ladynorbert | "We don't lose the ones we loved, we just keep increasing the fold."

Ficletness, one of two requests.

Title: Auld Lang Syne
Characters: Tom Sawyer and Elizabeth Quatermain
RPG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Quote/Word to use: "Surprise me..."
Genre: General, rated G. These two are close, so a friendship story was in order.
Summary: While the League spends Christmas at the Quatermain manor near London, it proves to be a time of relaxation, merriment, and the strengthening of bonds which sometimes weaken in the course of battle. On the afternoon of New Year's Eve, Elizabeth invites Tom to go for a horseback ride in the nearby woods, for a few hours of reminiscing and contemplation.
Notes: The story was requested by

clez, who plays Tom on the board; she is also the owner of the game. Allan Quatermain is the creation of H. Rider Haggard; Huckleberry Finn is, like Tom, the creation of Mark Twain; and Peter Stowells is an original character played by

sethoz's sister Lozzie. (Those three characters are mentioned by name.) Elizabeth is, of course, my own original creation, as are Solomon Manor, the horses Benedick and Hamlet, and pretty much anything else you see mentioned that you know wasn't brought up during the movie. All the information regarding New Year's Day traditions came from this website.

Last year, shortly before Christmas, I composed a story called "Comfort and Joy" which was about the League spending most of December at Elizabeth's manor, and this could be viewed as a story within that story.

"I still can't believe it's the last day of 1899," Elizabeth Quatermain remarked conversationally, as she saddled the horse called Hamlet. She was swathed in a blue cloak lined with white fur, and seemed completely at ease in the stable. "I mean, starting tomorrow -- it's not just a new year, it's a new century. It's a bit hard to wrap my mind around it."

Tom Sawyer was saddling Hamlet's younger brother, an almost identical grey called Benedick, and nodded at her words. "It'll be different, that's for sure. Whole world is going through a lot of changes."

"Agreed," she replied, leading Hamlet out into the snow and swinging herself lightly into the saddle. She settled carefully into sidesaddle position and waited for him to join her. Each day that they had been at the manor, Elizabeth had taken her beloved horses out for exercise, and invited a different one of her friends to accompany her each time. Today, though, on this last day of the 19th century, she wanted the companionship of Tom, and only Tom.

Their friendship had not gotten off the ground very easily, since at their first meeting he had basically accused her of lying about her own identity. She could not, in perfect truth, blame him; he had been close to Allan Quatermain, had heard the old hunter speak about his late son, but had never heard so much as a whisper from his mentor about the existence of a daughter. She was who she was, however, and it was quick enough work to convince any disbelievers of the truth. Over the ensuing months, she had grown close to this sandy-haired surrogate brother, as she thought of him. He was the only other person on earth who could fully relate to her feelings about the death of her father -- the murder that Tom himself had avenged -- and, moreover, he was the one person who helped her keep the old hunter alive in her mind. There were few people on earth dearer to Elizabeth than Tom Sawyer, and even fewer that she trusted more.

How exactly he viewed her, she was never entirely certain. She had full faith in the depth of his friendship, in the strength of his regard; she knew he was unshakably loyal to her father's memory and to her. She knew, too, that he was grateful to her for believing in him at a time when precious few other people had done so, and for helping to nurse him back to health after a particularly nasty set of injuries had kept him bedridden. They had much in common besides Allan's memory, but it was that -- it was her father -- which bound them irrevocably. Still, the precise nature of Tom's regard for her had never been put into words. She didn't really mind, in truth; it could be said with honesty that theirs was a relationship which defied naming. It was what it was, and it was priceless to them both.

Benedick, the more rambunctious of the two mounts, had finally calmed enough to allow Tom to haul himself into the saddle, and the pair of horses and riders set off in the direction of the nearby woods, which covered part of the property. "What would you be doing back home, to ring in the New Year?" she inquired.

"Well, it'd sort of depend on which part of America I was in," he said. "Some places eat cabbage, or black-eyed peas, which they say are good luck; they usually have ham with it. And some people say eating doughnuts is good luck, or anything else that forms a circle -- means the year came full circle, y'see. Out in California, they have something called the Rose Parade, it's about as old as you are. Supposed to celebrate the ripening of the orange trees."

"Oh, so that's what the Rose Parade is. I'd heard of it, but never understood its purpose." The snow crunched under the horses' hooves. "You sing 'Auld Lang Syne,' of course?"

"What else?"

"What else indeed. Father loved that song, I suppose because it was Scottish and so are we."

"I've often wanted to ask you about that," he said, almost hesitantly. "Quatermain isn't the most Scottish name I've ever heard, but..."

"Oh, I know. My grandfather Quatermain was an Englishman. But my grandmother's maiden name was Elizabeth Campbell -- I'm named for her -- and she was very much a Scotchwoman. Father spent his youth in Scotland, though he came to England for his schooling at his father's insistence, and eventually relocated to this part of the island permanently. He never lost his accent, though."

"That much I noticed," Tom said, chuckling. He smiled at her. "What did he used to do to ring in the New Year?"

Elizabeth giggled. "You might not believe this..."

"Surprise me."

"He used to" -- she giggled again -- "try to shoot the moon."

"Shoot the moon?"

"Yes. He'd take Matilda and go outside at midnight, and if the weather was clear and he could see the moon, he would allow himself twelve shots to try and shoot it. I'm sure," she added with mock solemnity, "that it will astonish you to learn that he missed every time."

"Can't imagine how that happened," Tom said, not bothering to stifle his laughter. "Didn't your servants ever complain?"

"Tom, you knew my father -- do you really think they would have dared?"

"Good point."

"Well," she went on, "I think we can make arrangements for a nice good-luck meal for tomorrow. Ham and cabbage and black-eyed peas, with doughnuts for dessert? We can cover all our bases." Her eyes twinkled as she regarded him.

"Round here, we can't have too much luck."

Her merriment dimmed. "Too true," she murmured. She looked down and patted Hamlet's neck, then glanced back up at Tom. "I still can't believe we're starting a new century without him. It...it doesn't quite seem right."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed. "Doesn't seem right to be starting it without Huck, either. Or Peter. But you know as well as I do that not everything that happens to us is going to be right. Even though we're the ones who try to make everything right for the rest of the world."

"And how do we learn to live with that?" she asked him, honestly.

"By holding onto what we have that is good, and is right."

"Such as?" She pulled gently on the reins to make Hamlet stop, and Benedick halted alongside his brother.

"Such as? Such as those fifteen-odd people waiting back at your house -- at your house, Elizabeth, enjoying your hospitality. We all came here for a few weeks to remind ourselves what we have and who we are to each other, and I think that's happened. Even the most sour and unsociable members of the League have come out of their shells a little." He smiled at her, the oddly lopsided grin of which she was so fond. "We have new memories to keep ourselves going during those times when good memories are all we have to sustain us. And we still have the old memories. I think that's what Christmas is; in one way or another, it's all about memories. We don't lose what we have, we just keep adding to it."

"Like we don't lose the ones we loved," she said, nodding slowly, "we just keep increasing the fold."

"Exactly."

She gave him an affectionately teasing look. "When did you get to be so smart, anyway?"

He grinned. "I didn't tell you anything you didn't already know, Elizabeth."

"Perhaps not. But you're the only one who could have reminded me."