The Legend
CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Drama
Language: some
Violence: no
Nudity: none
Sex: none
Other: none
Author's Notes:
This PlotBunnyZilla ate my head for five hours one Sunday morning, when I was speculating on something Malcolm said in the flashbacks from Season 3. But apparently, he didn't say what I thought he said.
I thought he said something about the legend of Nanda Parbat, and getting help there. Because we know he ended up in the League of Assassins, we assumed that's the legend he meant. But. What if it wasn't?
Why would he need assassins when he'd already killed the man who murdered Rebecca (or so he thought)? That wouldn't bring her back. But what if he meant the other legend of Nanda Parbat? And why is he so adamant that using the Lazarus Pit on Thea is world's worst idea?
... ? ? ? ! ! !
When I conceived this, and wrote the second half that one Sunday morning, it fit into canon rather neatly. When season 4 came out and they sorta retconned the whole bringing Thea back to life, by saying she was only mostly dead, and nobody had been brought back with the Pit since days of legend... well...
Also, I read on the Arrow Wiki that Rebecca was a philanthropist, not a doctor. I had always thought she was a doctor, working at the clinic. Being a philanthropist makes more sense (there's no way a doctor that young would have time for her family!), but I cling to the idealization of Rebecca as a doctor, healing people.
Because this so closely matches the canon of the show, it does not match canon for my Green & Black series, or "Shattered Stones." Oh, and somebody put Nanda Parbat in the Hindu Kush, which is not in Tibet. I... always thought Nanda Parbat was in Tibet. Um. Oops. I fixed it for this work, but not for G&B.
The Legend
"Daddy, where are you going?"
"There is a legendary place called Nanda Parbat. I'm going there to find help."
==#==
The road to Nanda Parbat was steep and long. The Himalayan air was thin. Although Malcolm kept a slow, steady pace, he panted as if running a marathon; his heart thumped. Along the way, he had picked up four silent, hooded escorts. He had calmly stated his mission, to seek audience with the head of their order, and they had not shot him with their drawn bows. It seemed ludicrous in this day and age to be accosted with bow and arrow, but the reality of them was clearly deadly and frightening.
They stopped at the great doors of the edifice, carved from living rock centuries ago. Two of his guards went inside. Malcolm was grateful for the chance to catch his breath.
Then the doors opened again, and he was ushered inside, through a short corridor that led to a great hall. He heard the sounds of fighting, the ring of steel, yet still he was surprised at the sight that greeted him. Instead of orderly rows of sparring trainees, he found a grown man fighting a child. She was perhaps ten or twelve, but she handled her sword like a veteran.
In a blink, her sword - an actual sword, not a wooden training stick - flashed, striking sparks from her opponent's weapon. The man was disarmed, and the girl lunged in, her blade stopping at his neck. They stood a moment in tableau, then the man stepped back, bowed in respect and defeat.
The girl turned towards Malcolm, barely winded from her exertion. "I am Nyssa al Ghul," she said in clear English, striding forward and leveling her blade at him. "Heir to the Demon. Tell me why I should not kill you now, where you stand."
"I'm not here to fight," he said, still reeling from the mad spectacle.
"What other reason is there for you to be here?"
Malcolm was thrown for a loop; he'd been prepared to argue his case to a grown man, not a child. Still, he was nothing if not good at thinking on his feet.
He dropped into a half-kneeling crouch before her, palming a shiny coin from a tea house in the valley. She lowered her blade, but still, he was careful to make no sudden or alarming moves as he reached out to her, his fingers barely brushing her hair, the shell of her ear. He flourished the coin, and her eyes lit with wonder and amazement.
"A magician!"
Malcolm smiled. "I've come to seek an audience."
==#==
Malcolm found himself kneeling before Ra's al Ghul. The man himself, aside from the Hollywood-esque robes and jewelry, did not appear remarkable. Yet he exuded a quiet power that charged the air in the room, that made Malcolm quail in primal fear. He mastered himself, determined not to show it. This would require all his business acumen and negotiation skills.
He opened with honesty and respect. "I apologize; I do not know your proper title."
"I am Ra's al Ghul, the Head of the Demon. I have no need for any other title."
Malcolm bowed his head in acknowledgement, noting the different pronunciation than he was used to hearing and using. "I have come bearing a gift." He waited for permission to present it.
"Rise." Ra's al Ghul gestured to the side of the room and moved to the low table there.
Malcolm followed, digging in his rucksack, hoping he wouldn't drop it in his nervousness and look like an utter fool. He set the simple wooden box on the table, turned it to face the Lord of Assassins, and opened the lid.
Ra's al Ghul looked upon the gold ingots within. His face showed nothing of his thoughts. Then he asked simply, "For decoration, or for monetary value?"
"Whatever suits your needs," Malcolm replied. He knew how expensive it was to run a large international organization, but wasn't sure it was politic to compare himself to the Head of the Demon.
A faint smile softened the Assassin Lord's foreboding mien. "A fine gift," he acknowledged. "Do sit."
The two men sat on the eastern style cushions at the table. Malcolm felt a faint spark of elation at managing to overcome the first hurdle.
It was short-lived, however, cut down by Ra's al Ghul's next words. "Now you will ask a boon of me in return." His faint smile was gone, his face colder than before.
"No," said Malcolm, eliciting at least a twitch of one eyebrow. "The gift is just that, given freely, no matter the outcome of our negotiation. Because it is true, I've come to ask you for something. But I mean to pay for it, whatever the cost."
"With what shall you pay?"
"I am a man of many means. I own an international business, worth billions of dollars. I have access to collections of artefacts. Or technology, if you like. Research and development." He took a breath. "There are a myriad of things I can offer to you, to your organization. If I don't have something you want, I have the means to get it."
The tilt of Ra's al Ghul's head showed his interest. "Go on."
Malcolm swallowed. "There is a legend, an obscure tale whispered in the dark, of waters in Nanda Parbat that can be used to restore the dead to life." If these were just crazy rumors, he had just risked his life for nothing.
After a moment of heavy silence, Ra's al Ghul said simply, "The Lazarus Pit."
Malcolm's heart leapt. "So it's true?" He'd pinned his hopes on this rumor, this legend, but he hadn't dared to feel actual hope.
The Assassin Lord nodded once. "And this person you wish... returned?"
"My wife, Rebecca," he blurted. And why would such a cold and powerful man care about one ordinary woman? "She was killed, murdered. By the people she was trying to help. She was a doctor; she healed people, and they killed her. We have a son, Tommy. He's only eight. They were so close." He felt his throat tightening, and he tried to choke down sudden tears. "I will give you anything, everything I have, if you will restore her to us." He dared to look into the Demon's eyes, his own wet with tears. Anything that would move this man - pity, greed, altruism. Malcolm would beg if he thought that's what it would take. "She didn't deserve to die. Not while criminals like the man who killed her continue to live."
The Assassin Lord seemed to consider, while Malcolm held his breath, his hands squeezed into bloodless fists.
Then Ra's al Ghul asked, "Have you ever killed anyone?"
Malcolm dropped his eyes. "Yes."
"Tell me."
He licked his lips. "The man who shot Rebecca. The police didn't have enough evidence, but I found out who he was. I went to confront him." The dark, torch-lit hall faded as Malcolm's eyes focused in the past. He saw that ratty alleyway again. "I wanted to know why. Why he'd killed her."
"Just that? Just to know?"
Malcolm couldn't answer that. He hadn't known what would happen, did he? Though he'd brought the gun. "I didn't threaten him," he said aloud. "He didn't know me as anyone special. But he treated me like a victim, not like a fellow human being."
He shivered slightly, feeling the cool damp air of that night. The inhumanity. "He didn't care about me, he didn't care about my wife. All he cared about was hurting people. Taking from them." His fingers hesitantly touched his face, the scab still on his split lip. "He attacked me." Malcolm lowered his hand, bowed his head. "He beat me, then walked off in contempt. I shot him in the back." He closed his eyes.
"Do you bow your head in shame over the fact you killed a man, or only because of the cowardly way you killed him?"
Malcolm opened his eyes, and Nanda Parbat came back into focus. "I... don't know." He hadn't examined how he felt, not too closely. He'd gone into a panic. He'd killed a man, and no matter how he protested he'd only wanted to talk, how it had been self defense, once the prosecutors asked, 'Did you bring the gun with you?' it was all premeditated murder.
"Do you regret killing this man?"
"No." No, not after all the hurt that man had caused, killing Rebecca, tearing her from the hearts of her family, after beating him and humiliating him, no. Malcolm felt not one shred of regret for killing him.
Ra's al Ghul shifted, leaning close over the table, drawing Malcolm's gaze to look him in the eye. "The price for bringing back a life," he said gravely, "is another life."
Malcolm swallowed. That was it, then. He'd have to die to bring Rebecca back. He'd been willing to destroy his life, to hand over everything he owned, everything he was, to become a pauper, but this? To have Rebecca's life miraculously returned, and not be able to bask in her love?
Then his thoughts darkened. Did he deserve her love, after he'd failed her? Did he deserve to live? Tommy and Rebecca would have each other. They could forge on without him.
"I accept," Malcolm said, his voice raw, as if he'd been crying. "I will gladly die to bring my Rebecca back."
The Demon's eyes widened, and expression slipping past his guard. "You would give up your life so readily for this woman?"
"Yes." His voice was stronger now, with conviction.
"So very few have such loyalty. There are fewer who can command it."
"If you can bring my Rebecca back, I would do anything you require. Do we have a deal?" Malcolm asked. "I will need time... to set my affairs in order. To make the arrangements."
"We have a deal." Ra's al Ghul nodded. "But you misunderstand me. I said a life for a life, not a death for a life." At Malcolm's puzzled look, he explained. "A life sworn in service to the League of Assassins."
Malcolm's brows knitted. Not to die, but to live on, here? Isolated from the word, from his beloved? Somehow, that seemed worse. "But... I'm to become an assassin? I'm no killer. Not a fighter, like..." He looked around, indicating the ancient fortress.
"All you need is the will to train. I will forge you into the weapon." The Demon tilted his head. "Or you may give us your son, if you prefer."
Tommy? Raised here? Taught to be a killer? Kind, sweet, gentle Tommy? Malcolm's mind flashed to the girl with the sword, coldly threatening to kill him on the spot. "No," he said. "I'll do it."
==X==