A/N: It has been a LONG time since I have published a story on here but I promised myself I would write this one before 3x10, which I have kind of done. I haven't seen it yet (as it's airing right now) so I'm saying this counts.

Like the summary says, I MIGHT continue this if I can come up with a good story and/or what really happens doesn't shoot this out of the water. We'll see...

Hope you enjoy!

It is a funny thing for the sun to shine down upon death. So often the sun is there to give light and hope, shining down to give its comforts. But to the figure lying cold and bloody on the precarious ledge, his life dwindling with each passing moment, there was no hope left.

The wind whistled around him, tugging at his cloths and the shrubs at his feet, blowing snow over him and biting at the bare skin of his chest. For a long while there was no movement but this until a form crept up to the lifeless body of Oliver Queen. He looked down at the boy in the darkness of early dawn. He wasn't so much relieved to see him there as he was satisfied. He had positioned the boy with care up on the cliff, now above them, before striking him down with the precise blows of a master swordsman. He was glad to see his plan had worked. Or at least part of it had so far.

Edging closer to the still form, Ra's al Ghul laid a gloved hand upon Mr. Queen's bloody chest. And sighed. The movement was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there. The boy still lived.

"You are strong," the Demon's Head said to the unconscious form. "Good. You will have to be."

Slowly, carefully, Ra's lifted Oliver into his arms and with great care climbed the treacherous and narrow path leading back up the cliff where a simple litter lay waiting. Gently, he laid the boy down and covered him with a thick blanket.

He reached inside his coat and retrieved a small bag of medicinal herbs. They belonged to the boy lying before him. Mr. Queen could not have expected to come out of this ordeal unscathed, even if he might have thought he could win, and he would be a fool to be unprepared. He might be young, quite young, but he was not a fool.

Sarab had informed him of his time with Oliver Queen in the time leading up to him joining the League of Assassins and he had told Ra's of an herb the boy had used to help heal various maladies. Ra's of course knew of its properties. His suspicions had proven true when he had searched Oliver's pack. He took out a pinch and placed it in the boy's mouth, following it with a small handful of snow. Ra's massaged Oliver's throat, forcing the herb down. That would be the extent of his ministrations for the moment. The rest would have to wait. Out in the elements like this was not the place to tend wounds. There was little blood now; the snow and ice saw to that, slowing his blood, staving off death that much longer.

Ra's started his trudge through the snow, picking up the end of the litter by Oliver's head. The day continued to lighten despite the storm. Though his hood was up , the man walked with his coat open, the wind snapping at his exposed skin, the cold combating with the heat of exertion from his efforts.

Unseen by the man, one of Oliver's arms escaped from under his cover, bobbing with each step his rescuer took. His hand did not hang limply, however. It was almost as if it were reaching for something, or remembering a thing it had once held.

For a time the only sounds were the crunch of Ra's boots in the snow, the litter sliding over the icy surface, and the dull whine of the wind through branches. The scenery remained unchanged as well, the miles proving monotonous as the hours ticked by. But soon the trees to their right thinned as they reached the base of a small outcropping of rock, the front of an old hut set into it, one almost none knew about. Adjusting his grip on the litter, Ra's opened the door and proceeded to drag his burden inside to where it was warm and dry.

The fire burned bright, its heat radiating through the small room. A small cot was set up beside it and it was there where Ra's, after lying the litter on the ground, set the boy down, cover and all. He stood up straight and removed his coat and gloves, replacing them with a simple shirt hanging on a nearby chair, its sleeves already rolled up. He set the litter up against the wall and reached for a box from a shelf by the hearth. Kneeling beside the unconscious figure, placing the box beside him, Ra's proceeded to remove the blanket.

The red of his wounds seemed to blossom against the paleness of his skin and with the cold no longer keeping it at bay, blood had started to seep once more from his body.

Ra's worked quickly but not hurriedly. He had inflicted these wounds himself. He knew their severity, the danger they posed. But just as he was practiced at inflicting wounds, he was also skilled at treating them. He knew what to do and worked with a calm assuredness.

Removing bandages from the box, he soaked them in an ointment from a dark-glassed bottle, applying one each to the wounds on Oliver's chest, side, and back. With that bleeding now stopped for the moment and the ointment doing it's work to clean beneath the skin, Ra's turned his attention to the least threatening wound on the boy's arm. He cleaned and wrapped this with deft hands and then turned to the wound on the boy's side, stitching it up with ease and wrapping it soundly before turning his focus to the more serious injuries.

Even with extreme precision Ra's could not have avoided hitting Oliver's lung. He had done his work to stop the boy from breathing, hitting him square in the throat, keeping his lungs from expanding. He had realized he had hit it when Oliver had spat out crimson upon his lips. Left untreated he would drown in his own blood, but as it was the boy was in little danger of that.

Ra's rolled up the cast-aside blanket and placed it under Oliver's right shoulder, propping him up so he could work on both sides. Taking out an empty jar and a long tube, he set the jar on the ground beside the cot, one end of the tube leading down into it, while the other he carefully inserted into the boy's chest, draining the blood that had pooled in his lung and reinflating it. Immediately the boy stirred, his chest rising more fully, the movement agitating his wounds. He coughed once, but that only opened the floodgates as more coughing followed and Oliver's face contorted in pain.

Ra's placed gentle restraining hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place to stop him from dislodging the tube and hurting himself further. "Calm yourself boy. You are being treated, not tortured." It took a few moments for Oliver to relax and when he did, Ra's continued his ministrations. Soon the wound on his back was stitched up and a long bandage wrapped around him, keeping the ointment-soaked pad, and the tube, in place. It would not be long before the blood stopped draining and the tube could be removed.

He was actually glad for the fit the boy had had. It proved to him that he was not so far gone that he did not have the strength to survive. He was a fighter, one of the best he had faced in his many years upon this earth. That much had been proven to him during their combat. It was a strange thing to find in one so young, as were the scars the boy wore. Those had taken him by great surprise.

Every warrior has to be tested and if there are no scars, no proof of his ordeals, nothing to remember the lessons learned, then the challenge was not hard enough. Oliver Queen had survived much during his short life and it showed not only on his body, but in his bearing and his manner. Here before him was a boy who had been tested many times and come out through the refiner's fire a man worthy to challenge the great Ra's al Ghul. While there had been no contest between them, Ra's respected Oliver for his skill and his honor. It was partially for that why he had saved him. As for the other reasons, those would have to wait.

It was the afternoon of the second day after Ra's had brought Oliver to the hut and the injured man was, for the first time since then, alone.

The tube was gone from his chest, his lung working properly now, and he lay flat on the small cot beside the fire. Sweat had started to bead on the boy's forehead the previous day and Ra's had placed a hand to his brow, feeling the early signs of infection. It was not surprising, nor was it unexpected. Ra's had simply taken another pinch of the herb that now sat in the medicine box, mixed it in a simple broth, and fed it slowly to the struggling figure to keep him from another coughing fit. It had worked quickly and the fever broke by nightfall.

Now, however, Oliver stirred, but not because of pain or illness. An icy wind whooshed into the room, prickling his skin and causing him to shiver, tensing weakly under his covers. He pulled them closer to himself. Dully he heard boots on a wooden floor. He shivered again.

"You should be glad for the cold," said a voice behind him. He opened his eyes, the world blurry around him, and a figure stepped into his view. "It is what kept you alive before I brought you here." Finally finding focus, the face before Oliver became clear. Fear and confusion furrowed his brow and he tried to get up. Ra's placed a gently restraining hand on his chest, sitting beside him on the edge of the cot.

"Rest, my son. Your healing is not yet complete."

But Oliver did not obey. Instead he raised himself on one shaky arm, the other weakly pushing away the man's hand and bringing his own to his chest, feeling the bandages there. Ra's did not contest this. The boy gave him a defiant glare. "I am not your son."

Ra's smiled slightly. "I have given you life. Is that not what father's do?"

Oliver did not respond. He just continued to stare at the man before him. The man who had defeated him. Killed him.

Ra's seemed to guess his thoughts. Standing, giving Oliver room to painfully sit up on the cot, Ra's walked over to a table where he poured water from a pitcher into a cup. "Killing a man of honor and courage, who would give himself freely to death to protect those he cares for, gives me no pleasure. The rules of single combat state that one life must be taken by the other. But death is not as permanent as some would believe."

"Was I…?"

"Dead?" Ra's shook his head. "No. But you came close to its embrace."

"Then you broke the rules."

Ra's turned back to Oliver, standing over him, a warning glint in his eyes. "I did no such thing. I am a man of my word. As far as I am concerned our combat is ongoing. But I will not fight a man too weak to defend himself. Once you are strong enough you may fight me once again if you wish. Or, you may rethink your challenge and instead choose a different path. One that will still save your city and those you love."

"And what is that?"

"A life with the League of Assassins."

Oliver couldn't help the amused laugh from escaping his lips. "You can't honestly believe I would choose that. I would rather die."

"Like Ta-er al-Sahfer?" Ra's gave Oliver a knowing look. "Do you think I believe what you said? You did not kill her, boy, but you know who did, and it is someone you are protecting. Someone in that city of yours. Someone you love." Oliver looked at him, remaining silent. "One life must be taken by the other. Whether by my blade or by your oath of fealty I will take your life and you will belong to me. That is the only way you can protect your city." He extended the cup of water towards Oliver. "Make your choice."

But what choice was there? He would not allow Thea to die and he would not risk the lives of his friends, the ones he loved. Felicity. He knew himself well enough to know that he would protect them no matter the cost to himself, even if it meant going back to hell for five years, or fifty years, and calling this devil his Master. He accepted the cup.

Ra's nodded approvingly. No. The boy was definitely not a fool.

"A father gives life," he said, continuing his earlier sentiment. "But he also names his children. The people of your city called you 'The Arrow'. An appropriate title, but you will receive a new name in the League. A name worthy of one of its members. From this day on, you shall be known as Sahemel Ekhdar. The Green Arrow."

A/N: So what did you guys think?

By way of explanation, I used Google Translate to figure out what "Green Arrow" was in Arabic and chose the second option it gave me because I can pronounce it better. The text on the cover picture is the Arabic I went with and the Romanization I used is just me putting it into a form I, and hopefully you, can understand.