Our First Noël

Chapter One
On the First Day of Christmas…

December 13th

The snow had just begun to fall. It drifted down, delicate feathers from a heavy grey sky, casting a soft, white blanket over the brown and bare world. It covered the dead grass, the withered leaves, reducing them to no more than an idle thought – a vague remembrance – once it was autumn; now it was Christmas. The wasted world was cleaned and refreshed, turned into something outside itself, like the way dreaming momentarily cleanses one of memory.

From the train window, the thick, fast rush of snowflakes had become a blue, shooting past the train windows, turning the world outside into a white haze. The forests inbetween Brussels and Moulinsart were reduced to a glimpse or two of tangled branches; the villages seemed nothing but a scattering of rooftops, and maybe a face or two, waiting outside the station.

Tintin sat on the train seat, his fingers pressed up against the cold window. He watched as his breath became visible in the form of a white cloud on the thick green glass, and idly dragged his fingertip in the fragile white haze, creating some sort of smiley face. He looked at it for a moment, and then wiped it away with his sleeve.

The train whistle blew; once, twice, and then the train began to slow.

"Moulinsart Station. Moulinsart Station," came the familiar drone of the conductor, walking slowly down the aisles.

Heart beating a little faster, Tintin bit his lip, stood up, and reached for his suitcase at his feet. He grunted, finally grappling it with both hands, and staggered out from his chair into the aisle. Snowy followed him, trotting along happily.

As the train slowed, he lurched forward and barely managed to right himself before he pitched into the arms of a rather cross-looking woman with a mutant poodle on her lap. Thanking his lucky stars, Tintin placed his hand firmly against the wall and waited for the train to slow all the way.

The snow seemed to be falling much more softly when the train finally stopped. The doors slid open; Tintin took a deep breath, made sure Snowy was at his side, and stepped towards them. A couple passengers who recognised his face, from the newspapers, no doubt, nodded kindly to him, perhaps murmured a "Merry Christmas!" But then the train stopped, and the whistle blew, and it was time to get off.

He was the only one departing at his station. Within a matter of moments, the whistle sounded again, and the familiar, powerful chugging of the train engine began. He watched it leave, the scratched-up green metal, slowly gaining speed as it went, faster and faster towards the far horizon.

The smell of tobacco and the sea suddenly flooded the air; Tintin had just time to drop his suitcase on the ground before an iron-hard hand clapped him forcefully on the back.

Coughing and gasping for breath, Tintin straightened up, wheeling around to shoot a glare in the Captain's direction.

"Why? Why did you do that?"

The man's grin was absolutely diabolical, but his face was glowing with jollity and light-heartedness; that alone made it hard to be angry at him. "You're a little fragile flower, aren't you?"

"Captain Haddock!"

Haddock waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, don't 'Captain Haddock' me. So, you made it, I see? Nobody tried to shoot you when you boarding?"

"Ah, well, I think I'm in one piece." Tintin held out his arms a little and looked himself over, as if to reassure himself he wasn't riddled with bullets. Satisfied, he nodded and said, "Nope; nobody tried to kill me. Or at least I was fine, until you hit me like that."

"Great. Can you handle that thing?" The Captain nodded down to the massive suitcase. Without waiting for an answer, he picked it up, grunting slightly. It hung from his hand heavily, looking like his arm was in danger of being stretched out of shape from the suitcase's weight. "Columbus. I didn't know you had this many clothes."

"Presents." He couldn't hide his grin.

"Ah, I see." Clapping his hand on Tintin's shoulder – much more gently this time – Haddock began to walk in the direction of the parking lot just outside the station. "Let's shove off, then?"

Tintin glanced surreptitiously behind as he and the Captain made their way to the car. The train was gone. It was final: Tintin was spending Christmas at Moulinsart.

/

It took only a half-hour to walk from the station to Moulinsart Hall, and it was a mere matter of minutes to drive the distance. For that, Tintin was thankful. The car was an absolute icebox. It had heating, of course, but the Captain had left his car off to go wait by the train – "Your train was half an hour late," he explained – and it took the old car a long time for the engine to be warmed up enough for the heating system to work. Tintin had tried to convince the Captain to get a new car, but the Captain wasn't fond of spending money that he didn't think needed to be spent. Obviously, the enormity of his own wealth hadn't quite hit him yet.

"So, what's up these days?" the Captain asked, glancing over to look at Tintin before returning his eyes to the snow-covered road. "Any more adventures? Not without me, I hope."

"No, nothing since Palestine."

"Which was without me."

Tintin didn't say anything.

"Not that I mind. Now. Just don't do it again."

"I'll keep you in mind next time the entire world is about to go to war," Tintin promised.

Haddock risked a quick mock glare at Tintin before focusing again on the road. "What? I wasn't even on your mind? The entire time you were over there?"

"Oh, I thought of you. Once or twice." Sounding thoughtful, he said, "If the Captain had been here, there is no way I would be getting out of here alive…"

"Ha ha. You're cute. I don't mind telling you, I couldn't sleep a wink for worrying. A fifteen year old boy, fighting criminals all by himself... you could've been dead, for all I knew..."

Tintin grinned a little, looking down at Snowy and running his fingers through his tangled fur. The dog whined quietly, reaching up to lick Tintin's face. "Well, it's not as if we're going to get into any trouble anytime soon. It's Christmas. I'm pretty sure God wouldn't allow Christmas to be ruined by something like that."

"Better pray you're right," said the Captain.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry."

/

It was 4 in the afternoon when they entered Moulinsart Hall. The snow had let up since when they left the train station, but tiny flakes still drifted down, joining the thick white blankets cresting the back of Moulinsart's steepled roofs—they pulled through the back, so Tintin wasn't able to see any more than that. The Captain had to do something in the garage, leaving Tintin to carry his suitcase up the front steps and into the wide double doors of the Hall. He had just opened up the garage door when he heard a voice behind him.

"Ah, Master Tintin. I see you've arrived."

Startled, Tintin turned around to see Nestor standing there, reaching out to take the suitcase.

"Hello, Nestor. How are you?"

"Just fine, sir. I trust your trip was pleasant?"

"Very."

Evidentially satisfied with the reply, Nestor nodded curtly. "Very good. Just follow me, sir; I'll be showing you to your room…"

Suitcase in one hand, Nestor reached out with the other and held the door open for Tintin to step through. Rubbing his arms, Tintin stepped across the old wooden threshold and into the world outside.

The last time that Tintin had seen the Hall, it had been two months ago, right when Tintin had gotten back from Palestine. The Hall had been a wreck then. And even before then, it had never been cleaned up, not properly, from the neglect it had seen from the years of occupation by the Bird Brothers. But now, somehow, it looked…well, beautiful.

Tintin's footsteps lagged as he stared at the tall, white building before him, cerulean rooftops blanketed in white, marble walls arching out of the pristine virgin snow. The doors and windows of the Hall were decorated with rich green garlands, with holly and ivy and pinecones, and all were covered in snow.

It wasn't just pretty. Neither was it just picturesque.

It was… well… perfect.

Nestor was far ahead of him now, almost at the front door, but Tintin didn't notice, let alone care.

"Like it?" the Captain asked. Tintin didn't turn, but he could hear the man coming from behind him, footsteps crunching in the new snow.

"Like it?" Tintin stared at the Hall for a moment longer, and broke out into a baffled, overwhelmed laugh. "I wouldn't have dreamed about spending Christmas in a, in a place like this when I was little."

"Good." They were silent for a moment longer, until the Captain asked, "Ready to head up to the Hall, lad?"

The boy finally peeled his eyes away before shaking himself mentally and nodding to the Captain. "Of course."

The Captain began talking about something, but Tintin barely heard, or cared, what. Haddock's gruff, familiar voice simply faded out of Tintin's consciousness as he followed the man through the bedecked double doors, up the grand staircase, and to the upper floor of Marlinspike, Snowy plodding happily along beside.

Twelve days until Christmas, Tintin thought. And for the first time, he thought that maybe—just maybe— it wouldn't be as bad as he had thought it might be.

Author's Note: Yay, new story. This means that Resurrection probably won't be updated for a while. Oh well. I will survive! (Starts singing the song) *cough cough* anywayyyy. Oh, and this is going to be updated daily until Christmas Day, for each of the 12 days of Christmas (yeah, I know the twelve days are supposed to be after Christmas, but who cares anyway?). Or perhaps I'll post two on Christmas Eve; I'm not sure how my mum feels about me going on the computer on Christmas. We'll see.

Guess what? I don't own Tintin or Moulinsart! Because if I did, that Unicorn movie would have never been made. (Just kidding. Well, I'm not kidding, but that's a discussion for a different day.)

So, how's the story so far? Good start? Bad start? Let me know right down *there*