Summary: Malcolm Merlyn is forced to pay the price for his own mistakes. AU season 3, during and after episode 3X15. REVAMPED!
Author's note: One-shot. My vision of what happens next. Malcolm's POV, mostly, some of Oliver's and Ra's' too. The dynamic between Malcolm, Oliver and Ra's is the focus. So: some Oliver scenes shown in the episode may be missing, but they are referred to.
Author's note amendment: This is a re-vamped version of this story - I have re-written more than I thought I would to make it better. So, even if you have read it already, check it out once more and tell me what you think NOW.
For those who have not read the previous version: you've lost nothing, just immerse yourself in this one :)
Yes, this is still a one-shot, but while writing my Brain decided there will be a sequel, entitled "Honour", which is in the works.
MAJOR thanks to Bloodsong, who helped me with a lot of bits I wanted re-written and who remains my forever-amazing source of inspiration!
Without further ado:
"Dignity"
On and off, I have this tradition of quoting songs in my fics.
Artist: Plumb
Title: Hang on
Dedicated to: Obviously: Malcolm and Oliver
I'm so stubborn, it's how I got here
So alone, feels like forever
Wanna swim away and breathe the open air
But I feel so afraid, then I hear you say:
Hang on when you are barely breathing
Hang on when your heart's still beating
Hang on, just don't ever let go
XXXXXXX
Nanda Parbat
"Al-Saher, face your death with honour. Or at least dignity."
Ra's Al Ghul's words echoed in Malcolm's ears as he was dragged from the room.
"No, No, NO!" He screamed, feeling ashamed of every time he allowed himself to do this.
But Ra's would expect it. "The Magician" knew his teacher despised him now.
Malcolm had begged. He had been weak. Selfish. He was no better than the criminals he had hunted as the Dark Archer.
When the League warriors dragged him to his cage, Malcolm found himself remembering.
He was despicable. He had used his own daughter, whom he had promised to protect from ever being hurt. He had used her brother as a shield to protect himself from the League. He had sent Oliver to his death. His best friend's son. The boy who had saved him from Deadshot. The boy who had taken the crime Malcolm had committed upon himself and claimed it as his own to pay for.
Malcolm realized he had become a monster, no better than the one who'd killed Rebecca.
As the League members dragged him away, he remembered himself asking the man he had thought had killed his wife what made him do this - how he could destroy other people's lives.
How ironic. He had become no better. The very same, or worse.
He had killed that man. A boy, really.
Years... Decades later, he found out he had killed the wrong person.
Daniel Brickwell murdered Rebecca. To get into a gang.
Oliver convinced Malcolm not to take his revenge on Brick. For Thea.
Malcolm knew Oliver hated him… He'd heard the conversation the siblings had later on, because he knew how to surreptitiously get into his daughter's loft to eavesdrop.
Merlyn had returned to his apartment after this, trying to figure out Oliver's reasons.
To be honest, he was confused.
Oliver seemed to want to allow his enemy to redeem himself, he seemed to understand when Malcolm had told him he was not always this… murderer.
Oliver had asked Malcolm to train him. To help him defeat Ra's. And yet, he still hated him.
Was it wishful thinking on Malcolm's part? To get some measure of forgiveness from Oliver and Thea...? After traveling with her, seeing her start to trust him, he watched himself losing that when she returned to Starling. She stopped calling him "Dad" the day she found out he hadn't told her Oliver was the "Arrow." He'd wondered about telling her; he felt tempted to, but it was not his truth to tell. It was Oliver's. It seemed that even when he tried to do the right thing, Malcolm ended up hurting the people he loved most.
He felt very surprised, but pleased when Oliver turned to him for help. Oliver's willingness to fight Ra's, to kill him - Malcolm knew he was the one who had manipulated him into it, but at some point... He did not himself realize when, he started hoping the three of them - Oliver, Thea and himself might one day become a family.
How delusional, in retrospect.
Oliver asked for training, like Thea had, so Malcolm obliged, his subconscious surreptitiously painting a dream that could never come true.
A castle in the sand, with lies for foundations, on a beach soon to be flooded by a tsunami.
As the first part of the training, Malcolm sent the siblings to Lian Yu, hoping that Oliver would face his fear - Slade Wilson. Oliver had locked the man away. But Malcolm knew - that was not the way to face your fear: lock it away and then forget. He knew this from his own experience.
Ra's.
He had metaphorically locked him away. He kept escaping. Running.
Moira. She'd sent him on the run.
And she had every right to.
So Malcolm kept running, always a step ahead of the League.
Keeping Ra's locked away.
Keeping his fear locked away.
Then Slade Wilson unleashed his vengeance upon Oliver, Starling... Moira. And Thea.
Malcolm was too late to save Moira. But Thea was still in danger.
And he managed to save her. His beloved daughter.
And then she asked him to teach her how to never get hurt again. He did his best to do just that..
He failed. He became the one who hurt her. Just as he had used her brother as his shield from Ra's.
Then when they were on Lian Yu, facing Slade, Oliver told her that Malcolm had drugged her to kill Sara. That was when he lost his daughter.
After they returned, Thea served Malcolm up to Ra's, to save her brother and herself from the very danger he'd put them in.
XXXXXXX
Dignity, Ra's had said.
Did he really mean it, Malcolm wondered.
"Face your death with honour. Or at least dignity."
His teacher clearly doubted he was capable of either.
It man who had shown him the way when he was lost, the man he'd once admired…now despised him.
Was it Malcolm's wish to live a life without dignity?
Not that living was an option for him anyway, he reminded himself. So, was it his wish to die without dignity, kicking and screaming like a coward?
He pondered this thought as they dragged him through the Nanda Parbat corridors he knew so well.
Finally, they brought him to a very hot room and stripped him of his jacket and boots, leaving him only in his shirt and trousers. Then they chained him up above burning coals.
He did not remember when he'd stopped screaming from the pain the fire brought, when he lost the strength to. To scream, to even think. The pain was constant and unrelenting as the flames licked away hungrily. He had thought he'd mastered pain. He had believed he'd taught Thea how to master it. Now, he realized he had not. He had not achieved anything.
"You've always had something of a god complex, Malcolm," he recalled Robert Queen saying when he'd first presented the idea of the Undertaking to the Group. A bitter smile twisted his lips at the remembrance, and the wisdom of his friend's words finally hit home after all these years. His friend… Whom he had also killed.
Some 'god' he was. Of death and destruction, perhaps.
And of failure.
All the 'god' could do now was… just hang there, helplessly in chains.
After what seemed like hours later, one of the senior members of the League came in, ordered him released from the bonds. But it was not meant to relieve him of the agony. His two helpers held Merlyn by the arms and the warrior started to hit him over and over again. Slaps across his face, punches to his stomach, kicks and slashes, until Malcolm was barely able to breathe. The only thing he could feel proud of was that he had not begged them to stop.
Dignity...?
Then they chained him up above the coals again.
He tried to breathe in, slowly, but the heat in the room only made it hurt more.
His ribs were fractured.
The air was suffocating.
At some point, one of the League members came into the hall to check on him, coughed, then left.
There came a time when Malcolm lost consciousness.
"Oh my God!" He was woken up by someone he vaguely recognized, whose disbelieving voice cut through the silence.
He searched his memory to remember. Diggle, the bodyguard?
"Malcolm!" Oliver's voice dragged him out of the haze and made him open his eyes in surprise.
"Help me get him down!" the boy asked Diggle, approaching the chained man with a shocked look on his face.
"No.. Esc… Run. Trap..." Malcolm stumbled over his words and they came out as jumbled nonsense when he half-consciously attempted to warn the men.
His mind tried to come to grips with the fact that Oliver Queen and John Diggle had decided to save him.
Then the cage door dropped, trapping them all.
"Mr Queen, welcome to Nanda Parbat," Ra's Al Ghul said, smiling.
Malcolm closed his eyes in agony.
XXXXXXX
Oliver and Diggle were dragged from Malcolm's cage into a different room.
Malcolm could only suppose they would soon be killed.
He was not able to fall into unconsciousness again. His heart pounded, as he kept thinking of what was happening to the men who'd just come to rescue him.
Ra's would not be merciful. He had practically killed Oliver in their duel. Malcolm had no idea how the boy was able to come back from that alive.
They had been deprived of the opportunity to train together enough.
He could not fool himself that Oliver or his friend would survive this. Two more names to add to the list of people whose death he'd caused.
He remembered the compassion in the bodyguard's voice when he said "Oh my God" as he entered. The voice that started to wake him up before he heard Oliver.
He knew John Diggle was a soldier, used to seeing death, torture, cruelty. Used to killing. The fact that after having witnessed all this, he was still capable of feeling compassion for the man who had hurt his friend so badly made Malcolm grieve for the fate this brave soldier was facing all the more.
And Oliver…
Despite the coals burning below him, Malcolm did not feel any physical pain anymore.
His mental agony outweighed everything else.
He remembered finding out Tommy was dead after the Undertaking. Realizing he was the one who had killed him.
He had blocked it out eventually, but the first days after, Malcolm had been a dead man walking. He had thought Tommy was unconscious or recovering at the penthouse.
But he had gone to the Glades to save the woman he loved, and he died. He had succeeded, though.
Malcolm could not have been more proud. And more broken. He had caused his own son's death.
He had failed his wife again.
He lowered his head to stare at the coals burning beneath his feet.
Their red and black colour drew his gaze as he tried to count the times he'd failed Rebecca and the myriad of ways he'd managed to do it.
Not answering her call, failing her when she was dying.
Not avenging her, because he killed the wrong person, thinking this was her murderer.
Killing their son.
The Undertaking.
Yes, that. He'd believed he was honouring her by destroying the Glades - the very neighbourhood she'd worked so hard to save. The one she gave her life for. How could he have been such a fool?
Lying and killing so many while all she ever wanted to do was save lives?
Betraying her by comforting himself with Moira so soon after her death.
Murdering people again and again and again.
Was there an end to this morbid list?
Malcolm's thoughts kept running until he lost consciousness again.
XXXXXXX
Out of all days in the year, Diggle chooses now to ask him to be his best man? If the situation hadn't been so serious, Oliver could have laughed.
All he did now was promise his friend that he would. A promise he wasn't sure he was going to be able to keep.
The door to their cell opened and Maseo walked in with League warriors.
"Oliver, it's time."
Oliver swallowed thickly and decided not to look at Diggle. It would be too painful to look at his friend, knowing it was the last time.
Maseo led him to the room where Ra's was waiting. They pushed Oliver down to kneel.
"You've tasted death," Ra's said, "And you wanted more" - a hint of surprise entered the man's voice.
He continued: "The truth is... everyone and everything must come to an end. Even for one such as me."
Oliver felt confused. What did Ra's mean? His own death? Or was it a twisted way of telling him he is about to face his?
Ra's drew his sword and pointed it at Oliver's neck.
Yes. So that was how it was going to be. No surprise here, Oliver thought as he looked Ra's straight in the eye. He only wanted to accomplish one thing. Two, if he pushed his luck. He prayed silently it would work.
He started with the first. "Kill me. But spare John Diggle's life. Let him go. I will beg for it."
Oliver felt shocked when Ra's expressed his admiration for him.
He sheathed his sword and said: "No, Mr Queen. I don't want to kill you. I want you to take my place. I want you to become the next Ra's Al Ghul."
Oliver could do nothing but stare. His mind was reeling. He stopped himself from asking the word that wanted to push itself out of his lips - 'What?'
Ra's led him to another chamber with a pool of water and explained its powers, then calmly answered to Oliver's questions and addressed his doubts.
"I will give you time to think on this," Ra's said, indicating a door for Oliver, "Here."
Oliver entered the room. There was a couch and a table with a water carafe. He ignored the table and went to sit on the couch. He wouldn't drink Ra's' water even if he were dying of thirst.
His thoughts returned to the shocking offer the Demon's Head presented to him.
This was a choice he never expected to face.
But, provided it was not a trick, one that could potentially solve many of his problems. More than this - save the people he wanted to protect.
He found himself comforted by the fact that Ra's was not an immortal, mythical creature, but simply a man who'd found a way to extend his life beyond its natural length. Sort of like Mirakuru gave one superhuman strength and endurance.
After about an hour of intense contemplation and weighing his options, he exited the room. There were two League warriors waiting for him.
"Please take me to your master."
One of the men nodded and they led him across the corridor to a room where Ra's was waiting.
"Leave us" he said, looking a little paler than the last time they spoke. "So, have you made your decision?"
"I have, but first I want to discuss the conditions."
"I expected nothing less of you, Mr Queen," Ra's said with a small smile.
'"As I said before, I would like you to spare John Diggle's life. If you decide otherwise, kill me instead, or let me die with him."
"Your friend shall live." Ra's nodded and Oliver felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his chest.
"There is one more condition that I have." Oliver said cautiously, knowing this would be a tricky one.
"Yes?"
"Malcolm Merlyn. I want him to live as well. To return with me to Starling City while I settle things there."
"Al-Saher?" Ra's asked in disbelief, a hint of anger entering his voice. "You would allow him to live after all his crimes?"
"Not without punishment. Which I will mete out as the new Ra's Al Ghul."
"But still, you will let him live?"
"You in the League think of death as the ultimate punishment. But do you truly know what happens after someone dies? Would it not be better to let the culprit live and actually see them pay for their sins with your own eyes? We both know there are ways to punish a person so much they will wish to die," Oliver countered, hoping this argument would work.
Ra's studied his face for a moment, thinking.
"I will grant you this wish, Mr. Queen. But I am not at my dying hour yet. I shall observe. I admire your mercy for your enemy. And I expect my daughter to be returned to me as soon as possible." Ra's' voice turned to steel.
"As soon as you have John Diggle and Malcolm Merlyn in the helicopter, ready to go, it will take only one phone call."
Ra's went out of the room and gave the orders.
Once Oliver checked the helicopter, he faced Ra's in front of the building. One of the warriors handed him the phone.
"Laurel? Release Nyssa. Thea did what? Is she… Ok… I'm on my way back to Starling. Is Nyssa still there?"
Laurel had no idea what to make of this. It looked like Oliver was fine, but…"Ollie, is Diggle…"
"He's ok, so is Nyssa there or not?"
"Yeah, after Thea left, she returned to her cage."
"Let her out, she can go back to Nanda Parbat."
"What?!"
"Let her out, I'll explain when I get back!"
"Allright, don't yell at me!"
"Well, sorry!" Oliver didn't want to let Laurel in on the fact that Ra's al Ghul was standing beside him, watching his every move, so he had to improvise. "As you know, I'm sorta broke and phone minutes ain't cheap when you call the US from Tibet! So see you soon, I'm flying home! Bye!"
Ra's stifled a chuckle as he took the phone from Oliver and handed it to one of his minions. "Call me on this number when you land." Ra's said.
"Nyssa is on her way home" Oliver answered.
"I take it you just had a fight with your girlfriend?" the Demon's Head asked with a smile.
Oh my, is Ra's trying not to laugh at me? Oliver thought. "Ex girlfriend," he said with an embarrassed expression, finding himself on the verge of asking Ra's if he had 'exes.'
Better not, if he wanted to make it to that helicopter alive, he decided and jumped on board.
Oliver returned to Starling and brought Diggle to a house he had rented before all this had happened. With the situation still uncertain, he preferred that his best friend and his family be somewhere the League couldn't find them so easily, should things go awry. Thea had created a bank account for him some weeks before with a very generous sum on it, for the expenses he obviously had. He tried not to think about it as "Merlyn's blood money", but money he would use to fix the mistakes Al-Saher had made.
XXXXXXX
Soon after, in Malcolm's no longer so secret Starling City Apartment
After dumping the still-unconscious Malcolm on one of the couches in the main room, Oliver called Laurel and made sure Nyssa had been released, then called Ra's like he knew he would eventually have to.
"Nyssa should have arrived at Nanda Parbat by now," he said, omitting the pleasantries.
"My daughter is here, safe. You are a man of your word, Mr Queen," Ra's said. "I take it Al-Saher still lives," he continued.
"Yes," Oliver answered. "He is my sister's father. That is why I wanted him to live. His death would have destroyed her."
"You said he would face punishment for his crimes. For me, the only fitting punishment for him is still death. He is a pathetic man who failed to face it. Who has no honour, no dignity. But I will give him one chance. I will come to Starling City. If he fails, do not try to protect him. Or your sister will pay the price; she will die at my hand. You all will."
Oliver knew Ra's was not bluffing.
"I believe you understand what has to be done."
"Yes," Oliver found himself saying, his heart pounding as he thought of Thea. "Ra's," he added, his throat dry. "Allow me to wield the knife."
Silence reigned on the other side of the line.
"Very well," the Demon's Head answered finally. "My plane will be arriving in Starling city in an hour. I look forward to seeing the results of your… undertaking."
Oliver gave Ra's the address of Malcolm's apartment. "You will witness it as soon as you are here."
He put the phone down.
XXXXXXX
Malcolm woke up feeling unusually comfortable. He was lying on a soft couch, covered with a blanket. The last thing he remembered was analyzing all of his mistakes and crimes, while hung up in chains above the burning coals in Nanda Parbat.
He must have passed out at some point.
He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the fireplace in his own apartment in Starling... He blinked several times. This was obviously a very vivid hallucination.
"Welcome home, Merlyn." Malcolm lifted himself up on the couch, turning all too fast at the sound of Oliver Queen's voice. The sudden movement made him so dizzy he almost collapsed back again.
"O… Oliver. H...How?" he stuttered.
"Turns out Ra's Al Ghul wants me to become his successor. He is dying." Oliver said bluntly, without preamble.
It seemed Malcolm's day was not going to become any easier in terms of surprises.
He tried to wrap his head around what he'd just heard. Tried not to stutter this time but failed. "W-wait, wh-what?" He sat up more firmly, processing Oliver's words.
The boy approached the couch and handed Malcolm a glass of Whiskey. "I drank some to help myself a bit."
Malcolm shook his head and gave the drink back. "No, thanks."
"Well then, you will have to face this sober." Oliver said, pulling out a knife.
Merlyn's eyes widened in surprise for a moment. He lowered his head slightly, his gaze growing distant as silence reigned in the room. Then he looked up at Oliver again. Their eyes met.
"Do it," Malcolm said, overcoming the weakness in his arms to sit up straighter. The boy had saved him from the League, but if he was to become Heir to to the Demon, he had to kill the League's enemy. Besides, even as Oliver Queen, he deserved his justice.
Malcolm took a slow, steady breath, waiting for the knife to embed itself in his heart. He felt it pounding, but the breath slowed it down to a more even rhythm. Soon it would beat no more.
"So you do have some dignity, after all," Ra's Al Ghul's voice said.
Malcolm spun around and jumped up from the couch at the sound, ignoring the pain that tore through his body. "Ra's." This time Malcolm was facing the man while standing up, not kneeling, no more so consumed by his own fear that he failed to see how ill Ra's looked.
"Al-Saher," Ra's said in a formal tone as Oliver moved to stand behind Malcolm, still holding the knife.
"Well, we all know what is to come now," Malcolm said quietly after a beat, overcoming his surprise, resigned to his fate just as he was a moment earlier with Oliver and the knife. He wished for many things right now, too many to contemplate.
He found himself unable to look away from Ra's, from studying his posture, his features, noting the paleness of his skin, the weariness in his eyes. He remembered all that he had thought about in Nanda Parbat, hanging above those coals.
He took one step aside to be able to address both men at the same time. "I will not live to see the future, but there is a doctor." He said to Ra's."He is great at his craft. He has helped me many times. Will you allow me to call him and examine you?"
"What makes you think my medics have erred in their death sentence? And why would you wish to save the person who wants you dead?"
Malcolm did not answer the question right away, just looked Ra's straight in the eye as his mind travelled back in time to the day he came to Nanda Parbat to start his training.
He remembered his first conversation with Ra's Al Ghul, how this legend of a man had just listened to him, without offering any of these meaningless words of consolation or advice Malcolm had heard so many of before, during, and after Rebecca's funeral. How he had found himself suddenly spilling all of his despair, helplessness and rage to a complete stranger, without reservations, without knowing or even caring what the result would be. The Demon's Head had occasionally prompted him with some additional, sometimes surprising questions, but otherwise remained silent. And for the first time since that fatal moment of finding out about his Rebecca's death, Malcolm had felt as if someone understood him.
Then came his training, his use of it, his misuse of it, perhaps, all the choices and consequences.
Oh, the consequences... They kept coming and coming, like tidal waves on a beach after an earthquake, rearing their ugly heads when he least expected it. But Ra's Al Ghul had warned him about it , that very night when he decided to stay and train. He had chosen. Now the consequences were here and it was only up to him how he would face them.
"That first evening in Nanda Parbat." was all Malcolm said in reply to the Demon's Head, but it was enough. Ra's nodded as he returned his gaze, something shifting deep within his eyes. Malcolm picked up his phone from the coffee table. "Doctor Chang?" The man was always at his beck and call. "How soon can you get here with your full equipment? Yes, it is an emergency. I shall await you, then." He disconnected.
Oliver looked between the men, a little at a loss of what had just happened; he was tempted to ask, but felt unsure whether it was even appropriate to say anything under the circumstances. He decided to keep his silence. He had enough to think about as it was.
It seemed there was nothing left to do but wait.
"I see the Eastern style of interior decoration appeals to you, Al-Saher," Ra's said casually, admiring the case where the Dark Archer stored his bow and some other weapons.
"Yes, it does." Malcolm answered somberly..
Oliver had recently found himself in many surreal situations, but this one threatened to top them all. Malcolm Merlyn was about to die; either Ra's or, more likely, Oliver himself were going to kill him after the doctor left, but here the two of them were, discussing interior decoration?
Malcolm let Ra's walk around the place, but he himself moved slowly to the window to look out at the city. Oliver observed him taking in the view, and realized he thought it probably was the last time.
XXXXXXXX
The doorbell rang, distracting each man from what they were doing. Malcolm moved slowly to open the door while Ra's walked over to stand beside Oliver. The doctor entered with the men carrying the equipment behind him. He turned to Merlyn, noting the bruises on his face and thinking he was the one to be treated, but Malcolm indicated Ra's.
The doctor made a face, but nodded and moved on. "I am Doctor Chang, Mr…?"
"Rheyes," Ra's introduced himself. Oliver had to stifle a surprised chuckle. Clearly, Malcolm was used to his master's assumed name, because he just returned to staring out the window with no comment.
"Mr. Merlyn told me this was an emergency. I assume the diagnosis is not optimistic." The man immediately earned Ra's' respect by his no-nonsense approach. "I shall have to perform some tests, now." The help rolled in a privacy screen, separating the patient and doctor from the rest of the room. Both Malcolm and Oliver moved away from the impromptu medical centre, keeping their distance from each other.
Ra's clearly did not care whether they heard his conversation with the doctor. Oliver was his heir, after all, so should be privy to such information and Malcolm was about to die anyway - it did not matter what knowledge he'd take with him to the grave.
When the barrage of tests was over and the beeping and blinking machines spat out their results, Dr. Chang turned to Ra's with a sombre expression. "I shall not bore you with the details Mr Rheyes. You must know them from the other doctors you've undoubtedly consulted. The placement of your tumor does make it practically inoperable, and its proneness to malignancy puts the long-term survival rate at under 10 percent."
Ra's only nodded shortly.
"I also understand I would not be here if you or Mr Merlyn put your faith only in modern medicine. I deal with matters of this kind in, shall we say, a rather unorthodox way, and I do have a potential solution to propose to you."
The doctor consulted his charts and readouts yet again, then spoke in a firm, matter-of-fact voice: "I can perform a procedure which will fully remove the tumor. However, it is a novel approach, not fully understood, let alone approved by the medical world. Should it fail, it will result in your immediate death. Should it succeed, it will be followed with a course of medication that will prevent the cancer from re-appearing or spreading. So far, of the six surgeries I have performed, only two have proven successful. However, the patients have recovered fully. Your blood test results are somewhat surprising, but they are all I can perform within this timeframe. I also see you must be a soldier of some kind. You will no longer be able to continue this lifestyle after the operation."
The doctor looked Ra's Al Ghul straight in the eye. "I know it is a difficult decision, but I need your answer now, Mr. Rheyes. I have nothing further to add."
After a few seconds of thought, Ra's al Ghul responded in an impassive voice: "Do your work, Mr Chang. Immediately, if you are ready."
The doctor nodded and moved to give proper orders to his nurses.
The medical help rolled in more equipment and the operation table. Malcolm and Oliver were politely asked to clear the room. Chang was a special type of doctor for unusual situations and it was not the first time he had performed a surgery under unique circumstances.
Somewhat befuddled by the suddenness of it all, Malcolm and Oliver threw a brief look towards each other, then allowed themselves to be rushed to wait in a smaller side room. The commotion outside slowly subsided into silence.
XXXXXXX
Merlyn moved to the window again, pulled toward the glittering lights of the cityscape below.
Like a moth to a flame, he thought with a bitter smirk as he remembered his recent encounter with the fires of Nanda Parbat. Like a moth that gets killed by a flame; or a predator, a wolf, kept away from campers in the woods by its fear of the fire, yet staying just on the edge of it, eyes glittering demonically, unable to look away. So he was now, standing on the edge of this myriad of lights, tempted to be able to bask and warm himself in them again, but knowing that it meant his demise.
He was already under sentence of death from the League, and coming out into these tempting lights of Starling City, back into civilisation, meant eventually getting found by the authorities, then tried and executed for his crimes. All that remained for him was to stay in the shadows. Shadows that closed in on him, gave neither release nor shelter. He was trapped between darkness and light, and increasingly tired of the manoeuvres to avoid them.
He lifted his right hand and touched the glass pane that separated him from the world outside. It was cold, almost freezing, and yet he welcomed its coolness, let it spread from the nerves in his fingertips, further up into the veins. He felt a unity with it. Neither here nor there, transparent and yet unreadable. It connected with the pain of his injuries and for a second, it felt as if it were the only thing that kept him standing.
He heard footsteps behind him as Oliver approached slowly, stopping just a few feet away.
It was a strange feeling. The contrast between the warmth radiating from where the boy was standing in the cozy room, and his own frozen form, touching the cold glass. The shadows in which Oliver's figure was now immersed and the lights illuminating Malcolm from the outside.
"I still don't understand. Why are you doing it?" the boy asked. "Why are you suddenly so hell-bent on saving the man who wants you dead?"
Malcolm looked at Oliver's reflection in the boy still held the knife loosely in his right hand, apparently forgotten in all the commotion. Malcolm turned to face him, not pulling his palm away from the cold glass. His gaze wandered toward the blade. What would it feel like, entering his flesh? A cold as the pane felt right now, or more freezing? Perhaps the opposite, as hot as the coals in Nanda Parbat? He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he detached his hand from the glass and slowly closed the distance between himself and the boy.
"Because I … deserve to die, Oliver," he said hoarsely, almost in a whisper.
Their gazes met and Malcolm noted the surprise in Oliver's eyes at whatever he saw in his own. For once in a very long time, he had allowed himself to forget what expression others would be able to read on his face. He had dropped his guard.
Oliver studied him for what seemed like hours, then sheathed his knife on the back of his belt in a fluid movement.
"You will not die." He said curtly, his eyes boring into Malcolm's. There was no permanent promise there, no You are now safe from me forever assurance in Oliver's intense gaze. Not today was all that Malcolm could read from the steely look that met his surprised expression.
"You have proven your dignity to Ra' doctor is hopefully saving his life as we speak and I, as his successor, am willing to give you a chance." Oliver took a step away, clasping both his hands behind his back in a formal stance.
"Malcolm Merlyn, I am the new Heir to the Demon." Oliver's tone grew stern and official "I call upon you to become my soldier, to pay for your sins with faithful service. Do you accept? Will you swear your loyalty to me?"
Malcolm looked at the boy, a surreal feeling overcoming him. Serve Oliver Queen? His mind went on a whirlwind journey back through time.
To little Oliver, his son's cheeky but charming best friend; an annoying, troublesome teenager; then a pathetic twenty-something playboy who only cared about partying and girls, drinking from the generous cup life had handed him with reckless abandon and no thought of the consequences.
And then… The joyful club-hopper seemed to have turned into collateral damage when he boarded his father's yacht, doomed by Malcolm Merlyn to sink.
Malcolm remembered the myriad of feelings that had gone through him when the boy returned five years later, seemingly the same and yet so different from the way he'd been before. The moment Malcolm's wavering suspicions were confirmed - that Oliver Queen was, in fact, the 'Arrow'.
All that followed.
The weak, reckless playboy had not perished in the storm and explosion. He'd faced the hell of the island he'd been stranded on and forged himself into a weapon, turned his weaknesses into strength, his losses into motivation to become a better man.
Yes, he'd strayed, made mistakes, but in the end, he had become a hero. He gained faithful friends, found love, had people who would give their life for him in the blink of an eye. Ra's al Ghul himself chose him as an heir over his own family.
What had the great Malcolm Merlyn achieved in the meantime?
He had wanted to make sure none of his loved ones ever got hurt again after Rebecca was taken from him. So he had become a deadly, merciless weapon. He'd thought he had overcome his weaknesses while he dove deeper into his rage and sorrow, skillfully using all that he'd learned to feed his thirst for vengeance. He'd destroyed thousands of lives, including those of his best friends. He abominably failed his beloved wife, besmirching her name by justifying his crimes again and again by saying he did it in her honour. He killed his own son... their son. The last, precious vestige of Rebecca left in this world. He twisted and mortally endangered his daughter. He became a thing he once could not even comprehend. He was alone and universally hated, despised, everywhere he turned.
Something inside him rebelled against serving this… boy, who had no experience in leading, lacked training, made impulsive choices...
And yet he found himself dropping to his knees in front of Oliver Queen, awe and hope overcoming everything else in his mind as an oath pushed itself out from deep inside his soul, like a prayer:
"Here do I swear my loyalty and service to Al Sah-Him, Heir to the Demon, in fighting and in staying by his hand. From this hour henceforth, until he release me... or death take me."
Malcolm found he did not feel humiliated or undignified by his kneeling position. It was not forced, as it had been with Ra's Al Ghul so recently in Nanda Parbat.
This expression of allegiance was given spontaneously, freely and honestly.
Oliver's eyes flashed with surprise, then a glint of warmth shone briefly through the formal expression as he reached down to Malcolm, grasped his hand firmly and pulled him to stand up.
"And I shall reward it. Service with honour, loyalty with protection. Rise, Al-Saher.
TBC...
End notes:
Yeah, Dark Empress, cop to it - you are a die-hard Malcolm Merlyn fan. And so are you if you are reading this fic, haha! But I am also an Oliver Queen fan. A fan of their relationship - not slash one, maybe - MAYBE (yes I have read the slash fanfics and loved them, kudos to the authors!), to me theirs is be more of a friend- teacher, sometimes son-father-like kind of relationship. And in this fic - only if you read it you saw what kind of relationship I made THAT be.
I had a heck of a good time writing this, I hope you had a heck of a good time reading it. I do it all for you!
Heck, if you understand the "Enemy mine" trope, you know what I mean mostly as that kind of relationship I support and enjoy.. And if you know ME and understand what I am saying - as Bloodsong, the master blackmailer and a genius author here on fanfiction net does, you know I am all for writing about complicated relationships.
PS. And the sequel, "Honour" will be published soon!