(A/N: As soon as I saw this prompt, I thought of Aragorn in Fellowship of the Ring, when one of the hobbits asks him where they're going, and he says, "Into the wild," and then swaggers dramatically out of the frame. :P I couldn't get it out of my head, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to use this prompt at all because of that. So I just went with it. I feel like it might be a little OOC for Roy, but we've hardly seen him interact with Felicity at all, so it's mostly guesswork anyway. It worked for my purposes.)

FF #1: Into the Wild

Oliver was a shameless eavesdropper. There was just something about hearing what other people thought of him when they didn't know he was listening. It was hard to sneak up on anyone in the Foundry, though. The metal stairs were impossible to traverse quietly. He had to settle for the rare occasions when Diggle and Felicity would show up not knowing he was already there. It hardly ever happened.

He was way in the back, behind a stack of pummeled training dummies and broken equipment, looking for a stray arrow that had gone far wide of its target because his phone had buzzed in his pocket right as he'd taken the shot. Familiar footsteps clattered down the stairs. Felicity. Her stride was measured and careful when she wore heels. Felicity and . . .

"Look, I might be the sidekick, but I'm not the hobbit sidekick," Roy's voice carried from the other end of the room.

"What's wrong with Sam?" Felicity asked. An innocuous question, but the steel in her voice implied that she would skewer Roy if she wasn't happy with his answer.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just . . . that's who you think I am? Really?"

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Oliver could hear the pock-pock-pock of Felicity's heels as she crossed the room.

"Well, now that I think about, Sam doesn't really fit," she said. "Which character has the most anger issues? Frodo? No . . . Gollum!"

"Blondie, do not even speak such blasphemy."

"Boromir?"

"He had daddy issues, not anger issues. He also died with about eight arrows sticking out of him," Roy pointed out.

"Three, actually," Felicity corrected him. "Which is only two more than you experienced, so it's a situation that's not totally unfamiliar." Oliver could hear the smile in her voice. "What about Diggle?"

"Big guy who doesn't say much . . . that huge orc that kills Boromir?" Roy suggested.

"Oh, no way. Literally all he says is 'Find the halflings!'" She said the line in a bellowing, gravelly voice that triggered a coughing fit. When she'd recovered, she continued. "Dig talks more than that, he's way better-looking, and he's not a bad guy."

"We can't all be good guys."

"Why not? There are enough good guys in Lord of the Rings for all of us," said Felicity.

"Maybe . . . Elrond?" Roy said. "Except less judgmental."

"Oh! I know who you are!" Felicity cried. "You're that kid, Haleth."

"Who?"

"Haleth. You know, that kid swinging a sword before the battle at Helm's Deep."

Roy huffed. "I'm a kid?"

"Well . . . yes."

Oliver was grinning now. It was all he could do to keep quiet and not alert them to his presence.

"If I'm the kid," Roy went on, "then you're saying Oliver is Aragorn."

"Totally," Felicity replied. "The first time we see Aragorn, he's wearing a hood pulled down over his face and acting all shady."

Oliver's eyebrows went up.

"And he's kind of a jerk at first," said Roy, "yelling at the hobbits and stuff."

"Hmmm . . . then maybe Diggle's more of a Gandalf to Oliver's Aragorn," Felicity mused. "Dispensing wisdom and telling Aragorn to buck up and embrace his destiny."

"And you?" Roy asked. "There are only a couple of choices."

"Do not get me started on the number of female major characters in Lord of the Rings. It was written in a different time—we must not judge." She said it like it was a mantra she'd repeated to herself more than once.

"I know who I think you are, but who do you think you are?"

"Eowyn," said Felicity. "Which makes Laurel Arwen. And if you tell anyone, I will trash your credit score and ruin your rental history."

"I disagree," Roy said. "Not about that last part, because I absolutely believe you could destroy my life with that tablet of yours."

"Then who? Rosie? Or do you think I'm more like one of the dudes? I might be a little Pippin-ish. He does talk a lot and have a knack for getting himself in trouble."

"You have it backwards," Roy said. "I don't know if Laurel's Eowyn or Rosie or . . . maybe she's not anybody, but that's not the point."

"What is the point?" Felicity asked.

"You think you're Eowyn, which is cool. She's all right. She's a total badass with that creepy guy who rides the worm thing—"

"The Witch King of Angmar," Felicity supplied.

"Shut up. Your nerdiness is distracting me from my big speech."

Oliver smiled as he thought of all the ways Felicity could make Roy pay for telling her to shut up.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked.

"Eowyn spends most of that movie pining for Aragorn."

"I do not pine for Oliver!" Felicity said loudly.

"I know! Stop interrupting me!"

Oliver could hear Felicity stomp a few feet and then dramatically drop into her chair.

"Fine," she said. "Just so we're clear on how much I'm not pining."

"You are a little," said Roy. "You didn't used to, as far as I could tell, so something must have changed, but I don't know what."

Oliver knew what had changed. Three words. Those three honest words couched in a lie.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Felicity said, sounding not at all convincing.

"Felicity, you're smart and badass like Eowyn, but when it comes to Oliver, you're Arwen all the way. You just don't see it yet."

She laughed, a sound that usually brought a smile to Oliver's face, but this time it stabbed at his heart a little.

"The fact that you think I'm kidding proves my point," Roy said.

"Roy, Roy, Roy. Don't be ridiculous. Arwen and Aragorn are like Lancelot and Guinevere, or Romeo and Juliet. Epic, destiny, happily ever after . . . Wait, maybe those aren't the best examples. But you know what I mean."

Oliver could picture her gesturing wildly. The more worked up she got about something, the more animated she would become. "We're not . . . I'm not . . ." She sighed. "Oliver definitely doesn't see me that way, and I—"

Oliver dropped the arrow. He was never sure afterward if it was an accident or if he was trying to get caught on purpose.

"What was that?" said Roy. "A rat?"

Felicity drew in a sharp breath. "I'm all for defying gender stereotypes, but if there's a rat in here, I'm going to climb up on my desk and stay there until you get rid of it."

Suddenly Oliver really didn't want Felicity to catch him and realize he'd heard everything. She'd be embarrassed and feel awkward, and he wouldn't be able to mask his own feelings. Already his control was slipping, and to his dismay, he heard footsteps approaching. But they weren't heels.

Roy stepped around the broken training dummies, clutching the half-staff Sara used to practice with. His eyes widened as he saw Oliver, and he opened his mouth to speak. But Oliver shook his head and held a finger up to his own lips. He shook his head again, in case the kid hadn't gotten the message. Roy turned to go, and as he brushed past, Oliver muttered so quietly, it was less than a whisper: "You're right, by the way. She's my Arwen."