Title: Last Waltz For Dixie
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: M for character death and violence?
Characters: Beau J. (Confed. Am.), Alfred J. (Union AM.)
Authoress Ramblings:
Another Civil War Hetalia song fic. This time, it's "Last Waltz for Dixie" http:/ www(DOT) youtube(DOT)com(BACKSLASH)watch?v=pLBhZBcSxUI#start=0:00;end=4:34;autoreplay=false;showoptions=false
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or Civil War. I do own Beau.
Yes, this is a sequel to Brother, My Brother, and YES you need to read that one first
March 7th 2011: Fixed the wonky formatting before the last paragraph
June 3rd 2011: Fixed more wonky formating and added story info to authors notes
Alfred sat among the carnage, holding his brother. He let out an anguished scream.
Beau's eyes opened slowly, as he felt raindrops hit his face. What he saw when they opened shocked him. It wasn't raining, Alfred was crying, crying for him. He raised his hand to touch his brother's face.
Here tonight...
As I look upon the faces of my brothers
I remember all the others who are gone
Safe in his grace
Watching over this place
With the dawn
Into his hands we shall surrender to his glory
Alfred locked eyes with Beau. The Southerner's eyes were full of surprise. The Northerner's eyes were full of heartbreak. Beau closed his eyes as a grey coated soldier walked up to them. Alfred looked up.
"Is he…?"
Alfred shook his head no. The soldier helped Beau to his feet and helped him walk back to his troops, leaving Alfred kneeling in the bloody mud. Beau looked back at his brother, knowingly. This would be the last time Beau walked off the battlefield, assisted or no. The war was over, and the South had lost, the Confederacy would cease to exist, and with it, Beau. Alfred looked away before standing and rejoining his troops. Beau turned his waning attention back to the task of walking, answering the questions the soldier asked with vague responses.
And when they tell the story let them say
Of the sons of the Gray
Not one turned away
It's the last waltz for Dixie
It's the last song she'll sing
So play it with pride
For all those who died
And the spirit inside you
That's the Dixie in me
Beau was situated in the medical tent, his stomach wound bandaged. Even now, the pain was dimming, there was no hope of turning this around. The Confederacy was through, and Beau was lucky he was still breathing. Beau didn't know of any personification that had survived the dissolution of their country, and he was scared, not that he'd ever admit it. A shot of whiskey was set next to him, for the pain he knew. Vaguely he wondered if they'd give him enough to get him drunk, he really didn't want to face his final hours sober. He stood up, ignoring the sudden flare up of pain, and left the tent. He was the Confederate States of America, and he was damned if he was going to stew in his self-pity anymore. It wasn't a matter of if but when he was going to die, but he was going to make damn sure that he went out with style and Southern pride. His flag still flew in the South, not Alfred's and he was going to make sure that it was his flag he died under.
I believe
There has never been a group of men so splendid
Or a cause so well-defended as our own
Be it heaven or hell
Hail and farewell
It's the last waltz for Dixie
It's the last song she'll sing
So play it with pride
For all those who died
And the spirit inside you
That's the dixie in me
As he made his way through the camp, he could hear the music and lyrics to his marching song, Bonnie Blue Flag. He hummed along as he made his way towards his general, who was watching the Union across the field. Even with the battle officially over, an attack could come at any time. He could vaguely see his brother doing the same thing. The pain finally overwhelmed him. His vision swam and the ground rushed up to meet him.
When he woke up, he was laying in a very familiar room. It was his own bedroom. He was actually surprised that the house still stood, being so close to the battle he'd just come from. The date was April 9th 1865 according to the letter on his bedside, he'd been out since April 2nd. The letter informed him that his army had surrendered, the war was officially over. He let out a breath, then a curse of pain. By all rights he should have died from his wounds in Alfred's arms a week ago. Hopefully someone had been able to cover that fact up. The last thing he needed was to be accused of devilry.
For all we hold dear
The road ahead is clear
For all the things we honor
The moment is here
It's the last waltz for Dixie
It's the last song she'll sing
May 5th 1865, Washington, Georgia
Alfred, Beau, Davis and fourteen other men attended a meeting. The Confederacy was officially dissolved. Beau locked eyes with Alfred.
Alfred's eyes no longer looked haunted, but they did look sad.
Beau's eyes were still blazing.
"The South will rise again"
Beau faded away, leaving behind Texas, which clattered to the floor. Alfred picked them up and put them on, brushing away tears in the process.
So play it with pride
For all those who died
And the spirit inside you
That's the Dixie in me