Axis Powers Hetalia: Swan's Song
No one can triumph over death.
It was a beautiful evening with sun setting down in a red blaze which was reflected from snow and ice in an almost hypnotic light show. As the sun approached the distant horizon its bright, yet cold rays touched the face of a stern man with wild, blonde hair. it was January 27th 1951.
The stern man was standing in front of a door, like a vigilant watchman, keeping an eye on everything around him. He noticed someone approaching and his pose became more tense, his presence more intimidating. But when he noticed who had come he relaxed a little bit: a man with youthful looks and grey clothing carrying a violin. These two men knew each other: one was the huntsman of the mountains, independent in his stubborn sterness; the second was the hunter of the woods, small in stature but large in deeds.
"You have come", the taller man said and nodded. "Good. I'm afraid he doesn't have much time left."
The smaller man didn't say anything, he just nodded as well. He usually was cheery and bright, but now was not time for it. Now was time for mourning.
The taller man let him inside and closed the door behind him. He stayed where he was, guarding the last waking moments of a great man who was about to meet his Creator. As the watchful guardian continued his vigilance, a great swan, greater than any he had ever seen, flew past him.
Inside...
The silent man walked through hallways and corridors until he finally entered a bedroom where a young woman, only barely older than a girl, was kneeling beside a great bed on which an old man laid. Despite the ravages of old age, the man was still clear of mind and even when on bed he still looked tall. The woman got up on her feet and left the room, leaving the two men alone.
The old man opened his weary eyes and recognized the newcomer. He smiled.
"Oh, my dear boy", he said smiling. "You haven't forgotten an old soldier, have you?"
"I haven't, sir", the younger-looking man answered and swallowed tears. "I still remember. We still remember."
Silence fell until the old man coughed. "Tell me, Finland, are our people safe? Are they happy?" the old man asked.
Finland stirred from his silent emotions and smiled a little bit. "Of course they are. Why wouldn't they be? You and your army fought so valiantly, Marshall."
"My army? No, dear boy - not my army. Finland's army. Our army", Marshall corrected Finland. "I am no warlord, no Führer or a Premier of a deluded nation. I am a simple soldier, doing his duty to his country and people."
Finland smiled and cried at the same time. With rembling hands he raised his violin. "I can't do much for you, Marshall", he said in an apologizing tone. "But maybe... maybe I can at least play for a while."
The music began. The old man closed his eyes and listened to it. In the music he could hear the deep forests and the wind blowing through the leaves; he could hear the winter and snow covering the lands. He could hear the life of a simple, but strong and loyal nation. It was the music of freedom.
Music became darker. From the east came threat, desire to dominate and to take away freedom. In the south armies marched and clashed. An entire generation was sacrificed on the altar of the gods of war. The old empire, decrepit and weak, fell. Freedom returned, but with a price. Blood was spilled on the snow. Children cried and screamed beside their parents who would never again open their eyes, who would never again see anything as the light of life left their eyes. White and red fought and the nation mourned.
Subdued tunes started to dominate. It was time rebuild, time to heal. Old wounds remained still, though. The Marshall flinched as he heard the discord in those tunes, how bitterness and vengeance gnawed on the soul of a now free country. Why hadn't he done more? Why had he done so little? How could he repay for the sins of blood?
A new storm was rising, a storm that would wreak death and destruction upon the entire world. Thunder came from the east. War returned and sought to devour this small nation. But nothing could now break the spirit of this land. The spirit of the Winter War moved among the populace, giving succor to those who had lost and strength to those who continued the good fight. Finland would not go quietly into the night.
The tunes of war became stronger still as Europe became a battlefield unlike anything before. Millions die and even more suffer. Can any light ever pierce this darkness? Can anything ever lift this oppression, can the music ever become clear again?
Slowly but surely the Marshall's face became relaxed and smile crept on to his face. For in the east thunder came to an end and a swift sunrise followed. Peace had finally come. Sacrifice was not in vain. Suffering was not in vain. A nation had survived and it was free, even though entire empires had conspired against it. The music was triumphant, serene. There would still be hardships to endure, but they could be overcome.
Finland stopped playing. He could continue no more. He had played for hours. As he lowered his trembling hands he saw the Marshall wave his hand, beckoning him to come closer.
"Are... our people... safe?" Marshall asked with a weak voice. "Are... they... free?"
"Yes they are", Finland cried. He could feel a new presence in the room, a being whom no one could stop and no one could fight. "They are..."
"Good... Then I can meet the good Lord and answer for all I have done..."
Silent footsteps. A dark figure loomed over the bed and lowered his hand on Finland's shoulder.
We will now depart, Death said.
"Now is his time... I know..." Finland said.
His time? No, his time was hours ago. But... sometimes even death can wait, Death answered. Go on and live a good and long life, fair son of the Northern Star.
And then Death took the Marshall's hand and as Finland watched, light engulfed the room for a second. And then Death was gone and the old man's breath was gone.
Outside...
Liechtenstein was feeling cold, but she didn't care. She only watched the magnificent swan that was circling around the house. Switzerland watched the swan as well.
Suddenly the swan started to sing. It was night and darkness was everywhere, but that one creature of pure white stood against the blackness of the night sky. Its song was a song of beauty, it was the music of death.
As the swan circled even farther away from them, Switzerland could hear Finland's music dying out. The time had finally come.
"Hail to the victorious dead", Switzerland whispered as the swan made a final pass over the house, letting out the final part of its beautiful song. Then it disappeared into the darkness. But its memory would never die from the pair's memories. And so the deeds of an old man whose body Finland was now cradling would never die. His greatest achievement was there to mourn his passing, but despite the great sorrow, at least that achievement was free in a world where freedom was a luxury only afforded to few. Finland would remember. He would remember because he was free.
No one can triumph over death during his own lifetime. But one can leave a legacy that will make him immortal.