[center][img]https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/qRE6eyKq6W75YvPEsaqQ2ltrne36U64EQm8p3Ev2CCR_WytwUpUqaXIvhstcQGZyYMVnHoVc8dDY_-3ExU4Ssn7ScxcmJGjpNCQFZhBtGpkEnInWDrXtfYrIC-LpbotIlMHHVFebJ3xWaW5bxfr5DYyAxYMNPGD2HAhUF4nVdgAmYTfg6ioQWoQyBQafEK_pAJ2W9UGBiPuA7Zrq9cXCXBoCYKx8J6qTfm8STsPtByG4FfA1fo13ect9cuDV8kRAN4XFe5FDtMze97ZFeJCar2H6QNCy30nJIZo3GTeaAQY4fxkjx7RVrXHmbeECZRoyWzpKOBkU2bcxG2CHT1xSpkzkB3JdgZg_awwvgCtOnDHuHFlvxWqDrcEpXVe63GSv8zodgy88r0RB4h2hNx1exT9mK62x_EcXqmTjmPjemNbGxqtCz0hTclaBGLDTpSv7XUO_XMjCqBEPzhOcEYJjPWrl64wBvAMDNOzHh9UT653zn1FQdPlwmjqpq9qQ1LqCaE5aiqWMWojgJSMlpKqbO-m7lt7oPt6_zyQB3W1G3SEN2r3LSeq2sLFu5nIT_eGQNwstkbSNkEN57-SwkTqB8zBEcsBLGU6SmUijGdBYD-rlbKu3thQgnJCoiD2SYJOoX06Z4ky4hH-akhyoQhY_LPUoWdoj_b7E9brXr1JL2UY-MOkOh6Za=w195-h123-no[/img][/center] [center][color=green]The Green Arrow: #1[/color][/center] [sub]Season Three: [color=lightgreen]Justice Rising[/color][/sub] [hr] [sub][color=lightgreen]Star City | Cemetery[/color][/sub] Footsteps crunching across the snow laced field interrupted the quiet of the cemetery. Oliver forced his attention away from the gravestones’ polished surfaces, suppressing a sniff and dabbing swiftly at his eyes. An older woman, bundled appropriately for the frosty temperatures made her way slowly towards him, hugging herself tight against the playful wind that tousled her greying hair. Ten paces away she halted her slow advance, removing her spectacles with a shaking hand as if she’d seen a ghost. She might as well have. Oliver was the spitting image of Robert, from the way he stood, to his ungloved hands clasped behind his back, to the flattened locks of golden hair. He even possessed the emerald eyes that sparkled mischievously despite the welling moisture the young man could not entirely repress. They stood in mutual, silent disbelief. Neither able to utter a word until the woman broke down, sinking to her knees, stuttering sobs so racked by guilt and grief that even Oliver felt his walls begin to crumble. He went to her, bringing the aging woman into an embrace that was accepted and returned in fierce abandon. Jean Loring pressed her thin face into his shoulder, shaking between the tears that stained his jacket. “I – its not possible.” She achieved, taking several deep breaths to try and calm herself. She turned towards the gravestone, clearly labeled ‘Oliver Jonas Queen, Beloved Son’. “I didn’t believe it, I couldn’t. I thought it was some terrible prank and that I would find nothing. But when the test came back, and the notes and everything you couldn’t have known unless you were Oliver. Surely not, but it really is you, it must be. H – how? You’ve been gone for so long.” She could deny it no longer, even after the DNA tests came back positive she’d doubted, and every second of the car ride she’d contemplated turning back, calling the police against the note’s direct request and reporting the man attempting to impersonate a deceased child. The ocean claimed him all those years ago, and she moved on with her professional life. Robert Queen, his wife Moria and their son Oliver, a small but important chapter in her three-decade career. A book closed, and a conclusion signed by three empty graves. Except here stood evidence to the contrary very much alive. “A long story Mrs. Loring.” Oliver answered once he wrestled back control over his own emotions. He maintained their embrace, partly in an unwillingness to part with a link to his childhood, and to maintain their cover. If anyone watching glanced their way, they would see only two people grieving for a departed loved one and nothing more. Jean did not hold any such concerns however, and pushed them apart, holding tight to his forearms as she looked him up and down. “Then you can tell it to me and Joseph over dinner, he will be as thrilled as I am. You look thin Oliver; have you been eating well? I’ll have Joseph order something on the drive back.” She paused as Oliver bade her quiet, laying a finger across his lips. “That would put you and Mr. Loring in unnecessary danger.” Oliver whispered taking the time to scan the surrounding area. He’d implored she maintain complete confidentiality in her work, and even then, he still was not certain he could trust her. Not that he suspected she would willfully betray him, but his known presence in Star City could cause any number of uncertain reactions. More than his own safety was at risk in such a scenario, and if long dead Oliver Queen returned and became center headline alongside the criminal Green Arrow, any number of intellectually inclined people would be quick to place two and two together. Fortunately, Oliver’s warning cast a sobering spell over Jean, her dark eyes widening at the implication. “W-what? Why? Oliver you’re alive! This is good news isn’t it?” The look she gave him was pleading, and not for the first time Oliver considered how terrible his plan was, and how little he was prepared for the consequences. How long before she let slip the truth, and his father’s enemies turned their attention on the one place he’d considered himself invisible? Hiding in plain sight was what he’d been taught, but that only worked if your quarry suspects nothing. “Do you remember what happened? What you were told about the night they – you know?” He took her hand in his wishing for all the world he could take back everything, let her continue her life in peace, without all the upset and hurt his reappearance would surely bring. But he needed Jean Loring, she was the only person he felt he could trust in his endeavors. She nodded, her brow furrowing as she focused on news reports she’d read over a decade before. “There… There was a storm, and they said something must have damaged the emergency beacon and cut out radio communication because they never found anything, not even a piece of debris.” She shuddered at the memory, at the loss of so many friends and associates the freak accident claimed. “Forty-nine missing, including four children and some among them being of the most affluent names of the time. They called it the worst maritime disaster of the decade.” She trailed off as Oliver shook his head. “Lies, or at least inaccurate.” He closed his eyes, wondering how much he should share, or even could without falling apart. Screams echoed in his ears, the wild cries and desperate gurgling of the slaughtered, the stench of piss and blood as men, women, and children were indiscriminately cut down one by one. He could still hear the [i]thwack[/i] of his father’s body as it collapsed upon the crimson deck, his Hawaiian button up laid open by cruel steel that flashed in the darkness. The mask of orange and black that watched with indifference as Moria fell beside her husband, gasping out her final words, words Oliver would never hear. The mocking laughter as he and Tommy prepared to struggle for their very lives. Everything permanently carved into his mind in exquisite detail except the one thing he wished he could remember. “They will make you believe, whatever they want. Truth is a tool and a weapon, and a weakness to be exploited. Never a right. No one could ever know what they did, or who asked the deed to be done. Whether the others were also targets or mere witnesses I cannot say.” “Oliver?” Jean whispered his name, horrified by what he was implying. “Who would do such a thing?” She received no answer, and never would Oliver resolved. The League was a tool much like the truth. Their blades did not discriminate or hate, as his own arrows were when they flew to claim lives, indifferent to the target whether it be paint and straw or flesh and blood. No, the man responsible lived in Star City, thriving off his father’s work. His hands might be clean of any physical blood, but the stains were there, nonetheless. “Let me worry about that Mrs. Loring.” Oliver assured her when a moment passed. “I need your help, but I don’t want you getting hurt or caught up in my battle, unnecessarily.” The woman did not hesitate for even a moment, squeezing his hand in a show of dedication and courage. “Name it, anything Oliver. What can I do?” Leading her over to a nearby stone bench Oliver dusted off the snow sitting Jean down before taking a seat beside her. It was a good spot. White fields stretched in every direction marked by neat rows of carven monuments to the deceased. They reclined beneath a gnarled oak as old as the cemetery itself. In the warmer months its boughs might provide shade for weary mourners, but now the branches hung barren, its only ornaments twinkling icicles and tiny snowdrifts that collected upon the twigs. Deciding he had little time to spare Oliver began their discussion, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to ensure no one was near. The cemetery was deserted for now, but someone could easily conceal themselves behind one of the larger stones, or even the rises of the smaller berms could hold a would be. “Do you know Malcolm Merlyn?” “Yes of course, he’s the CEO of Queen Industries – oh!” Jean raised a hand to her mouth. “That’s your company Oliver.” He nodded. “I know, and how did Mr. Merlyn come to own and run the business?” “I am not certain. I think the most likely path was from you to John Merlyn, your father’s Chief financial officer, and then to Malcolm. Since John was onboard during the… Well, he was unable to receive the inheritance like yourself and Malcolm would have been his next of kin... You’re not suggesting, Malcolm was responsible?” She shuddered at the thought of working for Robert’s killer, and not only that but defending him on a routine basis. “No, I don’t think he did. Malcolm might be an opportunist, but he’s not someone who would murder his own brother on the hope the board of directors would pass control on too him. I hope. There are far more dangerous people in Star. Individuals who would not react well to my presence here and would do just about anything to see me isolated and gone. For good this time. Which is why for everyone’s safety counts on you not letting anyone know, no matter how tempting that I’ve returned. If they do find out, and someone saw us here speaking together, you know what they’ve already done, what they might do. No one can know, not even Joseph. Promise me that Mrs. Loring, please?” “Oliver I’m so sorry.” Jean wept, her back pressing against the unforgiving wooden back of their chosen bench. “I didn’t realize, Joseph already knows, he’s waiting at the car. I was worried you might be someone else pretending to be you, I asked him to wait for a half hour, and if I didn’t come back, that he could call the police and come find me.” Oliver flicked his hand over, checking the beat up yet reliable little watch that ticked away on his wrist. They’d been conversing for at least twenty minutes, and it was impossible to say how long Jean’s walk from her car had been. “Its alright Mrs. Loring, I should’ve realized how hard it would be to keep that from him. Its my own fault. Just swear him to secrecy as well.” They both rose, dusting stray snow from their garments and readying themselves to depart. Jean seemed reluctant and pulled out her phone explaining as she did. “I’ll call him on my way back, so he doesn’t worry. And ensure sure he retains his silence on the matter, we’re good at keeping secrets. He’s married to a lawyer after all.” “Thank you, Mrs. Loring.” Oliver said giving her one final hug. It’d been painful the last few weeks seeing all the links to his distant childhood, but meeting someone his father had considered a friend since his college days, and Oliver himself had known her almost as a member of the family, that’d struck a particularly sensitive chord. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, but there was no one else who would have understood.” [i]And I wanted to meet you and see a friendly familiar face. No matter the danger, [/i] he didn’t add. “If you can, could you recover some of the records concerning the inheritance, including my father’s final will?” “Certainly.” Jean promised. She checked the time and grimaced. “I’ve got to hurry, Joseph’s patient but he did not approve of this meeting, said it was too crazy to be true. Frankly I partly believed him as much as I wanted it to be true, with you being so secretive he was right to worry. We had no way to contact you back, just waiting for your next note. Which begs the question, how will I find you once I’ve got the documents?” Oliver gestured towards the triple gravestones that stood in eternal vigil over empty earth. “Leave them here, under some flowers or something. Mom will watch them until I stop by to collect.” “I suppose she will.” Jean sighed as Oliver gave her a gentle smile and turned to leave. Reaching out she grasped his shoulder, stopping him before he could go another step. She felt a strength there and saw the determination in his eyes and knew there would be no stopping him. There would be no convincing him to bury the hatchet and forget the terrible wrong done. Nevertheless, she thought she might as well try. “Oliver, I don’t know what happened, or why, or who and I don’t think even you know for certain. Ambiguities aside if these people are so dangerous, maybe its best to let it go. We have the capability to get you on your feet, we can send you somewhere nice far from here and let you live a normal life. Please, I don’t want to attend your funeral again.” “A normal life is impossible for me now.” Oliver took her hand and gently removed it from his shoulder. “Even if I wanted that. Star bleeds, and there are some things worth fighting for, and yes dying for if it comes to that.” “I understand.” [i]No, no. no![/i] She wanted to scream, to force him to end whatever plans he was forming, and leave it all behind. Was she honoring Robert’s memory by letting him entangle himself in a struggle against cold blooded killers, or failing her old friend by letting his only son risk his life against appalling odds? After all, what could one man do against the corruption that infested Star City? She did not know, fifty years of life experience and she had nothing more insightful to impart. “Just, just promise me you’ll stay safe, alright?” Oliver laughed despite everything, an easy grin supplanting the tears he wished to shed. “I’ll do my best, I swear.”