The ship was getting closer. From his vantage point atop the cliff, Oliver watched it approach with narrowed eyes. Its colours were unfamiliar to him and it flew no national flag or royal crest. His jaw clenched. It definitely wasn't a navy ship, not of any country he knew, and he had trouble believing it was a merchant vessel. For one thing it was headed directly for Lian Yu, and Oliver had been stranded here long enough to know that the island wasn't exactly an international trading hub. The fact that he knew the Caribbean island by a Chinese name was proof of that; it was the name bequeathed to the island by another shipwrecked sailor who had somehow found his way there from China. Oliver wondered if the other lost souls who had washed up here over the years had known the island by other names in other tongues. Somehow, he suspected those names, just like "Lian Yu", would all have been different versions of "Hell".

He stayed hidden, crouched behind a clump of bushes, his hand tightening reflexively on his crudely made bow. Since he'd been stranded here over a year ago he had learned not to trust strangers too easily and, no matter how much he wanted to run down to the beach and wave his arms at the approaching ship, experience had taught him caution. Besides, there was a very small, but very real chance they might be pirates.

His expression soured at the thought. Pirates were the reason he was here in the first place. It was pirates who had attacked his father's galleon, pirates who had… He stopped, shutting down the tide of images that were already beginning to surface. There was no point in revisiting bad memories, and now was definitely not the time to get lost in dreams of retribution and revenge. Beneath him one of the ship's boats was already halfway towards the beach, the larger vessel anchored further out in the calm bay. The occupants of the boat were too far away to make out clearly, but he could tell there were about ten of them. It was time to move.

Oliver crept back from the cliff's edge, keeping low, and then edged back into the trees. Once he was safely hidden in the jungle he began moving faster, racing along well-worn paths towards his camp. He reached it in minutes, a small cave nestled into the base of the cliffs, the entrance hidden from view by clumps of thick vegetation. It had been his home for most of his time on the island.

Knowing he had no time to waste Oliver didn't hesitate, grabbing his spare arrows and the few small daggers he had managed to purloin or fashion during his time on the island. Looking around the tiny cave he could see nothing else he wanted to take with him. There was nothing about the past year that he wanted to remember, nothing that could invoke fond memories. Not that that mattered. This was not and never had been his life. The life of Oliver Queen lay back home, in Port Starling, managing the Queen family trading business. And no matter what he had to do, he was going to get home. For a moment his hand went to his chest, feeling the notebook securely fastened under his shirt. His mouth twisted in determination. The notebook was all he needed.

Without a backward glance Oliver left the cave, melting silently into the jungle. He knew exactly where he needed to go. Angling in the direction of the beach, he was careful not to make any unnecessary noise. If the sailors were looking for water, it wouldn't be long before they found the small freshwater stream that cut across the sand and flowed into the bay. Oliver knew what they would do next; he had done it himself the day he had first dragged himself onto Lian Yu, half dead from hunger and thirst. And so he gripped his bow tightly in his hand and sped through the trees, mind focused and ready.

When he neared the freshwater pool that lay half a mile from the beach Oliver slowed, ears straining for the slightest sound. He secured his bow on his back and, barely breaking stride, leaped onto a fallen tree trunk. From there he vaulted towards a nearby tree and was hidden amongst its branches in seconds, his breath barely strained. The forest clearing lay open beneath him, its broad pool sparkling in the midday sunshine, the surrounding trees casting deep shadows across the ground. There was no one in sight, and for a moment Oliver thought he had been mistaken. But then the trees parted and a giant stepped into the clearing.

He was big. Far bigger than any man Oliver had ever seen in the safe, secure world of Port Starling. His arms alone were larger than some people's torsos, and his chest was broader than some of the nearby tree trunks. A long, loose waistcoat fell from his shoulders, hanging down over light canvas trousers, and as he strode into the sunlight Oliver realised that the dark skin of his chest and arms was patterned with intricate tattoos. A large cutlass swung from his left hip, balanced by a dagger on his other side. As his eyes fell on the pool of sparkling water he smiled and the sunlight glinted off a single gold tooth.

Before he had left Port Starling Oliver had never so much as seen a pirate, but his last night aboard the Queen's Gambit had changed all of that. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to sit still, fighting with the urge to launch himself into the clearing and exact retribution for his year of hell. He watched the man gesture and saw the other occupants of the ship's boat move in response. The captain, then. The crewmen spread out around the clearing, filling their water pouches eagerly from the deep pool. They chatted quietly among themselves, too low for Oliver to hear, but every so often someone would laugh, loud and cheerfully. They seemed relaxed and obviously had no idea they were being watched, which suited Oliver perfectly.

He shifted his position in the tree, trying to figure out his next move. Then he heard it. A woman's voice, young but muted, talking rapidly in a low whisper. His eyes scanned the group, falling almost instantly on a scrap of blond hair, its owner partly hidden by the captain's bulk. Even as he watched she stepped out from behind the large man, her face animated as she spoke in hushed tones. She was gesturing at something in her hand, a worn-looking piece of parchment, and the captain seemed to be listening attentively, looking down at her with a patient expression on his face. Oliver watched in fascination, his eyes fastened on the dainty blond woman standing confidently in the midst of the pirate crew.

The first thing that struck him was her beauty. Her long blond hair framed a pale, delicate face and she was wearing a dress, of sorts. A red corset top fit snugly against her small frame, cinched at her waist with a dark belt, while a tan skirt fell jaggedly to her mid-thigh. The hem looked like it had been torn off in haste, and her modesty was saved only by a pair of cotton leggings. Oliver swallowed. He had never seen a woman dressed like that in his life. He quickly pushed that thought aside, along with any other awareness of her appearance. She was a pirate, nothing more.

He watched them tensely, fingers stroking his bow, waiting for an opportunity. He didn't have to wait long. At a word from the captain the crew stirred, dispersing into the trees in all directions. After a few moments, only the captain and the woman remained. He bent low, murmuring something to her, and Oliver's eyes narrowed as she grasped his waistcoat, rising up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the cheek. The big man smiled, touched her arm gently, and then he too disappeared into the trees. Oliver forced himself to stay still, watching as the woman stepped towards the pool. She glanced around briefly, apparently unafraid, and then sat down on the water's edge, dangling her feet in the water. Setting the map to one side, she pulled a notebook from a pocket in her skirt and began studying it intently.

Seeing his chance, Oliver slipped down the tree trunk and circled around the clearing to place himself behind her. His year in the jungle served him well and he knew he didn't make a sound. He took a shallow breath, squared his shoulders, and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Nocking his bow he emerged from the tree line, the arrow pointed squarely at her back, and then he cleared his throat. He was mildly satisfied to see her jump.

"Stand up, slowly," Oliver said. He was surprised to find his voice was rough from weeks of disuse.

The woman carefully placed her notebook to one side and did as he asked, turning to face him. Their eyes met, hers huge and bright blue, and Oliver realised she was even more beautiful up close than she had been from across the clearing. She cocked her to head to one side and looked him up and down, and Oliver was suddenly conscious of his appearance, dressed as he was in the remains of the clothes in which he had been shipwrecked. They had once made up a fine suit, sewn especially for him by his family's personal tailor, but now they hung from his body in rags.

"Hello," the woman said easily, apparently unafraid. "I'm Felicity Smoak."

Years spent moving in the higher echelons of Port Starling society forced Oliver's manners to kick in.

"I'm Oliver Queen," he heard himself reply.

She looked at him expectantly, and Oliver cleared his throat again, realising he had already lost control of the encounter.

"You are going to take me to your ship," he said gruffly, trying to sound commanding.

"Alright… and then what? I mean, I'm assuming you have a plan of some kind?"

Oliver realised she looked mildly amused.

"Then… I'm going to take your ship to get home."

"You are…" She hesitated slightly, her brow furrowing. "All by yourself? Do you know anything about boats?"

"I do actually… I have a crew. My men. Twenty of them, waiting in the jungle. We were shipwrecked here a few days ago. So, we're going to take your ship."

Felicity raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" She gestured towards his clothes. "Because you look like you've been here for a while."

Oliver thought quickly. "This is how we dress where I'm from."

It sounded ridiculous even as he said it and Felicity cocked her head to one side, a knowing smile curving her lips. To his surprise, Oliver felt himself smiling in response. It struck him that he couldn't remember the last time he had smiled at anyone, or anything.

But the smile fell from his face when he heard a small sound behind him and felt the sudden cold press of a knife across his throat.

"Lower you bow, Mr Queen," a deep voice murmured in his ear.