FF#7 The Vow Not Taken
By Leilah Ali
Written 4:48pm-5:58pm
"Don't be afraid."
It was a repeated mantra in her mind, a replayed refrain constantly reminding her of what it was imperative she do. Because Felicity Smoak feared a lot, and that fear could mean her demise. Fear was her enemy. Fear held her back. And fear would push her forward.
"Again."
"Again."
"Again Smoke! AGAIN!"
The accented voice of Ra's Al Ghul urged her over and over to punch the post in front of her. Her knuckles were already bloodied, but the fire within her and the voice from her mentor egged her on.
"Enough." Turning to face the leader of the League of Assassins, Felicity put her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.
It had been five years since she had left Starling City—left Oliver rather—to join the League of Assassins. In these five years, her mind and physique had altered into a completely different Felicity Smoak. Hours of grueling training, katas in the dark, sparring in a blizzard had morphed her from delicate IT girl to trained killer. The cause for her desertion of the Arrow irked her everyday, and try as she could to stifle it, she couldn't get the clear blue eyes of her partner out of her mind.
"Master Ghul," she bowed, "what is it you wish me to do next?" Keeping her waist bent, she awaited the man's orders. Ra's Al Ghul was not a daunting man physically. He was of average height and build, head balding with age, and wisps of a mustache and a beard grew. It was the eyes that sent shards of ice through the heart—black, blacker then the night, with no distinguished change between the iris and the pupil. They were cold eyes, a killer's eyes. Felicity had only seen Ra's in action once, and it was enough to scare her into never crossing the man ever.
One day, as a number of students began their morning drills, a young recruit turned to Ra's Al Ghul, who had been assisting another student, and asked why the repeated moves were necessary. In the blink of an eye the recruit was lying on his back, ten fellow recruits beating him to a pulp. They only ceased when Master Ghul simply said "Enough". Walking slowly to the now whimpering man on the floor, he reached the body and placed his boot on the initiate's neck, constricting his windpipe. The man bent closer to the recruit's face. Felicity only heard what was next because she was so close to the debacle. In a deadly voice, Ra's hissed, "Because I deem it so. Consider yourself relieved of your position in our league." The boy was never seen or heard from again. She could only guess what that meant.
"Smoke," he began, calling Felicity by her chosen name. When she had first come to the institute, high on the mountains of Tibet, one of her first tasks was to choose a new name. A name that would separate her from her previous life, making way for her new one. A life that didn't involve a certain vigilante.
Perhaps "Smoke" wasn't exactly separate from her past life, but it held meaning to her. She wished to be like smoke—subtle, and unnoticeable, mysterious when looked upon, but deadly in concentrated doses.
"I believe you are ready for the final trial. Are you prepared?"
The final trial was something of legend. Each assassin had to go through it to officially become a member. No one knew what it was exactly, but it was known that the task was life-threatening—perhaps the toughest thing anyone could face. Sara Lance had had to do it. Felicity had yet to see Sara, but according to other students, the legendary "Canary" wouldn't come back to the institute—no one did. After graduating, assassins were sent out into the world on their missions.
Felicity knew that what she was doing was dangerous. Trying to graduate as a sanctioned killer but not be a part of the League of Assassins was suicide, but she had to do it—for Oliver.
Don't think about him now Felicity.
"Yes. I am prepared."
"Good. You are dismissed."
She turned to leave but was stopped short when R'as Al Ghul added, "And remember Smoke, we leave our past on the doorstep. This task will test if you are truly committed to the League. If so, then we welcome you with open arms, if not… tut tut tut," he walked over to her, brushing a stray hair from her face, his eyes as cold as steel, "well then that won't go very well."
She fought back the disgusted shiver his touch caused and instead looked him boldly in the eyes, "I will defy fear itself."
Oliver.
He sat up with a start, sheets tangled around his sweaty limbs. Breathing heavily, he looked wildly around the room. Oliver Queen could've sworn he had heard her voice.
Her voice, his girl's voice, Felicity's voice.
When he saw his bedroom was empty, he swung his legs off the bed, setting his feet on the floor and put his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through the short hairs, trying to rub away the remnants of the dream. The illusion of happiness in sleep was torn away from him by the stark feelings of reality.
It was just another dream. It wasn't actually her.
He looked over at his side table.
No Oliver, you need to stop waiting. It's been two years.
Five years of grueling pain, of loneliness with no compare. It was like the island all over again except this time he was surrounded by a sea of people and he still felt so alone. He felt like he had a hole inside him, slowly eating away at his heart, an ache that just wouldn't leave. He reached over to the table, and pulled open the familiar drawer. Putting his hand inside, he pulled out the objects he had perused every night for the last two years.
He held the slim band between his fingers, letting his thumb caress the delicate inlay of diamonds on the outside. In his other hand, he held her last letter to him. The letter she had left him on their wedding day.
The memory still pained him like a bullet wound to the chest. The memory of Diggle telling him she was gone, of him running, sprinting, to the dressing room, only to find it empty, her wedding dress thrown aside, and this letter lying on a coffee table, ring on top.
Oliver had tried his best to forget, tried his very best to at least numb the pain. Long nights fighting crime, doing almost dangerous actions in order to forget, it wasn't until Diggle had said something about him risking his life did Oliver finally stop and think.
He missed her so much. Her lilting voice, the way she cocked her head when she called him out on his bullshit, the beautiful color of her eyes, her soft lips, her babbling—god he missed her babbling—but most of all, he missed the feeling of knowing she was there, of having someone next to him at night, someone who loved him and understood him. It was like a warm blanket had been ripped from him, leaving him cold and shivering, exposed to the world and its horrors.
He clenched his hand, making a tight fist around the ring and brought it to his lips in defeat. The paper held creases and tear marks from the two years of perusing. His fingers found their way to their familiar spots. Oliver began to read the well-worn letter, the words already memorized, but there was a comfort in the letter, a feeling he got when he held it, like he was closer to her as he held the last thing she gifted him.
Oliver,
I'm sorry, but I cannot marry you today. Before you think anything, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Me leaving is for me. I need to be strong Oliver. I can't have you saving me all the time—I am a weakness, something to exploit, and I don't want to be that.
I love you. I love you so much it hurts. Leaving you hurts, but I feel—I Know it's the right thing to do.
I'll be back someday, but there are some things I need to take care of first. Don't wait for me. Live your life, enjoy it. Continue being the hero I always knew you were. Starling City needs you, it needs the Arrow.
Don't follow me.
Love,
Felicity Smoak
Oliver ran his fingers over the familiar signature, tears rolling down his face.
I can't live my life Felicity, not without you.
Felicity Smoak was ready. Today was the day she would become strong enough to return to Oliver.
She rolled over on the bamboo mat she slept on, narrowing her eyes at the morning light that streamed through the window. A smile slowly grew on her face at the thought of what lay ahead.
I'm coming Oliver.