A/N: This is just a very lil fic about dear Colonel Tavington, whom I love so very much. Well, more like I love Jason Isaacs and all the characters he played. It takes place during one of the cut scenes in The Patriot. So if you want to know which exactly it's from go watch them. ;) I think it gives Will dear a lil more human qualities. He seems such a nasty git in the movie. You have to wonder what is going on his mind and what happened to make him that way. Anyways…hope you enjoy this. And of course don't forget to review. The reviews are greatly appreciated.

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The blossoming fields of pink flowers were quiet on that beautiful, chilly morning. Birds sang softly in the forest not far away. The sun shone its golden rays over the tranquil land, slowly warming the countryside and evaporating the dew from the grass and surrounding fields. The only beings intruding on this peaceful majesty were two red coated officers, Colonel William Tavington and Captain Wilkins. Both were British officers under General Cornwallis at this crucial period in the war against the colonials for independence. They were however not here by the General's orders. Tavington was once more ignoring orders and doing just as he pleased. His independent nature and disregard of direct orders was a constant thorn in Cornwallis's side.

            At the moment, however, none of that was on Tavington's mind. He was enjoying and letting his mind get lost in the beauty of the countryside. For one brief, pure moment all his worries and cares melted away. His harsh, bitter demeanor was broken for a few minutes, as he caressed the delicate petals of a pink flower with tips of his fingers. It was soft and smooth against the rough calluses on his fingers. His frosty breath tickled the flower's petals causing them to dance a little against his fingers. The soft pink of the flower contrasted sharply with the bright blood red and green of his uniform.

               "Beautiful country," he said, softly, speaking mostly to himself.

            He truly did admire America for its extensive lands and breath-taking splendor. It held so many secrets and promises for a whole new way of life. There was still so much to be discovered about it. It was not gray, cold, and uncaring like England was. He pushed those thoughts aside. He would not let them ruin his few precious seconds of something close to happiness. He looked up at the pale, blue sky, almost the exact color of his eyes, his face was clear of all previous troubles. For once, his handsome face was not marred by furrowed brows, thin lipped frown, or ever present cruel smirk. His brilliant blue eyes were bright and his brown hair shone in the morning light. In that moment, he was truly handsome.

               "Everything grows here," he went on, lifting his face higher towards the sun's golden rays. The warm beams of light washed over him, silhouetting him slightly against the blue sky. His eyes had taken on a far off look, as though he were looking into another time. Perhaps he was reflecting on some distant childhood memory of better times or the not so distant future, for his expression had become thoughtful.

            A second later, the spell about him was broken as a piercing scream rent the morning air. He blinked, bringing his mind back to the present with a jolt, and blew out a deep irritated breath which misted in the cold, morning air. The present, along with all its cares, desires, and worries had come back down to crush his spirit once more. His peaceful few minutes of bliss were shattered by the harsh tones of reality. It was time to go back to being an officer in the British Army and do his duties.

            He turned reluctantly, towards Captain Wilkins. Wilkins was looking at him with a rather odd, yet expectant look. He had not known Colonel Tavington very long, but what he did known or heard was that the Colonel was rarely, in fact never, a normal, calm individual. This little lapse in character had thrown Wilkins off. Tavington was no gentleman by English standards, that much was widely known. The Dragoons feared him and his infamous wrath, thus making them fiercely loyal and willing to do anything he asked as long as it meant living for another day. Tavington was not nick named the Butcher as a joke. He was cruel, merciless, and considered to be heartless by many. That was why Wilkins was rather wary of the strange shift in mood from the Colonel and had said nothing the entire time Tavington had spoken. He also did not wish to lose his head because of interrupting Tavington.

            Colonel Tavington paused, when he had turned around, to gaze briefly at the rundown little house from which the scream had emitted. The house stood behind the fields, looking forlorn and in need of care. He regarded it with a rather disgusted look, still unwilling to leave the serene fields behind. He shoved his frivolous desires to the back of his mind. He glanced over at Wilkins, who was waiting obediently for his orders, then began to walk in a long business-like stride from the flowering fields.

            He was an officer, he reminded himself, and he did not have time for silly, childish fancies. He also did not desire to revisit the past any longer. It held to many lost, sad memories of better times before his father squandered the family money, destroyed the Tavington name in England, and ruined his inheritance. The Tavington estate in England no longer existed. He had nothing there to go back to. He was here in America for a reason, not just to fight for Britain. He was here to gain honor and glory, so that he may once more walk amongst the hierarchy of England with his head held high, and not bowed in shame. He would gain what he wanted by any means necessary, be they cruel in other peoples eyes or not, and he would be damned before anything stopped him from getting what he wanted.

            He would prove Cornwallis wrong by handing him Benjamin Martin and his militia's heads on a silver platter. He had never lost a battle, or backed down from a challenge. He certainly would not start now. Hell, it was his efforts that had contributed mostly to where Cornwallis was in the war now. Cornwallis would no longer be able to deny that he was indeed a superior officer that deserved some praise once he brought in the Ghost. The General would then be forced to give him what he desired most, a piece of land to call his own. Then perhaps maybe he could settle down and be able to forget about all that he had suffered through over the years. He would make Cornwallis eat all the ill words he had ever said about or to him. Soon, he hoped and oh! how he would relish that moment.

            That thought brought a grim smile to his cold, handsome face and sent a shiver down Captain Wilkins spine.

               Yes, very soon, he smiled, frigidly.

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