Chapter Text
When Sir Justin first met The Green Arrow, he had been delighted. Not only was he an able and valiant warrior, but his choice of weapon was both sensible and familiar. To hear, once more, the whip of the bowstring and the whistle of arrows had been like finding a tiny piece of home and in spite of the danger abounding around him, Justin's tired heart had thrilled. After all he'd lost, after all his confusion and loneliness, it had been a twinkle of hope. A delicate, glimmering lifeline offering the possibility that this world was not entirely unlike his own and when the archer had stridden forth and extended his hand, he had accepted it eagerly. Grasping firmly at his forearm, he had smiled, introduced himself and found, to his considerable dismay, that his lips had all but forgotten the motion, and his voice sounded clipped and harsh.
Thankfully, the archer had not seemed offended. Rather, he'd only smiled a tiny bit wider and introduced himself as well. And then, out of nowhere, a brightly colored form had dropped down beside them and Justin had started in surprise. It was a boy. Armed with a bow and clad in a scarlet variant of the archer's emerald regalia, he was a brilliant little sparkle of a child with a keen sharpish face and lively, intelligent eyes.
Shocked, Justin had turned to the archer with wide eyes and breathlessly declared, "Thou hast a squire."
At that, Green Arrow had laughed, sweet and pretty, and the boy had beamed.
"I'm his partner," he'd told him brightly. "Speedy."
"Indeed," he'd marveled, pulling off his helm and tucking it beneath one arm. "Then it is a great pleasure to meet thee. I am Sir Justin."
That time, the words had come smoothly—tripping from his lips in the lilting cadence of his native tongue—and the boy had preened, tilting his chin up proudly and smiling bright enough to shame the sun.
Utterly charmed, Justin’s lips had quirked, and he’d held out one hand. Happily, eagerly, Speedy had thrown his own out to meet it and when he'd found his little hand grasping vainly at an armor-clad forearm it could never hope to encircle, his eyes had gone wide. Awestruck, he'd gaped up at the knight in silence, until finally, his mentor had touched him gently between the shoulder blades and loudly cleared his throat. With a flush, he'd hastily returned the knight's greeting and pressed the flats of his fingers against his forearm in a weak imitation of the careful pressure the knight had applied to his. Then, as the massive arm had fallen away, he'd stared fixedly at the hilt of his sword and chirped, "Is that real?"
And even as Green Arrow's features had shifted into mortification, Justin's had brightened—suffused by an emotion so long unknown that it felt strange and foreign. But alien did not mean unwelcome and just as he'd grasped at Green Arrow's proffered hand, so too had he grasped at this. Eagerly. Desperately. Like a man adrift who’d finally been tossed a line.
For so long, he had despaired of this world, of this life. But here now, at long last, he had met a fellow warrior, a comrade—a knight—and for the first time, in a long time, he felt hope.