Last time: Ra's strode along this corridor, bypassing his throne room, to enter another set of rooms - his personal chambers. There Halari stood smiling. "Welcome home, Master!"

xoxoxo

Next to her stood Sarab, whom he had sent to fetch her from the servant quarters.

Ra's did not acknowledge Halari's greeting, though he had certainly heard it. But it did not do to trade trivial words with a simple servant, even one such as the beautiful Halari, who was his personal body servant and saw to his 'every' need.

Halari stepped forward, still smiling, to remove the mantle from his shoulders. But if one looked closely enough, one could see that the smile did not reach her eyes. She simply followed the age old tradition of servants and masters, portraying an image of happiness at her master's return. As was expected of her.

Unclasping the mantle, she reverently lifted the heavy, ornate piece of fabric off Ra's shoulders, as if it were a most prized possession, and took it away.

Ra's turned around and looked at the entering soldiers. "Put him there", he instructed them, tilting his head in direction of a stone pedestal by a window, where he wanted them to set down the litter bearing Oliver Queen's body. Under The Demon's watchful gaze, they did as they were told, then stood at attention and looked at Ra's al Ghul, waiting for further instructions.

"Leave. Not you Sarab! I still have need of you. - Woman, fetch a bowl water. Remove the bandages and bathe his wounds. He needs to be prepared." While he spoke, Ra's walked up to the stone pedestal. He looked down to study the ashen face of the man lying there, as he had so often felt compelled to do in these last two days. There was something special about this young warrior, something that warranted The Demon's attention.

Ra's noticed small beads of perspiration sitting on Oliver's forehead, surely caused by the raging infection that had taken a hold of his body. In greases, formed by the pain and suffering he was experiencing, the beads gathered, before rolling down his neck. Who knew which untold horrors the boy relived in his mind? Which memories tortured him in his slumbering state? His lips, chapped by lack of hydration and the cold, dry, Tibetan winds, were slightly parted, exhaling shallow, strained breaths. If they didn't act soon, Oliver Queen would take his last breath under Nanda Parbat's stony roof. They had to act fast now.

"Sarab, come with me. We need to prepare." Having spoken those words, he left the room through a set of doors, which led into another, deeper part of the palace; one few had ever seen or had access to. Sarab followed.

xoxoxo

Halari had returned, just as her master left with the soldier known as Sarab. She set down the bowl of water and a sponge next to foreigner's head, which was the only thing visible of the man. She did not know who he was, where he came from or what had happened to him, just, that her master wanted her to take care of him. And that she would do.

Removing the blankets and furs in which Oliver had been swathed for the rough journey through Tibet's cold mountains, she revealed the body of the young man. It was horrible disfigured with scars, telling stories of the battles he had fought, that he had won and lost. But what captured her attention most, were two heavy bandages covering his chest and midriff.

Using a small sharp blade, she carefully cut through the bandages layer by layer, until the last one fell away. What lay underneath made her gasp. How was he still alive? She had found two crudely sewn wounds; one in his side and one in his chest. Both were crusted with dried herbs, oozed blood and puss. Pity tucked at Halari's heart for this poor stranger's soul. She hoped he would survive his gruesome injuries; however he had come by them. If her master had anything to say about it, she knew, he would.

Taking the sponge, she dipped it into the tepid fluid, squeezed out the excess water and gently wiped it across the man's too hot brow, then his cheeks. A barely perceptible sigh escaped his chapped lips and his features lost some of their strain. Halari smiled, glad being able to give him some small measure of comfort. She knew it wasn't much. Again she wet the sponge and this time she dabbed it at his chapped lips, which caused him to moan. His lips parted some more and he unconsciously licked at the moisture with his tongue.

'He's thirsty', Halari thought instantly and returned the sponge to the bowl to gather more fluid. Holding it over the man's parted lips, she squeezed the sponge slightly, letting small droplets of water drip into his mouth, until he swallowed reflexively. She repeated the process two more times, until she felt that he had enough, then began the task of cleaning the rest of his body, gently wiping him down, removing sweat and cleaning his wounds. She did so quickly, yet thoroughly, for she feared her master's wrath, if she did not finish this task before he returned.

When she was done, Halari set aside the sponge and covered the foreigner's body with a light blanket. She did not know what compelled her do it, but she lightly caressed his brow. Maybe it was pity. Maybe she was trying to soothe his anguish, or give him some measure of comfort. She did now know. At her touch, the man to moaned, his head lolling from side to side, as if trying to wake himself from a deep slumber.

"Sshh. Everything is fine. Sleep." Halari tried to soothe him, repeating the words several times, but he wouldn't have hit. Again he moaned, his lips opening and closing, trying to form words and speak, but lacking the breath to do so. Halari bent down, trying to understand what he said.

It wasn't any coherent sentence. It was just one word, he repeated over and over again – "Felicity".