Thank you reviewers. I'm glad you like it.

Not a lot of Ichigo in this one, sorry.

Written while listening to: Fiona Apple.

Chapter Two

Once upon a time there were faeries.

Twice upon a time there were Shinigami.

Thrice upon a time there was the world they shared.

"What did you mean by saying that us Shinigami think we're heroes when we're really the villains?" Rukia is sitting up in the branch of a tree, as the other girls in her class flutter around, speaking in strange tongues—or so it seems to both Aika and Rukia at times. Aika is lying on a leaf, balancing herself perfectly as the sun showers her with its special warmth. She wriggles in delight as a light breeze brushes past her, whispering a secret in her ear as it does so.

The wind will talk to whoever listens, about anything. Aika smoothes out her long, black shirt, and jumps away from the leaf seconds before the branch breaks. She murmurs a thank you to the wind as she flutters down onto another large leaf nearby.

"Shinigamis are the not the villains," Aika replies airily as she lounges, teasing the clouds with peaks of skin under fabric. "Where's Ichigo?" She doesn't want to take about the past mistakes of the Shinigami. There is nothing that can take back the actions, just as the evil stepmother can never unsay her cruel demands.

Rukia is stubborn, a mule that wants that carrot. "He's eating lunch. Okay, if Shinigamis are not the heroes, and not the villains, then what are we?" Her toes curl in her shoes, and she wonders fleetingly if anyone can see up her skirt. She decides that they probably cannot, and even if they can, she does not care. The bark is rough and pleasant under her hands and thighs, and her skin and the tree seems to understand each other as they rest comfortably on one another.

"There are no villains, there are no heroes. Such things only exist in stories." Aika looks down at girl below her, wondering if the words will actually sink in, or whether they will slide right off, like raindrops on an umbrella. "There are only dragons, their victims and the knights who die trying." She is starting to sound like Ichigo, she realizes sadly.

Rukia doesn't answer, simply staring off into the distance thoughtfully. This pushes Aika to a decision, one quickly determined, as an army general might make in the heat of battle.

"You want to know the true story?" she offers, gently landing on the girl's shoulder, light like a snowflake. Rukia's skin tingles beneath the cloth that separates them, and she nods, slowly. She does want to know, because this faerie creature seems to really have years and years of knowledge and strength and wisdom from pain and memories. And Rukia wants this knowledge, this strength, this wisdom, as well.

"Well, it is the first story, and whether it really happened or not is not important. After all, who even knows if God happened? But whether or not God happened is not the point. It is the people's belief in God that matters. As is the case for this." She pauses, and envelops herself in Rukia's mass of hair. It smells like she does, of hidden misery and death that has passed her by, claiming those near her. Aika can't help but like it, and she takes it in deeply.

"There was a man, and he was noble and fine. The women wanted him, the men wanted him, the knights wanted to be him, and the earth respected him. All in all, he was just about the perfect man. And all he wanted to be able to save lives, and watch the lives that continue because of him. It wasn't the glory; it wasn't the fame or the sex. He just wanted to save lives.

So he did that, to the extent of his powers. Oh, but even a man such as he was could only do so much. He saved so many, but the only ones he kept seeing were the ones he couldn't save. He felt he needed to be more. Stronger, smarter, more graceful, cleverer. And then he met the woman.

She was not beautiful, but she was clever, and she had her own skills, as does everyone. The village shunned her for being what they called a witch, and she lived on the outskirts of the village because of that. She lived among her flowers, which wafted a perpetual aroma of lavender and red and yellow and green and white around her. She surrounded herself with life, and injured animals came and went without feeling they were tied to her once they were gone. A bear she had once freed from a trap could have attacked her for cub food days afterwards, and the woman would not have held a grudge.

She knew the way life worked, and accepted it calmly. He caught a glimpse of her, kneeling in front of a tree, talking to it, as if that were the norm. Even he could not understand the intricate language of bark and leaf and root, so he immediately respected her, and feared her.

He also loved her. He loved her flower scent, and her animal hands and white eyes that could see into him. And she kept him strong, and he kept her warm. But still he could not save everyone.

She saw this pain in him, and one day she went to the woods to ask the Queen Mab for help. Queen Mab said that she would grant her wish, but that it would end their love forever. The woman did not really believe a love such as theirs could really end, and even if it did, as long as he no longer lived with his pain, she would be happy. She had lived without love before.

So the Queen Mab claimed three months of her life, while she made her toil and learn the ability that would grant her lover's wish. The man waited impatiently, and in those three months became the worst man he had even been before that time. He found himself in other woman's arms, but they did not smell like flower, but like soup and sweat, and the hands were rough, cutting hands. But he slammed himself into the women and imagined it was she.

Three months was a long time, for the two of them. When the woman returned, she told him she knew how to take away his pain. But the man had learned bitterness in her time away, and only grunted gruffly in response. She pretended not to notice the grunt, as she ignored the rough kisses and the disappearance of his whispered, loving words.

She labored day and night for three days. He watched her day and night, watched her hands deftly work the metal, watched her white eyes carefully examine every inch, watched her mouth whisper the instructions over and over again in case she forgot. And on the fourth day she presented him with the finest armor ever made, with every bit of her soul and heart and hands and flower smell and eyes poured into it.

And so she died, but she knew that she proved Queen Mab wrong. Their loved would continue as long as the man lived, and wore the armor and treasured her memory. And when the man died, he would join her and their love would be eternal.

But the man had learned bitterness, and the three days watched her work only pained him. He had found a new pain, one he could never push away. She was simply yet another person he could not save. So he hid the armor, and didn't use it. And when the king offered him a job as his personal knight, he accepted.

And he stopped saving lives. He drank beer, and beat the women who wouldn't kneel before him and slayed dragons protecting only their eggs. He didn't treasure the woman's memory, and he didn't wear the armor. Instead he married the princess, who was a viper dressed in swan feathers. And people died, and he found he no longer cared.

He had a daughter, who he loved beyond anything he had expected to feel again. She didn't grow into a beautiful person, unlike her younger brother. But she was clever, and she had her skills, and she reminded him of the woman he had once loved. And she grew and grew and was a woman with dirt under her fingers and healing in her veins.

She wanted one thing. She wished a book that would complete her and make her feel full. The man, who was quite old by this time, decided to do his daughter this one favor before he died. But all his old armor was too small, and no longer fit him. He was forced to put on that one special suit of armor, which had no rusted, and was merely dusty, and otherwise unchanged. It fit him perfectly, as if the woman had known when he would need it most.

And he set off and searched for years, scouring the land of this book of legend. After many challenges and adventures, he found it and held it in his hands. He returned to give the book to his daughter.

But when he came back, he found her in a lover's arm. When he handed her the book, her eyes did not show the glee that he had imagined they would. She had found something else to complete her.

The man was angry beyond anything he had ever thought he would ever have felt. With his armor still covering his body, he killed his daughter, and her lover with swipe of his sword. The book cover was stained with blood.

And the armor felt this anger and hate and stupidity and rejected it, and him. It ate as his flesh as his bitterness and hate had eaten at his heart until he had stopped loving the woman. And he died, and did not the meet the woman, but when down, down, down and burned his flesh and bones and regretted it all, but still he could not love.

Queen Mab was never wrong. And the armor was rusted and black on the ground next to the man's daughter and her lover's corpses. And the book was their story, because it was the true book. And that is the true story, the story of the man that is in everyone and the woman that is in everyone and the viper dressed in swan feathers and the villagers that shun a healer." It has been since Aika has told that story. And Rukia listened to it all in complete silence.

"So Shinigami forgot this story? They gave into bitterness and pain like the man?" Aika doesn't answer, but spreads her wings and flies off. Rukia realizes the conversation is finished and she jumps down from the branch. Once inside again, she catches Ichigo's eye. He raises in curious eyebrow, she looks away.

Does Ichigo have that man in him, too? Has he already given in?

She glances at him again, and he is staring up at the board, intently attempting to figure out the problem given to the class by their teacher. And the felt swells in her chest, a feeling of pride, because she knows he has, not yet. Not while he will do anything to protect his sisters and father, not while he fights Hollows, not while he shows her a path to walk on.

But if he does, she vows to save him, to be his knight in shining armor.

It's a promise.