For the last eight years of his life, he had been a man anchored deep into the darkness. The darkness was akin to a looming monster, it was deadly, consuming and unforgiving. The first five years had been in purgatory. He had suffered, he had been tortured and the aching memory of each and every piece of his hell was engraved in the forefront of his mind. Pain and anguish had become lifelong partners and friends. Guilt, terror, agony, sorrow, grief had all piled up on top of one another, becoming layers like skin, cocooning the warmth, banding around it like steel and residing in the vessel of the man named Oliver Queen.
While his life on the island had unraveled, Oliver Queen had hung on tightly to the last dregs of warmth he remembered. He hung onto the thought of finding the path back to his mother's arms. He had hung onto the thought of seeing his younger sister all grown up and calling her Speedy once more, he had hung onto the thought of reuniting with his best friend, but, most of all he had hung onto the idea of warmth and forgiveness. He had hung onto the idea of love and finally finding a home within the arms of Laurel Lance, the love of his life.
It had been three years since he had left behind the purgatory. Three years since he didn't spend every moment figuring how to get through the day without embracing death. Three years since he had donned the Hood and was now not only crossing the names of the list but also the silent guardian of his city. Three years, since he had found friends. Friends he didn't have to hide from, friends in front of whom he could let his guard down and diminish his façade. These were lifelong allies, in the form of a man very much like him, a soldier, John Diggle. And in the form of woman who was a stark contrast against his world of grey and black spattered with deep, lush red. She was a bundle of warmth, colour and a smile that could rival Apollo's. A pocket full of sunshine, Felicity Smoak.
It had been two years since he had found himself at crossroads. His way back to Laurel Lance was hindered by betrayal and secrets and something that lacked. Tommy's death had weighed him down and the passion he felt for her died out as he realized she wasn't what he wanted nor what he needed. There would be too much judgment and a past to apologize for. He would love her, but never in the same way.
The darkness had thwarted him then too. But, the unfailing light, the beam that had cracked his cocoon had begun to warm him up. The ice in his soul had begun to melt as he was surrounded by warmth, by concern and by hope, by the emotion he craved, desired, felt and shied away from: love.
It had been two years since the light had prodded at him and guided him, never wavering and infinitesimally bright and strong and lit his path up. Taking him down the road where he began something akin to a hero. The light had provided companionship and care, affection that never wavered. Something that was solid and infinite and his.
This was his fourth year off the island and the anchor had loosened somewhat. He was not longer shackled to the dark domination. His face has perceived the sunlight and welcomed it. He wasn't less jaded, but he was healed and loved. His battered heart now belonged to another and she held it in her hands with immense care. He in turn held hers and it would be an understatement to say that he was honored. He had broken through the surface and was gasping for air, the woman was his oxygen and reason to hold on. His blindfold was untied and the light his guide, the warmth of hers never wavered and chill dampened. His burden was less because it was shared; his guilt was less because it was never his begin with. Before his beautiful blue eyes, the dark world he had once called his own morphed into radiance. And the vessel Oliver Queen was once was alive, and on its knees before of its beloved, Felicity Smoak.