A/N I hope some of you are still hanging on, I quite like this chapter myself and hope you will as well. I like trying to get into the heads of the two main charachters, especially Rhett... You will have to tell me if I am successfull :P Well, enough with this, and good reading...

It had been the most refreshing night's sleep that Scarlett O'Hara had enjoyed in a while. Being back in the bed of her youth had worked a magic like nothing else, that probably in combination with the relief of finally letting out her grief in both words and tears in the arms of Mammy. The old woman had held her and shushed her, gently patting her back, and somehow along the way she had drifted of to sleep.

The only place she could have found more comfort where in the arms of Rhett, how she missed those strong arms, but that wasn't to be at least not today… So she pushed the thought away before it could wipe out the slight sparkle of live that she felt this morning, a simple joie de vivre just because she was alive and here at Tara at last.

Apart from comfort she had found a glimpse of hope in Mammy's arms. Mammy, who saw her as she was, and had lived her hell with her, had said that she knew that Rhett still loved her. Not in so direct words perhaps. But at least something that in Scarlett's mind could be translated into a belief that she would someday have Rhett back and be allowed to be happy, and that was all she needed this very morning.

She promised herself that this day would be good; she had planned to go on a long ride around the property, enjoying the fresh air and freedom of being in the country. Which would bring the added bonus of not being around Suellen, how that girl deserved a good smack around the head. Scarlett simply did not understand how.

Today she felt like she would actually be able to get out of bed without having to use every ounce of mental power to enable the process. Helping her one the way was definitely also the smell of freshly ground coffee that slowly spread throughout the house.

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Mist swirled at the banks of the slowly drifting river, the rhythmic thud of the horses hoof on the soft ground was the only sound that wasn't a natural part of the scenery, and soon they died away as well as he reined in the horse, letting it fall into a slow walk. The day was getting warmer, but not yet so stingingly hot and humid that being outside was unbearable, even when dressed as he was in what was prescribed for a gentleman of polite society.

He leaned forward and patted the horse' sweaty neck. It had been a hard ride. He had left his mothers house in the city in the very early hours of the morning after another restless night. He had tried finding peace with his normal cure for insomnia – large quantities of burning liquor – but for once the golden fairy hadn't been his friend. So he thought that physical activity might help him better, also he had needed to go up to the Landing. Dunmore Landing, the plantation that should rightfully have been his parental heritage, but this heritage had been forfeited when his name was erased from the family bible. Thus he had had to buy it back from the grasps of greedy loan sharks after his dear brother had mortgaged it beyond redemption to prevent it from being sold on to some newly rich Yankee newcomer. That thought was unbearable. Luckily his pockets and bank accounts were still full, in stark contrast to the feeling of emptiness that in all other aspects of life where his most poignant companion.

The days since his last arrival back into Charleston had not been kind on Rhett Butler, and hadn't helped him any further along the path to peace of mind.

Scarlett had been on his mind as he had left Atlanta, and she had been a constant fixture there ever since. Not that it had made him any wiser, he grudgingly had to admit. He had come no closer to solve the equation that was his feelings for that green eyed vixen.

Rosemary and his Mother had been rather surprised at seeing him back so soon, they had hoped that whatever trouble he was in would have been fixed by his going back to attend Melanie Wilkes funeral. Knowing how hot headed Rhett had always been, and sensing that Scarlett were no modest mouse either they had thought it only a passing thunderstorm between the two. Now they realised it clearly wasn't as simple as that, sensing a much deeper hurt beyond even that of loosing a child, and had therefore smothered him with concern. Shifting between casting him worried glances and raising their eyebrows at each other, so he did not know whether to feel like a naughty school boy who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar or a convalescence recovering from a life threatening disease. Not exactly what he needed. He had felt an uncanny urge to scream at them, to keep their noses out of his affairs and just leave him alone with his misery. Funny, how he felt the urge to adopt the behaviour of the cause of his destruction. He had however managed to hold his tongue. He knew that it would serve no purpose, other than hurting two of the people he knew that least deserved hurt.

His mother and sister had both suffered so much during the war. His sister loosing not only one but two husbands to the war, and a daughter in addition. His mother had suffered greatly as well, a husband lost, a grand daughter, her former life of wealth and respectability, living the life of paupers for many years, until he had been able to help them after his fathers death. Where his other sibling, his brother, were in all of this he didn't know nor cared much for. Most likely drinking up or gambling away what little remained of his inheritance, the family fortune, in a sleazy bar somewhere, only sobering up once in a while to pay his down trodden wife a visit. Drinking seemed to be a genuine fault in the men of the Butler clan, or perhaps it was only the circumstances that made it seem so.

He shrugged and brought the horse to a standstill, for a second enjoying the stillness and the beauty of the surroundings. How many times he had been standing here, looking eagerly over the waters of the river waiting for the world to arrive; only he had not known what exactly it was that he wished it to bring. Though it was unlikely to be the mess that he currently found himself in.

He didn't want to move any further just now, wanting to cling on to the memories of life as it was for just a few seconds longer. Not that it had been a particularly happy life, his father being utterly disappointed in him whatever he had done, but he had known great joys and had great adventures back then. And one important thing, he had had hope. Hope for the future and what might be lurking for him in every new day, now he only had sadness and regret for what had brought him to this unbearable standstill in his life. He wondered what that boy he had been would have to say to him now in this moment had he been able to see what a cynical lonely man he would eventually become.

He knew that in a second the horse would start fidgeting and grow restless beneath him and he would give into its request and move around this last stretch of land, and the Landing would be revealed to him.

It was the first time that he actually set foot out here in more than perhaps two decades, he considered it for a moment, this might be why he had all these flashes from his childhood, and the glory days of his youth before he had been sent to the door and shunned from the land like an unwanted parasite. He had been so young then, not that he regretted the actions that lead to his dismissal from the family, he had acted in the only way he could, given the circumstances, but he would always regret the effect it had had on the family members that were left behind.

He dreaded and longed for this place at one time. Dreading for what he might see, how miserable a state was the place indeed in? But also longing for this place where his roots ran deepest. He had a slight nostalgic feeling that whispered to him, that perhaps by fixing the ruined family plantation he might also be able to fix the parts of himself that were currently broken.

At the very least it would put an end to some of the unhealthy relationship he had with the decanter. Hopefully more… he needed something to put his focus and energy into, and he thought that restoring Dunmore Landing to some of its former glory was quite a worthy cause. He gave a short laugh, that almost startled the horse, at that thought… what was it with him and hopeless causes.

'Come on old boy let's get a move on' - he spoke gently to the horse as he softly nudged it onwards. The horse all too eager to comply went into a spirited trot. Rhett smiled to himself at the feeling of the eager horse beneath him ready to obey his every request. 'Easy now, we want to take it slow' Once again steadying the horses pace. He wanted to take his time to compare his pre-war image of the place with its current state.

Passing out of the small plantation he rounded the last bend of the path that had hid the Landing from his view he unconsciously held his breath. He felt like he was moving on two time planes at one time. With one part of his mind seeing and sensing the place as he remembered it, and with the other seeing and taking in what his present surroundings was.

The alleyway leading up to the carriage turn was no longer groomed to perfection, but the straight line of trees still told the story of former glory and meticulous care. The house build of white stone imported from Cornwall by his forefathers who had first settled on this piece of land, which in the old days had lain as a white pearl on a backdrop of green, the large park spreading around it, were now faded to a dullish grey. As he came closer he could see that only the façade and part of the right wing were left, behind the other windows the blue sky and flecks of green were revealing that the roof had caved in. Probably due to a fire, but as he had been away he would never truly know how the house had come to its current desolate state, which saddened him immensely. He had tried gathering information beforehand, but everybody had been reluctant to update. His brother was to far gone in the fogs of alcohol to remember anything much, and his mother and sister had not set foot on the land since sometime in the early years of reconstruction.

The state of the house was at once better and worse than he had expected. At least there was still something left to rebuild from and not just a scorched patch of land. Yet it hurt him immensely to see the ruin of this place where he had once been happy and where people for decades before his birth had lived and breathed their sorrows and happiness.

He slid of the horse, and tied it to what remained of the water post. The water post had once been the resting place for many a tired horse, belonging to the gentlemen of the neighbourhood that had passed in and out of the house as part of the daily hustle and bustle that had been life before the war. He remembered Juno, the small negro boy that had probably been the last of the many stable boys that had performed the job of keeping the horses from getting into a clinch, with its next door neighbour, over who should have the first sip of water. If he closed is eyes, he was sure he would be able to hear the small boys shrill voice as he chided the horses. Well, today it wasn't needed, as his were the only animal that were likely to turn up here.

Having tied the horse up properly Rhett walked up to the door that was funnily enough still hanging on to its hinges, though the glass ornaments that had decorated the door were long shattered.

He pushed it open, curious to see what the actual state of the house was on the inside.

As he entered the remains of the formerly grand house he felt as he had been magically transported into a different world. Nature had partly reclaimed some of the house, with brave green leafed plants sneaking out from small cracks in the walls and floors, a vine were creeping in from the backside where the servants entrance had once been, entwining what was left of the rail on the master staircase that was a signature on the design of houses from that era. Sweeping staircases and high ceilinged rooms with large windows – the perfect place for display of the ungodly wealth and splendour that had been the order of the day. Old leaves and inches of dust was covering the floor, light being softly dispersed over the weatherworn furniture that hadn't been crushed when the roof had given in. The ruins to his left bore clear sod marks on them, indicating that a fire had played some part of the house's ruin. To his left, gloom reigned, where the building was still complete. Light crept through the partly empty window panes, but the glass shards that were still in place broke it in odd ways creating a strange atmosphere. He entered the first room, which once had been the drawing room, a place for gaiety and social gatherings, now only mice and other rodents enjoyed the perfect architecture of the room.

He withdrew himself, having seen enough for one day, he would have plenty of time to explore later, and now at least he had seen for himself what was left of that once so beautiful place. On that note he went outside again and slowly walked to the other side of the house, letting his fingers softly follow the line of the house as if to apologise to the building, promising to make amends.

The garden was almost reverted to its former jungle like state, his mothers greeneries were shattered glass houses, no longer did they house any gently nurtured plants from strange places around the globe. The Dunmore Landing park had been famous for its exotic plants and beautifully outlaid landscape, it had been like a miniature world of its own, catering for every taste and every possible activity of leisure that the masters of the house and their guests might want to indulge in. Behind the shrubberies at the far end of the garden had been where the slave quarter were, hid from the view of the inhabitants of the big house. As a dirty secret known to all, but still not put on display – even if some of the former slaves had been in some ways seen as lesser members of the families. That was probably one thing he wouldn't have to worry about rebuilding.

How he looked forward to getting his hands dirty with the restoration of the building and the surroundings. It would be hard work, and would definitely take up a long time, but he relished in that thought. It would bring some purpose to his life, a healthy occupation, he thought with a half smile.

In that moment he felt hope again, hope that perhaps he would here find the solace and tranquillity he so desperately needed. In the rebuilding of his ancestors home, he hoped he could also regain himself. A man with a mission was much less likely to wander round empty streets seeking comfort at the bottom of brandy bottle.

He stopped for a moment considering the irony that he, only a few days ago had recoiled from the thought of a different restoration project, the restoration of his marriage and his heart. Insisting that he didn't like mending broken things, and now he was determined to pour his very soul into a different restoration project. He didn't care to examine this coincidence that very moment, and thought with a shrug that he would have plenty of time for examining his mind during the many hours he would spend at this place.

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