As always, thank you for the support! It really help me a lot with the motivation, and I'm so glad you like the story. This one has a little nod to a Million Nights.

Happy Eastern for those who celebrate it (Or at least eat the chocolate of it).

Good reading!

...

1854, Clayton County

"Nonsense, boy, you truly think there will be a war? The scoundrels! They would not dare!"

Sitting cross-legged on one of the big red padded chairs in the parlor of Tara, Rhett Butler explained patiently his own opinion on the matter to his companion, one Gerald O'Hara, who seemed about to have one of his infamous fits of temper at such an idea.

"Not now, perhaps. But riots are coming more and more often. Families are already divided over the matter of slavery, and it did not help that some are adding religion and ideology to the mix, with that Native American Party."

"Feh, don't talk to me about them! They can't bear people that are not like them. They can't bear for people like me to succeed and prosper."

Indeed, it was very doubtful that such a party would like Gerald O'Hara, Irish, immigrant, and catholic as he was, representing everything that they hated.

"They're like Orangemen… No offense, boy."

Rhett dismissed it accordingly.

"None was taken. I am Charlestonian, sir, not Irish. And even then, you know how I care nothing about any root that would bind me."

Mr. O'Hara's face lit up at such a thought uttered before him, and there, in his eyes, Rhett realized he had brought up a subject his friend was furiously passionate about.

"Oh, but roots are very important, lad. You may not choose them, but they are with you, always."

"I certainly hope not."

"You'll see, me boy, you'll see. One day, you will be surprised to see you are attached to such things. But you're young now, and you think they are only a burden. You'll see, how you always go back to them when the times are hard, and your heart is wounded."

"If you think so," Rhett said diplomatically. "I bow to your wisdom."

This seemed to be enough for Gerald as he served generously liquor to them three, himself, Rhett, and Pork that watched all of it with amusement. He did it with a wide smile as if he had defeated an entire army.

Rhett looked at him with fondness and growing respect, that Irish immigrant that was rough and uneducated, but so larger-than-life and generous.

If he was still astonished over the frequency of his visits to such a backward country, Rhett could better understand now the attraction of it, and the surprise was less and less felt.

Though he did miss some great opportunities for adventure and quick wealth by doing it.

That man was a guardian of lost souls, and he was not even aware of that. He went on with his life, welcoming them, gathering them like a child would gather lost pets. Rhett supposed he acted on feelings, on an instinct that made the appeal of vulnerability an irresistible attraction to him. It was also very begrudgingly he could admit having a soft heart.

First had come Pork, an intelligent slave abused by his former masters, and sold carelessly by a last, though from the look on his eyes, Rhett thought that one might have been induced to do so.

Rhett still remembered the tales he had heard from that man, tales that made him remember others he had seen back in Dunmore Landing, and it was still a surprise to realize that the vision he had of it then was quite a dream that could still be (and was, indeed) shattered by reality. To a man like Rhett who flattered himself to see things as they were, it was certainly not a pleasant thing. But he was certainly not one to stay on the threshold of a whole new world, even if he thought he had known all about it.

In fact, especially because he thought he had known all about it.

It was all so fascinating, the way it all happened. Or so, the tale that had been said to him.

Pork was a very interesting man, indeed, and Rhett was glad to have got to know him, after his first reservations. Though he was not sure he would take the offer of the man to go to that little party the other slaves were having to celebrate the harvest.

With the strength of both Pork and Gerald, (and many a family, Rhett added in his mind) they had made a haven out of a wild land, tried to tame the forest of dark pines to build a home. It was most certainly a misshaped one to Rhett's eyes, with a rustic and less than balanced architecture, despite the white-washed front. Yet, it was maybe what made it so endearing.

Gerald may have been the owner, but it was Pork who knew of the land and its people. It was Pork that advised his master on the raising of cotton, and the particularities of the neighborhood in Georgia. And it was Pork who suggested about some slaves to come, coincidentally members of families of the slaves that were already there.

Not that Gerald truly needed such schemes to be enticed to reunite families. It was a game of fools, with these two, and Rhett didn't know if either was aware of the awareness of the other. Gerald certainly liked the role of the hard-hearted master, even if he was a poor actor at it, and Pork seemed to indulge him by pretending he was just so.

From what he had said under a secret oath to the newcomer in his house, he had been trying to buy Pork's wife and child for a time now, without receiving anything but a light dismissal, some drinks and an escort home, and Rhett, not willing to be left out when he had learned to appreciate them both, added some of his money to the pile, hoping it might induce a proper reply.

Both men, Rhett and Gerald O'Hara, were waiting for the satisfaction of surprising the loyal servant with the arrival of his family. Though the first suspected the man of actually knowing of the attempts done for his sake.

Yes, Tara was unlike any other plantation he had seen, though Rhett was uneasy to admit, knowing the functioning of his father's and his friends', he had not wanted to further his education on the matter.

He had seen enough of it. Enough of the "firm hand" of his father to want to have anything with it.

Tara seemed different somehow. But then he supposed it was due to Gerald's own ignorance over what a plantation really was.

Oh, it had certainly some similar characteristics. He supposed it came also from the presence of the lady of the house and her mammy, who brought order and a semblance of coherence to the picture.

Yet there were still some mysteries in it. What was a lady like Ellen O'Hara doing in there? Certainly, with the qualities she demonstrated, she could have gone for a better match than an Irish peasant. Especially when one ought to know she brought with her twenty slaves. Rhett doubted very much it was for love, for though she seemed affectionate enough to her husband and children, there was still some distance with either of them. And it could not be in the hope of building a better micro-society. Though kind-hearted (or at least she was known as such), he could not see her as someone who would ignore her own role in the great matter of the world.

And then, he thought he had seen her before, but he could not quite remember. Yet, it did not quite matter.

Hopefully, Scarlett was still a girl, and girls could still be managed and shaped.

… As he thought about it, there was quite some time they had not heard of the girl, who generally was sure to interrupt them.

"Oh, but where is little Scarlett?"

Mr. O'Hara smiled with indulgence.

"She must be with the twins. Lord knows she always messes around with the boys."

"Her mother and Mammy must be overjoyed, " Rhett drawled in deep amusement. "You will have your hands full when she'll grow up."

"Oh, don't talk to me about it! No, I correct it, I beg of you, don't talk about it with me wife. I wouldn't bear seeing her upset with me over not watching her closely as I ought to," Gerald cried, before chuckling fondly. "She's a little tempest, me lass."

"More like a little cheetah," Rhett teased, the picture still on his mind, as vivid as the pain on the back of his head. "I still remember how she caught me unaware as I was just reading a book under an apple tree."

"That's me daughter for you. Isn't it, ol' sport?"

Pork's eyes glinted in pride.

"Yes, ma'ter. Miss Scarlett be quite a wild lil' thing! But so brave and charming!"

"I always wondered where these green eyes come from…" Rhett mused.

There, another subject Gerald seemed to be passionate about.

"You're not the only one that asked it. I was surprised also when I saw this. But then, as she grew, I realized… She has the same eyes as me mother, the one she got her name from. Eyes as green as the grass of Ireland, full of mischief as a Leprechaun's, and sharp as an eagle! And if she is anything like her, I believe she will cause quite the havoc when she'll be a woman. I swear, sometimes I hope she would be more like Mrs. O'Hara, so calm and wise. Though, knowing my Puss, she will take every bad thing from each side of the family to spite me and the others who would want her to behave! God's nightgown, I hope she will not turn as scandalous as her grandmother may have been, or I'll have many duels to look forward."

"Mrs. Robillard was sure quite a woman," Rhett admitted, searching through his memories. "I've never met her, but she was known and respected in quite a several states. And a little bit feared, also."

"Ar, I'm glad I didn't have to meet her, then! The father was already quite terrible!" Gerald laughed at his own remark, hitting his knee joyfully, before sobering. "I have to get her home. Mrs. O'Hara wouldn't like it if she was late…"

"Or if she was left without supervision another time," Rhett sneakily added.

Gerald winced some more.

"I'll get her," Rhett suggested. "There, you could more easily bid some time from Mrs. O'Hara before the supper begins."

His companion sent him a thankful smile as he went, followed by Pork.

Taking one last puff of his cigar, Rhett looked at his surroundings, wondering at the homey feeling that came to it despite the clumsiness of the arrangements. He could see the mistress of the house had softened the rough edges of it and added some elegance to the house. Yet, it was certainly not up to the standards of Charleston, nor Savannah.

Sighing, he crushed it and strode out of the room, going to the quest of finding one Scarlett O'Hara, infamous pest of the Clayton County.

He looked in the forest of pines, that the nine-year-old girl eagerly showed him the year before; between the first ranks of cotton plants, then in the little gazebo where her mother was used to retire early in the morning before continuing her care of the plantation, and thankfully wasn't there to see him.

It seemed many visits of one Rhett Butler could not break the ice that sheltered Mrs. O'Hara, and he was quite vexed by that, having tried a lot to be courteous and respectful.

He was about to take his horse to overlook the land when he finally met the girl with two ginger-haired boys of at least twelve years old surrounding her.

That must be the Tarletons twins, he guessed with an entertained smile. And from the look on their faces, the girl must have been in quite the trouble.

"… He ought to have been whipped for taking from us the glory of saving a girl from the County."

"Fiddle-dee-dee! That's nonsense, you would have drowned, and then we would have been in quite a fuzzy! And anyway, I could have handled myself just fine, had I not these infuriating skirts and petticoat and… Oh, I don't remember how it's called!"

"Scarlett!" The twins cried, properly shocked.

"What? That's true."

"Young miss," Rhett called, a corner of his mouth raised up, before becoming a full smile as the girl turned to him with an easy grin and sparkling eyes.

"Mister Butler!" The twins shouted, surprised. One of them flustered in indignation, and he supposed the family must have talked about him.

"Another day, I would have loved to be the dragon you have to fight for to deliver that little urchin," He laughed, ignoring the indignation in the girl's eyes. "But I fear it is quite late. I have to get the girl back to her parents, young lads."

"Sir!" One of them called, with curiosity in his eyes. "It is said you're the best shot in several states. Is it true?"

"Of course, it is," Rhett smirked.

"Could you show us…?"

"Come, Stu," Brent interrupted. "Mother would whip us if we're late."

"I'll show you, one day," Rhett said with a laugh, remembering his younger days.

That being said, the boys went with a delighted smile, and made their poor chaperon run. It seemed admonitions paled to compare with the possibility of mischiefs and adventures.

Rhett followed their forms with a fond smile until they left his sight. Then, he turned to the girl in question, who was grumbling on her own, her foot pawing with indignation as she crossed her arms.

"Oh, I so wish I were a boy. They do all the fun, and all is so much easier for them!"

"I can understand why you would think that. Though I doubt you would have liked the whipping, the added pression for studying, the great expectations, the lessons of shooting…"

"Fiddle-dee-dee, if they're whipped, it's because they cause many mischiefs and get caught. I would never get caught." She huffed. "And the Tarletons can't even learn anything, except when it's about hunting, playing and trifling. I think they will even manage to get evicted from their school one of these days. I think I could surpass them, if I had the chances."

"No doubt, no doubt. You would surpass them by being the first to go into a most dangerous adventure and being shot from the first go," Rhett clipped. "No, little Scarlett. Don't regret being a girl. It has a peacefulness to it that you should take advantage of."

"You say that because you know nothing about what girls are supposed to do!"

"Actually, I do. But even without that, I see enough with you, little explosive." He retorted. "So. What were you and your friends quarreling about?"

She replied with almost a careless air, that was betrayed by the alertness of her eyes.

"Oh, just a tiny thing. I fell in the rivers this morning, and that new boy from the field took me out of it. An old thing, really. Mother already took care of it."

Oh, yes, he had heard over that boy, Gerald had talked about him on the first evening. It was a little African, a runaway most certainly, they had found sleeping under one of the trees of Tara. Papers were already being written for him, and it was said he had already received blankets and food from the mistress of the house, added to the shelter of the land.

"Stuart and Brent are just being silly," She protested. "They said it was not how it should have happened, and that they wished they had been there."

"Quite silly, indeed. And I suppose you fell in that river after one of your mischiefs, didn't you?"

"No!..." She faltered. "Yes."

He smiled indulgently.

"And did you do anything to thank the boy who saved you?"

She nodded like a good little girl, and he wanted to laugh at the act.

"Mother said sending a basket was what ladies did in that case, and that it was enough."

"Far from me to question your mother's way of doing things…"

She stomped her foot, her brow wrinkling in dismay.

"You're doing this again. I will not listen to you saying bad things about Mother. And Mammy said it too, I'll have you know!"

"I don't, actually. Saying we have different ways of doing things is not an insult, little one. You have to remember that. Each one of us, we do things our own way. Sometimes it's better. Sometimes it's not. But it's from exploring new ways you learn and become the better version of yourself."

"And how would you do things?"

"Oh, child. The least you can do to the ones who save you is to try to know them, and acknowledge your debt to them."

She looked at him closely, with narrowed eyes, then let out a snicker.

"That's not how you would do things."

"And how would I do things?"

"You, you would just say what to do, and then laugh either if people follow your advice, or if they don't. If that doesn't make you angry first. But if it happened to you, you would think giving money and money was enough."

Oh, to be called out by such a child!

"We are alike, it seems then," He quipped. "Though you're not one to give advice. More like orders."

"I like giving orders."

"You don't say…"

"Oh, don't laugh!"

He stopped, then let out a last, amused huff.

"You're right, child. That's not how I would have done things not so long ago. I'm still learning too." He presented her his hand and gave her a smile. "Here, I'll take you home."

Supper was just like always, filled with chatter from Mr. O'Hara and Scarlett's side, disrupted by little quarrels between herself and her sister Suellen, who sneakily hinted at all the mischiefs her sister might have done while maintaining the tone she had learned must be one from a lady.

The trouble of the middle child, wanting to have the responsibilities of the first and the tender attentions of the last.

Not to mention Scarlett joyfully monopolized the advantages of both roles.

Little Carreen was but a small child, a faded copy of the mother as much in appearance as, it seemed, in personality. She was calm, almost melancholic, where her oldest sister was chatty and overly cheerful, and the second quite ambivalent, caught between envy and a deep feeling of unfairness. Thus, she was certainly the one that was more easily accepted in her mother's embrace. Mrs. O'Hara's hand was lightly caressing the hair of her daughter, her eyes far away, as if deep in thought.

When it was over, the girls were led to bed by their parents and Mammy, who looked askance at Rhett, still very suspicious at his presence and not having forgiven him for leading her astray on their first meeting.

Another that seemed immune to the Butler's charm. Blast.

He sipped his coffee for a moment, waiting on his host with the reading of the newspaper, when finally, it was the hostess that entered it, almost jumping as she saw he was still there, before finally seeming to accept begrudgingly his presence.

He looked at her closely as she settled on a coach with her needles and embroidery, her eyes avoiding his, then decided to break the silence.

"Do you hate me, Mrs. O'Hara?"

At this, she put down her work and seemed to raise her eyes to the sky, a subtle movement that Rhett could almost have not noticed if he wasn't… well, if he wasn't himself. She turned graciously toward him, but still would not look at him.

"I do not hate."

"But you do not like either," He remarked. "And why so? It cannot be only my reputation that makes my presence so unpleasant to you."

She did not answer. She raised in a surprising abrupt manner, her fingers fidgeting for a little moment. Her lids lowered just slightly, barely a light coming from these dark eyes. Her lips moved but a little, to let out that same leveled voice that was barely higher than a whisper.

"I should have known people like you couldn't remember… You just go around, carelessly, ruining lives on your way…"

"Oh, so I ruined your life? May I know how?" There, in his irritation to this accusation, he was ashamed to say his tone had become quite taunting. "Pray tell, Mrs. O'Hara. You began it, you ought to finish your sentence."

She seemed about to leave the room, but decided otherwise, a strange shade coming to the dark onyx of her eyes.

"Do you remember a man named Philippe Robillard?"

It clicked. He froze.

"Oh." Oh, yes, he remembered Philippe Robillard. He remembered the young buck that, like him, wanted to make fortune, and that was so enthusiast in his quest that he put others to shame. It was for true love, he had said. A love that defied death, hindered by members of his own family that thought him unsuited for the girl. A girl that must have been young Ellen Robillard. And, from the look on his face, he may have been the one who suggested him to go to New Orleans… Well, most certainly. Now that he thought about it, he remembered he might have suggested they went together. Yet, he had to get back to West Point, and he had to give up on the project unless he had to suffer the wrath of one Mr. Butler senior. Philippe had not, visibly. "So, you were the woman that was waiting for him. Well, you did not mourn him for long…"

Ellen Robillard… Yes, he did remember seeing a girl like her, like any other girl. Dull, despondent, and devoted. The three intolerable D. As opposed to the qualities he rather preferred his own D: Desirable, Defiant and Daring.

Needless to say, Rhett must not have looked twice at the girl back in the day.

But the woman in front of him was more than these things, in a disturbing way he couldn't quite describe.

"Mourn? I died the day I've learnt he… went away."

There, a fire came to her eyes, before being swiftly extinguished, replaced by a sudden weariness.

It was not just a cold shell, Rhett realized. The shell indeed was rather warm. It was the heart in it that was frozen.

His eyes widened.

Oh, so she was also one of these lost souls…

"Would it solve anything if I say I am sorry?" He asked softly.

"I thought it would," The eyes she raised on him after a torturous moment were empty. He felt the shivers running down his spine "But now I see it is not worth anything."

Her skirt rustled softly as she turned away and left the room, and he felt a cold, hard and gripping. A little like shame.

He bowed lightly, pondered his options, then retired shortly to his room, where he gathered his things in his suitcase.

This had been a mistake, he thought. No, he could not rest in here. It was no haven.

He was descending the stairs as he met Mr. O'Hara, and Rhett was grateful not to have to look for him to say his good-byes.

"I don't know what you've done to me wife, lad, but she seems mighty upset," Gerald commented as he ascended with a first frown that did not survive the moment he met his friend. "What are you doing?"

Rhett lowered his eyes, his hand gripping his suitcase.

"I'm afraid I must have taken too much of your time. I have to go…"

"So soon?"

"You've been awfully kind, Mr. O'Hara…"

"Oh, come on, with the times we spent, you owe me at least to call me Gerald."

"Gerald," Rhett smiled, a genuine smile that came to him by surprise. "I'm ashamed my staying may disquiet farther the peace in your home…"

"Nonsense, lad, my home is your home," Gerald said, before examining him for a short time. "But then, I see your mind is quite made up, and I won't stop you. Though I know a little girl that will be sad to know you're going. At least stay until tomorrow."

Rhett sighed. He had not wanted to think about it. He nodded, then decided to take some breath of air on the white steps of the house to compose himself.

Sitting on the wood, he pondered his options, swiftly clipping a cigar and lighting it.

So much for the fresh breath of air, but Rhett deemed it felt better like that.

He liked that moment when the sun was down, almost melting the limit between the reddening sky and the deep clay of Georgia, in a horizon that seemed limitless and vibrant.

He crushed it, sighed, then prepared to retire.

"You're leaving?" Came a little voice at his right. "So soon? But you just come!"

"Scarlett…" Rhett froze, blinked, before lightly chiding. The girl was in a light gown she must have stolen from one of the servant girls of the house, and he wasn't sure her presence here was allowed. "What are you doing there? You should be asleep!"

"I sneaked out to hear Pork's stories, but I did not find him," She said quickly, before pouting. "That's unfair! You just come, you say the little things you call advice, and you go!"

"That's not exactly it…"

"That's exactly it to me!"

"The world doesn't revolve around you, child."

She bit her lips with tears in her eyes, and then he realized that even if it was something to be said, the manner he said it was unacceptable. His eyes softened.

"Come, Scarlett," He reached out for her, and took her begrudging form in his arms. "I did not want to hurt you. I care a lot for you, but I was angry and…"

"Angry at what?"

"A lot of things. The world. Myself. But it doesn't matter."

"You're still being obscure."

"And for that subject, you might not get any answer, I'm afraid," He replied quietly. "But that doesn't mean you can't look for it, for answers when you have questions. Never stop looking. The world is so wide, so full of mysteries. It's not just me. Do not stop at the first explanation that someone gives you. Look further, and deeper. Find your own answers."

Her brows wrinkled as she tried to understand him, yet he could see she could not grasp entirely the meaning of it. And then he supposed it was also because it was so dark, and he was so serious suddenly that she felt a little afraid and impressed by the sight of it, from the little glint of fright in her eyes.

Not to mention she must have been taught not to ask herself too many questions, with how most Southern girls were taught, he thought.

He sighed and reached out for her. On his lips came a little smile.

"Come, little one. How about I take you to a little party?"

"A party? Oh, yes, yes, Rhett! Where is it? How did I not know?" She eagerly exclaimed, having forgotten her previous disappointment. "Is it at the twins'? Or maybe with the Fontaines?"

"It's a secret party, and far closer than that. Your people are having quite a feast, and I think it will be fun. Not to mention that it may be an opportunity to make it up to that little boy…"

Scarlett pouted, dismayed at having to talk about it further.

"Oh, but must I? Is it not enough that I said I was thankful, and I apologized for my behavior to Mother?"

He paused.

"No, child. Some things are better if you handle them with your own hands and find a way to settle your debt later."

"Mother would be so terribly angry if I go…?"

He almost smiled. It was her last defense, and she would cede.

"Certainly… If she knew of it. But I'll protect you if she discovers it. I take the full blame of it."

She grinned, her conflict was forgotten.

Oh, Scarlett, he wanted to tell her. She was so trusting, he feared she would have been easily taken by anyone with wrong intentions.

He could see the hypocrisy of such a statement. But then he chose not to ponder on it. It was too much for a day.

Thankfully, Mammy was not there when they arrived at the cabins. He supposed it must be a time when she was taking care of Mrs. O'Hara, and she must have been quite sure to have taken Scarlett to bed with the other children.

Hopefully, the others did not spill the beans, or never realized the girl slipped from the room.

Surprised glances came their way, but as Scarlett waved at them, and dismissed the first admonitions, Pork being the first to do so, the atmosphere lightened up.

At least, Rhett felt glad over taking care to gain the affection and respect of Pork, for then they would not have gotten away so swiftly.

She stopped in front of a little back boy, hesitant, and he guessed he must have been the one to save her. She talked quite softly, and the boy nodded for an awkward moment. But, with the easiness of childhood, such embarrassment was soon forgotten when other subjects could be brought up to add some amusement. Thus, in a matter of seconds, Scarlett was among the other children, plotting cheerfully and playing, and when the music began, heady and wild, she was already on the floor.

Rhett laughed. That was such a charming child, and he could watch her dancing and smiling so carelessly for days if he could. It was so recomforting a sight, a warmth neither ardent nor imposing.

He refused at first, when some of the people urged him to dance, but he couldn't resist the call for so long.

They were carefree, welcoming people, and he was glad to have stayed a little longer for that. And then it was so much fun to hear their tales of outwitting Wilkerson, with the secret complicity of Mr. O'Hara.

Yet, he knew that peace wouldn't last, and he was sad for it. It was but a moment, a precious moment where they could almost forget all differences, a moment that would disappear with time, and the foolishness of others that wanted to keep two worlds divided when there should be only one.

Such an abolitionist thought would have shocked him back to the day he was exiled from Charleston, and most certainly Gerald, had he heard it. Yet, now, he realized the idea of keeping slaves under their power was not such a desirable thing as he learned it, and that his adventures on his own and his experience here led him to this point of thought that might have gone amiss easily with the way he had wanted things to go.

No, Tara was no utopia. It was not perfect, nor something to be repeated. It was still slavery, though the chains were invisible. Yet, it had an atmosphere in it he realized had made it much easier his reflections on the matter.

When he took Scarlett home, her feet could barely maintain her, and he had to hold the girl carefully, for she was so small in his arms he thought she would slip away. When she raised her eyes on him, there was such a childish admiration in them, he felt his heart squeeze tenderly.

Not a sound, but the quiet and faint howling of an owl and the song of the locusts after a warm day. His feet rasped quietly on the red Georgian earth, and the last remnants of songs rang to his mind.

No, he could not let her follow her mother's footsteps. He could not bear the thought of that smile, so cheerful and true, that lit the laughing green eyes, turning distant and meaningless, a cold politeness that bore with patience the intrusion of others. He had to protect it. They could call it selfishness, say it was not his role to do so, but that girl, her father and their people… they were like the family he wished he had, a family that would accept him no matter what he would do.

He had become quite responsible for the girl, in fact. It was even a duty to show her another way.

Rhett blinked, surprised by his own reasoning. He had never believed in duty. Why would it come to him now?