This is the longest chapter I have ever posted, hope you enjoy it!

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

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When I woke up I was in my own bed. Lying on my stomach, with the numbness of sleep still wrapped around me, it was easy to believe I'd been dreaming. Or maybe that I had slept through the months of recovery. But as my mind became more alert, and the fog lifted from my brain completely, I felt the pain.

Not as fiercely as I'd expected but still there.

I didn't try to rise, knowing it would do more harm than good. I rubbed my face into my pillow and sighed heavily.

"I'm surprised you're awake." Ichigo's voice shocked me enough that my entire body tensed. Searing pain shot through my back and I hissed. "Whoops, sorry I thought you knew I was here."

Turning my head slightly I saw him sitting beside my bed, perched comfortably in my favorite chair, a book open and forgotten in his lap. Though he smiled, I could tell he had something weighing him down. I hadn't seen him in the courtyard but that didn't mean he wasn't there, or that he hadn't heard about it in detail. I suddenly felt shame, to have him hear my cries was almost too much to bear.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly.

He leaned forward, setting his book onto the floor before resting his elbows on his knees. "Just hanging out. Figured it was a good place to get some peace and quiet."

"How long have you been here?"

A half shrug. "Today? Couple hours."

I huffed a laugh and instantly regretted it. The pain turned my voice raspy. "And you've just been watching me sleep? How very creepy of you."

He didn't laugh but his smile became more real. "Well, believe it or not, there isn't much of a difference between hanging out with you while you're awake versus when you're asleep." Said so playfully, yet as soon as he got the words out, a darkness crept into his face. He clasped his hands in front of him, his knuckles going white with the strain.

We were quiet for a long while. Every time I considered speaking, the words would lodge in my throat. In the silence, I noticed a small bandage on his left wrist, a tiny amount of blood peeking through the bindings. I wanted to ask how he'd gotten the wound but feared it would lead to questions regarding my own. I didn't want to know if he'd been there, I didn't want to know how much he knew. But also, the thought of not knowing, of tiptoeing around what he might have saw, would be much worse.

"Did you see?"

The words were barely a whisper, and for a moment I thought he hadn't heard them. But then, just as quietly he replied, "Yes."

Shame swept through me with so much strength it nearly forced a sound from my throat. I didn't know why but picturing it through his eyes was too much. More questions plagued me, where had he been standing? With who? Had I screamed? I refused to let the words pass my lips. Better to remain silent; ignorant.

"I thought you were dead."

I looked at him then. His shoulders were hunched, his head lowered between them. But even though I couldn't see his face, or the true emotions that were likely written all over it, I watched the shaking of his clasped hands and saw enough.

"After you passed out Clark made a grand speech, about justice being swift. It must have been a real tear jerker though I can't remember a word of it now. As he was talking all I could look at was you. I couldn't see much from where I was at, just the bloody ruined skin of your back and your hair matted with blood but still moving with the wind and just the side of your face, relaxed into a deep sleep- like you were simply napping. I couldn't believe it, that even after everything, you still looked so beautiful. It's unfair really." He forced a smile to his lips.

Ichigo's words swept over me. Seeping into every wound, physical and mental, and sewed them shut, stitch by stitch.

"When he was done, they dropped you. Just let you fall to the stone. I thought my bones would break just from the sight of it. They just… left you there, lying in a pool of your own blood. Your own father, your own men, just left you there to bleed out. I was too shocked to move at first, I just looked at you, at what they had done. And when someone moved up onto the stage to grab you, a deep unfiltered savageness broke through me, and I decided I would kill them all, anyone who tried to touch you. That is until I saw the red hair peeking out beneath the hood... Me and Bronze carried you here and dressed your wounds. She'll be pretty pissed when she finds out you woke up when it was just me. Probably thinks I'll steal all the credit." He sighed then, with just a hint of a laugh mingled in.

"You should have left me there. If Clark finds out you helped me-"

"I don't give a shit what that old bastard knows. Let him kill me. Let him torture me and stick my head on a spike. If I had left you there, you would have died. And that's not something I'm willing to accept, let alone watch." He paused and looked up, searching my face. As if some invisible dam had burst, tears as big as raindrops fell from his thick lashes as he slid those wet eyes over me, from my bruised face to my bandaged wounds- he kept his gaze there. And when he continued, his voice was thick, "I don't expect you to understand my motivations but I knew the consequences and I accepted them- easily.. If I die because I saved you…that's alright with me."

My own tears wet my pillow and I didn't dishonor his honesty by trying to stop them. This must be what he feels all the time, a strong sense of kinship, of belonging. I'd never had someone to care about me in such a way, to pick up my broken unconscious body, not because they were told to, but because they couldn't stand the thought of leaving me behind.

Unexpected sobs raked by entire body, and the aching in my back worsened, but I didn't care. I allowed myself to feel the full weight of his words, allowed myself to accept his friendship. This happiness was worth any discomfort.

"I'm gone for five minutes and you make her cry?! What the hell, Ichigo!" Bronze ran across the room and was besides my bed, pushing Ichigo aside, before the door even closed. "Hey, Beautiful. How you feeling?" she asked, tenderly pushing my hair from my face, drying my tears with her fingers.

I didn't bother with words, they would do nothing to convey my feelings. Warmth seeped into me, filling my chest with a sensation I could only describe as light itself. And finally, I understood. Why they fought, why they were so willing to die for their cause.

I'd kept their secrets from my father, because I'd known he would obliterate them, destroying any hope at freedom. And I had taken the whipping to protect them for the same reason. And in that moment, with tears in my eyes and dried blood on my cheek, it all became clear, I knew that, when it came down to it, I would gladly die for them. Die for this feeling.

Minutes passed as I came to terms with this new revelation and very slowly my tears cleared, with the help of Bronze's soothing hands. It was then I noticed that, on her wrist, was the same bandage that sat on Ichigo's. I reached up carefully, not wanting to aggravate my back, and softly brushed my fingertips across the dressing. "What are these wounds?"

Bronze sighed and Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to reply. I looked to Bronze, choosing her to answer, if only because I knew if Ichigo spoke, my tears would flow once again..

"You're one of us." She stated simply. "You will never bleed alone again. For if you bleed, we will always bleed with you."

It took a moment for her words to seep in and when they did I felt I didn't deserve them. I looked from both their wrists, up to their faces and couldn't understand what I saw there. A softness I'd never experienced showed in their every feature.

After that, we were all silent. There were no words that could follow something so poetic.

The next time I woke, it was not to Ichigo.

Clark stood over me, no armor, no weapons. He simply stood there, staring down into my wounded back. His eyes roaming over the bandages, pausing slightly to take in the blood that had managed to leak through. I tried to keep my breathing even, but the thought that Ichigo had been here, or Bronze, when he'd arrived kept it nearly impossible.

He noticed then, my open eyes, my shallow breaths, and his eyes moved to take in my face. He had a calculating, blank look in his shadowed eyes before he gracefully sat himself in the chair beside me, Ichigo's book, falling in the process, and I prayed he wouldn't ask about it, wouldn't want to know who'd been visiting me.

We sat in silence for awhile, the sound of crickets flowing in the air around us. I held my breath as he finally began, "I want you to know, that I didn't want to do it. But we must present a united front, it is essential. The people can not be split." He reached down, picking up the discarded book. "And I want to know what happened out there that day." He flipped through the pages. "Why did they look to you? What caused such... hope?"

Eyes glued to the object in his hands, I spoke with a trembling voice, "I don't know."

The book snapped closed sharply, and I jumped out of my skin, my back tensing with a searing pain. "Alright. Perhaps, that is the wrong question. I should ask who it was that brought you here... I wonder, who it was that wrapped you up so affectionately?"

This time, I kept my teeth tightly clenched. And they would remain that way, for this was something he would need to beat out of me. And even then- I would swallow my tongue first.

Clark must have seen that in my eyes, and I wondered if that was a good or a very bad thing.

It remained unknown, as he leaned back, sighing, "You have never been a defiant soldier, Orihime. And yet, in the recent months I have had to keep a closer eye on you. I have been lenient with your resistance to the Ryley boy. Have turned a blind eye to your affection towards the young Bellatonian in your recruit class. But," He sighed deeply, turning his attention back to the heavy book in his lap, opening its pages once again. He kept his attention there, reading through a few choice sentences. "I fear that I have given you too much freedom. And that you have mistaken my kindness as ignorance."

My body began to shake slightly, as he tore out a single page from the spine. Drawing out the ripping sound that now took over the room. I tried, with all my remaining strength, to force my traitorous body still. Though, it seemed the shaking was beyond my control.

"I could kill you, you know. I could slit your throat right here, right now, and no one would say a word. They would forget your name, forget your pretty Bellatonian face- and yet mine would replace yours in their nightmares, in their waking hell. And you- well, you'd just be remembered as that one girl who was killed by me."

Lies. I'd be remembered. I was General to the Western Army. I was Orihime Inoue of two royal bloods. I could not be forgotten.

I repeat that to myself over and over, as Clark continued his destruction on my favorite literary piece. I repeated it even as he tossed it away, even as he stood to look down on me. And I repeated it again as he pulled out a small knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dark.

"Tell me their names, Orihime."

This time, I didn't need to repeat it. For this, I already had all the courage I could ever need. I looked up at him, as he towered up into the shadows. Truly a figure fit for nightmares. And unclenched my teeth. "No."

Clark stayed there for a moment. His eyes fixated on my mouth, where the word had been breathed with fire, he sat there in silence as he took in the sound of it, the first time he'd heard it in my voice.

His face was hard as he turned, slowly twisting the knife in his grip. "The older you get, the more you remind me of her." He held out the blade over the small candle on the short side table, the flame danced over the tip. "She'd had a fire inside of her too, it had sung to the burning Madoc blood in my veins." The blade grew darker. "And when she'd told me she was expecting, I thought for sure our mating would bring me a strong male heir, built from the very fire that burned within us both. Every oracle, every whisper in the wind told us it was a boy; a boy who'd shake and rattle the very foundation of the earth. So you can only imagine my surprise, my immense ... disappointment when I first gazed upon you."

The king twisted the blade over the small flame, and I couldn't tear my eyes from it as it turned a deep, smoking crimson.

"For you could never live up to the expectations of the Madoc family. Yet, Lainey had loved you, you were the center of her entire world. And I despised you for it. And so, after she died, I'd held you over a burning fire, fulling intending to drop you into it." He stepped back from the table, the iron blade now a bright and terrifying red. "But those eyes, those Gods-damn eyes. I could see her reflected in them but more than that, inside them I saw myself, saw that the flames were not yet ready to take you. And so, I showed you a mercy you can never hope to repay. I allowed you to live, and then you grew, dark and wicked and cruel. Stronger than my pureblood sons, and twice as cunning. You are the Heir I always knew I'd have, perfect in every way but one. Something you can never control, never change."

I don't think I was breathing, and my lungs burned, telling me I hadn't for a while. I let a strangled gasp escape when he sat down beside me, squeezing himself onto the open space on my mattress.

Clark, very delicately, brushed my hair from my brow, so he could look unrestricted into my burning eyes. "How things would be different, if you'd been born a male. How easy your life would have been... I believe your past life must have been a terrible one, I believe that's why the Gods punished you in such a way. Why they have forced your big, powerful soul into such a weak and fragile body. You must have done something beyond Hades own sense of evil to warrant being born into a lowly female." He sneered the word, as if it were filthy and vile on his tongue.

I refused to speak out against his declaration, knowing that's what he desired. Knowing that every word from his ugly, sadistic mouth was a taunting dance, trying to beckon me into damning myself further. I had spent so many years being tested, and I had failed enough to learn from those mistakes.

And while everything inside of me wanted to spit in his face, to wrap my pretty, feminine hands around his neck and shove a white hot prick down his throat- to show him precisely what a 'lowly female' could do- I would not.

But, I could imagine it.

"See- that look, right there, shows that you are my daughter. You might look like her, you might sound and move like her, but inside, you are as ugly as me." Clark lowered the blade close to my face, the tip pointing dangerously close to my eye, and I strained away, my back screaming in protest. My breath huffed up, fogging against the burning knife. "And that's how I know you'll tell me. You see, Madocs have never been notorious for our loyalty. And you, my previous Heir, are no exception. Now," His free hand reached up and pushed my head down into the mattress, holding me still for the coming pain. "I want to know the names, of every single rutting person who picked up your sorry carcass off that stage. Or I will pluck out your eyes and serve them to you for supper."

Despite the threat, despite the very strong, very real, terror that course through me, I nearly laughed.

What a stupid, barbaric, fool.

In all his ranting- his boasting about my mother and my lower blood ties. He had easily forgotten that I was no Madoc. And sure, once, that was all I'd ever wanted. To be welcomed as his Heir, for him to see me as more than what lies between my legs. But now? With his red, angry face inches from mine- with his knife about to scoop my eye from its socket? I knew.

It didn't matter what he did, how many scars he left on this body, within it.

For I was Orihime Inoue. Heir to the Golden Throne, the Enforcer of Law, Iron Fist of the West and I would bathe in his blood before the Gods took me.

And I'd do it with or without my eyes.

So, I bared my teeth, hissing out a nasty word, ready for anything he could give. I'd take it all and I would remember every excruciating detail. The word had barely left my lips, and Clark didn't have time to react to its vileness before the door swung open.

And there he was. Tall and sturdy, a dark looming silhouette in the doorway. Watching, seeing and understanding.

Clark stood, slowly, calculating as the man stepped into the room. "What are you doing here so late?"

"I came to check on my bride." Ryley said, coolly, his eyes flashing as they took in the knife at my father's side. Then he took in my face, and saw something- what I didn't know- but it made him take another wide step forward. "She slept for a long while, after I treated her wounds. I wanted to make sure she'd regained consciousness. I hope you don't mind my interference with your punishment, Your Grace. But I think if I'd left her alone on that stage much longer, I would no longer have a bride left to care for."

My chest caved in. Such overpowering relief washed through me, but I didn't dare let it show. Not one speck of emotion entered my face. I made sure of it as Clark glanced down at me.

"I see." He muttered, his voice dripping with disdain and disappointment. Prick.

Ryley walked to me, setting his hand gently on the curve of my back, delicately ghosting it over my wounds. I could tell without looking that I'd ripped a few open in my squirming, and he clicked his tongue at the blood now flowing freely through the bandages.

"I'll have to cut these off and see if I need to add more stitches. Hopefully, they haven't been open for too long." Ryley removed his hands, and shrugged out of his jacket. He had already plucked the scissors from the table with grace and bent over me, before he lazily looked over his shoulder, to my father. "I think she'd be more comfortable if we were alone for this part. I'm sure, she doesn't want to be half naked around her father." My teeth clenched and my cheeks flamed.

I hated the words, and the memories they yanked out from the deep forgotten corners of my youth, but I appreciated them. Especially, when Clark dipped his head, and strolled casually toward the door, sheathing his small dagger once again at his hip. He didn't even look back.

When the door was shut, and we were left alone, my entire body sunk deep into the mattress, clenched muscles relaxing at last.

The scissors plopped onto the sheets and Ryley's hands were on my face, my hair and shoulders, his eyes frantic, "Are you hurt?"

I merely shook my head, focusing on the soothing texture of his skin, as his hands searched and prodded for any injury. When they came up empty, he sighed deeply, his head dropping and shoulders slumping slightly. "Why was he here?"

A loaded question, one I wasn't sure I knew how to answer. He'd been all over the map, speaking of my mother and his unnerving desire for a male Heir, and sure, he'd asked about my allies, my friends, but something about it had seemed... wrong. Almost forced.

I'd seen him angry, and I'd been the subject to many of his tantrums, but never before had he spoken so much. Never had he mentioned her.

So I simply said with a shaky voice, "I don't know."

His hands became more firm in their soothing. "It's okay, Orihime. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

I met his black and silver eyes, and they were steady; clear. And for some deranged reason that even my erratic mind could not understand, they made me angry.

"And what do you know of fear?" I spat.

His hands stilled. And then were gone. "I know plenty." He countered, standing suddenly. He walked into the bathing room, and ruffled around for awhile, bottles clanging and cabinets banging.

I just laid there. Silent. Feeling completely lost within myself.

Maybe Clark was right. Maybe this was a punishment. To a long forgotten crime. It really must have been awful, to have earned me this torturous life. Why had the Gods cursed me, long before I'd had a chance to prove myself?

I'd been born Clark's daughter. I'd been born trapped; damned. I'd never been given the choice to decide on my own, I'd never been given the option to be good or pure.

I'd never gotten to live as a heroine. No, those are the people who are given a choice, who are born with the world wide open before them. Books aren't written about villians, about the people who slither through the night like snakes and kill and marr and manipulate. No one wants to read about the bad. They want to be given hope, in a world that has none. Read about freedom in a place that strips it away; Become someone because the words on the page have inspired it.

Numb. Desperate. Cruel. Unredeemable.

Those were the defining words in my untold story- and it was best for it to remain that way. For it would have been written in all the blood I've spilt. Would have been carved into my very skin, to reside on me forever, with the rest of my scars.

I said I hated endings. But maybe that was because mine had alluded me for so long. When would it end? When would it finally end?

I hadn't even noticed Ryley cutting off my dressings. Hadn't even seen him return.

He didn't say a word as my wounds were laid out before him, and neither did I. I just stared at the point where his neck met his shoulder, where his pulse thumped beneath his pale skin and knew that a heart didn't have to stop beating, to be dead.

"I know," He began slowly, his hands still prying the blood soaked cloth away. "I know that you've lived a hard life. One that I couldn't possibly imagine. I'm not deluded, I don't think you are something you aren't. And I know what kind of man your father is. But that was before me, before I walked into that throne room and became entwined with your life." He pulled the gauze out from under me, leaving me literally bare before him, but his eyes never strayed from the raw, meaty ruined flesh of my back. "You've been alone for too long, and I can understand why you don't fully trust me- or anyone. But I'm here now. And from the first moment my eyes met yours that day, I belonged to you. And I swore to every God, in every land, to anyone who would listen, that if someone laid even one finger on you, they would meet a swift and agonizing end."

Ryley's gaze lingered there, on my wounds for one heartbeat longer, before that determined stare lifted to my face. His features were hard, his tone unwavering, "And so, your father is now a man of numbered days."

There was nothing to say. Or perhaps the words just alluded me. But Ryley didn't seem to mind my silence, he just continued to treat my back where four stitches had ripped open, his face not even showing an ounce of the viciousness he would need to fulfill his words.

For now, he just allowed me to sit in the quietness of his reassuring presence, his hands never faltering... and I could have loved him for that alone.

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