A/N: I do not own Phoenix Wright or Miles Edgeworth; CAPCOM does. However, the plot and Major Shaw and other soldiers, Confederate and Union, are mine. The Battle of Malvern Hill, where this story is set, is being used fictitiously and for dramatic purposes.
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Phoenix is hit by a Minié bullet, intercepting the missile that was meant for Miles. Near death and being held tenderly in Miles' arms, Phoenix asks him to sing him a lullaby...
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Finally done! This fic has been an emotionally draining experience for me and it really took a lot out of me. [If you really want to up the emotional ante, read the scene where Miles is carrying Phoenix's dead body down the hill to Bloodborne's Moonlit Melody... which is the same piece of music I listened to when I was writing it.]
At any rate, the setting I chose for this story is the Battle of Malvern Hill, July 1, 1862, the final battle in the Seven Days battles. I also changed the timeline for the battle-the actual battle was over by 8:30 that evening-for dramatic purposes but kept the outcome the same. I've also pushed back the time so I would have enough daylight to play out the scenes properly. It was dark by 8:30 P.M. Also, it would have taken some time to dig the grave-Miles wouldn't allow anyone to help him so it would have taken some time to do on his own-which is why so much time has elapsed since Miles carried Phoenix's body down the hill in order to bury him.
I couldn't find any information on the burial services of soldiers on the battlefield-there was mention of men being buried on the battlefield but not exactly what was read over them-although I assume that Psalm 23 could have been read as the bodies were buried-so I included that and a short eulogy by Major Shaw as being something at least reasonably close to what was actually done seeing as how they sometimes had to cope with burying thousands of men at a time. Each regiment had a chaplain but there were times when one was either unavailable, dead or busy elsewhere so I'm trying to imagine what the funeral service of the dead was like when a chaplain wasn't present as I do here and, unfortunately, I couldn't find one that described exactly what bible passages were read over them or even what the "service of the dead" actually was as I mentioned earlier. *I've read of instances where Confederate women performed burial rites-preparing the body for burial, reading the service of the dead over them et al-for fallen Confederate soldiers but the source didn't mention what passages from the bible were read over them or even if there were other prayers said over them before burial.*
There wouldn't have been time to properly observe Victorian American mourning traditions and customs prevalent in the day which included an extended period of mourning.
There are reports that some bodies worked their way to the surface months, or even years, after a battle which would have been quite an unpleasant surprise to the living soldiers that came across them, to say the least!
The Minié bullet-properly pronounced "min-YAY" after its developer, the French Army officer Claude-Étienne Minié, but pronounced "minnie ball" by the Americans [taken from The New York Times Opinionator blog, The Bullet That Changed History by Pat Leonard. August 31, 2012-was a nasty invention. It was a soft lead bullet that exploded on impact and caused horrific wounds; it didn't just break through bone like a normal bullet would, it shattered them, shredding flesh and internal organs as it tumbled through the body along with it.
Snipers were also in use during the Civil War-they were called "sharpshooters"-and were generally looked down upon by most of the other soldiers. They were not well liked and considered to be "cowardly" since they struck from a distance and not face to face in "honourable" combat. They were effective; Union general John Reynolds was killed on the first day of battle at the Battle of Gettysburg-July 1-3, 1863-by a Confederate sharpshooter.
Ceasefires have been called in battle, even one that was raging. World War One "Christmas Truce" in 1914 is a good example and also the two hour ceasefire that Union General Ulysses S. Grant called for June 7, 1864 at the Battle of Cold Harbor. The battle ended June 12th with the Union forces retreating after taking heavy losses.
Sources I consulted are in my profile.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Thanks to my readers and all those who have favourited, reviewed, story alerted, favourite author or author alerted me. I appreciate it more than I can say! :)
Thank you as well to my AMAZING beta, Pearls1990, for her skills! Thanks bunches for the critique and suggestions! :)
EXTRA EXTRA Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his help, support, advice, the title, nagging (when necessary) and encouragement! I appreciate it more than I can say! Love you!
Special thanks to the following Tumblr users who gave me their opinions of the script I had developed for the va commission I had done of Lullaby And Good Night and incorporated it into this fic: edgeworth-take-the-wheel, lux-mea-lex, nekocrouton, adventuresofsarahjane1975 and metaphoricalmelodies. Thank you all! I REALLY appreciated your input! *hugs everybody*
Special thanks also to ProDZvoices for the AMAZINGLY AWESOME va's! *He is an AMAZING voice actor on Tumblr-and also is on YouTube and has a page-who does FANTASTIC Phoenix and Edgeworth voices! I wish they'd use his Miles voice in the official games; he's THAT GOOD!* There were a couple of scripts I did-Lullaby And Good Night and Thinking of You, chapter 3-that either weren't yet incorporated into my fics, not completely written/edited/weren't finished at the time and I liked the va's he did so much I decided to include the dialogue, along with the voice nuances, in the fics themselves which, in my opinion, makes them MUCH better as well! [I'm in the process of incorporating the va for Lullaby And Good Night into the fic and fleshing out the rest of it] It's helped me to become a better writer and I wanted to pass along my sincere thanks to you. THANK YOU! :)
Comments are appreciated and constructive criticism is welcomed. I will probably change some things at some point; always room for improvement!
Rated Teen, male/male relationships, Tragedy, Major Character Death, Phoenix x Edgeworth, American Civil War [1861-1865], Historical
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Malvern Hill, Virginia
July 1, 1862
7:32 P.M.
Miles held Phoenix as he lay dying on that bloodied ground, humming a soft lullaby that both he and Phoenix had heard many times when they were children. Tears streamed down his face as he did so, the curious stares of the men both in grey and blue that were standing around them, forming a silent cover guard.
The wreckage that lay strewn over the hill was terrible. the moaning of the wounded and the screams of mutilated men and animals providing a terrifying cacophonic background to the tragedy that was taking place.
Miles held him tightly, sitting with his back against the tree in front of the patch of ground where Phoenix had fallen, a stain spreading out over his abdomen. He tried not to think of the tortured, labored breaths he could hear his beloved taking, nor of the hitching of his body in painful spasms that he could do nothing to help soothe or prevent. All he could do was hold him close, murmuring soft words of comfort and pressing tender kisses against his mouth when the pain became too much for his lover to bear, stroking his sweaty skin.
It didn't matter that they were both surrounded by men in both blue and grey; that there were murmurs of disbelief on both sides from the men gathered around them that eyed each other with distrust as they watched him, dressed in Union blue, kiss and caress the man in Confederate grey that he held so tenderly in his arms. His fingers gently brushed back the raven black hair shot through with white that had fallen over his blue eyes.
He could hear a dim shout in the distance and the sound of pounding feet running toward them but it meant nothing to him; at this moment the only one who mattered was Phoenix, the one man that Miles had ever loved, and the only one he ever would love, had come charging up the hill on his horse and had been shot while trying to protect Miles, a sharpshooter's deadly Minié bullet crashing into his back and exiting through his stomach.
He didn't understand what had possessed Phoenix to do such a foolish thing and he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw him charging up the hill on horseback, spurring the horse into a greater burst of speed that took him close to the stone wall where Miles and his Brigade were entrenched behind.
He never knew if Phoenix had heard his horrified shout to get back; he wasn't even certain he could have been heard in the din that was going on all around them but there was no mistaking the audible CRACK of a rifle firing. Phoenix sat up straighter in his saddle, his eyes wide with surprise, his lips moving but no sound emerged. He stared at Miles for a few seconds before looking down at the red stain spreading rapidly across his stomach with horrified fascination.
"Miles…?" Phoenix's voice was questioning, undertones of surprise and pain in his voice before he pitched forward…
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7:37 P.M.
"NO! PHOENIX!" Miles' heart was literally in his mouth when he leaped over the stone wall, screaming out Phoenix's name, ignoring the bullets that whizzed, cracked and popped all around him, even the horrified, shrill shouts of his own men. A bullet grazed his cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake but he didn't even notice as he continued to run toward where Phoenix lay although his legs seemed to be made of lead. Why was it taking so long?
All he could think of was the look of pained surprise on Phoenix's face as he pitched forward, the Minié bullet striking him from behind, falling slowly from his horse and hitting the ground hard, rolling over and lying still on his back. Miles noticed, in horrified fascination, that his middle was a mess of blood and gore, his eyes half closed while his left hand lay on his ruined stomach and the other thrust out to the side, gloved fingers tearing at the ground as unutterable agony ripped through him, his hat lying forgotten some distance away.
Miles tried not to think about that when, at last, he reached him. As he looked down at his prostrate lover, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, he was surprised as a feeling of rage rushed over him, his hands clenching into fists.
"You STUPID… DAMNED… RECKLESS… FOOL!" he burst out, his heart breaking, his breath coming in deep heaving gasps in-between soft cries. All the things they had planned together, all the years that they thought they would have together, a life together… all of it was gone, blown away like smoke on the wind. With that rifle shot, everything changed.
He drew in deep, hitching breaths in order to calm himself. The rage within passed as suddenly as it had come, leaving him drained and shaky. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he slowly sank to his knees beside Phoenix, his heart aching.
"It… wasn't supposed to end… like this, NOT like this!" Miles' voice conveyed clearly the deep sadness he felt, his words clipped and stumbling. He knew that it was only a matter of time now before Phoenix died and he couldn't help feel coils of rage rebuilding deep within him at the thought.
What a cruel trick Fate had played on them both; all of their plans for their life together that they had talked about only three days earlier, the things they would do, the places they would see…it would never happen now. He watched Phoenix as he writhed in pain on the ground and he couldn't help but feel cheated, his soul a shattered thing beyond repair.
He leaned over, slowly reaching out and touching him with trembling fingers, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat that was so large it threatened to choke him. Phoenix's eyes cracked open at his touch, his head swiveling to look at him, his blue eyes shining with tears as his fingers continued to tear up the ground beside him, his mouth twitching at the corners.
He shook his head when Phoenix's lips parted, as if he were attempting to speak, his eyelids fluttering as Miles's hand slid over the soft grey wool of his uniform, his fingers sliding underneath his shoulders.
His eyelids fluttered shut once again as Miles slowly began to lift him, tenderly gathering him into his arms as he sat down on the ground, leaning up against the tree that was in front of where Phoenix lay.
Hails of bullets from both sides tore up the ground all around him but he took no notice of it; all of his attention was focused on his dying lover. He could dimly hear the shouts of his men calling for a ceasefire, the cacophonous noise of battle filling the air around him. He didn't notice the thick, choking smoke that clung to the battlefield like a shroud and the blood slowly coursing down his cheek from the bullet wound he'd received from his mad flight over the stone wall was also only an after thought.
His lips gently brushed Phoenix's in a tender kiss as he held him, trying to keep the sob he could feel rising in his throat from finding free expression. It was a futile attempt.
"Why, Phoenix, WHY?!" he moaned brokenly, his voice rife with pain, tears spilling down his cheeks as he buried his face in Phoenix's neck, his shoulders shaking. "Why… did you do such… a foolish thing?!"
Miles could feel Phoenix chuckle weakly and he haltingly lifted his head to look into his face, that sweet, seraphic smile he loved so much starting to spread even as a wave of pain swept over him, and he coughed.
"Because… because… I… c-couldn't let you… d-die… M-Miles…" he replied slowly, each word a whispered grimace, a deep, wracking cough coming from deep within his wounded body, twitching in pain as Miles continued to hold him.
"Was… I worth… your life?" Miles whispered hoarsely, his voice choked with tears as he lowered his head and wept.
A low gurgle came from Phoenix's throat, a spittle of blood and saliva flecking on his lips that Miles tenderly wiped away with his thumb. Once it had passed, he spoke, each word enunciated with agonizing slowness.
"Yes…" His breaths were labored now, blood trickling from the right hand corner of his mouth, a curious smile on his face and Miles couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were going through Phoenix's head. "I… I… couldn't… let that… happen. I… h-had… to s-save… you… I…had…to… I-" He stopped and swallowed painfully before he continued to speak, his right hand slowly lifting, trembling fingers grasping Miles' sleeve "- l-love you…Miles…"
Miles took a deep, hitching breath. "I love you, too… " It was said dully, all traces of life gone from his tone, his grief too deep for words.
He tried to keep back he tears he could feel welling up in his eyes, the deep hitching breaths indespersed with sniffles but it was in vain as they fell down his cheeks in quick succession. He could see the slow glaze coming over Phoenix's eyes and he knew that it was only a matter of time before…
He didn't want to think of it.
The next few moments were filled with silence broken only by Miles' heartbroken sobs and hitching breaths as he tried to compose himself and Phoenix's labored breathing as he struggled to take air in his lungs. He held his dying lover close to him, his fingers gently caressing his shoulder.
"Miles?"
He was startled out of his reverie by Phoenix's clear voice and took a deep breath, choking back a sob. "Yes, Phoenix?"
"C-could you… sing… for me, ple-ease? A l-l-lullaby…like.. our M-M-Mothers… used to…?"
Miles was surprised by the request. Although he had sung on occasion during their tenure at the University of Virginia and did so at some gatherings with close friends and family, he hadn't for some time.
"Sing…?" he repeated softly, his shock clear in his tone.
"Yes… Please." His voice was commanding, though shaky. After a few moments of pained silence, Miles nodded slowly.
"All right."
He choked down a sob and, taking a deep breath, began to sing. His voice quavered a moment before it gained strength.
"L-lullab-by…and good n-night…
You're .. you're… my de-" his voice caught and he whispered the word- "de-delight…
Shi-shini..ng.. angels… angels be-bes…ide…
M-My… dar-darl..ing a…bide…"
Miles stopped. He was crying so hard that he couldn't continue and he struggled to get himself under control before he continued. Phoenix looked at him through hooded lids, smiling softly. What was he thinking of, Miles wondered, seeing that peaceful expression.
"Soft and… w-warm… is your… bed…" His voice was soft as he whispered the next few words. "Close your eyes… and rest your head.
Soft and warm… is your… bed,
Close your eyes… and rest… your… he…" His voice trailed off into a pained sob. He couldn't continue.
Phoenix gazed at him and Miles could see that his once vibrant blue eyes now looked dull. He knew, with certainty, that he would die soon. He took a deep breath, steeling himself with his remaining strength to speak.
"Th-ank you…Miles…" he whispered hoarsely, gurgling and coughing, his body shaking in Miles' arms. He held him close, his eyes blinded with tears and waited for the spasm to pass. He became so still that Miles thought he had died but he saw his eyes flutter slowly open once again, looking right at him.
His voice was clear as he spoke. "I…l-love…y-you…" he said slowly, enunciating each word, a soft breath escaping him.
Miles' heart shattered. "I love you, too, Phoenix!" he moaned painfully, his fingers stroking his face. "So very much!" He held him close, pressing his head against his shoulder for a moment before he put him from him, his hand cupping the back of Phoenix's head. He heard himself begging his dying lover not to leave him; a vain hope, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. "Please… don't leave me! DON'T LEAVE ME!"
As if his words had had some kind of magical effect, Phoenix's eyes opened one last time, a smile spreading over his face. "Miles…" he whispered softly and, with a final exhaled breath, he died, his body going limp in Miles' arms. His blue eyes glazed over in death as they fluttered shut, his fingers loosening their hold on his sleeve, his hand falling to the ground and lying still.
"PHOENIX!" he cried, his voice desperate before he alternately wept and screamed, his fingers threading in Phoenix's salt-and-pepper hair as he rocked back and forth, shadows ringing around them.
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Interlude: Goodbye, My Love
Miles was determined to see to him until the last and, if he lost his own life in the process, so be it. Phoenix was dying so it really didn't matter to him if he was killed or not. The wound he had received was mortal and Miles knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. He'd fought in this damned War long enough to recognize the signs.
Why did…it have to be him?! His mind cried out in unutterable agony as he held his dying lover in his arms, smoothing back the hair that plastered itself to his forehead. Why couldn't it… have been… me?! He bowed his head, bitter tears running down his cheeks. Why?!
The men in both blue and grey clustered around them stood respectfully in silence, letting Miles grieve his lover's impending death, waving away those who wanted to take one or the other prisoner with pointed rifles or bayonets.
To the heartbroken and weeping Miles, that didn't make any difference. He knew that Phoenix was going to die and if the blood spurting from his horrible stomach wound and staining the front of his grey uniform wasn't evidence enough, the labored, rasping breathing certainly was.
Goodbye, my love...
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8:00 P.M.
Miles held Phoenix for some time after he'd died, loud, raucous sobs being torn from deep within him. His hand cupped the back of his head tenderly, rocking back and forth, heartbroken words pouring from his lips.
He could dimly hear some muffled words and sounds that sounded like sniffles and repressed sobs but it didn't make any difference to him; Phoenix was gone. He was dead… and it was all his fault. If he hadn't screamed at him to get back, if he hadn't distracted him, maybe then that sharpshooter wouldn't have taken aim at him with such deadly accuracy… Maybe… maybe… maybe… His mind whirled with guilt.
It seemed like an eternity as he sat there, cradling the man he loved in his arms knowing that, once this day was over, he would never see him again in this life. He didn't want to let him go, not now, not ever but he knew that at some point he must.
How he wished he could go back in time and undo this tragedy but he knew that he couldn't and pointless recriminations would serve no purpose but that did nothing to soothe his broken heart or splintered soul.
He felt utterly wretched as his fingers wreathed themselves in Phoenix's salt-and-pepper hair, burying his face in his neck, the once warm flesh now slowly cooling. He cried until he had no more tears left to shed, loud whimpers and muffled screams pouring from his throat.
After some time had passed, he sat up straighter and leaned back, supporting him on one arm so that he could see his face, his hand supporting his head. His grey eyes narrowed in agonizing pain, his lips trembled as his fingers traced patterns on his skin, murmuring words in broken whispers accentuated by more muffled screams that were torn from deep within him.
He pressed Phoenix against him even harder than he had before, weeping piteously, rocking back and forth. He could hear startled exclamations from the men around him along with muffled sobs and rustling noises, of lips murmuring words that might have been a prayer or perhaps words of comfort. He didn't know and he didn't care; all that mattered to him in the world was lying dead in his arms and it was his fault.
When at last he had cried himself out and the screams had been silenced, he held him from him once again, looking at him for a very long time. His breath came in hitching gasps before he gently lay Phoenix's dead body on the ground in front of him, folding his hands over his waist as he lay in peaceful repose.
His heart broken beyond what words could express, he had one final act that he wished to perform for him: he would see to it that he received a proper burial and he would be the one who would dig the grave himself and lay his beloved to rest.
The other soldiers clustered around him watched silently, rifles and muskets held at the ready to make sure that the other soldiers, who would have been more than happy to rush in, stayed at a respectable distance. They may not have agreed with each other or even liked one another, but they recognized the look on Miles' face for it was one that they, too, understood. They would make certain that he would be able to take the man he loved and properly bury him. They would give him that much, at least, wouldn't they? After that… what would be, would be.
He could feel another sob rising but he did his best to tamp it down until his throat hurt from the effort. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, his fingers cupping the side of his face tenderly. For many long, wonderful moments he stayed this way, his lips pressed against his dead lover's, knowing that this would be the very last time.
Tears streamed down his face as his lips trembled but he still stayed, ignoring the murmurings behind him that were slowly increasing in volume. He didn't understand where all these tears were coming from but it didn't matter; nothing mattered anymore and Miles was long past caring what the shadows assembled around him thought. His heart was broken beyond repair with the loss of Phoenix and the fact that he had sacrificed his life in order to save Miles' own only served to make him feel worse.
When at last Miles finally straightened, his lips slowly left Phoenix's and his hand caressed his cheek tenderly before he ran his fingers through his hair one last time, curling a lock around his finger. His eye never left his face as his free hand went to his pocket and pulled out a pocketknife. With his heart torn into shreds, he opened it and gently cut the lock of his beloved's hair that was wrapped around his finger and, once he was done, closed it and put it back in his pocket.
Miles brought it to his lips, placing a shaky kiss against it before it joined the knife. He stroked Phoenix's face and gently put his left arm underneath his neck, his right under his bent knees and slowly rose to his feet, bringing Phoenix's body with him, his gloved right hand and booted feet dangling in the air, his left arm still lying across his stomach.
Miles looked lovingly at Phoenix, his fingers gently caressing his cheek and temple, smoothing some loose strands of his salt-and-pepper hair back over his ear. As a thick silence held over everyone, a young Confederate private stepped forward, lifted his musket and pointed it at Miles' chest.
"Don't move, Yankee," he hissed, cocking the hammer back, his thick accent marking him as being from somewhere in Tennessee.
The threat in his voice was clear and unmistakable but Miles just stared blankly at the young man, wishing that he would just shoot him and be done with it. That fate would be easier to deal with than a lifetime without his beloved Phoenix.
His silence, and blank stare, began to aggravate the agitated young private and he trembled with indignation, his finger starting to press down on the trigger until he was stopped by the hand that Major Shaw clapped down hard on his arm, his eyes as cold as ice as he shook his head. Abashed, the young man swallowed and lowered his weapon without a word, obeying the unspoken command as he shuffled back to the stone wall, Major Shaw's icy stare boring into his back.
Miles stood in silence for a few moments more before, without a look at anyone, he slowly pivoted and began to walk down the path that led down the hill. He'd noticed earlier the day before when his regiment was moving in to set up fortifications on Malvern Hill itself that, at the bottom and three feet to the left, was a peaceful grove of trees that would provide a proper, and fitting, resting place for his beloved. This is where he decided he would bury Phoenix.
He heard a chorus of shouts behind him but he paid no attention, taking step by slow step away from them, carrying the body of the only man he had ever loved, or ever would love, down to his final resting place.
The scuffling noise behind him seemed loud in his ears, finally acknowledging repeated shouts to stop. He half turned on his heel and murmured, in a voice cold as ice, "Do as you please, gentlemen; I'll not stop you. If you wish to kill me, then do it. Believe me, it would be a boon. Come what may, I am going to carry my lover down this damned hill and I am going to bury him in the grove at the bottom."
He looked at Phoenix's body cradled so lovingly and protectively in his arms before he half turned his head once again to face the direction where the sounds were coming from. "He gave his life for me and the least I can do is to make sure that he's buried properly…" His voice caught and he swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. "He loved me and I love him; I want to do this last service for him as a final token of my love, respect and esteem." He narrowed his eyes, his words terse and clipped. "Let me at least do this final service for him and then do whatever you wish. Give me that, at least."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned quickly and began walking down the path again, not acknowledging Major Shaw who had walked up from somewhere in the crowd and marched alongside him. He heard the loud whispers and confused noises that the men were making but no one seemed to lift their voice in protest and he could also hear the steady marching feet of those who chose to follow him.
The only sounds that were heard in the eerie stillness were the steady steps of Miles walking slowly, and reverently, down the hill, carrying Phoenix in his arms, the calls of night birds as twilight came and the steady marching feet of soldiers following behind him.
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July 1, 1862
Copse of trees at the bottom of Malvern Hill
8:39 P.M.
Miles straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy hand as he looked down into the grave that he had dug, and that he was currently standing in, wincing as he felt a sharp pain in his back. He took a deep breath, glancing at Phoenix's body wrapped in grey blanket that had been thoughtfully provided by Major Shaw himself, that lay beside the open earth ringed by a multitude of lanterns that cast a bright, if uncertain glow, around the area.
The good Major was now standing beside the open maw of earth above him, his face an impenetrable mask. He didn't know what the man was thinking but he knew that he was obviously grieving Phoenix's death as well; the closed, shuttered expression gave nothing away but the look in his eyes were a vivid testament to his underlying grief. The Major General's aide-de-camp had been devoted to him and his loss was as devastating to him as it was to Miles himself, albeit for different reasons.
He dimly recalled Phoenix telling him about Major Shaw that, while he often argued and disagreed with him, he was, nevertheless a devoted and conscientious member of Phoenix's staff and he trusted him implicitly. He hadn't said a word but had thrown himself into helping Miles prepare Phoenix's body for burial, providing the soft grey woolen blanket that he was wrapped in.
He'd spread it on the ground and stepped back, waiting in silence until Miles tenderly lay him on it and then stood careful guard while he wrapped Phoenix's body, tears streaming down his face as he did so. Major Shaw said nothing but the shining gleam in his eyes told Miles that he was on the verge of tears himself but was, as he deemed proper, holding them back as much as he could.
The other soldiers stood respectfully a short distance away and Miles was grateful for their consideration. He'd wanted this last moment with Phoenix to be his alone; even though Major Shaw had insisted in helping him to carry out this final duty, he also kept a discreet distance when he sensed that Miles wanted to be alone.
He looked down once more on the shrouded body of his beloved, tears streaming once again down his face. He didn't know how the rest of this War was going to end and, at this moment, it didn't even matter to him anymore; the light of his life was extinguished and all he could see was the dark stretch of empty, lonely years to come.
What am I going to do without you? he thought in despair, his eyes prickling. How I wish that soldier would have shot me when he had the chance; it would have been so much kinder than a life of perpetual solitude... There would be no other man for him.
He shook his head, hastily rubbing his eyes with trembling, impatient fingers, taking a series of deep breaths. He could feel his control slipping and he needed to get himself together if he were to perform Phoenix's burial service and he was determined to carry this out, come what may.
He knew that the soldiers standing some distance away wouldn't mind and, indeed, their silent support was helping him to carry out this task despite them being on opposing sides. There was silence all along the Hill now; the Confederate army was in full retreat and the Union forces were cleaning up the last pockets of resistance that were still remained.
Miles was gratified to learn that the Confederate sharpshooter who had killed Phoenix was himself among the dead; Major Shaw had personally seen to it and had told him that much before he had retreated into stony silence, his eyes swimming with unshed tears but, curiously, with also a look of satisfied triumph.
Miles supposed that he'd achieved some sort of vengeance for his beloved Major General and he couldn't help but feel comforted by his action. Looking at the stone silent man that stood on solid ground above from him, he wondered if Major Shaw knew that.
Smoke still clung to the battlefield like a shroud and the moonlight seemed to barely penetrate it, giving the area a very spooky, and ethereal, look; the soldiers standing in silent observance looked like wraiths guarding the entrance to the Underworld. What better way to send off a beloved comrade than this: a send off with fellow brothers-in-arms? Wasn't that what they all were deep down, after all, despite the different colors of their uniforms?
Miles looked at Phoenix's shrouded body for some time, wishing his beloved godspeed one final time before he inclined his head. Major Shaw nodded and, reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out his personal bible, flipping through the pages with almost a distracted air. As if commanded by some unspoken word, the soldiers marched, as one, over to the grave, assembling themselves in a ring around the open earth behind the lanterns, their heads bowed in respectful silence.
Miles swallowed hard as he gazed at Phoenix's body and he felt a curious stubbornness set in him. He didn't want to put Phoenix into the grave that he had dug so tenderly, and with so many tears, for him. He didn't want to bury him in this peaceful place because that would mean, in a very tangible and real way that he couldn't deny, he really was gone. He choked back another sob as his hand reached out shakily to touch Phoenix's shrouded corpse, his fingers tightening on the soft woolen material of the blanket he was wrapped in.
He bowed his head and whispered, in a voice choked with tears, "Goodbye, my love. May we meet again on that happy shore... Godspeed, my... dearest Phoenix..." He leaned forward, placed a kiss on his shrouded face and, spreading open his arms underneath his body, lifted Phoenix and placed him gently into the grave. There was enough room in the hole that he had some wiggle room to move in and he made sure that he was properly ensconced before he climbed out of the grave, wiping his eyes.
He glanced at Major Shaw who cleared his throat and began to read, his soft Virginian accent providing a balm to Miles' wretched soul as he silently bade his beloved a final goodbye.
"The Lord is my Shepherd... I shall not want... He maketh me to lie in green pastures... He leadeth me beside still waters..."
Miles couldn't hear his voice anymore but he could see, through tear blinded eyes, that his lips were moving and he supposed that he was still reading Psalm 23. After he was done, he closed his bible, clasping his hands in front of him. "May his soul, and the souls of the faithful departed, rest in peace. Amen."
Miles closed his eyes. "Amen," he whispered hoarsely, his heart rending.
After a few moments of silence, Major Shaw said a few words as well in eulogy, commenting on how though he and the Major General didn't always see eye to eye on matters, he loved, and respected him, both as his commanding officer and friend.
He looked at Miles as he spoke again, his words directed at him, his eyes shining. "I may not have agreed with him, and I certainly was shocked to discover that he had a shieldmate, but he always, always spoke of you with the greatest tenderness and affection." He stopped a moment, his voice strained with tears, clearing his throat a few times before he continued. "He... he loved you very much, Colonel Edgeworth, and I know that his final thoughts were of you. You meant everything to him and I know that he gave his life for you because that was what he wanted. His love could not permit him to do otherwise..."
Miles nodded; he couldn't speak over the lump in his throat. Major Shaw retreated once again into silence and, clapping him on the shoulder with a whispered "See you in Hell, Billy Yank," he turned and began to slowly walk away until he was lost in the darkness beyond the ring of light.
See you in Hell, Johnny Reb.
The other soldiers soon followed him, each giving him a salute before they turned and disappeared into the night leaving him alone once more. Miles stared off into the distance for some time before he knelt by the open grave, said a quick prayer and stood once again.
He bent over and picked up the spade that Major Shaw had so kindly provided and dug into the mound of earth that lay nearby, mewls of pain escaping his tightly pressed lips with every third spadeful.
He filled the grave and patted down the dirt, making sure that it was tightly packed so that no animals could get into it and the harm precious body that lay in repose there. In the morning, he would place a temporary wooden marker that he would carve himself, complete with Phoenix's name, rank and dates of birth and death along with his own private eulogy: He Loved Another, Even Unto Death at the head of his grave. He wished he could do more but, for now, it was enough.
He wept throughout the rest of that long night, unleashing his grief as the stars twinkled in the sky far above him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
TO THE SOLDIER.
Do you think that we forget you, That our hearts to self are sealed, Seeking comfort, pleasure, riches,
While you waste in camp and field?
Do you think our greatest care is
That we win in party strife,
While the fever stills your pulses,
Or the death-wound drains your life?
When you marched to battle for us
And the sacred rights of man, Then we took the rearward places,
Unto you we gave the van.
In the future heard we voices,
Not pronouncing names we bear,
Saw you standing girt with glory, Saw ourselves in shadow there.
Heard your children say at evening,
"Years to-day our father fought!" While our children blush beside them
For the deeds we never wrought.
"Yes," you say, "you yielded to us
Honor's doubtful, empty breath, Dim and distant starry praises,
Far behind the clouds of death.
"Sweet it is to live, far sweeter
Than to lie beneath the sod;
Few the prayers for death that mortals Lift unto the ear of God."
But we have a son or brother
In the terrible wild fray,
And in death he writhes one moment, In love's anguish we for aye.
Nay, the blood mounts with the battle, Certain danger loses much
Of the horror of the unseen,
We fear little what we touch.
While we start erect in dreaming
With the spasm of the blow
That has killed him, he is laughing By the evening camp-fire's glow.
Thus our souls are with you, naked
In the perilous battle front,
While you fight in double armor
Of excitement and of wont.
Then by all the bonds that give us Each with each a common doom,
By the dark ways of your suffering, By our sympathetic gloom,
By our hopes to you intrusted, By your hopes of just return, By our different sacrifices
That on common altars burn,
Think not ill of us, 0 Soldier !
Thouga the death-stroke lay you low, While we do not seem to shiver
At the echo of the blow.
~Civil War Harper's Weekly, August 6, 1864.