Archive of Our Own ^beta

She had awoken. She did not know just where she was. The room she was in was bare and looked rustic and cave-like. 

"Hello, Miss Rochev. It's quite lovely to meet you," she heard a woman's voice say. 

As she looked up, she saw her. She was rather pretty. Strong wavy brown hair with a petite frame, dark eyes with curiosity and bright full lips.

It was then that she remembered. She was stabbed; in the back, through her stomach. She was killed; she was dead. How did this happen?

"It is alright, Ms. Rochev. I know it's quite a lot to take in. But yes, you had died. And I had sent some of my men to take you back here. This is a mystical place. A place of healing for the time being. Until you can regain the strength to do what you must."

She could barely handle what had been said and what was going on. But this woman had told and confirmed that she had died. It was then that she remembered everything. Robert. Her time training with Slade. Oliver. That insipid bitch, Felicity. And the one that stabbed her. 

"And what is it that I ... must? What do you think that I should do?"

"Revenge. Is that not still your dream? To destroy Oliver Queen for what he and his father had done to you?"

Queen. She remembered that clear as day. The pleasure both father and son had brought her in bed. Robert. Oliver. And the rage she felt at the indignation of it all. It filled her whole body up that she didn't shake. It fueled and felt as if she was alit with flames or lava in her veins.

"I'm in, bitch!"

"My name is Talia."

Slade made his training harsh. This was just as if not more. 

Even if they weren't, she felt as if Talia had broken all the bones in her fingers. 

"Are you even trying, Miss Rochev?"

"I am desperately trying to wipe that smirk off your face, bitch!"

"Then show me the woman who desires her revenge. Aches for it. The woman who lost her position in her company Stellmoor International. Who was willing to burn Starling City to the ground? The woman who trained under the deadly Slade Wilson? Who wreaked havoc until my sister Nyssa impaled you with her blade. Who turned herself into a national disgrace."

She let anger take hold and lost control. She broke form and quickly formed a fist, hoping it would connect. Talia naturally avoided it and punched her hard into the ground. 

"Your rage is arguably your best quality, Miss Rochev. And your worst. Just because you have it does not mean that you use it well. That's always been a problem for you, hasn't it?"

She panted hard, regaining herself. "And what the hell do you know about me? Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I believe that I am the woman that saved your sorry and pitiful ass, as you would say. So willful, so angry. I'd rather train a child than the ungrateful little wretch you clearly are. It's been nearly two years or so, and you've barely improved."

"Well, I know you're not doing this out of the kindness of your own heart! So, what is it that you want?"

"Revenge, of course. Much like you. Except, that I am a better planner than you. I'm not even sure why you took fairly long to come back. Perhaps you wanted to stay dead?"

Come back?

"What do you mean by come back?"

"I told you that this was a mystical place that can heal a person. There had been rumors that the chamber that I brought you too, had the power to revive the dead. I had done so with two others at least. But you, you took quite a bit longer than them. They almost immediately sprang forth breathing new air and life. You were almost in a trance with your eyes open about and barely moving. Practically a revenant."

Revenant. Came back. She remembered the stabbing again. The pain. The anger. 

"You once thought yourself to be a new queen of Queen Industries. Al-Malika. But now, you are Al-Laashay; a nothing. Yet, you still have a great deal of rage coursing through you that gives you strength; Al-Ghadab. All the more reason why you are in need of guidance."

Before she can say anything, she then motioned her hands and two hooded figures came forth. Both wore black garbs with hoods, but only one was armed with some navy blue highlights. 

"You were not the only one that I had brought back from my detour. There were these two. Although, one is a bit more fractured than the others. Al-Ghadab, here are your new  compatriots; Al-Sayaad and Al-Zil: a hunter and a shadow of once was."

She was shocked as they removed their hoods. One was a woman with strawberry-blonde hair with piercing blue-green eyes. The other was a true ghost from the past. He was almost beautifully pale with dark hair and eyes. But he was practically a ghost, and his death was a major reason why she was able to buy so much stock of not only Queen Industries but also Merlyn Global. 

"I believe that you know of my associate. Son and Heir of Al Sa-her; the Magician. Thomas Arthur Merlyn; Al-Zil"

He couldn't recall anything. The only thing that he did remember was that he had died. 

Everything before that was fractured. He remembered his mother; with her warmth and kindness. His father; so stern with discipline. A man he considered to be a brother in all but name.

What could he say or think about it all? It was all a void; nothing but vast empty memories. 

One thing he did know upon awakening was that he was saved by Talia and a unique pool of water that was simply referred as the Pit to many. Some have referred it as a fountain of youth. The only thing that he knew was that a burgeoning rage that lay beneath him, was a result of it. 

He owed her a great debt that could never be repaid. She had fed him and trained him to be strong in body and mind. He didn't know what or who he was before, but she had mentioned that he had grown much. Much like Solomon's Seal; one of the few plants that can grow in the shade. It was because of that, that he had been granted the name; Al-Zil: the shadow. 

Although, many had mentioned that he should be called Al Sah-him; the arrow. His skill in archery had grown alongside his apparent natural aptitude with blades. He wanted to say that it rivaled someone that he knew, but he could not recall whom. And his memories regarding using a blade were vague as well. 

There was a part of him that wanted to claim the mantle of Al Sah-him. Someone had mentioned that there had been one who had temporarily held that mantle, along with the mantle of Ra's al Ghul; the Demon's Head. The Arrow. Arrow. There was something about that title that haunted him. It angered and confused him. 

Now, he began to train more with his new compatriots that Talia introduced him to; Kate Spencer and Isabel Rochev. Kate was as warm as could be; with her bright red locks reminiscent of a fire. Isabel herself was equal parts ice in demeanor with a fire deep within; a fire that Talia told her to keep in check and control. And yet, that was the part of her he found quite admirable. 

Every time that they exchanged blows, there was something that had ignited within him. Sparks. And with the way she gave a coy smile or two, it became clear that she felt it as well. Or at least something close to it. It felt intoxicating being near her. 

From the way her hair moved when she dodged and parried, to how shapely he saw her when she demonstrated a near perfect fighting form and stance. She was lively and destructive fire, and he was empty cold ice. If there ever was fire within himself, he cannot recall nor recall it back in his favor. 

Before long, they began to talk about things other than uttering a grunt or moan from a strike to the shoulder or stomach. She had mentioned how she had grown up in Russia and lost her parents to the Bratva; the Russian mob. She did not know or recall what they had done, but it led to her being orphaned and wandering until she had been taken in by an American couple. Even as she reminisced, three was a sadness laced in with fondness as she told her story. He only wished that he could properly share in that experience. Tell her something that he recalled from his own past experiences and memories. 

No matter how hard he tried to recall something, everything was fragmented. A result and effect from the Pit. He did not know if he had found peace and being disturbed from it or an infernal torture had caused him to forget everything. Perhaps it was better to forget his past? After all, many are chained by their past and unable to move forward. But how could he move forward when he didn't know what was behind him? Would he ever gain the necessary answers? Would he like them? Need them?

All those questions and more ran through his head as he watched Isabel breathe in and out gently. She looked even more ravishing in his bed. The way she gently nuzzled up against him. She looked so at ease beside him now, without rage contorting and marring her face. He wants her to be part of his plan to escape and explore the world; to find out just who he was. But he knows that she is dead set on her own mission of revenge. He cannot ask her to abandon it for his sake. 

It is a poison. One that will consume her and that he cannot stop it.

She did not know what to think or say. 

Talia had allowed them to leave. Kate said that she would return home to ensure that her city would be safe and help protect her son. As for her and Tommy, she had no idea why she did so. Perhaps, she wanted them both to fulfil their own missions. She had hers already set, but she wasn't sure about him. When she asked him about it, he simply said, "I am Al-Zil; son of Al-Saher".

As they left the base, she took note that he was still in his assassin garb. He had put in more navy blue around it; particularly in the arm and shin guards and the hood's lining. He might as well call himself the Blue Bowman. 

"I know there is nothing that I can say or do to change your mind, Isabel. But please, consider a different life. Maybe, you can return to Russia and make something of yourself there? Maybe take down the Bratva? I could help you with that."

"I might consider doing that. But, you have your adventure and I have mine. Are you certain I can't convince you?"

"No. I have been Al-Zil for quite some time. I must become more than that. Grow beyond the shadows and dark. Grow and embrace the light."

"When and how did you become an optimist?"

"Perhaps, I once was. It feels right, almost natural. Then, I must bid you adieu, Isabel Rochev."

"Do svidaniya, Thomas," she said as she tiptoed to kiss him. 

Maybe one day, we will meet again.

It had been a long time since she had thought of them both. What was she thinking? What monstrosities had she unleashed upon the world?

What did she think to accomplish? She needed to tell Oliver before she could make her escape. 

"Oliver, there is something I need to tell you. Something that you must know."