1Full Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo is a street rat in ancient London. Shiba Kaien is a prince engaged to be married to Baroness Miyako. When the two meet by chance and agree to trade places, Ichigo meets Lady Rukia, a noble who harbors secret feelings for Kaien, and suddenly his life takes a turn for the interesting. Ichigo must be careful not to damage Kaien's image, and to play the part of the affianced prince...but what happens when he doesn't want to return to life on the streets?

A/N: This is not an exact replica of Mark Twain's The Prince and the Pauper. I've altered some things to suit the characters and the storyline better. For example, can you picture Kaien saying "how dar'st thou use a poor lad like that? How dar'st thou use the King my father's meanest subject so?" No? Neither could I. So it's written with modern language, and Ichigo still uses "Oi" and "Che" because they fit him so darn well, even though the setting is in England. The characters are nearly perfect parallels of Twain's: for example, the pauper's name in the literature is "Tom Canty", and Tom has two younger twin sister, Bet and Nan. Ichigo also has two younger twin sisters. I thought that was neat. So kindly read and review, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own Bleach, and certainly don't own Mark Twain's The Prince and the Pauper

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The Prince and The Pauper
By: The Abominable Snow Monster

The hand of Midas had touched the foliage of London's trees, ripening them to a burnished gold as Autumn stole across England. Gemstone-colored leaves seemed brighter against the black backdrop of tree trunks: sunset Agates; dark, yellow topazes; fiery rubies. The skies had softened to a dour grey, blushing in places where the sun almost penetrated the cloud cover. A peppermint-flavored chill had sneaked into the air, and the breeze was scented with the smell of corded wood, coal, and drying summer spices.

Kuchiki Rukia leaned against the doorjamb to Shiba Kaien's bedroom, rapping her knuckles against the granite wall impatiently.

"Kaien!" She called sharply. "Lady Miyako is here to see you." She waited a heartbeat before notching her voice louder. "Kaien! Did you hear me?" She gave Kaien's chambers a once-over, noting with exasperation the unbeaten nap of the hand-loomed Persian rug; the cloth-bound volumes of Sophocles and Faust scattered at the bedside; and the ink pots, papers, and crow quill pens littering the polished desktop. Organized chaos.

"Kaien?" She ventured, pushing away from the doorframe. She glanced curiously at the unmade bed: empty. The fresh clothes laid out by Sentarou and Kiyone were still pressed and folded: unused. Rukia bit her lip, a frown dimpling her forehead. "Kaien?" She asked the vacant room uneasily. Silence.

A movement caught her eye, and she noticed a white paper pinned to the desktop, fluttering frantically in the breeze like moth's wings. Rukia tore the paper off the table, her scowl deepening as she read Kaien's copperplate hand:

Don't wait up for me

"Bastard!" She whispered fiercely.

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The surface of the horse trough looked like a glass plate dipped in algae and dotted with brown leaves. Shiba Kaien cupped the scummy water in his hands, listening to it dribble slowly through the creases of his fingers. The brisk air had nipped his nose and cheeks red and bitten through his velvets. He took his cap off and dipped it in the trough, then wrung it out, watching the water droplets make ripples in the glass-plate surface.

Though the sun hadn't yet had time to evaporate the beads of condensation that clung to cold metal door handles and railings, the city was already alive with the shouts of children, the chatter of men, and the sounds of shutters banging, sheets flapping, and the ringing of a blacksmith's tools.

Kaien brought his wet, numbed hands to his lips and blew on them, rubbing circulation back into the fingers. He struggled to his feet, tugging his damp cap low over his forehead and stamping mud from the soles of his boots. By now, they'd have discovered his note—it wouldn't be long until he was dragged back to the castle.

But he'd be damned if he didn't go without a fight.

Kaien braced one hand against the trough's lip, locking his arm and vaulting over it. He landed on his feet, straightened. The Prince tightened his lips into a line, frowning slightly as he surveyed the Cheapside alley with a critical eye. Two-story stone buildings were spiderwebbed with cracks and water-bleached; copper-colored streaks of rust stained the bricks beneath iron window sills, and handmade wooden signs were faded with abuse; the packed dirt street smelled strongly of urine, smoke, and unwashed bodies: It was perfect.

Kaien heard a sudden symphony of horseshoes clattering over cobblestones and a swell of shouts. He glanced back over his shoulder, his heart jackhammering in his chest. Kaien slowly exhaled, his quiet breath hanging like a pearl fog in the frosty air. All the King's horses and all the King's men, eh? He thought with a wry smile. They were already in Cheapside.

Kaien ducked through an open stone archway in a nearby building, watching as a Brougham decorated with the King's insignia rattled past. He waited until he could no longer see the carriage in the alley's open mouth, then blew air out of his cheeks, slumping against the wall and slowly sliding to the ground.

"Oi. Asshole." Kaien stiffened and looked up, noticing that the half-shadows in the chamber did not entirely conceal the lean outline of a boy, maybe fifteen or seventeen. He sat on a hay bale in the dusky corner, elbows resting on spread-eagled knees, fingers tented. Mud matted the hemlines of his jute pants and the soles of his bare feet; the laces at the neckline of his poet's shirt were untied, and the shirt hung loosely over an athletic frame, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. "What do you think you're doing?"

Kaien removed his cap, running his fingers through his dark hair before snugging the hat over his head again. "Hiding, idiot," he said tersely. "What's it look like?"

"It looks like you're trespassing," the boy shot back.

"Beg your pardon," the Prince said in a saccharine-sweet voice. He stood up slowly, stealing a look down the alley: a court officer was standing in the mouth of the passageway, holding a rolled-up piece of parchment. He was speaking to a man in tatty clothes who gestured toward the water trough. The officer glanced down the alley uncertainly, then gave a curt nod and clapped the man on the shoulder. Kaien quickly flattened himself against the wall, marking his exits. The only door was the stone archway he'd entered through: he was trapped.

"What's the matter with you?" The boy asked.

"I need your help." Kaien whispered.

"Che. Why should I help you?" He gave the prince a quick up-and-down. "Who are you hiding from, anyway?"

"I am the Prince of England," Kaien explained, sotto voce.

The boy snorted. "Nice to meet you, Prince. I'm the queen of Babylonia."

"You want proof?" Kaien snapped. "Look outside. There's a court official searching for me."

The boy met his stare evenly. There was a long moment of unblinking silence. Then the boy unlaced his fingers and palmed the back of his neck, pushing off of the hay bale quietly and crossing the room. He looked outside, then pinned Kaien's eyes again. "So?'

Kaien twisted a ring off his forefinger, holding it up to the light tumbling in through the arch. "The King's crest." He said. "Convinced?"

The boy shrugged, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "You're the Prince. Congratulations."

Kaien raised his eyebrows, silently approving--the kid was no pushover. He considered for a moment, then offered his hand. "Shiba Kaien," he said. He waited, hand suspended in the air. The boy made no move to shake it. "I promise a reward if you'll help me," he tempted.

"What would I do with money?"

Kaien hesitated again, notching the boy higher in his esteem. "Not money," he tendered. "Adventure."

The boy eyes flickered down to the hand, then back up to Kaien's face. Outside, Kaien could hear the official shouting to the carriage driver. Dewdrops of sweat formed on the Prince's brow despite the brisk temperature. "Please," he said stiffly. The boy shrugged again, then took the hand.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," he traded. The two locked eyes.

A slight, Cheshire smile curved Kaien's lips. "Thanks," he said softly. Then he dropped his hand, altering his tone. "Take off your clothes," he ordered.

Ichigo's eyes widened. "Pervert."

"Shut up. I need them," the Prince said. "You'll switch clothes with me to distract the officers."

Ichigo frowned. "You really think they'll fall for that?"

"Believe me," Kaien looked up from unbuttoning his satin shirt. "They're not as smart as you'd think."

He finished unfastening his shirt, shrugging out of it and tossing on the floor. He kicked off his boots and stepped out of his pants, grabbing the raggy jute Ichigo had abandoned on the floor. The Prince finished snugging the pants around his narrow waist and looked up to see Ichigo fastening the mother-of-pearl buttons at his wrists. The pauper stooped, picking up his tattered poet's shirt and tossing it to the Prince. "Put it on," he suggested. "It's cold."

But Kaien wasn't listening. His fingers tightened on the fraying shirt unconsciously, eyes narrowed in catlike curiosity, eyebrows knitted and lips parted in amazement.

"What?" Ichigo bit out.

Kaien turned his head slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the boy's face. "Who are you?" He asked slowly.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the boy said irritably, pulling at the sleeve of the glossy shirt. "I told you already."

"Are you related to the royal family?"

"No!"

Kaien shook his head, tugging the poet's shirt over goosebump-pricked skin and tying the laces. "You look just like me," he said, his voice edged with disbelief.

"No, I don't," Ichigo said uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head. "You're uglier."

Kaien's eye twitched. "Watch it," he growled. He wiped his forehead with the shirtsleeve, accidentally smearing dirt across the pale skin. "If you go out there," he said carefully, "they won't be able to tell the difference." He looked Ichigo in the eye. "They'll take you back to the castle."

"You're giving me a chance to back out."

"It will be the last chance you get." Kaien replied simply.

Ichigo looked at the Brougham in the entrance to the alleyway, the daylight haloing his orange hair; his long eyelashes; his lips. The gold-gilded carriage seemed surreally out of place in Cheapside. It seemed alien. It seemed intense. But mostly it seemed different. The silk of the Prince's shirt felt velvety-soft and slippery, like the greasy water at Gloucester Lake, sliding over his skin, rolling away from his hands. It felt too-tight. It felt stifling. But mostly it felt different. "Adventure," he repeated thoughtfully. He tore his eyes away from the carriage. "I'm not backing out."

Kaien nodded his understanding. "Your hair is too light," he mused. He threw his velvet cap to Ichigo, who caught it in one hand, then examined it inquisitively. "Hide your hair with that. Now, go!" When Ichigo paused, he raised his voice. "Go!"

Ichigo jammed the hat over his hair and stumbled out of the archway, looking first left, then right. Inside, Kaien sank to the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest and rubbing the chill out of his shoulders. The freed Prince crossed his arms over his knees, rested his forehead on them. Outside, the court official gave a cry. Kaien's heart quickened painfully, blood thrumming in his ears, and he found himself counting his heartbeats. Onetwothreefourfive. The boy replied: a murmur too low to be caught. Nineteneleven. The horse snorted. The carriage groaned. Fifteensixteenseventeen. The horseman's whip cracked, echoing like a gunshot through the narrow passageway. Twentytwenty-one. There was a flurry of pidgeon wings outside, beating the still air in panic. Twenty-twotwenty-three. The carriage wheels groaned against their axels, then squeaked. Horsehooves. Horsehooves against stone. Twenty-four. Silence. Twenty-five.

They were gone.

Kaien did not chance a look outside. He frowned to himself, repeated the boy's name softly, then sighed.

"Godspeed."
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A/N: The first chapter is short and awkward with way too many words and way too little dialogue: I know -cringes- I'm very sorry! It was very difficult to write this chapter, but I'm positive that future chapters will not be as hard, and I PROMISE they'll be more interesting. There will be alot of obligations flying around: Kaien is engaged to Lady Miyako, but Ichigo doesn't know that. Hm. Poor kid. Plus, Rukia has feelings for Kaien, though she can't admit it. And then there's other matters...Like the fact that Ichigo can't read or write. It's the perfect setup for some awkward situations, and beaucoup humor and romance. I hope you like it! Please R&R