A/n: So, I've decided to return to the story. It's almost an entire year and I do apologize for the long absence. I work long hours and I generally do not have a ton of time to write, so when I do, it's going to be spent on stories that I enjoy the most.

I disliked season 4, the writing, the inconsistencies, the flashbacks no one cares about. Oliver was weaker than a normal henchman whenever the story needed and Nyssa was turned into a useless plot device that lasted whole of 2 episodes.

My interest for Arrow went to an all time low and the story was put on hiatus.

However, I watched the first episode of season 5 and for the first time in almost two seasons, I actually enjoyed myself. It made me interested in Arrow again. I ended up rewatching the first two seasons and now I'm actually pretty hyped for the season again.

Anyways, most of the story was written 1-2 years ago. I've improved on my writing since then, so I've decided to do a quick rewrite / edit of the earlier chapters, which would give myself a chance to catch-up on my own story, as it's been near a year since my last update.

Will probably update 1-2 chapter edits a day up until the latest chapter, which then I'll start working on a newer one.

Chapter: 2

He had considered every possible way of escape, but he knew her logic was ultimately sound. There was nothing he could do but stay put and endure the harsh winter. He was trapped on the side of an impassable mountain. It was suicide to attempt a track back to civilization, especially in such weather and with the odds so stacked against him. He considered every other option, but there were none that guaranteed him a way off the mountain.

He would have to survive winter.

His experiences on the island helped little; the climate was different and he was not forced into a tiny enclave during the former. He also had full control of both his arms back then – but unlike his time on the island, there was Nyssa al Ghul.

She brought him necessities from time to time; from food to a weekly change of old robes. There were plenty of nights he went hungry, but he wasn't complaining. He knew of the dangers outside, of not just the weather but the risks of being seen.

There were many times when he lost track of time, and could no longer differentiate between day and night. The only constants in the tiny hut were the persistent hail of wind against the tiny building and the pelting of snow against its roof.

So he trained, from days which quickly turned into weeks. He knew he needed to regain his strength, to find balance between both his arms. It still felt uncomfortably detached, but he was slowly getting the hang of it. He needed more than anything else to prepare for the inevitable battle he would soon enough face – when winter ends.

The tattooed man felt neither her presence nor suspected her intent.

She knew she had to stay close to her target – a gun was too loud and would draw unnecessary attention, she needed something small, something accessible at close range. A knife was perfect, one laced with the deadliest poisons.

The man suddenly picked up speed, his palm slipping upwards into his jacket, a movement performed so quickly she almost missed the blade that appeared in his grip.

Her heart thudded like a war drum.

Somehow he knew.

Her grip tightened on her weapon – and she followed as he turned into an alleyway.

Darkness engulfed her in the confined space. There came barely a warning as an arm shot forth from the enclosed darkness. She dropped to her knees as training took over instincts, the momentum of the man's blade slicing through where she stood only seconds ago.

She reacted instantly, dropping her shoulders, making herself a smaller target as she shoved forward into the side of the man's ribs. Her sudden attack sent her target off balance, and she used their momentum to drive her elbow into his exposed chest, sending them both stumbling backwards. She gave him no chance to catch his breath – she pivoted, her body lancing forward in his direction, the two of them tumbling across the ground, her weapon brandished in her palm, the blade's sharpened tip quickly pressing into the man's throat.

He attempted to stop her, but the blade was already drawing blood, the poison soon taking hold. She pulled deeper – and the man grew ever more desperate. An arm shot towards the side of her skull, sending her head snapping to the side. She lost her grip, allowing the man to grasp blindly for another hidden blade.

She barely flinched as the knife tore into her palm, her voice muffled by years of training. Her own blood trailed down her palm, mixing with the red from his neck, but she held on persistently, even as another drove into the side of her ribs. Her armor was thick, but still he drew blood. She grunted, but regained her grapple. Her legs wrapped into his side, pinning his arms to the ground as she applied even more pressure towards his neck.

Her target's struggling soon grew weaker, and he soon ran out of blades his as hand fell limply to his side. She pulled – and he gurgled in response, blood pouring uninterrupted from his wounds. He tried to clasp onto his neck, to stem the flow of blood, but she granted no reprieve.

She held on, even as the body eventually stilled, even as lifeless eyes looked up in her direction. She was battered, bloodied. She trembled, her first kill, the first of many.

She jerked awake, greeted by a familiar setting as she slipped back to consciousness. She must have fallen asleep, her fingers unconsciously brushing across the knife wound at the back of her palm; a dream of a memory, a lifetime ago. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the gloom of the hut before noticing him, Oliver Queen, upside down by the other end of the room.

She blinked again, her eyes were not playing tricks.

His head dipped downwards as he leaned against the behind wall, balancing only on a single uninjured hand as he performed handstand push-ups. She watched him closely, fascinated by his routine. He tilted slightly, no longer using the wall, freestanding as he dropped down, holding still for a long second before pushing himself back up. She counted another hundred before he jumped back up onto his feet.

There were many nights she spent awake wondering if she had made the right decision in saving his life, but she knew that for her plans to succeed, she had no other choice than to trust him.

After all, they both wanted the same thing.

"Come," she said as she tossed a pile of darkened robes in his direction. "Get dressed. My father is out on a mission with half of his men, we'll be heading into the village for supplies. There will still be guards, so be ever vigilant... and stay out of sight.

Coldness.

It lashed away at every exposed part of his body, frigid winds that blew painfully against his hooded form. He could barely see beyond the raging tides, the relentless winds reducing visibility to below zero. It felt like he just stepped through the gates of a frozen hell. He could neither tell up nor down, the sky indistinguishable from the ground, everything else just a dizzying vortex of white.

Tiny specks of crystalline ice were hurled at him from all directions, peppering him with chills below negative degrees. He grasped blindly at the space in front of him, no longer able to see where he even came from. He spun, an arm pressed above his eyes, trying to shield himself from the snow but to no avail - an embarrassing attempt, useless as he continued to be assaulted from all ends.

He staggered, his feet stumbling through inches of deep snow; he struggled to regain his balance, trying to find a firm grip when his foot suddenly came up empty. Nothing else came up to meet his falling soles - neither ground nor snow.

One thing quickly registered at the back of his mind - the mountain's edge.

His arms swung wildly, but there was nothing for him to hold onto.

There was a sharp intake of air, his body tensing as he was suddenly stilled. A pair of steady hands held onto the back of his cloak, holding him in place. His eyes slowly adjusted to the below winds, allowing him to peek over where he almost fell, a crevice that led seemingly to the ends of the world.

He could not see her, but felt her fingers taking his as they were guided away from the drop. He loudly asked if she knew where she was going, if she could even recognize the path in such harsh weather.

She could not hear him over the raging winds, but if he were to have stood in front of her, he would have notice that her eyes were closed the entire time, guided through the mountain by something stronger than even their eyes could see.

Out of the cold and into the darkness. They left the howling winds behind, their footsteps echoing as they entered an enclosed area – a cave with zero luminosity; its entirety shrouded in unseen darkness.

"Follow me," their fingers a comforting entwine as they headed deeper into the darkness.

For almost an hour they walked, the cave an eerie darkness, nothing else existed but the sounds of their breathing and an occasional slither from somewhere in the unseen dark.

It took them a long while before he heard the distant rumbling of civilization. Their footsteps slowed as they approached a streak of light at the end of their path. She told him to stay still as she checked out their surroundings. He crouched behind a cavern rock while she disappeared around the corner. She returned minutes later, motioning him to follow.

Sunlight greeted them as they exited the cave, his eyes widening at the impossible sight. There were trees as far as his eyes could see, and colored birds, not seen to the rest of the world, took flight to the canopies above. Soil – not snow, crunched beneath his feet as they headed forward, and the screeching of nearby animals could be heard.

They entered a forest – a hidden oasis deep within the Tibetan mountains – Nanda Parbat.