I finally got a chapter down! Thank you to all of you who've read this and continue to read this! And here's me giving some extra love to all those who've left kudos and comments ❤️❤️❤️! This work continues because of all of you! So, without further ado, the latest chapter! Hope you enjoy! XOXO


Chapter 4

Oliver took Felicity's silence as a sign of acquiescence. If he knew what was actually running through her mind, he'd have a mind to say otherwise.

Felicity was nearing desperation. She had dedicated all the time after she had exhausted her veritable vocabulary of curses to figuring out a way to get herself away from this giant brute of a man. She had tried several moves to free herself from his hold but despite the elbow to the noggin and a kick to his side, the big lug had proven himself formidable to her less than substantial attacks. He had effectively neutralized any advantage she might have had for an effective strike by virtue of the way he had trapped her between his shoulders and arms. She had been caught well and good and it irked her to no end.

She internally huffed. She was running out of time. If the thinning of the underbrush was any indication, they would be approaching the camp in less than a hundred paces. She'd rather die than endure the ignominy of being so horribly treated. She wouldn't live down the shame of having been seen in such dire straits.

And then an idea had burst to the fore of her stress-addled brain. Sara, Laurel's younger sister, had said something about an old yet time-honored Blüdhaven custom of men kidnapping their future brides.

"Unhand me or see yourself bound to me in marriage!" Felicity spat as she quickly leveraged the only thing she knew he would hate more than anything else.

Oliver shook his head incredulously and threatened, "And you have to cease this nonsense, lest you want yourself bound to anything but shackles and be barred from Tommy's presence." He's had it with her. He's had it with this.

"She's right you know," said a voice from behind them. "Around these parts, 'tis enough to be seen in such a compromising pose and be pronounced as lawfully wedded."

Felicity felt herself tumble to the ground as Oliver summarily dropped her faster than he could a hot potato. They both turned to where the voice had come from – and there preparing to mount his fine Arabian courser was none other than Quentin, Chief of Blüdhaven.

Oliver found himself speechless yet again. He never won with her. Never.

"And you young lady should not make it harder upon yourself. No peace would be brokered while you two bicker," the Chief chastised as he bid his horse forward. "Your fathers await you," he said and once he had his back to them, he warned, "I'd hurry along if I were you lest you want me to see yourselves bound in unholy matrimony."

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Malcolm looked at his son. If one was not privy to the details of Tommy's continuing brush with death, one would have thought, if not for the breathing tube that stuck out oddly from his neck, that he was just in the middle of a restful slumber. The King sighed. It was like looking at his younger self and he couldn't fathom the injustice of it all. His children's mother was taken from him too soon. And now, Tommy, whose looks had always favored him and reminded him of happier times, was lying on a makeshift bed fighting for his life. He had honed his children, almost from the cradle in the art of war, and yet his son had fallen victim to an insect.

'Twas unfair, was all his mind had managed to say, for Tommy, who, in all the warriors he had trained in his day, had stood out from the crush by being the best at making peace, to have fallen in a time of relative quiet.

I'm sorry, my love, he whispered as he rubbed the talisman around his neck – his wife's ring, reforged to entwine with his own and secured in a fine golden chain around his neck since the day he had lost her. He had promised to keep them all safe. He had failed once with her and now again with their son.

The ruckus from outside pulled him from his introspection. If his instincts were right, his daughter and Oliver had just made their way back from wherever Oliver had found her. He shook his head. His daughter was so much more like him than her mother – stubborn to a fault – and he loved her all the more for it. Felicity had a knack of sticking to the letter, not the spirit of whatever you threw at her – not because she was being contrary but because his daughter was smart, cunning even. But he was beginning to regret the independence he had unwittingly granted her by allowing her the daring of a soldier.

He remembered the cold dread that had spread to his chest when he first heard about his son's accident, but it was his daughter's defiance that had lit his anger and spurred him to their camp post haste. Save for that time twenty years ago, he had never felt fear and anger to that almost insurmountable degree. However, now that his anger had somewhat abated, he was thankful that his daughter had made it just in time to stave off his son's death.

He had re-assumed the air of austere authority which had made him more King than Warrior, just as shadows had darkened the tent's opening. And as he saw the pout Felicity wore plainly in her face, it seemed that he had made the right choice in Oliver Queen to protect her from herself. He had his qualms about one of his best commanders, not because he doubted his skill as a formidable warrior but because he knew that his foster son's well-known appellation as 'The Arrow of Starling' had arisen more from his notoriety with women than his prowess with a bow.

At his silent regard, both Oliver and Felicity stood a little straighter and the air turned taut with expectation.

"Speak," he demanded.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

There had been an unspoken and uneasy truce between them ever since their encounter with the Chief. Once they'd given their respective reports, first to King Malcolm, and then to King Robert, without, of course, divulging the details of their more-than-eventful morning jaunt, they'd both steered clear of each other as best they could. But when Tommy took a turn for the worse later in the day and well into the next, it became, in equal parts, both easier and harder to avoid each other – easier for Felicity to avoid Oliver as she devoted all her energies to saving her brother, but harder for Oliver to ignore how vital she was to keeping Tommy and the accord alive. So he had helped anyway he could whenever he wasn't summoned by the Kings for something or other.

Night had fallen on what should have been the third day of the hunt. Felicity had not left Tommy's side since she had gotten back from her morning away from camp. If it had not been for the physicker's insistence on using a clyster to force some fluid and nutrients on their patient, she would not have left her brother's side at all. So, since every man inside that tent deemed it unseemly for a woman of her station to witness such a scatological act (no matter how necessary it was, to her mind, for her to supervise), she had no recourse but to leave the tent and sit miserably by the abandoned campfire.

She was startled when Oliver settled beside her with a flagon of fair water and a plate filled with slices of spit-roasted venison slathered in a rich sauce of red wine and wild mushrooms, a roll of manchet and morsels of payn ragoun. No doubt to tempt and whet her appetite, her mind grumbled.

He laid the flagon and the plate between them, and then produced a washcloth, an eating dagger and a two-pronged fork. He soaked the wash cloth with water, cleaned his hands and proceeded to cut the venison into more manageable sizes. Once done, he passed her the washcloth and commanded, "Eat."

What?

At her puzzled reaction and continued inaction, Oliver ordered yet again, "Eat."

"But… but… my father's orders… my… my rations…" she stuttered in disbelief.

"He said naught about mine," he replied as he broke the bread. Oliver knew as soon as he had exited the tent and saw her dejected form by the fire pit that she was beyond exhausted. In his best estimation, she had neither food nor drink since yesterday's rabbit and the few cups of tea he had been able to impose on her, and it showed. So, he had gone to the cook's pavilion to retrieve his rations. "Don't make me ask again," he said as he handed her his fork.

Felicity wiped her hands on the wet rag and quickly took the fork he offered. She trembled a little, not just because of the previously forgotten hunger that suddenly clawed at her stomach, but also because of the intensity of his stare. He looked like he would just as soon be the one to stuff food into her mouth if she didn't do anything about it soon, so she started to do what he wanted.

Oliver was flabbergasted at the amount of food she managed to get down in such a short amount of time. He had wanted her to eat, not choke.

"You really like your venison, don't you?" he commented in a poor attempt to slow her down.

She nodded as she valiantly tried not to let on that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

It was obvious to him that she was struggling so he decided to swoop in and do something about it.

She shook her head at first, making him pause, but after a beat she began frantically nodding her head.

He laughed heartily at that and started to help her get the food down, or in this case, out.

"Thank you," Felicity said as soon as Oliver gave her back a good enough wallop to dislodge the piece of meat that had lodged into her throat.

"It was that good, huh?" Oliver said, smiling as he continued to pat her back.

"Cook did not disappoint," she answered as she sputtered some more.

Her mutinous expression despite the praise cracked him up yet again. And Felicity, who found herself newly relieved of such an absurd situation found it just as easy to laugh it off with him.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Robert had just left Malcolm, who refused to leave his son to the physicker without his daughter to oversee the procedure, inside the tent. There were a great many things that have to be planned and thought of in the event of the collapse of this accord with Blüdhaven should Tommy not survive the night. It was a cruel responsibility to foist upon a distraught father and it had been a responsibility Malcolm had taken upon himself when Robert was the one in an impossible situation. It was only right that he take up the mantle for his friend.

As he left the tent for the open night air, the unusual sound of deep laughter drew his attention to the fire pit.

He had forgotten the last time he had felt his son's joy. Oliver had always been a nice enough kid with a little mischief on the side, but it was his spirit that made him shine. His son had always run lose and always had a lusty love for life. But ever since Oliver had gotten home from his time in captivity, Robert knew that his son had lost his spark. Oliver had tried his hardest to convince everyone else that he was fine when everyone knew that he wasn't. He himself had found his son branded – a prince branded as a slave – and that had lanced a wound in his heart that will never quite heal. But the sound of his laughter had been a salve.

Felicity's ringing laughter came into the mix. To anyone else, it would seem odd that laughter was resonating in such a time like this, but to him, it was a balm to the heart. That, he contemplated wistfully, was a wedding he would gladly look forward to. With a thankful look to the stars that shone brightly on such a dismal night, he let them be and headed back to the necessary business that awaited him.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

When their hilarity had died down, Oliver settled back into his side and Felicity went back to hers. The quiet had grown between them again and the night spoke once more to their fears.

"Do you think Tommy will make it?" Oliver asked her.

Felicity took a deep breath before she looked at her brother's dearest friend. Oliver Queen, to her, had always exuded an aura of implacable confidence. There was none of that now, only an uncertain diffidence.

She didn't know what urged her to lay her hand upon his or what led him to twine their fingers. Maybe it was a plea for comfort, maybe a gesture of fear. But all she knew was that it had given them both a shot of much needed hope. "Tommy always did find a way to get out of larger scrapes than this," she said quietly, not knowing who exactly she was trying to convince.

He squeezed her hand and agreed as he whispered, "Yes… yes, he always did."


Notes:

clyster n. (sing.): archaic term for an enema

manchet n. (sing.): a single serving piece of white bread sized to fit in the hand

payn ragoun n. (sing.): medieval fudge-like candy flavored with honey, ground ginger and pine nuts


Was this a little too maudlin or did I get it just right? Please feel free to tell me what you think! Faves/Follows/Reviews are always welcome! Kisses!