Title: Southern Hospitality

Summary: AU Loosely inspired by Clint Eastwood's The Beguiled. A captain of the Union forces is stranded from his men… when a plantation daughter finds him and nurses him back to health he has to make a choice between his honor and her love. IchiRuki

Shalan's Say: Uhm… nothing to say but I like this idea… blame my US history teacher and Clint Eastwood, they were conspiring in my head… darn you Ichigo… dunno about any Asian immigrants during this time but darn it! I'm the writer! Not you! XD I am an American citizen… I do not enjoy slavery… bottom line… you flame me because this story is about the Civil War and I will have your ass thrown off the site…

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Any terms used in this story are to be historically correct, not because I like them…

Chapter: Prologue: War Hawks

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The fires flickered against canvas tents, the sounds of a fiddle was faint and echoing as a lone figure walked through the woods away from the campground. As it moved farther away the lights began to fade and only the long away sounds of the joyful camp could be heard. He pulled off his hat and rested it on a log before finding a foothold and resting his heel in the groove. A gloved hand pulled off the other finger by finger. By the time both gloves had been removed he had tucked them into his belt and pulled out a leather bag and a sheet of paper. He flattened the paper in his palm before pulling open the drawstring bag and carefully dispensing some the precious contents into the paper. He then finished rolling his cigarette and licked it to seal before pulling out a match, lighting it on his boot and taking in a breath of the toxic gases. The dim light shone in his eyes and for a moment the red end gave him a look of deception.

"Lieutenant…" His head turned as he expelled smoke from his mouth.

"Yes Corporal…" The boot in the groove turned and he stepped his heels together. The lantern before him threw shadows across his beard and mustache, showing the brilliant crimson among the bronze. His long rust hair was pulled back in a low curling ponytail that was short and well kept. He evenly stroked his beard and waited for a reply.

"We wondered where you had run off too…" The lieutenant nodded his head. He was formidable, standing at nearly 18 hands1 his broad shoulders and muscular frame made him something of a spectacle. He was much taller than the average man of the day, his chiseled features and hard tan made him a man of the frontier and as most knew… he was a man of battle. He had made his fame during the Mexican-American War in 1847. He was known as a war hero, a man who had stayed behind with his troops, protecting the wounded with his own life. As the stories go he held of nearly a hundred men single handedly. Himself will attempt to dissuade these comments but his protest go unnoticed by his comrades who simply want to brag that they were in league with a war hero.

"You know corporal… there's something we always talk about back home…" He turned his head towards the young man.

"What's that, sir?" The corporal tilted his head.

"Sins…" His lips pursed lightly and for a moment the corporal wondered where this was coming form. "You know my mother always used to tell me… that using a gun against a fellow man… would send you straight to hell… and I believed that… then, after than night in San Pedro, I wrote her a letter and told her that I had already been to hell and back and to trust me, if guns can send me to hell they sure can save me from it too…" The corporal laughed and rubbed his hand against his straw blonde hair.

"What'd she say to that?"

"Well I'll tell you, she never got the chance to write back… the fever took her and I never saw her again…" he smiled. "You want to see her?" He picked up the cowboy hat from the log and reached into it when a gunshot was heard.

"Later sir… rebs…" handguns were drawn and the fight began. The lieutenant hooked his boot into his stirrup and swung onto the sleek buckskin. The horse felt its master and obeyed his thoughts before he could turn the reigns.

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The world spanned out before him yet he did not look up, his bedraggled head hung towards the ground, his shoulders slumped as he leaned against his horse's neck for support. Every time the huge buckskin would speed up the lieutenant would have to pull the reigns back with his good hand because if the horse took a hard bump to fast he would receive a sharp pain from somewhere near his thigh. His head spun as the horse slowed to feed. His eyes were fogged with the pain, his body numb to the world.

"Buck… still…" he heard the sound of rushing water and felt the horse shift again as he made to slide to the ground. He was dumbstruck by his own horse as the buckskin slowly and carefully lowered itself to the ground. He slid off once his fingers touched the ground and tumbled onto what felt like pebbles, his hand reached out and grasped water just before his eyes closed to the world.

"Them Yankees is war hawks Miz…" The black haired young woman smiled softly as the black woman behind her combed her hair.

"I suppose they are…" she nodded as her maid braided her hair slowly and carefully. "You know you don't have to do that…"

"I know Miz, but I enjoy your hair…" She smiled in return.

"I am still curious as to why you are still here…"

"Because… you have always treated me well… so I remain here because you couldn't live without me…" She laughed and her pale companion smiled as the black woman's laughter rang through the room.

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So that was it for the first chapter… it was short I know but I hope you understand who is who… names will be named in the next chapter and you will soon understand who is who and what this story is about…

Shalan