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In the stalking library of the north, it was quiet. Though it was quiet everywhere in the north. Perhaps it was easier to choose words carefully when speaking them sent daggers of cold deeply into your lungs.

Ryley sat with me, his fingers soft as they turned the pages of his book. Before him was a tale of cities long burned away to ash, of cities left buried beneath the sea and of warriors who had stayed to watch it all crumble.

"I think it's beautiful." He'd explained to me upon choosing it, "There's honor in accepting defeat."

I had smiled of course, and agreed. Though the defeats I had always been offered were far from noteworthy, far from beautiful. Bruised and broken in a cellar far beneath my home and on battlefields with only decay to meet me; where there would have been so little left of me to remember.

Yet while Ryley had a boyish view of the world, it did not make him wrong.

"Do you really have to go tomorrow?"

I lowered my book and looked at him from my place on the windowsill, "Yes. I do."

He looked back at his book for a moment, "I just thought-" he shook his head, "No, never mind."

"What is it?"

Sighing, Ryley picked at his fingernail, never looking up, "I guess I just thought you were enjoying it here… That you, that we, were finally starting to-"

"It's not that I don't enjoy it. I came here for a purpose, Ryley. A purpose that follows me everywhere I go. And if you are to be tied to me, it is a purpose we will have to share."

He met my gaze, and his eyes were sharp, "You won't let me share it. I may not be accustomed to war but I do know how to set a fuse."

I threw my head back with a groan, "Not this again,"

"It isn't a joke. I'm not a baby fawn. I can help, build fires or-"

"No,"

"Why not!" He was nearly yelling now, his voice shuddering with emotion. It was the closest I'd ever seen him to anger.

I tried to speak kindly, but found the tone hard to bear, "We will be marching with a thousand men, in harsh winds and rising storms. The army camps will be filled with tension and anxious men with stone axes and silver sword's. And I can't protect you there."

"They are my people, they would never hurt me."

There it was again, that boyish view. I wanted so badly to preserve it. Yet not enough to yield to it, "Do you believe simply because you were born under the same sky they will protect you?" He did not answer and so I went on, "My brother Klaten was Clark's most beloved son. First born Prince of the West. People said everything he touched turned to gold- and they wrote songs of his victories, had statues built in his honor. The sole intended Heir of Gold.

And do you know what happened to him? I don't mean the trials of course, everyone knows of his death. I mean what happened after."

He shook his head, face drawn. I stood, snapping my book shut, "The crowd cleared out and they dragged me to a healer and they left him there. He's still there; nothing now but decaying bones. And not a word was sung of him ever again."

I slid my book down the table to rest in front of him. "Your people would kill you, Ryley, and they'd kill me too." And because he looked so disappointed, I reached a single hand across the table and ran it through his hair. "In this world, blind loyalty can cripple you just as quickly as any blade. Best to expect everyone's a killer than to be caught unsuspecting."

"I'm not a killer," he mumbled, though that sad look had left his face.

I merely shrugged, "We have all killed parts of other people."

After dark, with a full belly and a slight wine haze, I ventured through the palace and back into the library. Luckily the lanterns were still lit and the castle librarian had gone home so I found only soft light and silence to meet me. I wound my way through the dark stacks, taking my time to survey the titles.

I much preferred the library back home, with its mazes and high shelves but with the soft snowfall, barely visible passed the fog, I was entranced by the northern simplicity.

I found a few books, all centered around military strategy and witch culture, and made my way back to the windowsill. The glass was cold against my arm as I leaned against it but it soon warmed to my touch and I settled in easily.

Casually at first I skimmed the war text, mostly brushing up on my knowledge of ambush and retreats. It has been a long time since my march Southward, when the threat of death was echoed with every step, and the fear around me, coming forth from all my fellow soldiers had been thick enough to choke every breath.

I had not been scared enough back then, and the pretend bravado had cost me more than I'd been willing to give. I would not make the same mistake now.

I was comforted by the fact Cuyler would be travelling with us. The strain between us aside, his tactical mind was welcomed. As well as his knowledge of his lands and people. All great assets- if he stuck around if ambush was indeed imminent.

I attempted to shake the thought from my head; but it lingered. With a deep sigh I looked out into the night, the only visible sign of life was the shifting in the trees, and even then that was hard to make out through the snow.

Despite myself, I found myself thinking of home. Of the blistering sun and the bright sky. I never imagined myself missing the heat, and the vast ocean of sand, but a tight fist had clenched in my chest as I pictured it. And before I could cast it away, Ichigo's face flashed in my mind. I could conjure it with such a clarity that I shocked even myself.

Once the image faded away, I felt… Alone.

I half expected him to saunter out from behind the shelves, laughing and taunting, but he never did. I wondered if he had ever been to the North, if he too would have felt out of place in the quietness, and the cold. It was so unlike his true home from the East after all.

And then, I could see him reflected in the glass, a shimmer of him perched in a chair, a book in his hands.

I whirled around, a gasp on my lips- and was faced with nothing but an empty lounge.

I scolded myself for allowing my thoughts to run away from me and forced myself to look back to the book, not grasping anything of what it had to say. Focus, focus-

Your thoughts are easy to steal

I jumped up from the sill, frantic. I was still alone in the room, the only sound my racing heart. But the voice, the voice.

Did you not drink the tonic, Other? Were you ill prepared?

My body stilled, but my heart did not. Rukia? I said into my own mind, feeling completely foolish.

I have seen much of you from Chosen's mind. I am surprised to see such chaos brewing within

Anger replaced the fear, Get out of my head.

You invited me in, I leave now only when the tonic fades

And how long does that take?

As long as needed

I gritted my teeth, for Ichigo to be so protective over something so… devoid. Though, how could I expect anything less from him.

How long have you been with me?

Since the tonic passed your lips

I started, And why now have you made yourself known?

You summoned me

As if I'd even begin to know how to do that.

Chosen requested I leave you be, but I can not refuse the call to thoughts laid so bare

So this 'Chosen' was Ichigo-

Yes

I wasn't talking to you

She said- thought?- nothing. A dull ache began behind my eyes, but I resisted the urge to dig my palms into them. How Ichigo made due with sharing his mind I had no clue. The ache ventured down into my chest.

Can I speak to him? Mind to mind?

You cannot

The ache worsened. I tried to keep my mind blank, tried and seemed to have failed as Rukia spoke again:

I may speak to him for you, if you so please

No! I thought quickly. Just- he's fine? He's safe?

Chosen shall always be safe

And despite the annoyance, despite the rage, I felt relief.

Then the presence in my mind flared and withered around the edges, and then resumed full force. Chosen wishes you well, though with aloofness, she flared again and returned, with politeness- with ease- Chosen is undecided on how it is to be conveyed

I laughed to myself, and then let it cut off, to an untrained eye I likely looked as if I'd gone mad. I controlled my features into a blank mask.

Tell him to stay out of my drawers if he knows what's good for him.

She was gone and then back in the space between breaths, Chosen is amused

Tell me, Rukia, can you see into Grimmjow's mind as well as mine and Ichigo's?

Of course

Wonderful, and what has he been doing since my leave?

She flickered, Wicked is bored. He stews and rages but is otherwise docile

I smiled a bit at that, Any wicked plans I should know of?

Nothing

Shocking but comforting. I suppose I expected too much from the southern general. How disappointing.

Chosen demands my attention, and with no other farewell, she was gone. Taking the dull throbbing in my temples with her.

After a moment to adjust to the new found silence, I returned back to my book. Knowing I could never sleep the night for a march I was ready to read well into the morning. My thoughts still reeling with Rukia's presence- and her given titles.

Chosen… a fitting name.

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