For once in his life, Artemis Fowl was at a loss for words.

So here he was, standing out in the freezing drifts of knee-high snow, clad entirely inappropriately in boyish fur jackets and sloganized shirts, with a certain blonde girl of his age. The trees practically dripped slush, he realized, and took Minerva’s arm so that they could trudge through the dirty snow and away from the steady drip-drip-drip of melting snow together. Minerva was almost mesmerised. Her face healthily flushed, eyes huge and wondering, she followed behind him without another sound.

A slight pang of irritation struck Artemis as he found himself ogling her slim figure, yet somehow as soft as ever, and he released his grip on the girl’s upper arm. She glanced around, blinking at him, and spying the look of consternation upon his face.

“I find this a remarkably unintelligent thing to remark upon,” Minerva smirked, “but won’t your younger siblings be finding you something of a bore?”

“I’m not quite sure what makes you think of that.” Artemis muttered back, a touch drily, although his usual narcissistic tone had been dropped a long time ago, “My twin brothers get along remarkably well.”

Indeed they did; Artemis could recount the number of times the pair of them had gone smashing through the gardens, without any regard to Artemis’ dire need for peace. Minerva smiled up at him once more, and he managed a somewhat small smile back. Curse puberty, the teenager thought silently, now that she’s my age, she seems even more … - he stopped the word before he thoguht it - … than ever.

“For one,” Minerva said, “you’re perfectly aware of the fact that you’re unable to stand outside in the cold without turning into a snowman yourself.”

“Far from it.” Artemis said, his voice as frosty as the weather, “I am able to engage in these … snow-based activities … like other people my age.”

“Prove it.” Minerva teased. “Snowball fight!”

She seemed to have grown more (once again, Artemis stalled the appealing word from entering his mind, muffling all hormonal urges) emotionally mature, rather than the distant child genius than she’d been before. It took time for Artemis, however, to grow used to the usual banter and teasing of, as he put it, ‘children his age’. He forced an awkward smile, and trudged after her.

“I don’t quite understand…” the teenager muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “the point of this. Or how to make a snowball.”

If Butler had been here, he would have been helped at once. Butler, that familiar, great man would’ve served Artemis to the best of his abilities - even if it was only by scooping up a little snow and turning it into a snowball. But no; Artemis had to do this himself. He bent grudgingly, and scooped a handful of the damp snow up. To his surprise it was pleasantly fluffy. Artemis crunched the handful of snow in his grip a couple of times, but seeing Minerva ogling him (and smirking a little at the thought), he rolled into a fluffy ball.

“I’ll not hit her,” he muttered again, “for if I were to do that it would appear most ungentlemanly. And as Father has been constantly reminding me, Minerva is a-” his tongue found the words unspoken, “-a lovely young woman. I’ll carry out his wishes.”

Besides, he didn’t want Minerva to think he was, for want of a better phrase, hitting on her. Even if he was.

Aiming carefully, Artemis let the snowball drop a couple of meters from Minerva. She giggled, and ducked her head. A moment later a well-aimed, carefully formed snowball smacked into the back of Artemis’ head. He started, and if he had not had a better grip on his tongue, would have let out a roar of surprise. Wheeling around, he spotted Minerva - she waved almost flirtatiously - he had really get a better grip on his thoughts and wording, Artemis thought annoyedly - and she ducked away.

 Artemis sent another, clumsily made snowball arcing towards her. But now his temper was up. He peeled off one of the black gloves his mother had swaddled his hand in, and reaching through his frost-covered pocket, pulled out the machine Butler had saved for him. It was a miniscule black computer, a razor-fine blade protruding from it’s edge. Huffing with the effort, Artemis turned the blade on it’s side, loaded it with snow, and turned on the thermal-seeking imagery. Minerva’s slight form was there; grinning, he aimed, and fired.

There came a pleasantly surprised squeal from Minerva’s end, and Artemis grinned, despite himself. Then Minerva came sprinting towards him, her breath spiralling out in front of her in patches of white.

“That was good!” she praised “Despite what your parents say, it’s almost like you are a kid!”

“That’s something of an insult,” Artemis said stiffly, but then his face warmed, despite the utter cold, “but coming from you, Minerva, and your mentions of my un-brotherly conduct, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Minerva stared up at him for a moment, her bright eyes meeting his mismatched ones. Artemis found his mouth pulling down into a frown at her close scrutiny, in his efforts not to get too close. He was almost glad that his face was bright with spots of color, so that she couldn’t notice the blood rising to his cheeks. If only, the teenager thought desperately, the LEP had thought of a way to prevent these puberty-driven thoughts-!

What happened next took both geniuses by surprise. Minerva hesitated, and then fell onto Artemis, her thin, warm arms wrapping around his frame. For a moment, Artemis had a real living, warm body of flesh in his grip, pressing into him, melting into him … His arms went out of their own accord, about to rest snugly around Minerva’s warm body, to pull her into him as most teenagers did. They hung there stiffly for a moment, and that was when Minerva struck.

She head-butted him, and winded, the Fowl fell. They tumbled down the snowy slope, and all Artemis’ previous dislike of the melting, dirty puddles of snow, the random twigs and pebbles here and there, and the icy slush that was ever present vanished. There was only here and now, and Minerva, her corkscrew curls flying out behind her, tumbling with him, falling head over heels down the snowy slope. Artemis tried not to think of a connotation for the image.

Finally they slid to a weary stop, frosted, and yet, exuberant. A timid laugh rang out of Artemis, and then he was laughing heartily; laughing so hard it hurt, laughing so hard that tears of joy and sheer exhileration leaked out. Glancig sideways, he saw Minerva ogling him once more, her laughter running dry, and he grinned back. And then he stopped, almost blushing, but controlling himself. It was this girl -this girl alone - that had suddenly freed him from his eternal bonds. He grinned again.

“Looks like the whole brotherly idea snowballed over, huh?” Artemis said, the teenage colloquialisms unfamiliar, and at the same time, all too tempting.

“Well, I’d love to see how you and your brothers get along.” Minerva smiled back; a bright smile, a sweet smile.

Hand in hand, they made their way back up to the slope. And this time, when the icy sludge fell from above, Artemis didn’t duck away. Instead the frosted, worn-out teenage boy laughed; a whole and hearty sound.

 

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