zen_archer (zen_archer) wrote in newalliance, @ 2016-03-09 00:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | [event] retro, green arrow i, green arrow ii |
Who: Connor Hawke and Oliver Queen
Where: Ashram
When: 2008
What: Connor gets to meet his long admired hero (and Dad--cause, yeah, he's that guy, too)
Rating: Low, though possibly Oliver's mouth
Chores really never stopped at the Ashram. When one wasn't resting and working on their spirit, one was improving other things. The life was simple, had kept his head clear for years. Everything concerned what was now, from the bees swarming the clover in the field, to the garden he'd been working on (he'd spent most of the day netting cabbage and replanting pest-dissuading plants close by). He was finishing staking some vines when a preying mantis landed on the back of his hand.
He kept moving, just a little slower and angling his wrist so as to not cause the long, green predator any discomfort on its perch. It wriggled its jagged mouth, triangular head turning to catch his motions at different angles. Like on most everything, he made no verbal comment, just watched it with amusement while it walked up to his knuckles, clawed forearms tapping on his skin before curling up close, body swaying.
Then the wind abruptly changed and it spread pale yellow wings and flit away.
Connor straightened, face toward the wind. There was that sensation again. Something had changed, was still changing at their little Ashram. It was time to see what. He was swift to tie the last string on the vines. Then he gathered up the few gardening tools and started walking back toward the humble constructs that sheltered the small, mindful population present here.
It was the archery field that first gave him clue to the source of the change. There were arrows in the target. It wasn't so much that there were arrows in the target that was odd. It was that they were left there. None of the monks here ever left arrows in the targets. His sandals turned that direction, small grasshoppers scattering out of his footpath as he cut across the taller grass to where it was trimmed.
He stared for some time at the arrow he plucked free from the target.
This was one of his. It jolted everything in him from the now to then and maybe. For years there had hardly been a ripple to his inner peace. Now suddenly his head was a brief cacophony of thoughts and feelings.
Breathe. He pulled in a deep breath, having not realized he'd been holding it at all. Then the noisiness was gone. There was the buzz of insects and the sway of wind in the grass again. He was back in now.
Connor reached out and plucked the other three arrows from their bullseyes. His steps were even again as he made his way up the hill to the building. First to put the tools away. Then...
There was a hum of conversation, but it died when his steps were heard on the porch planks. Connor could have walked quietly, could have snuck close. But that would have been dishonest and there was no cause for it. Inside it was much dimmer since they didn't use artificial lighting. His eyes adjusted quickly enough as he stepped out of his sandals and used his toes to push them in a row by the others--a pair of other sandals and a pair of shoes that certainly seemed out of place here. Master Jansen was sitting on the floor. There was a much paler man with him.
"Master Jansen," he greeted with a bow.
"Connor. I'm pleased you're here." He looked to their guest. "We have someone who will be staying with us for a time."
"Yes. Oliver Queen," Connor greeted. He bowed and held out the arrows with their green fletching toward his father. His eyes didn't flinch from the older man for a moment, nor did his smile falter.
He'd been worried before about how he might feel if this moment ever came. But he realized he was happy, even though he could sense a heavy weight wearing away at the man in front of him. Connor wasn't angry. He didn't feel awkward or bitter. He was just glad to meet this other soul he wondered about for so long.