Here we are again! Brand new chapter with, hopefully, some answers for you all.

Sorry for the delay with it, I had to write my friends English paper, she got a 100% so its good to know my writing can be enjoyed even my cranky teachers.

Thank you to the new reviewers! I appreciate you!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.

Lets hop in-

Bronze

There she was, lying on the dirty ground. Her hair, wild and wet, sprawled around her head like a halo. Looking to the world as dead as could be, if not for the very small rise in her chest.

I wanted her to wake up, even if only to scream at me, to cut my throat in retribution.

And she just continued to lay there.

Ichigo had taken to laying beside her as I paced the room, creating a rut in the hay and dirt. Propped up on his elbow, head cradled as he stared down on her sleeping face, his fingers brushing the smallest amount of hair away from her forehead. "You can really throw a right hook." His voice, so quiet and completely awed, gave me the impression that the words were not meant to be said aloud.

"Will you stop that!" I ordered, annoyed at his ease. "Why hasn't she woken up yet? Lirra assured me the dosage was only enough to knock her out for ten minutes, though she'd be a bit groggy..." Orihime's eyes had only been half here, something tugging her concentration away. One moment, she was standing, the next, her body just dropped. As if the very core of the earth pulled her down.

"You should have known the drug wouldn't be necessary. If you'd just given me a chance to-"

"Oh, yes." I cut in. "I forgot that you and Orihime are best friends now. How's the jaw feeling by the way?" I was feeling something far too similar to jealousy. The look in his eyes, hard and not at all amused, had me regretting, not my words, but the emotions so clearly hidden within them. I groaned, and rubbed my face roughly.

So many thoughts swarmed in my hectic mind, not all my own, and the pounding at the nape of my skull was taking way too much of my scattered concentration. I had to focus, I had to think. I looked once again at Orihime's sleeping form, and tried to imagine what the Heir to the West would do if she was awake to do so.

I had never seen her work through a problem, had only heard of the strategies that formed behind her stormy eyes.

I thought of the Southern War held only three short years ago, I myself had been too young then to participate, but my father had been very close to the front, had told me the tales of Orihime Inoue. Told me of her ruthlessness, her nonchalantness towards the deaths of her comrades. He'd told me, in the hopes that it would make my vision of her change, yet instead it caused her to rise even higher on the already tall pedestal I kept her on. I'd read up on every written word about her time in battle. Told by those who had struggled to keep up with her.

The battle of Lockhorn came to mind, as I tried to forge my thinking into a replica of hers. Lockhorn, once the Southerns strongest base, had been the longest, bloodiest battle of the six month war. With it's towering walls, and a mountain at its back, the base was unconquerable. The Southerners had built Lockhorn in an appreciation of the Golden capital, the strongest military city ever known. But Orihime had grown used to walls, had been raised within the barracks of the Golden army, and she understood, perhaps best of all, that men are beasts not used to being caged.

Orihime did not bring her army to their door, she did not have the male like restriction of thinking only in violence, of force.

Orihime was not yet known around the world, was not yet General, was barely out of her training. Dressed in rags and chains, she allowed herself to be presented as a slave girl, given to the Southern General, as a show of good faith. Of course, Orihime had known how the South treated their woman, and used their outdated mindsets to her advantage. For you do not fear what you have already oppressed. They had not known what they had let into their tall walls, they did not know whose body they gawked at. And by morning, Orihime had burned their entire world down.

She had been inside enemy lines, much as I am now. She'd had to wait and bide her time until the most opportune moment. And she had not been afraid to walk alone into the mouth of the beast.

So, I had my answer, my strategy. And I walked to Ichigo, and offered him a hand up. He took it with barely a flicker of hesitation. "I'm not sure I like that smile."

I just pushed past him, not stopping until I was before two large metal doors. Behind I would find nothing but disagreement and harsh words, and that dark smile widened as I threw them open, and walked headstrong right into the mouth of the beast. And I would not stop until I was nestled deep into its belly.

Do people dream when they lose consciousness? Or do dreams only come from a consensual sleep?

Because I did not only see black.

I saw a beautiful full meadow. With flowers and tall green grass, the sun was warm on my skin, and the sky was a crystal blue with fluffy white clouds, it went on for miles and miles with no interruptions.

I walked through the meadow, my hands ghosting over the flower's petals, they tickled my palms with their softness. The sound of my breathing was intense and loud, the rise and fall of my chest so small and unimportant.

A shadow of a person came up behind me, and I did not flinch as their hand slid over my waist. I knew, in such a dream like certainty, that they had been waiting for me.

"No, you will be mine forever." The voice was gravely, as if spoken through a voice dripping in death itself.

And then I woke up, gasping for a breath of a life I was worried I'd lost.

So abruptly the world came back to me, in a sharp, shocking clarity. My mind seemed to tingle as I sat up, taking in the warehouse, knowing how and why I was there, yet still feeling so utterly confused.

The space was dark, and I was alone.

I looked around me, if only to be sure that I was truly alone. And I was. Not even the eyes of Ichigo who was constantly watching. I was by myself, for the first time in weeks. And I was not at all relieved.

Something about the silence was setting me on edge. And I stood quickly, thankful that this time the world stayed clear, and the ground remained solid and still beneath me.

How long had I been here?

A rush of knowledge suddenly swarmed into my mind, reminding me of Ichigo and Bronze. Of their betrayal and Bronzes frantic insistence. A small part of me, despite everything, felt a twinge of worry at their now sudden absence.

But, then again, they had left me in the dirt. And that alone caused a red hot anger to swim up inside me, drowning out everything else.

I noticed then, a door that had not been there before. I could distinctly remember this warehouse only having one entrance. One door leading in and out. But now, on the far end, straight across from my current position, there were shiny metal doors. They gleamed from a light not present, as if the very doors themselves wished for me to come closer.

I obeyed, the curiosity winning out against my better judgement.

And as I drew near, there was a very faint sound of soft words streaming from the crack at the bottom of the door. There were people within, having what seemed to be a hushed conversation.

I pressed my ear to the cold metal. Hearing two people, perhaps three. I couldn't make sense of the vibrations from their words, and I forced my focus to hone in on the slight variations of each voice. I heard, perhaps, a few names, a town somewhere within Bellator, and then my name own repeated. Once, twice… and then the third, said right before a name I recognized.

I forced myself into the room, the door clanging loudly against the wall, sending an echoed boom throughout the warehouse. The room was small in comparison to the one I'd just left, with a large table taking up the majority of the space.

Bronze and Ichigo both jumped up from their seats. They were the only two in the room, yet I could have sworn I had heard a third.

"Orihime!" Bronze breathed out, seeming relieved

I looked over her perhaps too easily, and settled the heat of my gaze on Ichigo. His betrayal was all I could remember, all I cared to think about as I stalked across the empty space between us. He did not move, did not even raise a finger as I gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him down slightly; Hating the height he had on me. I wanted to spit in his face, I wanted him to see the forever formed hostility he had earned himself.

"You son of a bitch," I drew my arm back, ready to swing on him once more, wishing fiercely that I'd had Vladimir when they'd taken me. I was ready to throw yet another well deserved punch into his already bruising jaw.

And then Bronze was there, her hand on my arm, trying to tell me to calm down, to let her explain. I did not particularly like the tone she had, the force her fingers had as she gripped my arm. And so, without ever taking my eyes away from Ichigo, I ripped my arm free of her grasp and with a swiftness I learned when stealing scraps as a child, I borrowed one of the three daggers at Ichigo's hip, and brought the jagged end up against Bronze's throat.

They both stopped breathing, realizing a heartbeat too late, that they were not my friends. That I would kill them both, very happily, for what they had done. The humiliation of being drugged, of being so distracted, absorbed, that I had not noticed the third pair of eyes on me. That Ichigo had been thorough enough in his task that I had let my guard down long enough to be over powered.

I had killed for less.

Bronze did not move away, and Ichigo did not try to take the knife from me. They both were too still, even as Bronze raised her hands, showing me her palms in surrender, I did not let myself forget their sly personalities.

"You ask for me to understand; to listen. You of all people should remember, what happens to the people who have crossed a line, and then ask for my approval."

Her eyes told me that she knew what night I was referencing, the very night I had slit the throats of her captors. They too had begged me to listen, and then had found themselves without the tongues they'd need to give their explanation.

"I will give you more than I gave them. You have three words, and only three, to make me 'understand'." It was a lifeline, small, but fair. If her reasoning was compelling enough, three words should be more than enough.

Bronze decided she only needed one. "Witches."

My expression did not change, my position not at all wavering. But my knife did not cut into her tender neck, and that alone she should count as a victory. Bronze took my silence as an approval to continue, "Kisuke has sent word from Bellator. He has reason to believe that your father has brought in outside forces to aid him in his search for us."

I shook my head, "My father has no knowledge of you."

"Then, it seems, that the king does not tell you everything, Heir."

No, her intel was wrong. Clark left the matters of the city to me. And that included rebellions, no matter the size. If my father knew of them, he would have come to me. He would have sent me out, he would have entrusted their extinguishment to me.

Unless he knew I had already been here.

A cowardly shiver shot down my spine at the mere thought. And that chill remained in my bones until I myself banished the implication. If Clark suspected treason from me… well I would have much worse to worry about than Bronze and her drugs. I had not seen the king since Lucas had returned, looking haunted; completely defeated-

My arm went tense, as my grip tightened on the dagger "You attacked them, didn't you?"

"Who?"

"The Northerners!" I shouted. "Heading home after the Gathering. That is why Lucas came back."

It was Ichigo that answered, I had almost forgotten his presence "Sure, we sacked a few carriages, stole some jewels off of some royals. But we didn't target any in particular."

"Some fought back, we acted accordingly." Bronze added with a slight shrug, careful not to move her neck even an inch, as if it were nothing.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to shake her, or slit her throat. Everything seemed so clear now, Clarks distance, his reluctance to share. "Do you understand what you have done?" My tone caused her to go still. "The Northerners are our longest allies; Lucas is my father's oldest friend. You might as well have sent him a personal letter, inviting his attention to you."

I thought of Clark and his ability to hold grudges, his sure fire will that gained him victory, if only by sheer determination alone. And then I thought of Lucas and his undeniable temper, his four oldest sons still in the North, all having military training, who no doubt inherited their father's anger. I thought of myself, and the army I controlled, and my unwillingness to deny the king's wishes.

And I knew, with not even a seed of doubt in my mind, that Bronze, Ichigo, and Kisuke; they were all dead men walking.

I stepped back from Bronze, the dagger clattering to the ground, with a slight fear that her fate might rub off on me. That if I breathed in the same air, I would be sucked into her dying crusade. "You have a fear of these witches, but it is not them that should have you worried."

Bronze took but one step back, her tone strong and unforgiving. "Clark has no means in which to find us, none at all. He could search every corner of the earth and never find a single trace."

My first impression of her must have been wrong, for I had not even considered the possibility of her being a fool. Yet here she was, speaking to Clark's Heir, his own daughter, and thinking as if I would not go to my father and spill my guts open, if it meant my head would be removed from the chopping block. I looked to her, and could only sense a simmering anger. "What has you so scared, Bonnie?"

I could tell she did not appreciate my choice of words, but she swallowed her retort, steadied her stance, meeting my eyes. "With the proper witch aiding him, our own thoughts could be the very thing that sends us to the gallows."

Her words from before fluttered back, 'Which coven do they belong to?'

I scoffed. "And what exactly were you expecting me to tell you?"

"It doesn't matter now. You have been out for five hours and in that time I was forced to make a blind decision."

By her tone, I could tell she wasn't keen on being backed into a corner and I very much enjoyed the annoyance on her face. For I wasn't much a fan of being drugged, either. Yet, still I asked, "And what was this decision that couldn't wait a few hours?"

Bronze did not hesitate, perhaps in a hope to gain back some small trust, "To remove all of the rebels from within the city."

I was shocked into silence for a moment, then I considered the look of the warehouse. The silence and the emptiness. There had been hundreds of people here, soldiers, warriors. Bronze did not seem someone who scared easily, and I considered why she'd been spooked enough to believe her army of rebels would not be enough to stop what was coming.

"You made a good decision. Getting them out, before the worst was upon them. And now, you must follow." Before I am forced upon you.

"Oh, I won't be leaving. And neither will Ichigo and a few choice others."

I stared at her, gawking at the complete foolishness those words possessed. I moved my stare to Ichigo, who had a tiny look of disapproval on his face. A shadow of hesitance; which was gone in a blink.

They both possessed a strength I'd never had. The strength to stick with their belief no matter the consequences. I hated how much I envied it.

"You seem to be a good leader, Bronze. And I have found myself respecting your steel resolve, but you should always remember that while, it seems easy now- to give an order to stay or to retreat- but, eventually, the moment will come when you must pay the price for your decisions."

She soaked in my words, as eagerly as dry earth absorbed water.

"I've learned that people become who they truly are when there's a knife to their throats. I've seen it, seen men who held themselves with power and confidence, shake and cry and beg. I've seen small women, weak and frightened, spit into their captures face. In the end we are all given a choice, to cry or to spit. To run or to fight. So I ask you, Bonnie Carter, who will you be when the knife is held to you?" The question lingered in the silence, and it echoed inside her eyes.

Neither of them had any words to say as I moved toward the door. Leaving a chilling emptiness in my wake.

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Till next time-