A Big Thank-You To: Steinbock, Jolinnn, Shadow914, Reader, jayjthebigmouth, Guest, P.S. Sword, just do it, Lilith Jae, Sana Lama Samaha, Holiday Boredom, Laura, DaFan, krissygarza12, Alchemechanist and (just in under the wire) KATH. If you're a guest reviewer, I can't reply directly, but take it from this: you are very much appreciated all the same and at some point in the A/Ns, I will get round to answering your queries. Just not at the top of here, I have too much to say already haha

It seems strange to start with a thanks, but I could not begin posting this fic without at least giving a mention to the brilliant, wonderful, unbelievably kind-worded people who made the effort to review the snippet posted in Lil Rems and let me know that yes - there are people out there who want to hear about Butler's backstory. There were sixteen of you who reviewed in the first couple of days. That's... well, that's more than I ever hoped to hope of. So to all of you, thank-you. Your reviews are my motivation to post what I create and, honestly, it makes it worth the while.

I hope this lives up to expectations.

Two more important things before we start:

DISCLAIMER: All characters and locations recognisable from The Artemis Fowl Series belong to the genius Eoin Colfer. All the others... well, I'll take responsibility for them. (If you really insist, then I guess I'll even take responsibility for characterisation of The Major, seen as though he's a two-time mention in the books... Big ask, though...haha)

WARNINGS: There will be swearing - some of it strong. There will be violence - again, some of it strong. There will be mentions of child abuse, illegal activity, torture, serious injury and even death. And that's just the basics. This fic is rated as a 'T' because in my opinion, most teens will cope fine with it. After all, I was writing this sort of stuff whilst below the 'M-rated' age limit myself. So class it as a high 'T', if you will. If you're not happy with that, this fic probably isn't going to be for you. I'd apologise, but honestly I just refuse to block out the vast majority of my audience for the sake of a societal opinion on their maturity as readers.

And with that wordy intro over...

Let us begin...

PROLOGUE

T'was the night before the night before Christmas, but something certainly was stirring in the rather large house, set on a small hill just on the outskirts of the city of Dublin...

Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland

Myles 'The Major' Butler was awoken in the middle of the night by nothing but the distinct feeling that something was wrong.

This vagueness was not very useful of his subconscious, as there were a great number of things which could have disturbed his sleep and, for him, a fair number of those were not likely to be benign.

To a normal person, of course, this feeling could have been the hangover of a nightmare they couldn't quite remember. Could have been the disturbance of the central heating ticking over – or an animal rustling outside. Could simply have been the nagging thought that they had perhaps left the oven on – or forgotten to put the bins out. But although this wing of the manor did have newly-installed central heating that the light-sleeping bodyguards were still getting used to and the manor grounds were certainly large enough to house a veritable safari of wildlife, it was neither of these things that had awoken him. Forgetting to do something was not in his nature, nor for that fact, his nurture. And as for nightmares... well, he was well-used to those. Men of his experience did not get to where he was by dwelling on the replayed horrors of the past.

So what exactly had woken him up?

The Major folded back his thick blanket and eased himself to the edge of the mattress silently. Unfortunately for him, his subconscious would not let him sink back into the welcoming warmth of his bed without first checking for the reason it was harassing at him.

He crossed the room to his window, squinting out across the snow-coated grounds for signs of a soon-to-be-regretful intruder. Seeing nothing, he snagged a thin hooded-top – usually reserved for cooling down after a hard session of training – and slung it on, zipping it up over his chest to give him some protection from the cold should he need to go outside. Not willing to be discovered wandering the manor half-dressed, this was followed by a pair of jogging-bottoms before he stuffed his feet bare into the hefty boots he had worn for so long they had moulded to him like a second skin of supple, black leather. They were perhaps his third pair of Academy-issued boots, but each the previous pairs had lasted him at least a decade. His hand hovered over the gun he kept – when it wasn't tucked into its holster – secured onto the underside of the bedside table on a magnetic strip. With a roll of his eyes, it was tucked into his waistband without a second thought. Better to be prepared when he faced what was seeming more and more likely to have been a figment of his imagination.

The Fowls were long-since tucked up in their down-duvets, but despite the December chill that had wrapped its grip around the stone walls, sending creeping chills along the floorboards, he – and indeed his father too – preferred not to indulge in such luxurious bedspreads. Particularly not since the instalment of 'that infernal heating system', as the eldest Butler of the manor had taken to referring to the latest upgrading of the ancient manor. No – a rough blanket would suit them just fine. And, after his recent trip to Siberia, when he once again came to stay here, the youngest Butler of the family would surely be practically sweating whilst his body re-acclimatised to the temperatures of the inside of Fowl Manor in the grips of an Irish winter.

As much as the older man complained about the noise of the machine that kept the air ambient within the brickwork setting him 'on edge at night', The Major did not meet his father in the corridor outside the confines of his room and so concluded that it had been him alone disturbed by whatever was causing the distinct feeling of unease crackling under his skin.

His first port-of-call was the room next door. Artemis – his charge of over seventeen years now – did not so much as stir as The Major trapped the spherical, brass handle in his grip and twisted it carefully, silently pushing the door open on its well-oiled hinges. The teenager was tucked up on the four-poster bed, coiled in on himself against the open air of his large bedroom. The Major allowed the shadow of a smile to flicker across his face. Artemis never looked more childlike than when he was sleeping. But still, the boy was almost a man. He may not yet have grown into his gangling limbs, but that would come with time – sooner if he deigned to follow the training program The Major had written up for him, but of course he would not – and had currently taken to wearing his hair ridiculously long, in his bodyguard's opinion. Not that he said so. Butlers were not employed for their opinions on their principal's looks – or otherwise. Unless those looks somehow compromised their safety. Which chin-length hair did not. Or at least, not unless Artemis were to walk into something due to it's adeptness as a visual impairment, or if the boy's mother's threats to go at his locks with a pair of scissors in the night, were counted. Judging by the raven fan across the pillow, she had not yet come good on her word this evening, at least.

The Major closed the door, unsurprised to find that he felt a little better that he had found his charge safe and entirely undisturbed. But the underlying feeling of unease had still not gone away.

He ground his teeth slightly – a terrible habit he had been chastised greatly for at The Academy – and made his way to the stairs, padding down them quietly and avoiding the pressure-pads which would send alarm signals to both of the Butlers' rooms. The last thing he needed was to explain to his father that he was wandering around the manor in the middle of the night because he 'had a feeling' something was not right.

The hallway was predictably dark, empty and devoid of any sign of life, although he still paused at the supply cupboard to pick up a small pencil torch as he went past, shining it at each of the silent sentries of armour in turn. Not with suspicion, though. For some reason, he felt a strange comradery with the metal shells, wordlessly guarding the hallways, unnoticed by most and unappreciated by all.

Thinking that perhaps a check of the closed-circuit television cameras surrounding the manor would put him at ease, The Major opened the door to the CCTV room, sinking into a swivel chair and logging into the permanently-booted computer swiftly. In future, maybe computers would take less than three and a half minutes to turn themselves on, but until such a date, the Butlers were willing to argue the toss over the slight increase in the electricity bill in order to have instant access to the surveillance system. Recordings for later analysis was all well and good, but what was the point in having a real-time live-feed at hand, if in actuality it was quicker to go outside and look? Something about not getting shot at, probably...

But, as he methodically clicked through the cameras, casting experienced eyes over every image, each grainy screen showed nothing out of the ordinary. The banks of snow piled up along the walls were undisturbed by intruders and none of the movement sensors had been set off. He was about to log off and privately put the whole thing down to being a – what Blue Diamonds liked to refer to as – Perfectly Arguable Response to Any Natural Or Incidental Alertness, when he spotted something on the camera covering the wall to the tradesman's entrance. Or rather, several somethings.

He clicked on the screen, enlarging it to get a clearer view of the indents in the snow. They could be shadows; more likely they were animal tracks. But still… He zoomed in, following the unevenly-placed hollows, past a larger area of flattened snow – a drag mark? – to the door itself. It was difficult to see using this camera, so he switched to the one situated on the wall itself. It was at his own insistence that this camera had been bought and placed, for what was the point in being able to see right up to the door, if you could not see what was waiting in the blind-spot of the doorway itself, ready to kill you? Or in this case, what was huddled up against the door in a shapeless form – which was probably not a bin-bag waiting to be carted off to the disposal compound by some lazy member of the kitchen staff. Although this was only discounted in his mind as a dim possibility due to the severe warning the very same staff had been given the day before by The Major's father about the hazards of 'using the goddamn doorway as a bloody waste tip - you dim-witted imbeciles!'.

On second thoughts as to the security conciousness of the various other members of staff who serviced the Fowls in their manor, The Major considered that it still may indeed very well be a bin bag.

And then he considered what it could be... if it was not.

Stray animal. Injured wildlife. Or…

Well, if it had come from an external source, there was one way to find out from where exactly whatever it was that was huddled in the doorway as a pointless attempt at avoiding the cold, had gotten into the manor grounds.

He clicked on another program on the screen, navigating quickly to the section he needed, wondering which defence had been breached without alerting them.

Gate 14 – Last Opened – 23-12/02:49am

He glanced at his watch.

2:57am

He stood swiftly, his hand straying to pat the gun tucked comfortably into his waistband.

Well at least that cleared up what had woken him…

Well, that was the prologue. I hope that was an interesting enough start for you all.

I'm thinking of posting every couple of days or so. Gives me a chance to polish each chapter before it goes up and also give you all a chance to read it. As hard as it is to refrain from posting it all at once, I've found that fics do better reader and review-wise if I don't post the whole thing lightning quick once a day until I run out of chapters haha Speaking of which, the majority of the rest of the chapters will be much longer than this, as is my usual custom.

So... what do you think? I've had this under my hat, so to speak, for so long that now I'm really eager to hear what you all think. Although obviously, that couple of thousand words or so wasn't very much to go on, so if you want to wait until a few chapters in, I definitely understand.

Looking forward to hearing from all you fellow Butler-fans,

Wolfy
ooo
O

p.s - I really am rarely seen without a hat. My preferred winter head-garment is probably best described as a dark-green, woollen beanie approximately the size and shape of a large tea-cosy... In summer, I'll be in a cap. Sometimes it's a flat one. I find all are equally good for keeping stories under :)