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Mihawk was 30-years-old perfectly unremarkable officer, save for being a nobleman’s son, who liked to spend his time drinking wine and sleeping on duty. Some might call him lazy - he preferred ‘energy efficient’. His habits were well known in the regiment and their lush coastal town, if he wasn’t dozing off at his post or sipping wine in the shade one might as well expect the horsemen of the apocalypse to arrive.
How was this man allowed to keep his position, one might ask. One explanation was his parentage but closer inspection revealed stellar records. Mihawk heard, and knew most everything - people tended to let their guard down around the resident idler - but spoke only to his commanders.
For the time being he lived his life mostly in solitude, comfortably and quietly. The lazy days could not go on forever however - he had always acknowledged that fact. Someday he would have to return to his ancestral home, uphold the traditions and the family name. That was the expectation. He had not expected a war.
For weeks he had cut and cut and cut. There was no way to count how many he had slashed or skewered with his blade. He was tired - they all were. He was so deep in the red haze that he nearly missed the order to retreat. Lagging behind the others he made his way through the devastation of the past few weeks. Among the smoke and rubble he saw two hazy figures. He was about to raise his sword but he realized these were not his enemy. They were children.
Eyes wide in wonder he approached the two filthy small shapes among fresh enemy corpses. A boy desperately clutching a sword with shaky hands and a girl squeezing a sharp tool of somesort. They seemed to recognize his uniform but the looks on their faces were still suspicious.
He chuckled at the surreality of the moment - a small nearly chocked sound. His throat felt hoarse but he hoped he sounded calming enough to inspire some level of trust when he opened his mouth to speak.
“Alright then…” he said, trying to smile reassuringly, watching the children focus and hang onto his every word, “Why don’t you two come with me?”
Zoro and Perona had been with him since that day. People watched wide-eyed as the one of the unlikeliest people to sacrifice extra effort into something took charge of the two orphans. He did a lot of thinking during the nights, watching the two sleep. He had thought he’d have to sacrifice everything he held in value if - and when he would return home. Never had he considered returning without resistance, and because of something he loved. So when the people his father had sent to bring his heir back home arrived he went willingly - with his children in his arms.
Peace wouldn’t be forged on the battlefield. The source of this war, the ones who started it were in gilded ballrooms dancing their nights away under crystal stars. He had a knack for knowing things and digging up dirt, and he meant to put his skills into good use. He would bring peace to his children and so his battlefield was to be elegant salons with his wit and words as his swords.
His father didn’t know what to make of the situation. He must have been very well pleased indeed about Mihawk’s sudden change of heart, before he learned of the children. Mihawk assumed that the older man thought that they were some sort of childish act of rebellion. It was amusing to watch him trying to piece together what his son was supposedly plotting. His little wards were treated well despite the tension between father and son, after all despite his suspicion his father witnessed with his own eyes how Mihawk immersed himself into his duties.
His Mihawk, who had rather spent his days with his nose buried in books of history and romantic adventures and detested numbers and politics, who had valued his personal space and independence above all, who had befriended a red-headed rogue and his band of merry scoundrels, now suddenly being the perfect heir. It was strange… and suddenly procuring these children was highly irregular indeed… but Mihawk was here, showing interest in the estate’s future, everything was as it always should have been.
As accomplished as Mihawk proved himself to be, to his great annoyance the elder Dracule had to face the fact that his offspring no longer had any respect or fear of authority, and had no difficulty falling asleep in the middle of a conversation when his father was boring him, and did so without a trace of remorse.
He still had great love for books it seemed. Mihawk had always preferred the library to any other place and there was a new kind of warmth in him as he read the stories he himself was once so fond of to his young wards. It was a lovely sight that couldn’t be denied, but even if their existence had proven to be a positive influence on his son there were expectations to fulfill.
Mihawk had suspected that the subject of marriage would come up eventually and his father would nudge him towards suitable matches. To be honest he had fully expected a list, or a detailed chart with a diagram even. He had not expected his father to mumble that he wished that he would choose wisely, be it a man or a woman, since he had children and their future to think about.
The handy flowchart came later that evening.