The air on the neutral island hummed, with such strong presence.
The wedding arch, a bizarre yet undeniably impressive structure of interwoven Whitebeard Jolly Rogers and Charlotte family candy sigils.
Gunnar stood at the makeshift altar, his small hands clasped before him. The formal attire, a deep blue that mirrored the sea, felt both foreign and oddly fitting. He looked out at the assembled faces: his father, his brothers, the Whitebeard commanders. Then, the other side: Big Mom, a gluttonous queen. Her countless children. And then, the wild cards – Shanks, his easy grin belying a keen intellect; Garp, radiating a chaotic energy.
Charlotte Smoothie, a towering, statuesque woman with impossibly long legs and an air of cool, predatory confidence, was escorted to the platform by two of her stoic, equally imposing brothers, Katakuri and Daifuku. She wore a surprisingly elegant, if somewhat structurally daring, wedding gown made of what appeared to be spun sugar and edible pearls, its train flowing like a river of frosting. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze fixed forward, revealing nothing of her thoughts on this bizarre arrangement. She was a warrior queen, fulfilling a duty, her own emotions locked away.
Perospero, looking like a candy-striped ringmaster who'd rather be anywhere else, cleared his throat. "Perorin! We are gathered here today, under the watchful eyes of… well, everyone important, it seems… to witness the joining of two… esteemed bloodlines!" His voice faltered slightly. "Let the vows commence, lick-lick!"
It was Whitebeard who spoke first, his voice, resonating with authority and the deep love of a father. He looked at Gunnar.
"Gunnar, my son," he began, his massive hand resting on the boy's shoulder, a comforting weight. "Today, you embark on a new voyage. This path is… unexpected. Fraught with challenges I wish you did not have to face at such a tender age." His gaze flickered towards Big Mom. "But you face it with a courage that makes this old man proud. Remember always who you are: a son of the Whitebeard Pirates, a beacon of our family. Your heart is your compass. Let kindness be your anchor, and loyalty your truest sail."
He then turned slightly towards Smoothie, his voice firm. "Charlotte Smoothie. You are a formidable woman, a commander of your own right. You come to us through… unconventional means. But know this: on this ship, under my flag, you will be treated with the respect due to a daughter-in-law of Whitebeard, as long as that respect is returned. May this union, however it was forged, bring… unexpected strengths."
Big Mom then rumbled, her voice like distant thunder, yet surprisingly… measured. Perhaps even she recognized the precariousness, the potential, of this moment.
"Charlotte Smoothie, my daughter!" she boomed. "You carry the strength of the Charlotte blood! You are marrying into the line of an old rival, a stubborn whale! But your duty is clear! Strength begets strength! You will ensure the future of our family! You will bring forth heirs who will rule the seas!" Her gaze, sharp as ever, softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at Smoothie.
Then, it was Gunnar's turn. He took a shaky breath, his golden eyes, so like his father's, shining with a mixture of youthful determination and an old soul's weariness. He looked at Smoothie.
"Charlotte Smoothie-san," he began, his voice small but clear. "I… I don't know much about marriage. The stories I've read… they speak of things I don't yet understand. But I understand loyalty. I understand family." He glanced at his father, then back at her. "My father, and my brothers… they are my world. I offer you… a place within that world. I vow to… to try and understand. To be… a good partner, as best as a boy like me can. And I vow to protect what is precious, whether it is the family I was given, or the one we… we might create." His honesty was disarming, a stark contrast to the political machinations swirling around them.
Smoothie listened, her expression unreadable. Then, she spoke, her voice cool and melodious, yet carrying an undeniable strength.
"Gunnar Newgate," she stated, her gaze unwavering. "I am Charlotte Smoothie, a Sweet Commander of the Big Mom Pirates. This union… it is a directive. But I do not enter into commitments lightly." She paused, a flicker of something – curiosity? A warrior's respect for his honest vow? – in her eyes. "I vow to uphold the terms of this… alliance. I will be your wife. I will… observe. And I will ensure that any future born from this union is… formidable." It was not a vow of love, but it was a vow of commitment, of intent, spoken with the conviction of a woman who always achieved her goals.
Perospero, visibly relieved that no outright declarations of war had been made during the vows, hastily produced the candy goblets. "Perorin! The Unity Nectar! To seal these… heartfelt promises!"
Gunnar and Smoothie took the goblets. This time, as their eyes met, there was a subtle shift. The wariness was still there, but perhaps a sliver of mutual acknowledgment, a recognition of the strange, perilous path they were now forced to walk together. They drank.
"Then, by the… uh… authority of all present and accounted for (and those who crashed the party)," Perospero declared, sweating slightly, "I pronounce you… married! May your… alliance… be… fruitful! Lick-lick!"
A cheer went up from the Whitebeard side, a genuine, if slightly apprehensive, roar for their young brother. The Big Mom pirates offered a more measured, though still loud, chorus of "MAMAMAMA!"
Shanks raised his sake cup with a grin. Garp let out a hearty "BWAHAHAHA!" even as Sengoku, listening in via a hidden Den Den Mushi miles away, probably groaned.
Gunnar looked at Smoothie. Smoothie looked at Gunnar. They were husband and wife.
***
The raucous, surreal wedding feast eventually wound down, the last of the underworld figures and allied pirate crews departing as the moon climbed high.
The Charlotte contingent, with the exception of Smoothie, had reluctantly departed with Big Mom, who left with a final, unsettling promise to "visit her dear daughter and son-in-law very, very soon."
The entire top deck of the Moby Dick had been cleared and given over to the newlyweds, a gesture of respect (and perhaps a healthy dose of wanting to give the volatile situation some breathing room) from the Whitebeard Pirates. Soft lanterns swayed in the gentle night breeze, casting a warm, flickering glow.
Smoothie stood alone at the railing, her elaborate wedding gown exchanged for a simpler, though still elegant, dark dress. She wasn't looking at the sea, but up at the vast, star-dusted sky, her expression unreadable, her formidable presence a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of the scene.
Gunnar, after ensuring his father was resting comfortably, made his way onto the deck. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached her. His own wedding attire felt stiff and unfamiliar.
"It's… a clear night," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, feeling impossibly young and out of his depth.
Smoothie didn't turn, her gaze remaining fixed on the celestial expanse. "Indeed. The stars are quite… indifferent."
A silence stretched between them, filled only by the gentle creak of the ship and the distant murmur of the waves.
"Smoothie-san," Gunnar began, then corrected himself, "Smoothie… what… what kind of relationship do you think we have?" The question was blunt, born of a child's directness and a desperate need for clarity in this bewildering situation.
She finally turned, her tall frame eclipsing him. Her eyes, in the soft lantern light, seemed to hold a depth of ancient, weary wisdom. "Enemies, Gunnar Newgate," she stated, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. "Our mothers are rivals. Our families are, at best, in a state of armed truce. We have been bound together for political gain. That makes us, by definition, adversaries in a larger game."
Gunnar nodded slowly. He had expected as much. "I… I thought so." He looked down at his hands, the faint red and blue veins a reminder of the power thrumming beneath his skin, a power he still barely understood, let alone controlled. "The… the child Mama Linlin wants," he said, his voice dropping, "the one she expects you to… deliver to her. I… I don't plan on that happening anytime soon."
A flicker of something – surprise? Amusement? – crossed Smoothie's features. "Oh? And how do you propose to prevent the inevitable, little groom? My mother is not known for her patience."
"I know," Gunnar said, meeting her gaze. "But… a child deserves… more. More than being a pawn. More than being… a prize." He paused, a deep sadness touching his young face. "Do you… do you really think a baby, *our* baby, if we… if we had one… would live a happy life in Totto Land? Surrounded by… by all that? Knowing they were born just to be a symbol of power?"
Smoothie looked away, back at the stars. Her own childhood, for all its privilege and power, had been a relentless climb, a constant fight for her mother's approval, a life lived under the shadow of a thousand siblings and a tyrannical, insatiable matriarch. Happiness, in the simple, unburdened sense Gunnar implied, was a foreign concept in the Charlotte family.
"Happiness is a luxury few can afford in our world, Gunnar," she said softly, her voice losing some of its icy edge. "Especially those born into families like ours. They would be strong. They would be powerful. They would be… Charlottes."
"But would they be loved?" Gunnar pressed, his voice earnest. "For who they are, not for what they represent?"
Smoothie didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched again, this time filled with a different kind of tension – the weight of unspoken truths, of shared, albeit vastly different, childhoods marked by immense pressure and expectation.
Gunnar knew she wouldn't be loyal to his father, not truly. Her allegiance was to her mother, to her own blood. He didn't expect her to change overnight, or perhaps ever. But perhaps… perhaps there could be something else.
"Smoothie," he said, taking a small, brave step closer. "I know… I know this is not what either of us wanted. I know you see me as… as the enemy's son. And maybe, for now, that's all we can be." He took a deep breath. "But… can we try… to be friends? Or at least… not actively try to make each other miserable?" He held out a small hand, an offering of truce in their personal, undeclared war. "For now."
Smoothie looked at his outstretched hand, then at his earnest, golden eyes. There was no guile there, only a child's desperate plea for a sliver of peace in a world determined to use him. A strange, unfamiliar emotion stirred within her.
She didn't take his hand, not yet. "Friendship is a… complicated concept between opposing forces, Gunnar."
"I know," he said, his hand remaining steady. "But Father… he needs peace. He needs strength, not more fighting within his own family. And… and if we ever do have a child…" His voice trembled slightly. "I promise you this, Charlotte Smoothie. I will become strong enough. Strong enough that my father won't need to make these… these sacrifices. Strong enough that I can protect them. And strong enough," he looked her directly in the eye, a fierce determination hardening his young features, "strong enough that if you choose to raise our child, you will be able to do so without them being just another pawn in Mama Linlin's games. I will ensure they have a choice, a chance."
He thought of his own fragmented past, the cold experiments, the loneliness. "I… I had a difficult childhood, Smoothie. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. And I imagine… I imagine being a Charlotte isn't always easy either." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "If I ever have a child, I will spoil them rotten. They will know they are loved, fiercely and unconditionally."
Smoothie stared at him, at this strange, serious boy who spoke of protecting emperors and spoiling children with the same unwavering conviction. He was a paradox, a child with an old soul, burdened by a power he didn't ask for, yet determined to carve out a future for those he cared about.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Charlotte Smoothie reached out her own long, elegant hand, her fingers, capable of wringing life itself, gently closing around Gunnar's small one. Her touch was cool, but not entirely unyielding.
"Perhaps, Gunnar Newgate," she said, her voice a low murmur, "perhaps 'not miserable' is a start."