Well, after months of deliberation and revision, I have decided to put this fic, Camaraderie and Solitude, up here. Forgive me if I sound a bit less confident than usual, but I have a bit of a phobia of chapter fics. They scare me. Anyway, this is set around the time of The Lost Colony, (yes, I wrote this that long ago...), but you can make it fit with The Time Paradox, if you use your imagination, I suppose. Also, if there are any mistakes or things that do not add up with the books that I have messed up on, please let me know. I did my best to keep my books handy for research, but you know how it goes. At any rate, try to enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer does...and if he knew what I was doing to his babies, he'd probably kill me.
WARNING: This fic, light as it may be, has trace amounts of slash. Yes, slash. You have been warned.
CHAPTER ONE
Famed author Elais Martin sat in his favorite chair, sprawled upon it like a sheik surveying his latest spoils in distaste. In his hand was the New York Times, and he was disgusted to find that he was featured on page 12: the Author Spotlight segment of the paper:
"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self, greenhorn author Elais (pronounced Eh-lie-iss) Martin has risen just as dramatically to the top of every bestsellers list of any repute. This grand entrance into the literary world has granted Mr. Martin a spot in our Author Spotlight Hall of Fame 2010. A striking, albeit mysterious figure, little is known about this fascinating newcomer, and since he has shrugged away interviews left and right, even less is known about where this young blockbuster is headed. But, also like the phoenix, he is sure to dazzle—"
The rest of the article was pitched into the little trashcan that sat beside him, along with his disposable coffee cup. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. This was not the way that he had imagined things to be. He hadn't come to this godforsaken country to be deified; his goals were much less noble. 'Well,' he thought bitterly to himself, 'I suppose I've gotten what I deserve, haven't I?' Stretching cat-like in his seat, he started at the sound of the door opening. He hated it when people didn't knock before entering rooms; then again, this was America. Manners weren't the highest on their list of priorities.
"Who the devil is it?" The maid, the sixth one this month, dropped her broom, her brown eyes wide and worrisome. Cynthia had been the most persistent one yet, but not the best. Elais supposed he should give her some credit for being brave.
"Oh, Mr. Martin! I-I was just about to sweep. Did I disturb you?" Elais waved her on, shaking his head.
"No, no. Go on." She stood still, unsure of what to do. "Go, I said!" She shuffled off to her task as quickly as she could, not meeting her employer's gaze, cold as winter. He stared out the huge bay windows that brought sunlight into the room and spoke again in an accent attributable to no particular country. "Cynthia?" The maid stopped her frantic sweeping and answered nervously.
"Y-yes, Mr. Martin?" Rising from his chair, he smiled his terrible smile at her, and he could tell that she wanted to turn tail. He only hoped that she did.
"You are doing a marvelous job, I must say."
"Really, sir?" The smile vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her baffled. He turned on his heel, ascending the modern staircase, which seemed to hover magically over the floor, to his study. His bare feet were cold against the wooden planks, and he slid them into a pair of slippers before settling down to his computer. He barely had time to get the cushion warm before a coarse voice broke the sacred silence of his workroom.
"You know, you may actually have to do your laundry yourself if you don't stop scaring away your maids." Women like this one were the reason that he greatly questioned the idea that God was merciful, or if he existed at all. He swiveled around in his great leather chair to pin the intruder to the wall with his ice-block eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know full well that it doesn't work on me, Elais."
Enter Lillian Jansen McKee, editor, cheerleader and viper all rolled into one. Despite the fact that Elais hated her with a passion, he had been compelled to hire her, mostly because she was the only interviewer who hadn't shamefully kissed up to him during her entire session. She was tenacious and fiery, her hair a testament to her temperament and her heritage: clearly Irish through and through. He tapped her foot impatiently at the door, expensive Prada clicking against the maple floor panels.
"Did Cynthia offer you a cup of coffee? It's Brazilian; very good." Elais knew what Lillian was here for; she was not about to be diverted. She came further into the study, hands crossed on her well-endowed chest and eyes narrowed.
"So? Where is it?" He gazed up at her innocently.
"Where is what?" She sighed heavily, hand rising to her forehead.
"The last chapter of your "greatest work yet"? The chapter that you have been working on for three weeks?! The one you assured me…" Elais cut her off with a manicured index finger. He only had so much patience with her rages.
"I assured you that it would be finished by the end of the month. Today is June 28th. I believe I have two more days before the month ends, am I right?" She growled, pacing back and forth in her frustration like a caged tiger.
"Fine, then. If you want to keep the people at the Times hanging…"
"That is exactly what I intend to do. Their author spotlight piece was atrocious. Let them squirm; I don't care." Stopping her tirade across the study, she put a hand to her hip, hugged in Gucci suede.
"And just what was so terrible about it? It was well-written…"
"By your standards."
"By anybody's standards—will you please stop cutting me off? It's killing me." She took a breath and continued. "It was written by one of the best in the business, and furthermore, it was in the Times, Elais. That alone should be enough to make you happy." But it wasn't. Nothing was. Lillian sighed heavily and collected herself. "Fine. What was it this time? Too many commas?"
"Their analogy of the phoenix…was inappropriate. They likened me to the incorrect mythological creature, Lillian." He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs gracefully and steepling his long, tapered fingers. "I did not rise from ashes, like a phoenix. My origins are more accurately represented by that of the winged horse Pegasus." The look that Elais gave her was so completely empty that it even sent shivers down her spine. Though he didn't finish his sentence, Lillian was familiar enough with mythology to figure out what he meant. It wasn't fire that he rose from; it was blood.
Holly stormed through the halls of the Council Building to their inner chamber, pushing all sorts of officials this way and that to clear her path. Behind her, Foaly trotted nervously to keep up. His eyes practically bugging out of his head, he held his aluminum foil hat atop it with one hand and reached for his furious friend with the other.
"Holly!! This isn't…going to solve…anything!" He gasped, trying to keep his breath as he hurried down the hall in her dust.
"Well, Foaly, I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?" She continued to blaze a trail of offended workers until she reached the doors of the Council Chambers.
"Now, you wait just a minute! Tell me something," Foaly finally managed to catch up, now that she had arrived at her destination. "You're already on the watch list of practically every one of the Council members and you want to ruin your career on this?"
"I don't give a troll's hindquarters about my job, Foaly! He's my friend! I have to do this!" The centaur sighed, scratching his head anxiously.
"I had the looming feeling that you would say that…"
"D'Arvit! How much longer is he going to have to wait, Foaly? He's been in that cryo tube for years! Years, Foaly! For a council who doesn't favor having a human underground for such an extended period of time, they certainly aren't doing a thing about it!" Putting his hand on her heaving shoulders, Foaly nodded.
"I know, I know. But storming in there with your guns blazing is going to solve nothing. I mean, come on, Holly…he doesn't have that much to go home to, does he? When he wakes up, you'll have to tell him about what happened, and I get the feeling that he won't be the happiest Mud Man on the block." Holly's face fell; she didn't like to think about it, and he hated reminding her, but if it would calm her down enough to leave this alone, even for a day more, it would be alright.
"Foaly…we can't wait any more. It's been six years. There's been no sign of the kid anywhere, and frankly…I'm worried about him. The smartest boy in the world watched his best friend die in his arms. He could be anywhere." She let her hands drop to her sides helplessly. "What am I supposed to do? Wait for replies to messages that are probably never even heard?" Foaly sighed; he couldn't argue with that.
"No, you're right. We have to do something. But…" He smiled cleverly. "Let's take a more diplomatic approach. You still have somebody in the council, right?" She nodded.
"Yeah. Vinyaya is still in for a few more years."
"Well, listen. If you can get her to convince them-"
"Foaly, we've tried that. They won't hear her out. They're just waiting for her to retire so that they can have a new slate to scribble all over. It's hopeless." Foaly gave her a skeptical look.
"Since when has Holly Short given up hope, huh? Just so happens that I have a private line to Vinyaya's office open, just for you." Holly sighed and ran her hands through her hair, which was in desperate need of a trim.
"For the sake of your job, Foaly, I'm not going to ask how you managed that." He nodded all-knowingly.
"Probably a good idea." The two friends made their way to Foaly's lab, where the transmission was waiting patiently to be connected. "So? You know what you're gonna say?" Holly smirked, pulling her hair up into a ponytail atop her head.
"I have a pretty good idea of how to convince her." The transmission began to boot, and Foaly picked up a book and began to read, sending Holly's thin eyebrows upward in surprise. "Since when do you read actual literature?"
"Hey, he's good!" She blinked blankly. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of him. He's all over the Mud Men's news. Elais Martin this, Elais Martin that. Thought I would see if he was really all he's cracked up to be."
"Sounds like a crock of dwarf manure to me." He shrugged light-heartedly.
"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it." At that, Vinyaya's face appeared on the screen. She was so much older than Holly remembered. It was amazing what time did to people; she figured that her former teacher hadn't been having the best of times in the Council chambers.
"Captain Short? What is this?" Holly sighed and began what may be her final argument—or at least, the last one that meant anything.
"I wanted to talk about the revival of the Mud Man we salvaged. It's been six years since he was placed in cryo. The boy Artemis Fowl is still missing, and I think that if we could just bring him out of his sleep, that—"
"Captain, that is a moot point. The subject has been dead in council for at least a year, perhaps more." She ran a hand through her silvery hair. Her face was stern, but there was sympathy in her eyes. "You sent search parties after Fowl many times, did you not?"
"Yes."
"All led by you, am I not correct?" Holly saw where this was going, and it wasn't going well.
"Yes."
"The teams you assemble are the very best, possibly the best since Root's heyday, and yet they couldn't find a boy?" 'He is no ordinary boy, and she knows it.' Holly thought venomously to herself. "Holly, if you couldn't find him, then you know what the most probable scenario is."
"He is not dead! That's just what the Council wants to believe!" She was on fire now; even Foaly knew to get out of the way when she was this riled up. He maneuvered his chair back, giving her plenty of space. "This man is the only one who can find him; he's the only one who understands Artemis enough to do it. I told the council that years ago, and they wouldn't listen. Now, Artemis could be established anywhere, doing anything, disguised as anyone. He is the greatest mind of our time, and more than likely not completely sane. If we don't find him soon, he may do something so terrible that…that…" She finally lost words, waiting instead for Vinyaya's response.
"…Captain Short." Vinyaya's voice was clipped. "I will try to get the Council's support. But if this does not go through, you must promise me that you will never speak of it again. Understand?" Holly nodded. She had used her final lifeline, she realized. There was nothing more that she could do.
"Understood, ma'am." With a short salute, the transmission ended, and Holly sank into a hover chair, head in her hands. Foaly cantered over to her, patting her on the shoulder.
"It's alright. If anybody can get this through, she can. Maybe if we can get Lope and Cahartez to come out of retirement and back her up, we'll have a chance. Listen, Holly. This isn't your fault." Holly's shoulders quivered and she entwined her fingers in her hair. "Holly?" But she wasn't listening; her lips moved in a barely audible whisper.
"I'm sorry, Butler. I think I've failed you."
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