slammed shut.

*

After that night, the young cook from the Nightingale became a regular fixture in the court. Everyday he cooked for the Emperor and the court and as the days passed, he began to feel just a little more like himself, began loosing himself in his skills again, and his songs were heard more and more often.

And after only a short time, the Emperor's city was humming with excitement and talk of the celebrated chef who had come to stay at the palace. When the word 'Nightingale' was spoken on the street it was no longer in reference to the inn in the woods or even the songbird but always the Emperor's lovely cook. Scribes attempted unsuccessfully to translate his lilting song, women tried to recreate his remarkable recipes and children were named after him -- though none were born with his talents or voice.

The cook was given the expansive rooms as well as the largest kitchen in the kingdom with the finest kitchenware made and any and every type of food at his disposal to work with. Fleets of ships were sent to far away lands, to the deserts and the jungles for expensive spices and rare plants and to distant oceans for exotic fish. He cooked regularly for the court and for the Emperor and there was a sense of satisfaction, of mirth that filled the palace halls as it never had before. Kings and queens and emperors from other countries came to sample the Nightingale's food and foreign dignitaries traveled across land and sea to hear his voice.

As time went on, Sanji had more and more opportunity to observe the Emperor at work, in his court and at meals, and he came to a grudging realization that the man was in most things, a fair and just ruler, if a bit short-tempered and stubborn. He never observed him to be cruel and even in the Emperor's brief interactions with the Nightingale, he never failed to look him in the eye and thank him sincerely for each meal, each song.

And Sanji began to find a certain satisfaction in his ability to bring happiness to the people, a satisfaction at the expressions of utmost approval and enjoyment that the Emperor often tried unsuccessfully to mask with each bite.

Never was he able to forget the inn he'd left behind and the comfort and simplicity and independence that he no longer had, however. For he was lavished upon with countless gifts that piled high in the corners of his rooms, given exquisite clothing that he grudgingly wore at the Emperor's insistence, though it itched terribly and made him feel like a rouged peacock. Everywhere he went he was accompanied by attendants, other young men and women given the duty and honor to watch his every move. And he began to feel quite strongly the sensation of the bird in a cage.

For his part, the Emperor remained cold toward the Nightingale, keeping him at an arms' length in all things. The only time he spoke with the man was at meals or in meetings with dignitaries where foreigners fawned over his kingdom's treasure and he would nod solemnly at their exclamations, eyes closed and hands folded, in silent agreement at each compliment but never giving voice or so much as a hummed consent.

He was true to his promise though and the only other time he spoke to the man was when he would visit several times each week in the evening to ask personally if there was anything that the chef was want for. He was sure that it infuriated Sanji, who each time would only repeat that his kitchens were adequately stocked. Zoro refused to stop the visits however, insistent on pushing the other man, particularly as he observed him growing more comfortable within the confines of the palace.

*

Now, as well as being stubborn, sleeping too much and at times being short of temper, the Emperor had a fourth vice. He had a great thirst -- that is, he was very, very fond of wine. Or rum or mead or in fact any sort of spirits at all. It was a vice that was particularly frowned upon by the court -- particularly by the Emperor's doctor -- for they had great concern over the Emperor's health and he had quite the talent for drinking quite an unhealthy amount of the drink when left to his own devices. He grumbled and complained about the restrictions that were placed on him but played along to appease the court, not wishing to cause great unrest in the palace.

However, what his court did not know did not hurt them.

Routinely, dressed in clothing quite unfit for an Emperor, in the late of the night, he would stealth through the hallways he knew so well down to the kitchens to steal a heftier sampling of the coveted drink.

On one particular night, instead of returning to his rooms to rest for the next day, Sanji had instead chosen to remain in the kitchens, where truth told, he felt more at home. Late into the night he stood at the great marble island, mixing, sampling, trying new recipes, new ideas that came to him during these dark hours. After a time though, the lateness of the hour caught up with him and he'd fallen into a light doze, head resting on folded arms as he sat on a simple wooden stool, leaning over the stone counter top.

Though Sanji's constant escort waited for him outside, the kitchens were otherwise empty and as Zoro made his entrance through a small, high window, he was unaware of the guard that was at the door to the kitchens. The only light in the expansive room was an oil lamp hanging over the island -- and when the Emperor's feet nimbly hit the floor, he started at the sight of the man curled over the marble.

He hesitated, then crept slowly closer, wary at he approached. But Sanji's breath was slow and even and on closer inspection his pale features were relaxed in peaceful sleep, golden hair spilling over his face. Zoro wondered for a moment at the chef staying so late in the kitchens -- but then he recalled the purpose of his visit. He was hardly about to let his mission be undermined by the napping blond. So he stepped quietly away to the cabinets that seemed far, far too close to the slumbering cook. Carefully he opened them, cringing with each little clink of glass.

Unfortunately for the Emperor, Sanji was a light sleeper and at the first sounds of the cabinets creaking behind him, his eyes cracked open. He didn't immediately jump up however, not knowing who disturbed the quiet of his kitchens. Instead, he listened quietly, waiting.

None of the bottles in the cabinet were labeled and the Emperor did not have the wisdom that his chefs had, knowing each liquor by the shape and color of its bottle. He did however know one familiar bottle and it was this stout shape and yellow glass that he searched for, pushing the others aside until he found it. And with a grin he carefully popped the cork, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at the sleeping chef's back as he brought the neck to his lips. The flavorful burn of the country's best spiced rum was perhaps the most satisfying feeling Zoro could imagine and he sighed quietly in his indulgence.

Sanji listened carefully for the squeaky giggle or the stumbling footsteps of the kitchen boy, Luffy, who he'd caught more than once attempting to steal food from the pantries. But when his keen ears picked up the deep, quiet sigh, an unfamiliar sound, he sat up quickly, spinning around, and he leapt from the stool, unarmed yet confident, a skilled and impossibly fast kick lashing out for the stranger's neck. Zoro's eyes widened with that sudden movement and speed but within an instant his reflexes awakened -- reflexes that he did not often display outside the duels of the sword he participated in. Alcohol sloshed across the stone floor as he whirled, an arm striking out to take the strong blow. Face to face with the cook, eyes wide he could only stare in shock at the power delivered in that thin leg and the adept speed with which the attack was executed. His arm throbbed painfully where it still squared with Sanji's heel and a moment too late he realized the dark, shrouding robes had fallen away from his face.

Sanji stared back, doubly surprised, first as his kick was so swiftly blocked and then as the face of the Emperor was suddenly revealed before he had the chance to counter attack. He could do nothing for a moment but stand, heel still touching the solid muscle of Zoro's arm. But then he blinked and lowered his leg with the grace and skill of a master, balance never once faltering. "Emperor?" he finally managed to ask, eyes narrowed, disbelief coloring the word.

The Emperor lowered his arm, forcing himself not to give it a slight shake and doing his best to ignore the pain. A deep bruise was inevitable -- he was loathe to think the damage the cook could inflict were his kick to hit its more vulnerable target. He made a visible effort to shrug off being caught, muttering, "Che... you made me spill perfectly good wine."

Sanji raised a brow and glanced at the round bottle still gripped in his fist. "If you can't tell the difference between wine and rum, you wouldn't appreciate it anyway," he scowled stepping forward to wrap long pale fingers around the bottle's neck.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared indignantly. "I was appreciating it just fine until you decided to attempt my decapitation," he replied, his voice low. It was embarrassing to be caught like this -- particularly by this man. But he wasn't about to back down and his fingers refused to release their grip even as Sanji's touch brushed him.

"Sneaking in here at night, dressed like that? What was I supposed to think? To do? Just let a stranger drain the Emperor's liquor supply?" The young cook's voice rose in indignance and neither did he let go the bottle.

Zoro released the bottle then to clap a hand down on the cook's mouth, a second palm on the back of his blond head. "Quiet, you idiot," he hissed, glancing warily at the door. "You'll alert your escort." He growled faintly in annoyance, letting his liquor-sticky fingers slip away from Sanji's mouth as he noted that the bottle had escaped his grasp. "You will tell no one of this."

Satisfied for the moment at the recovery of the bottle, Sanji set it aside, licking the spicy flavor Zoro's fingers had left on his lips. A tiny inexplicable shiver tickled the base of his spine but he shook it away and spoke. "Who would I tell?" He gave a little shrug as he leaned back casually against the counter.

Carefully studying him, the Emperor's calculating brow furrowed. He didn't like feeling like anyone had an advantage over him -- particularly someone like the chef whom he had little doubt would not be unwilling to use this knowledge to his advantage. He had no question of Sanji's loyalty to his country or in fact to himself. The man had never tried to leave the palace and he provided his services without anger or protest. In the public eye he managed to be polite as he aught to even if at moments like these, he perhaps did not show the Emperor the respect that sent men tumbling to their knees before him. The truth of it was that Sanji already had the advantage -- for he didn't hide behind a thin layer of distaste as Zoro did, feigning less interest in the man with whom his county was so fascinated. Zoro was the only one that veiled his fascination. It was this that brought the defensive remark to his lips, "I don't like you any more than you like me, Nightingale."

Sanji narrowed his eyes at the name and the words. "Perhaps even less?" He had no illusions that the man did any more than tolerate his presence. "I have no interest in exposing your habits to anyone. But if you plan on doing this in the future, it would be preferable if I wasn't sneaked up upon." A tiny, half-concealed smile. "Your court might begin to wonder at the bruises."

"Hn," the Emperor grunted with a slight curl of lip, though his wrist gave a throb of agreement. Suddenly keen on changing the subject, he grumbled, "What are you doing here at this damnable hour, anyway?"

Sanji blinked, honestly surprised at the question, but after only a brief hesitation he explained his experimentations with the new spices he'd recently received from one or another foreign kingdom. Then after a short awkward pause, he held up on of the bowls. "Do you... want to try it?" he found himself asking.

The Emperor hesitated, momentarily conflicted -- for while he'd moments ago expressed his supposed distaste of the other man, even one as stubborn as the Emperor himself was helpless to the guiles of the Nightingale's tempting flavors. Finally he responded though, regally, "Only to ensure that you are not practicing witchcraft in my kitchens."

Sanji, of course, knew better, but for once he humored the man with only a slight roll of the eyes. Dipping two fingers into the bowl, he brought the mixture to his own lips first, cleaning them with a deft pink tongue, as though to reassure the Emperor that the dish was perfectly safe.

It was a very long moment after that that the Emperor remembered that he too was expected to taste the dish. And internally shaking himself, he reached for the bowl, dipping his fingers into the mixture as well to suck it from his fingertips. The exotic, spicy-sweet flavor that dripped over his tongue was unlike anything he'd tasted before, just as every dish that Sanji made was. And it was times like these, when eyes, whether they be the cook's or another's, gazed at him expectantly that it was the hardest to keep his tongue under control. For Sanji's skills, the flavors he could create, the magic he could weave with food was entirely undeniable and brought praise even to Zoro's obstinate tongue. And where normally he could nod solemnly at others' words, here he was under scrutiny. "It..." he began carefully. "It is remarkably unique. Will it be served on the morrow?" Though the words were all but grated out, the approval was unmistakable.

Sanji allowed the smile to show and he nodded. Even in the Emperor's obstinate presence, satisfaction with his skills could always cheer him. "I had hoped to perfect it for the evening meal."

"I... I look forward to it," Zoro said quietly and then, as though startled by the strange sense of... comfort that had been somehow been cultivated in the dim room, he added stiffly, "I must return to my quarters." With this, he pulled the robes over his head again and turned toward the small open window from which he had entered. Sanji blinked after him, somewhat startled by his sudden departure, but only shook his head, a strange sort of smile on his lips as he cleaned up and put away his work for the night.

*

It was the next evening that the mixture appeared again, as a glaze over a marvelous pheasant dish -- the Emperor recognized it from its smell even before it was placed in front of him. When he took the first bite though, he froze. The glaze was delicious and the pheasant cooked to absolute perfection. But there was another taste there, faint and complimenting the glaze and the meat perfectly and only too familiar to the Emperor's palate. Spiced rum. His startled eyes met Sanji's across the room, unsure if the cook was mocking him or hanging some sort of threat over his head in spite of his words the night before.

Sanji, however, had no intention of revealing the Emperor's secret, but he hadn't forgotten it either. In all honesty, the rum had been just the thing, had produced the best combination of flavors. So really, he rationalized, it had nothing to do with the Emperor at all. However, as their gazes met, Sanji found the same strange smile from the night before cross his lips, and he knew that wasn't strictly true.

If the Emperor was startled by the flavor, he was infinitely more startled by that smile -- entirely unreadable with the kind of infuriating mystique that only Sanji had. And quickly averting his eyes, he took another bite, perhaps a bit harsher this time in his frustration.

*

Things around the palace began to shift and grow quieter again. And though Zoro fully expected to be approached, perhaps scolded by his counselor or his doctor, no such chastising occurred, only adding to the alluring puzzle that was Sanji.

It was one of the evenings that the Emperor visited Sanji's rooms, for he still persisted in personally filling his promise that the cook's every want should be filled. This night though he arrived with a quieter air than normal and with a bottle with a hand-painted label held in his uncertain hands. "Plum wine," he explained at the questioning glance he received. "From the north."

Sanji stood from his window and crossed the room to take the bottle reverently from the man's hands. It wasn't often he was lucky enough to come across such a marvelous vintage and he caught Zoro's darting gaze long enough to wonder. "What's this for?" The Emperor had always made sure he had everything he needed to cook for the court, but this was the first time he'd personally presented something to Sanji. Generally his visits were brief, lasting only long enough to make his offer, to hear Sanji's wishes. And never did he come bearing anything.

"There should be no special occasion necessary for fine wine," the Emperor replied, his head held high. There was something off about him. Though he made an effort to appear confident, he hesitated, uncertain for a moment, as though he had something further to stay. But he did not even ask his routine question about Sanji's desires, instead saying quietly, "I shall leave you to your peace."

Before he could even turn to go, Sanji had stepped forward to place a hand on the Emperor's sleeve. "Wait." Then as though he realized what he'd done, he quickly dropped his hand to his side. "Wouldn't you like to try the wine? It's a wonder you managed to bring it all this way without opening it yourself," he added quickly, laughing rather awkwardly. "It's, well, not a cooking wine and there's hardly enough to dispense among the entire court..." He was babbling now, growing more irritated with himself, but unable to quell his tongue.

Zoro's gaze shifted first from Sanji's face to the bottle he held in his hand. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, quite nearly stony, but with the most sincere words Sanji had heard from the man. "I would like that very much."

The words stilled Sanji's tongue and he looked up from his toes, eyes wide, not been expecting the man to have agreed. But he recovered quickly, nodding and crossing the room, away from Zoro to retrieve the jeweled corkscrew -- one of the countless gifts he'd received since he began his stay here -- and gesturing to the man to sit, pried open the bottle, holding it out in offering. "I'm afraid I have no glasses in my rooms," he explained. "Though I suppose you're rather used to drinking straight from the bottle," he added with a wry grin.

For some reason he could not place, that subtle tease made the Emperor relax as he sank into a cushioned seat at the small carved table that sat beneath the window in Sanji's chamber. There was something about this, something about the way that Sanji addressed him. Always pushing the limits of his boundaries with sly words and smirking glances. He was reminded of the swiftness and strength that he had witnessed in the other man and recognized silently, not for the first time, the strength of his spirit as well.

"Only as accustomed as you are to taxing the palace's supplies of tobacco," Zoro responded, unfazed and with no small measure of teasing in his own voice. He took the offered bottle which was still chilled and brought it to his lips. Though he had a taste for harder liquor, he was not above -- or rather, below -- the appreciation of a fine, delicate wine and he closed his eyes, savoring the vintage's flavor as he handed the bottle back to Sanji.

Sanji in turn, chose to ignore the comment on his smoking but for a slight raise of the brow, before tipping the bottle back, noticing, against his will, the slight warmth and wetness that clung to the glass mouth as his own lips pressed against it. It was an exquisite wine, delicate and slightly sour-sweet.

"Why, Nightingale," the Emperor asked suddenly, sobering even before his second taste, "did you not report my deviance to the court?" He took the bottle from Sanji's fingers again, evenly meeting the chef's gaze with his own sharp, intense eyes. "Why did you not use it against me?"

Sanji leaned forward, resting an elbow against the wood and his chin in hand. He considered the question for a moment. "Despite what you might think about me, Emperor, I am not a spiteful man. Nor am I petty and only very occasionally manipulative." He smirked on the last comment and reclaimed the wine.

Only a faint frown tugged at Zoro's features but then he relaxed again, perhaps a bit more forcibly this time. "You certainly have managed to twine my country around your little finger, in spite of that," he remarked.

"People are easily won over, easily distracted, easily enchanted by what they want, what they see as beautiful, wondrous or strange. I have done nothing but what I ever did in the woods," he explained. "Cook."

The bottle was in the Emperor's hand again and he turned his wrist lightly, considering this as he watched the dark liquid move beneath the pale green glass. He looked up again then, meeting Sanji's gaze over the mouth of the bottle. When he spoke it was again with that sincerity, with an intensity that was almost intangible, which almost could slip past one's ear, never knowing it was there. It was reflected in his eyes, in the lines of his face and his sharp features which tensed slightly when he spoke. "Nightingale," he said, though he had said it night after night before, "is there anything that you desire?"

"I..." Sanji began, instinctually wanting to repeat the same words he said every time, his form rejection, his insistence that he already had a stocked kitchen and hungry people to feed. But something tripped his tongue tonight and all he said was, "I - I... don't know," a strange, confused curve to his brow.

The words hung heavily in the air and Zoro all but held his breath. "Anything," he said quietly. "Anything you want will be yours."

But Sanji only shook his head, as though to clear it of a mist or fog and he sat back in his chair, glancing out the window. "No, there's nothing. My kitchens are stocked and the people will await my meals tomorrow, hungry and wanting to be satisfied." His eyes had gone unfocused, and he looked out the window at the moon hanging over the woods of his old home instead of at Zoro.

A long silence lingered then before finally Zoro demanded Sanji's attention long enough to hand the wine bottle back to the chef. "That attack," he said lightly, turning his eyes to the gardens as well, allowing the heaviness of the moment to lift. "Where did you learn to fight?"

And though the subject of desires was not breached again, the two men spoke long and late into the night of many other things.

*

It was from this day that the Emperor and the proprietor of the Nightingale began to cultivate a strange sort of trust. The basis of it was that elusive friction that mystified Zoro so -- though he would never admit it, the more comfortable that Sanji grew and the less he worried about the title of Emperor, the stronger Zoro's inclinations to keep him in the palace became. And the less he resisted them. Contrary to this though, the restrictions placed on Sanji's activities around the palace became more lenient. No longer was he forced to be monitored by a guard at each moment. He was allowed to wander the gardens alone -- though he was so popular among the court that it was still difficult at times for him to get a moment alone.

With this trust came an unspoken understanding -- though there were still times that their strong wills clashed in displays that would give the counselor panic attacks, it was for the most part in good nature. But Sanji's confidence, that disregard allowed Zoro a moment to drop the pretense of his regal life. With Sanji, Zoro was Zoro. He was flawed and abrasive and human. And though he did not particularly hate his life in regal splendor, it was a refreshing sort of escape from time to time.

There came an afternoon when Sanji politely asked his companions for an moment of solitude which he thought to spend in the small isolated garden behind his rooms. Stretching out across a patch of green on his stomach, long light robes flowing out on every side of him, he leaned over the edge of the koi pond, offering his fingertips for the fish to taste.

From across the lawn in the shade of a willow tree that mimicked Sanji, its leaves brushing the surface of the pond, the Emperor watched the cook in silent secrecy for some time. He found it maddening to an extent that the more he learned about the chef, the more he observed him, the less he understood him. Finally he crossed the lawn and his reflection wavered in the surface of the water as a calico, whiskered nose dipped back under.

"Are you not supposed to eat the fish, rather than let the fish eat you?" the Emperor teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Sanji didn't look up, but he grinned, a silent laugh on his lips as the koi darted away to the safety of the water plants' roots. He turned then, reaching up to pull the Emperor down to the ground, heedless of the expensive fabrics he wore. "Come here," he demanded in a whisper, grabbing hold of Zoro's larger hand and coaxing his fingers to relax, before holding them out to trace the surface of the pond. "Shhhh," he spoke. "Haven't you ever done this?" he asked, tapping his fingers so that small ripples circled out from them, tempting the shy fish from hiding. "Here comes one...." he held his breath as the bold black and gold koi swam toward the Emperor's offered fingertips.

Zoro allowed Sanji to guide him, watching curiously as the sleek and graceful fish approached his fingertips. In truth, he was more distracted by the slender hand that held his own but his eyes followed the fish. He was silent and relaxed as the koi's whiskers brushed his fingers, followed by its mouth opening lightly at his skin and the faintest grin pulled at the Emperor's mouth as the koi kissed and tickled at his fingertips in search of food. Finally, with the tip of his finger at the koi's mouth, he wiggled the digit just barely, tickling it back and startled, the fish darted away. The Emperor let out a faint laugh before taking the chef's hand and switching, lightly threading his fingers boldly with his palm over the top of Sanji's pale hand. His ivory fingers lured the fishes from hiding again after a few moments and they returned to investigate. "Even the koi wish to kiss you," Zoro teased, his gaze watching them play with those precious and skilled fingers.

Sanji lifted his face from the pond to stare at the Emperor, at the man who lay with him in the garden. The words were unexpected, strange, almost out of place on Zoro's lips, and he withdrew his fingers, dripping, from the water. "They..." he started, but his voice hardly came out and so he coughed and started again, "The koi are not the only ones to wish this?" he asked, suspicious, suddenly realizing how very close the Emperor was, how their fingers still entwined.

The Emperor only bared his teeth in what could have been a smile, mischievous. He released Sanji's hand though and turned slightly so that the warm sun shone on his face and glinted on his earrings. "You are very famous, you know," he replied off-handedly, casually. "I'm sure there are many that swoon at the thought of the Nightingale." Zoro stretched across the grass casually, soaking in the afternoon warmth. His clothier, he was sure, would scold him later but he hardly cared.

Sanji laughed at this and propped himself up to lean over the Emperor, shadow blocking the sun from his eyes. "Surely there are just as many or more who crave the favor of the Emperor?" he suggested with a half-smirk. "Surely a man like you has more propositions of every possible nature than he knows what to do with."

One eye opened to peer at that smug face that loomed over him. "A man like myself has the freedom to choose... only the finest in all things," he replied vaguely.

"And how many young girls' hearts have you broken in your quest to choose only the finest?" A raised eyebrow and a quiet cough.

At this, the Emperor rolled his eyes. A hand fell on the gold head that sparkled with sunlight above him, pushing Sanji to the lawn. "You're not a nightingale at all, but a dodo bird. And a debauched one at that."

Sanji snarled in imagined insult. "Debauched, am I?" he protested, shoving back at Zoro's shoulder. "And you are, of course, the perfect picture of innocence and naiveté?"

Zoro just looked at him evenly, regally. "I am the perfect picture of royalty and wisdom," he corrected. "My debauchery is noble."

Sanji laughed aloud at this, and slapped one long, wing-like sleeve across Zoro's chest. "I fail to see how any debauchery, particularly yours, can be noble!" He raised a thin eyebrow in expectation of an answer.

Again Zoro's teeth gleamed in that feral grin and he said at his boldest, voice decidedly mischievous, "Perhaps if you're good, I'll show you one day."

But the young cook only returned the toothy smirk with one of his own, whispering, daring, demanding through pink lips. "Show me now."

Zoro lifted his head then slightly, to look Sanji more squarely in the face, his dark-lined eyes sizing up the other man. Studying those deceptively pale, delicate features, that hair threaded from sunbeams tumbling across milk skin. And a hand was lifted, taking the other man's jaw gently but firmly in his tan, rough fingers. Determination made itself evident in Zoro's eyes as they trapped Sanji's blue gaze. "I have told you many times," he said quietly, "that I will grant your every desire." With this, he pressed his mouth firmly to the cook's in a kiss that allowed him to jerk away if he pleased but left little to Sanji's imagination of Zoro's taste, of the power of his mouth.

Sanji started, jerking, but didn't pull away, as the scent and flavor of the Emperor washed across the cook's tongue. He breathed suddenly deeply and wondered if it would ever be possible to duplicate such a taste, that truly if he could, his meals would be known world wide. He drew back then, just slightly, to lick at his own lips. "I desire...?" The words whispered across Zoro's lips. Then the mischievous glint returned to his eye and he spoke. "I desire to sample that taste once more." And just in case the Emperor should underestimate the power of his own touch, Sanji leaned back in to re-claim that mouth with a nip of teeth and thrash of tongue.

Deep, hungry kisses, the sort of hunger that only Sanji could instill and that only Sanji could sate. This time only with his own taste instead of his cooking. A taste of the Nightingale that others did not see, could not reach, not the gentle smile and offered plate but the power of his touch, the overwhelming nature of his taste. A slow, hungry, devious battle of lips and teeth ensnared them both. And finally Zoro truly admitted to himself that this was the greatest treasure in his land -- his hair the softest silk, woven from golden flecks in ocean sand. His skin, his body the finest crafted porcelain, painted over lithe silver and steel. His mouth the most exotic spices, the most rare and remarkable tastes. That mouth that spoke and sang in lilting tunes and indecipherable words, that kissed and bit and tempted. And those hands that spun miracles from ingredients, that fluttered like birds' wings, that now grasped and gripped with nails that dug through layers of fabric. The world shifted, robes tangled, carelessly. And Sanji was sprawled beneath him on the grass and the koi splashed softly, oblivious beside them as they searched the surface. Devouring the ivory of his neck, breathing the sweet spice of his hair, reaching for every new touch of silk and steel. "Nightingale," he breathed into Sanji's ear, his voice husky, all but a growl, "is there anything else you desire?"

Sanji stared up at the man with heated cheeks, glowing eyes, sharp teeth, silent for a moment as it finally washed over him, filled him, the truth of the Emperor's promise. All that he desired. And suddenly, he had an answer. Not only his kitchens, not only an endless supply of spices and meats and grains, but a man. A man of strength, of steel, of generosity and stubborn, unmoving devotion to his people's happiness. Anything else? Anything else? Of course, Sanji finally let himself realize. His flushed, wet lips formed the word carefully, deliberately. "Everything."

*

As time passed, the Nightingale only grew more famous and more entwined in the affairs of the palace. He often spent time in the Emperor's court when his talents were not at use in the kitchens. He moved in to the Emperor's rooms that his majesty might be woken by the voice of the Nightingale each morning.

One day, as Sanji sat in on the happenings of the Emperor's elaborate throne room, the counselor announced an ambassador from a land across the sea. The man entered and bowed deeply to the Emperor and his court.

"Imperial majesty," the man began, "I bring to you a gift from Emperor Shirohige of Grandline."

The ambassador rose and parted the silk curtains for a young man to enter. The courtesan had toned skin decorated with sparkling jewels, tattooed with ink and painted with bright colors. His raven hair was woven with beads and precious stones and his clothes and jewelry put the flowers in the gardens to shame. He sank respectfully to his knees before the Emperor and bowed low.

The court hummed quietly with murmurs at the appearance of the stunning boy as the Emperor rose to inspect the gift, calling for him to rise as he drew closer. He circled the courtesan once with a certain sense of suspicion before his eyes fell on a sealed envelope in the young man's hands.

"Your majesty," the courtesan said politely, proffering the envelope to the Emperor. "A message from Emperor Shirohige."

The Emperor took the envelope and opened it, frowning when his eyes scanned over the message which read, "The Emperor of East Blue's nightingale is poor in comparison to the Emperor of Grandline's phoenix."

"What is the meaning of this?" Zoro demanded of the courtesan. "Do you mean to tell me that you're a chef?"

The courtesan offered an apologetic smile that was perhaps a little crooked but suited him regardless. "Of a sort," he replied. "Perhaps his majesty would like me to demonstrate...?"

"Immediately," the Emperor said shortly. "I will accompany you to the kitchens myself." There was a sense of alarm in him for he could not imagine how any chef could match the skills of the man who sat beside his throne.

"If it pleases his majesty," the courtesan said, "I need not a kitchen but only a skillet and some eggs."

A second murmur rippled through the court but the Emperor called for the items which were delivered shortly and handed to the courtesan. The court was completely silent as he boy let his arms slip from his sleeves and delicately cracked two of the eggs into the skillet, his painted eyes cast down on his work. Then, the iron skillet in one hand, he lifted his other and within his palm danced suddenly to life a flame. The flame flickered and glowed and crackled and the members of the court gasped and murmured as the boy placed his fiery fist beneath the skillet and the eggs hissed and popped, filling the throne room with the smell of cooking.

Once the omelet was complete, it was placed on fine china and set before the Emperor who had watched the startling display with clear shock. Finally he gathered the presence of mind to bring a bite of food to his lips, looking at it skeptically while the court waited with bated breath. And when he swallowed, his shock was yet more evident as he announced, "It's quite good."

Upon these words, the court exploded with exclamations.

"It is remarkable!"

"It is magic!"

"It is a miracle!"

But ignoring the roar of the court, the Emperor placed aside the plate and rose to stand before the courtesan who knelt respectfully before the throne with his eyes cast down. "Your name," the Emperor said, "what is it?"

"Ace," the courtesan replied, lifting his eyes to offer that smile again. "I hope to serve you the best I might."

*

After that day, the quiet young man from the Nightingale began spending less time in the kitchens, began making fewer meals for all but himself. And the Emperor, fascinated with the foreign boy who could cook with his own magical flame, began to spend more time with Ace, eating his omelets and asking him questions about the kingdom from whence he'd been sent.

And because Ace was so much more beautiful and breathless to look upon in contrast to the subtle and reserved colors that Sanji wore, and because his talents with fire and skillet were so magical and astounding, the people seemed hardly to care that omelets were all he ever made. Ace would cook the entire court omelets and when they had finished exclaiming at his talent and offering each other tastes of each serving, they would almost immediately turn to the be-jeweled courtesan and beg him to make them another.

One afternoon, after the court had consumed nearly three omelets each, and calls began coming for fourths, the Emperor stood, plate in hand, omelet half eaten and turned to those in his attendance.

"Shall we not have the Nightingale prepare for us a delicious desert to complete this meal?"

There were some nods and murmurs of agreement, but also hesitation and then the Emperor's counselor spoke.

"But your majesty... Sanji of the Nightingale does not... ah…appear to be present."

And indeed, the young man was nowhere to be seen in the hall. None had noticed when he'd disappeared or if he'd even come to the halls that morning at all. The Emperor adjourned the gathering and all present thanked Ace for his generous meal before slipping away, chattering amongst themselves, gossiping as to the reason for the Nightingale's absence and on the subject of the Emperor's grand new cook.

That morning, Sanji had, in fact, never accompanied the Emperor to his hall, instead staying behind in their shared rooms to gather his few possessions together in preparation to return to the forest and his Nightingale.

And Sanji would have slipped away entirely unnoticed had he not crossed paths in the garden with the Emperor's courtesan who strolled through the tall flowers in the afternoon sun. "Master chef," Ace said and bowed, for though his name had spread quickly across the countryside, he was still a courtesan and remained humble in spite of the praise he received each day. His eyes fell on the parcels that the cook carried. "Are you journeying from the palace?"

Sanji slowed his steps and turned to face the dazzling boy who addressed him. "I am returning to my home," he corrected quietly, head slightly bowed. "My service to the Emperor has run its course and I am, quite obviously, no longer needed." He looked up and smiled a rueful sort of smile.

Clearly puzzled, Ace's painted eyes blinked. "If I may, master chef," he said respectfully. "His majesty was asking for your services only this afternoon... Surely the palace is your home, is it not?"

Sanji sighed a sad sort of sigh and shook his head. "The Nightingale is my home. My kitchens are there and there I am needed. I never promised the Emperor I would stay forever."

A faint frown tugged at the boy's jeweled features. Though he had not been in the country or in the palace for long, he was not entirely unaware of his situation. Or of the man to whom he spoke now. "But... are you not given everything you may need here? You are clearly in the Emperor's favor."

"Everything I need, perhaps, except the Nightingale. I am still fond of it despite its humble nature. Besides," And the sad smile returned for a moment. "The Emperor's favor may well be changing..."

Ace's eyes turned away then, carefully avoiding that glance. "Is it true, they say that you come from the depths of the forest?" he asked quietly. "Perhaps... you will visit the palace sometimes?" He added yet more softly, as though perhaps he were blaspheming against his own country, "I do find your cooking far more marvelous than my own. I will miss it."

Sanji raised a startled eyebrow. This boy was not at all like he had expected. His politeness seemed not to be merely for show and he was genuine and apologetic though Sanji could see no reason why he aught to be. He nodded then. "Perhaps." He added, "If you would ever need to find me, the kitchen boy Luffy can show you the way." Then he pulled free a long thin pipe from his bag and packed the end full of pungent herbs with one slender thumb to smoke on the way. "I wish you happiness and good fortune." A slight bow of his head.

The courtesan stepped forward then, with perhaps more brashness than a courtesan aught to have and he kissed lightly the cook's cheek before stepping back and regaining the respect and poise his position warranted. Lifting a jeweled hand, a delicate flame lit the traveling pipe and Ace bowed his head. "Journey safely."

Sanji sucked lightly at the pipe, capturing the flame and setting the herbs to smoldering. He nodded in quiet thanks before turning and leaving the gardens, violet smoke trailing behind him.

When word reached the Emperor that Sanji was nowhere to be found and Ace confirmed quietly the rumor that the chef had in fact returned to his ryokan, Zoro's well-kept veneer of stoicism faltered slightly in a moment of evident surprise. He recovered quickly though with a gruff murmur. "What odd behavior." He would not show the members of his court how the information tugged at something in him.

The courtiers offered consolation in their own way, of course, regarding the chef as an ingrate who cared only to take advantage of the Emperor's hospitality. It was better that they were rid of him, they claimed.

"We have the most spectacular chef, regardless!" said one while Ace humbly bowed his head. "And one who has divine powers, besides!" The court crowed in agreement and Zoro was silent, for his people were once again happy.

*

Tales of the Emperor's remarkable servant and his magical fire spread swiftly across the country. Great shipments of chickens and geese and other more exotic birds such as swans and peacocks were brought to the palace to supply the growing need for eggs. Elaborate celebrations were thrown and Ace's pyrotechnics would draw gasps of shock and delight from those attending, flames that danced across his skin and between his fingers. And all who ate his omelets were delighted to do so and were never sated, always demanding more that they might witness and consume some of the magic that the boy had.

Rumors of the source of his powers also spread, from alchemy to black magic. Few questioned that it must be magic and the few who had suspicion or claimed it as trickery were scoffed at. It was said that one could taste the magic in the omelets, infused into the yolk of the egg and creating a flavor unlike any other.

With the court so swept up in the excitement of the country's new greatest treasure, it was perhaps only Ace himself that noticed the Emperor's lack of enthusiasm for his mystical omelets. For though the courtesan took Sanji's place at his right hand and came to reside in Zoro's rooms that the Emperor might partake of his cooking at breakfast each morning, Ace was aware of the certain sense of listlessness, of preoccupation that the Emperor had.

And clearly, as the Emperor's personal escort, it was nothing less than his duty to offer peace of mind to his highness.

So when Ace happened across the Emperor relaxing in the gardens one afternoon as the courtesan took his afternoon walk, he put on that slightly-crooked smile of his and folded his hands in front of him as he approached. "Your majesty," he said cheerfully but respectfully, his gaze carefully cast down at his hands as he came to a stop. "Such a fine afternoon in your gardens today."

Zoro looked up from the stone on which he sat cross-legged before the koi ponds. He let a few crumbs fall from his fingertips before brushing his hands clean and nodding in reply to Ace's observation. "In my gardens, every afternoon is a fine one."

Lifting his eyes, that smile broadened just a little. "May I join you, highness?" he asked, still standing at a respectful distance.

"If you like." In truth, the Emperor could think of far worse company to keep than the sleek youthful man with the sparks of gems in the corner of his eyes.

With these words, the air of Ace's presence changed and he approached, lifting himself onto the stone on which the Emperor sat. Brightly colored silk spilled around him as he settled beside Zoro, eyes falling on the koi which still swam excitedly in anticipation for more offerings from their Emperor. "I have not known a member of a royal court -- much less an Emperor -- to spend quite so much time in the sun as your majesty," the courtesan remarked, though there was no judgment in his words. The truth was, though Ace spent a great deal of time in the Emperor's presence, he played seamlessly the role of a courtesan, polite to a fault, never speaking out of turn and, as such, rarely approached the Emperor such as he did this afternoon.

The Emperor's mouth twitched subtly before his eyes turned once again on his koi. "Even out in the open air and sun of my gardens... even here I am yet a... a caged bird. Do you never feel the same?" He knew he spoke openly, shockingly to some standards, but something about the fiery boy drew forth honesty. Zoro supposed it to be something of his magic.

"Being able to provide my service to the crown is fulfilling, majesty," Ace replied appropriately. However a new spark appeared in his eye, though perhaps it was only the reflection of jewels in the sun. "But," he continued, "I have traveled far. I have had the opportunity to see many things that I might otherwise have not seen. Surely though, his majesty would have the freedom to travel past the confines of the court." Here his voice dropped slightly, looking askance at the Emperor from beneath his painted lashes. "Perhaps to the woods beyond the colors of the gardens?"

Zoro's eyes snapped back to the boy at this, though his reaction was controlled enough to stay any other movement. "What are the woods besides more trees than any but a carpenter would know what to do with? No, I have no interest in strolls through thick and disordered forests." There were some subjects that even Ace could not easily pry from the Emperor's lips.

"His majesty is wise," the courtesan said in response, ducking his head slightly. Ace slid down to lay on the warm rock, his painted face pillowed on his arms as he gazed up at the Emperor. "Perhaps," he said very lightly, turning his eyes again to the water, "his majesty needs only to find something that pleases him within this gilded cage."

Zoro's gaze followed the boy as he stretched out upon his rock, bound hair falling slightly awry, a corner of silk dipping carelessly into the water. "Another bird perhaps?" he murmured almost to himself as his fingers idly played across the pond's surface.

"Perhaps." There was an innocence that wasn't quite innocence in the courtesan's voice, on his features as he glanced up at the Emperor from his frame of raven hair. And then turning his eyes at just the right moment, not holding his gaze too long. His vision fell on a koi nipping experimentally at that corner of silk and he reached out to tug it just a little, not pulling it from the pond but teasing the fish.

Zoro watched the boy play with his koi, with an almost smile in his eyes, and after a moment he took leaned forward and claimed Ace's hand. "Have you ever been kissed by a koi?" he asked, a rare bit of enthusiasm showing through the tiniest crack in his formal mask.

"Ah --" Ace hesitated, his fingers curling away from the water's surface as the Emperor guided him. "I tend to... avoid the water," he said, slightly sheepish, slightly apologetic. "Water and fire don't mix and all that," he explained further, though now that the Emperor's fingers were twined with his, he would not release them. "However," he murmured quietly, "at times, it's possible to coax them to the surface." His warm fingers holding the Emperor's, he was careful to keep his eyes on the curious fish beneath them, using his other hand to tease it with the fabric, tugging the edge closer so that the fish followed, coming nearer until the top of its head shimmered and sparkled in the light. Slowly with Zoro's fingers beside his own, he reached to very gently touch the koi's head, the lightest little pet to the scales so as not to startle the creature.

Zoro's eyes were wide as the koi allowed this touch, tail swishing in the water for a few brief moments before it realized no food was being offered. Then with a flash of sun-bright scales, it disappeared again under the surface. The boy was full of surprises he decided. And again, he was shown how little he knew about the creatures in his own kingdom -- the koi and others.

A small secret part of him deep down missed the touch of fingers and lips that he'd been shown, it seemed, so long ago, but a new curiosity was sparked by this gentle knowledge of warm, dry hands.

Ace smiled as the fish darted away but was reluctant momentarily to let Zoro's hand pull away. And when he turned his gaze back to the Emperor, that glow that had appeared was burning softly there and with a subtle brazenness he held the Emperor's eyes. He lifted Zoro's hand then, bringing it to his lips to brush his mouth so lightly over his knuckles, never letting go of the Emperor's gaze with his smoldering eyes. "There are other things I wish far more to caress, though," he said so quietly, the whisper all but lost into the Emperor's skin.

Zoro leaned back, away from the boy, a faint pink flush springing to his cheeks. Ace was bold, confident, and this surprised him, intrigued and interested him, but also stirred a quiet discomfort in his throat and he fell quiet, unsure how to best respond.

After a long few moments of simply matching Ace's stare, the Emperor coughed quietly and pushed to his feet, not quite giving up the boy's hand, but neither pulling it along with him. "When the sun dips below those trees, the garden air will become quite chilly. Perhaps we aught to retire to..." his words trailed off.

Ace's smile flickered broader and he rose, though he did not follow the Emperor, instead rising to his knees on the stone beside Zoro. Robes tumbling haphazard around him, a warm hand was suddenly on the Emperor's chest, fingers tangling lightly in the fine silk, preventing Zoro from pulling away as Ace leaned in closer until he was only a breath away. "I'll keep you warm, highness," he murmured, smiling into the Emperor's face before his lips touched Zoro's, easing him into a slow but firm kiss.

Zoro was caught off guard and a heavy hand closed around the boy's wrist, drawing it away from his chest as he broke the kiss, unsure himself why he did. He licked his lip uncertainly and tried to read Ace's eyes, but the fire there was almost too intense and he looked away, down. At the fingers that still held Ace's wrist. He didn't let go, nor did he look up. "Here, in my gardens, in my rooms, I... care little for the duties or the rules of courtesans. I have no desire for... obligation."

Ace blinked several times, he himself caught off guard this time but then his face softened, warmed with orange light as the sun had begun to sink nearer to the horizon. "I wish only to see his majesty content and happy," Ace said quietly but again with that brashness, he touched very lightly Zoro's face, turning the Emperor's gaze to him again. "But. Were I a better servant, I would have waited for his majesty to express interest in my services. I fear I am flawed in that respect, that I let my own desires conduct my actions. I do hope his majesty can forgive me for that." There was a certain slyness to his smile now.

Zoro searched the boy's sparkling face. He needed to be sure the boy spoke truthfully when he spoke of his 'own desires', for the Emperor truly could have any and as many servants as he could ever want, and he didn't need a mere one more. "Ace..." he tried out the name on his tongue and let an often awkward hand feel out the twist that held the boy's dark hair in place, unwinding it and letting it fall. "Will you... accompany me back to... our quarters?" he finished, words a murmur on his tongue.

Free from its knot, Ace's hair was wild and tumbled down his neck quite nearly to his shoulders. His eyes brightened at the sound of his name and with his wild hair falling about his face he suddenly looked much more boyish and younger than he normally appeared. "Nothing would please me more," Ace replied, though his grin betrayed the formality that he tried to instill in his voice. Silk slid over stone as he joined Zoro, stepping from the rock. And though he carried himself with poise back to their rooms, walking respectfully behind the Emperor, he did not forget that Zoro had called him by his name.

*

Time passed and life about the palace began to settle. The shiny newness of the magical courtesan began to fade and though his services were still frequently called upon, there was perhaps not quite such a gasp or an exclamation with each flicker of flame. With the Emperor's favor toward him, he proved perhaps to not be quite the ideal courtesan, for his appetite was too strong, his manner at certain times questionable and he slept perhaps even more than the Emperor himself. He was still at the Emperor's side though, a loyal member of the court.

Now, the Emperor was known not only for his wisdom and leadership, but also for his skill with the sword. And though there were times that he would send his counselors into fits of worry, he participated in duels with names far and wide that preceded themselves with skill.

However, when the Emperor's skills were matched with the man whose sword he had longed to cross for some time, he proved unprepared for the battle and the Emperor was mortally wounded. The kingdom's finest doctor was brought in to treat the Emperor who was carefully and skillfully sewn up but the doctor shook his head sadly at the wounds. He was sure the Emperor would not live.

The Emperor, though restricted to his bed, protested, claiming that he needed only to sleep and heal and immediately the palace grew utterly silent, that the Emperor's sleep not be interrupted. It was demanded of the Emperor's escort that he cook up something magnificent and magical, that surely Ace's ethereal flame must have some healing properties. Ace only bowed his head sadly and the members of the court huffed at him and his inability to magically heal their Emperor.

It was that afternoon that Ace left the Emperor's side to seek out the young boy that worked in the kitchens and who led him through the stretching gardens and the towering trees of the forests beyond. Dusk was falling when the smell of delicious food guided the two boys to the ryokan hidden so deep in the wood.

"Master chef!" Ace called, following Luffy who burst through the entrance of the ryokan, eagerly breathing in the smell of cooking food.

The Nightingale's proprietor ducked from his kitchen with soot smears on his cheeks and broth in a spoon which he politely asked the eager and willing kitchen boy to sample for him. He nodded quietly at the harried-seeming courtesan and slipped back into the kitchen to add something to the meal he was preparing. Only a few moments later he had reappeared, face wiped clean with the cloth he still held as he addressed his other visitor. "What may I do for his majesty's most loyal and beautiful servant?"

"Master chef," Ace began. He was worn from the journey, his fine silks torn in some places and his hair falling freely. This, however, was not the cause of his underlying frazzled state. When he spoke there was none of the cheerful playfulness that usually carried in his voice. "Your services are needed at the palace. The Emperor is ill."

The faintest spark of emotion struck Sanji's eye for a moment before he blinked and turned away. "I am no doctor. Does he not have the finest surgeons at his disposal? The best of care?"

Ace's voice dropped as he stepped closer, trying to catch the innkeeper's eye again. "The doctors say he'll die," he said. "And he's stubborn and won't be treated properly. Please, return to the palace with me. He needs you now."

Sanji looked up then, lips pressed into a thin tight line, brow drawn and he shook his head. When he finally found words to reply, his voice came small, in danger of breaking, "I don't understand. I can do nothing... he has you to soothe his spirit, to tend his flesh. He cannot need me."

"Listen. Listen!" Ace's warm hands were on Sanji's skin then, cupping his face while his intent eyes captured the cook's. "I have nothing to give him now. I can only stay by his side while he dies -- my flame doesn't heal, there is no magic in my food. I beg of you, come make him meals to mend his wounds. Restore his spirit with your song."

Though the Nightingale still hesitated, something caught in his throat at the boy's words and touch. Such warm, gentle hands that must feel so helpless now. Helpless to save his Emperor. Could Sanji really deny Ace? Deny Zoro? It was true he had been replaced, set aside, no longer desired, but could he be so heartless as to refuse when he might have the ability to pull him back from the arms of Death? No, the young man sighed. Loved or not, he still held a deep, though unspoken, fondness for Zoro, for the Emperor and for the man. Replaced or not, he knew he would go back. And as the threat of tears dampened his eyes, Sanji remembered the tear that Zoro had once shed for him. And there was no more doubt. "I... I will need some things. Certain spices..."

"You will have everything you need," Ace promised and with his hands still holding the other man's face, he pressed his forehead lightly to Sanji's. "Listen. He still thinks of you. He would never let anyone see it. But when he resides in the gardens, you are with him. The fickle court may have forgotten your name but he has not. Nor have I."

Sanji blinked, halfway through pulling away from the gentle touch, cheeks still smudged and pale, but he stopped, looked at Ace, found the sincerity in his dark eyes and could scarcely allow himself to believe the words. For the briefest of moments he wanted to fold up into the warm arms, to take comfort in the words that denied the abandonment he'd felt... at least seemed to want to soften it. But there were more important things than his tears and he was a man who prided himself on the strength of his character, of his outward appearance. And nodding shallowly, acknowledgement of Ace's assurances, he gathered his robes and his composure and the kitchen boy who'd discovered his store of salted meats and followed Ace out into the woods.

*

The Emperor slept in a fevered sleep, his temperature unwilling to break. The doctor cooled him with cloth but still sweat beaded on his sleeping face. His breath rasped, his muscles shivered, lost in his fevered dreams. His rooms were dark and the windows were open and he could not see the doctor, could feel only the tightness in his chest. Constricting and squeezing and pulling. Cold eyes were on him, heads shaking, faces, some he remembered and some he did not. And she was there, in his room, sitting on the bureau in front of the window. Watching him sadly with young, wet, hollow eyes. Waiting for him. She smiled as he drew closer, a smile that surely had been lost for such a long time.

And the shaking heads and judging eyes gained voices and whispered among themselves, he could feel them looking through him, into who he was and it angered him but his own voice was gone so he could say nothing, could not strike out with his hands. And the voices whispered, speaking of the Emperor, of all he had done, of who he was, the good and the bad. He hated to hear them but was powerless to the voices hissing in his ears.

"Pushing away..."

"Always so hurtful."

"So cold..."

"No wonder."

"His own fault."

"Alone in the end..."

"I knew he would be."

"Such a pity."

Death was gazing at him as she stood over his bed and true fear seized through him, a fear he had never known before in what bit of fear he had ever felt. She watched him, his crown atop her head too big for it to properly perch. In one hand she held a beautiful banner and in the other, his sword, reverently and lovingly holding the blade. The white sword seemed to call to him as much as she did. Welcoming but terrifying. He didn't yet want to join her.

The voices hummed more excited than ever.

"Selfish."

"Lazy."

"Glutton."

"Stubborn."

"Alone."

But then there was another sound, a softer sound, a quiet, melodic voice. Singing. In words the Emperor could not understand. And one by one the voices fell silent and the song became clearer and Death's cold, wanting, lonely eyes hesitated as she listened to the song.

Sanji was there then, standing behind Death and singing quietly, the same songs he sang as he cooked. His words spinning tales that only his heart could decipher, of blue skies and stretching horizons. Of bright sails flapping in the breeze. Of damp earth and trees that longed to touch the clouds and of seas that kissed the shore like the fondest of lovers. Sanji placed his hands on her shoulders and her eyes turned from Zoro to gaze up at the cook.

She spoke then, in a quiet voice. "Another?"

Sanji smiled. "May I have that lovely white sword you have there?" he asked. "And I will sing you another song." His pale hands gently took the sword from Death's fingers and he began to sing again.

It was warmer then, the icy chill fading from the air, and Ace was there, kneeling beside Death and smiling that crooked smile of his. In his hands a flame danced, casting flickering light on Death's pale features and in her hollow eyes. "May I have that banner you have there?" he asked, smiling at her and placed the fluttering blaze in her cupped hands as he took the banner from her.

Sanji's song filled the room with further warmth, singing of distant lands and fish with rainbow fins, of towers of clouds that reached for the moon.

As his song came to an end, his hands gently took the crown from Death's head. She held out her palms, the offered flames dancing into scattered embers as she reached out to touch first Ace, then Sanji's face and she hesitated, impossibly pale fingers ghosting across his cheek as she spoke once more. "One day I will take him. It must be." The words were a whisper, apologetic. "Your songs, your light, will not..." She stopped, then turned a sad sort of smile on the man that lay asleep behind her. "But for now... he needs you both. One day you will sing for me again. I will wait." Then with a child-like grin, she climbed back through the window to run as a breeze through the gardens and see all of which the cook had sung.

As the voices faded and Sanji's song, incredibly, unbelievably present once again, soothed his racing pulse and the throbbing ache that consumed him, Zoro was lulled into a deep, healing sleep.

He didn't see Sanji and Ace coax Death to forfeit her claim, didn't see her gaze wistfully on his sleep soft face as she left. But as the warm aromas of what could only be the Nightingale's cooking filled his rooms, the Emperor slowly woke, floating up from the dark of sleep. The murmuring clatter of cookware and quiet speech sifted into his senses next and a low moan fell from his lips as he eased back into consciousness.

"No, no, the powder in the green box, that one," a voice was saying.

"Ah, of course... this one here..."

"No no, the pale green one."

"That one is pale green!"

Zoro's brow furrowed in a wince as the light of the room flickered and pressed against his closed eyes. "Must you..." his voice cracked on the words but he managed to continue, "bicker so loudly?"

Ace, who had been unsuccessfully shuffling through the boxes of spices and herbs that had been brought on his command, fell abruptly silent at the sound of the Emperor's voice. His back to the bed, he only blinked at Sanji as though disbelieving. Sanji very nearly dropped the pan he was holding, returning Ace's shocked stare for a brief moment before hurrying to the Emperor's bedside. "Zoro!"

Zoro groaned faintly, an eye cracking open and causing him to flinch against the light. His gaze rolled toward Sanji as Ace stepped up behind the cook and he was silent for a long moment. His breathing was slow and shallow and he was still pale but his fever had broken. "Nightingale," he finally murmured. "It was you." He frowned slightly then, his brow furrowing at Sanji. "What are you doing here?"

"Your Ace asked me to come," Sanji ducked his head then and would not meet the Emperor's eyes. "It is he you should thank, for I would not be here if he hadn't sought me out and brought me back."

The Emperor averted his eyes as well as though he didn't dare look upon the innkeeper. "You didn't have to travel so far," Zoro muttered at his most stubborn. "I am not so weak that --"

"What his majesty means, I'm sure," Ace interjected suddenly, placing his hands on Sanji's shoulders and giving Zoro something of a warning look, although a smirk crept into his features, "is that he would like very much to taste the soup you have come so far and worked so hard to make for him. If you'll excuse me..."

Zoro somehow mustered the strength to sputter at the courtesan's audacity, half sitting up as Ace ducked away to the small make-shift kitchen that had been arranged in the Emperor's bedroom to fetch a bowl of soup. He wheezed and winced though as pain shot through him from the movement and the world spun momentarily.

"Emperor," Sanji warned, kneeling by Zoro's bedside. "It is true I came far. Perhaps I was not needed. But will you not at least taste the broth?" Sanji dared to catch the Emperor's gaze, steely blue full of stubborn self-respect and badly-concealed worry.

Zoro's breath was slightly heavy as he let himself sink back into the cushions, his eyes captured by Sanji's. His gaze fell away then, a frown etching into his sharp features. "You know I will never turn you away," he said quietly but with a sincerity in his voice that was unmistakable.

Sanji nodded in acknowledgement of this promise and he turned to take a bowl and spoon from Ace's offering hands. The dark-haired courtesan gently propped the Emperor's head up under a silk cushion while the Nightingale held a spoonful of broth to his lips.

The Emperor started to protest and take the bowl from Sanji to feed himself but Ace gave him a sharp little nudge forward and the protest was cut short by the spoon filling his mouth. When the initial surprise faded, Zoro's eyes closed as he swallowed the broth and it warmed his throat and his chest, flooding his senses with the taste of Sanji's remarkable cooking, infused with that unmistakable ethereal hint of Ace's fire. The taste washed over his tongue and the scent filled his nose and he relaxed as that warmth spread across his body. The blood rushed again through his body and a soft sound of approval rumbled in his throat.

Sanji and Ace both breathed deep in relief as the color flowed back into the Emperor's cheeks and Sanji held the bowl, helped Zoro to drink the rest. "Is it to your liking, Emperor?" he asked quietly, a smile tugging at his lips as Ace stood by, eyes glad to see the two men beginning to be reconciled. Glad to be a witness and a part of it.

"Nn," Zoro murmured and sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions. His eyes were sleepy when he opened them again but he caught Sanji's gaze, his brow tensing. "Nightingale," he said quietly. "Stay here. Remain with me always."

Sanji hesitated, his eyes darting to Ace and back, but he had no desire to upset the Emperor in his weakened state and he fell quiet, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, setting the bowl aside and standing. "Please rest now, Emperor. Regain your strength." He turned his face toward Ace, with a troubled but silent glance.

"Your voice..." Zoro continued, clearly struggling with consciousness. That healing sleep called to him again. "I want to hear it again. I want it near me." Ace picked up the bowl, only offering a faint, reassuring smile to Sanji as he ducked away to place the china aside.

When Ace had replaced the bowl, he felt a tug on his sleeve and looked up to meet Sanji's eyes. "Stay... while I sing," the Nightingale asked, fingers still clutching bright silk. Without waiting for a response, the melody began to pour from Sanji's lips. He sang for his Emperor, but his eyes didn't leave Ace's.

Perched on a cushion at the Emperor's side, Ace's soft smile remained through Sanji's song. The Emperor was easily lulled into a sleep far more peaceful than before, a healing sleep in which Sanji's song coaxed the blood through his veins and bid his flesh to mend.

When the song ended, Ace rose again, with all the poise that a courtesan should have and he bowed deeply to Sanji. "Master chef," he said quietly and he stepped back, his eyes cast down as he made to slip from the room.

With a speed that surprised even himself, Sanji stepped forward, pale hands coming up to claim Ace's shoulders and he leaned in to press a kiss to the courtesan's lips. Cheeks flushed, he broke away to stare at the floor for a brief tense moment before lifting his gaze and speaking in a near whisper. "The Emperor did not grant you permission to leave," he explained, slender fingers still pressed into the golden skin of Ace's arms.

Were it not for his painted cheeks, the flush that colored Ace's face would have been only too telling. And for a long moment he remained suspended in that state of shock, his eyes wide as he stared into Sanji's face. But then fingers lifted slowly, uncertainly, as though afraid, to touch lightly the other man's face, reverence for the pale cheek. And leaning in, he took another kiss, his jeweled eyes slipping shut. Slow and soft -- Sanji tasted of the spices he'd been sampling. Warm fingers found his gold hair and touched lightly. And a moment later he eased away, letting his eyes open, meeting the gaze so near his own. "It's been a long night," he murmured. "We should rest."

Sanji spared a glance over his shoulder for the sleeping Emperor. "He will not wake for a while. The herbs I used were potent." Then turning back to Ace he took a step forward and leaned into the curve of the other man's neck, warm breath washing over Ace's collar. "Yes," he agreed then. "Perhaps... a place can be made for me on the floor of your chambers?" he suggested softly.

"These are my chambers," Ace replied, a somewhat sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He nudged lightly at the cook's cheek with his lips and nose, then let that smile broaden, taking Sanji's hands and pulling him back. He sank into the cushions that littered the floor beside the Emperor's bed and tugged Sanji down, leaning against the bed in which the Emperor slept so peacefully. He pulled the chef close, enfolding him in his arms, in the silk of his robes and the radiance of his warmth. With his nose nuzzled into Sanji's hair, he murmured with lips at his ear, "I am loathe to leave him alone, besides."

Sanji sighed quietly, settling into the cushion of silk and skin, breathing in the boy's scent and listening for the comforting sound of the Emperor's breath. "Thank you... Ace," he murmured quietly, allowing himself to relax into his touches.

Both men were exhausted and the sun's light was just starting to kiss the horizon so they were quick to fall asleep, Ace's warmth curled around Sanji and his nose pressed into the silk of his hair. The servants that came to check on the Emperor in the early hours of the morning murmured with wonder at the sight of them, the Nightingale, the Phoenix and the Emperor sleeping so peacefully together.

And when the Emperor woke and his eyes slit open, they fell on the raven and gold heads that rested against the mattress near him, still nuzzled close. Even Zoro himself was unable to quell the faint, sleepy smile that tugged at his mouth and he lifted a hand to touch lightly first Sanji and then Ace's hair with a barely heard murmur on his lips. "Good morning."