Chapter 80: Lazarus

Malcolm would never willingly say to anyone that he missed his cell at A.R.G.U.S., but that didn't prevent him from privately admitting as much to himself. Ever since he had been kidnapped, he had been dragged and pushed around, and even briefly knocked out so his kidnappers could perform some good old-fashioned back alley surgery to get Amanda's tracker out of him without triggering its alarm. He hoped he didn't have an infection from that. It would probably be a painful way to die.

Then, they shoved him into another car and onto a plane to God knows where — all with this godforsaken burlap sack over his head the entire time. It was starting to smell in there, and he desperately needed to breathe fresh air; if he ever got out of these cuffs, he was going to slash this sack to pieces, regardless of the pointlessness of such a gesture. He was hungry, and tired, and suddenly facing all of Starling City with all his supposed crimes thrown back into his face sounded like a very tempting prospect. It would be much better than the absolute hell he'd gone through in the last twenty-four hours. Whoever wanted him better had some pretty good leverage, or he'd kill the bastard, consequences be damned.

Finally, after another hour or so of bemoaning his fate, the gods had deigned to smile upon him again. The sack was removed, allowing him to take in a deep breath as his eyes adjusted to light once more. The room he had been taken to was surprisingly comfortable — he was sitting on a couch, for one thing, and there was a fireplace behind the coffee chair facing him. The walls were lavishly decorated with artwork and there was even a piano in the corner. It looked like something that would be found in his own home, or the Queen Mansion.

As Malcolm observed his new surroundings, the door to the room, located right behind where he was sitting, opened silently. In entered a woman with dark, long hair and equally dark eyes. She had a tan complexion, and was wearing a full-cover leather suit that hid the fitness of her body. She was not young, but she was not old either, having aged like fine wine since her departure from home.

Malcolm finally saw her as she sat down in the coffee chair across from him, and his face flickered in recognition.

"Hello, Al-Sa-Her. It's been quite a long time, hasn't it?"

The man pursed his lips, and sighed. "Indeed it has, Talia."

Talia al Ghul, eldest daughter of the current Ra's al Ghul and (in her mind) the rightful Heir to the Demon smiled beatifically. "Despite the… circumstances in which we found you, you look well."

"You as well," Malcolm said politely back. "You've aged quite gracefully, I must say."

Talia's eyes sharpened, as did her smile. "You must be wondering why I've aged at all."

Malcolm shook his head. "No. I already know you're no longer with the League and don't have access to the Pit anymore. If you were, you would've killed me already. So you must want me for something."

"You always were a smart one Al Sa-Her," Talia commented after a moment of silence. "You are correct. My father refused to name me to my rightful place as heir, so I left. And as for why you're here… tell me, do you suspect why?"

Malcolm said nothing, only glaring at her. Nyssa may have been the more talented of the sisters, but Talia was the more cunning, ambitious one, and that made her dangerous. After all, the former still had lines she wouldn't cross. He doubted Talia had lines at all.

"My father may have been foolish enough not to monitor your activities, but I was not. After I set up shop, I made sure to have one of my best students tailing you at all times, keeping note of your activities. This… Undertaking, of yours, was still unexpected, but not a surprise nor a concern to us. After Al Sa-him—"

"Al Sa-him?"

"I believe you know him as Green Arrow," Talia noted casually, ignoring how Malcolm's face grew enraged at the mention of his hated enemy, and continued on, "After he defeated you, we thought to stop monitoring you — until something of note caught the eye of one of my agents. A police report, covering the crime scene at Merlyn Global in the wake of your arrest."

Almost immediately, whatever rage Malcolm felt drained away, and he paled dramatically.

"It said that your son, Thomas Merlyn, had been found covered in his own blood, but with no wound. A most curious thing that no doubt would've prompted many questions; luckily only a few had seen the real report, and it didn't take much to silence them. After all, the entire city was in chaos after your actions were revealed. It's hardly unexpected to find a few officers dead trying to quell it."

"What are you trying to say?" Malcolm asked, mind racing a mile a minute. She couldn't know, could she?

Talia smirked. "You saved his life using the waters of the Lazarus Pit, didn't you?"

Malcolm internally cursed, "I did. I stole some from your father before I left Nanda Parbat for good, kept it in a vial locked in one of my most secure safes—"

Talia laughed.

She laughed, long and hard, and Malcolm felt his insides freeze. She knew.

Finally, after two minutes or so, her laughter gradually diminished into a chuckle, and Talia wiped an imaginary tear from her eye as she leveled her gaze back at him. "Did you honestly expect me to believe that my father, one of the most paranoid men on the planet, allowed you to steal from him? Let alone that of which he values more than anything else in the world besides the League itself?" Suddenly, her face settled into an angry sneer. "Do not take me for a fool Al Sa-Her. My father may have been arrogant enough to let you go unwatched, but that was only because he knew he could have you killed whenever he wished. But if you ever once hinted having designs on the Pit, you would've never left Nanda Parbat alive. Nobody touches those waters without his consent."

"Then how else do you explain me acquiring those waters? There is nowhere else—"

"Stop lying, Al Sa-Her. You found another Lazarus Pit, didn't you?"

Malcolm fell silence once more, and he looked to the floor. There was no point in denying it any longer. Talia had gotten him.

She too noticed his sudden quietness, and made the appropriate conclusion. "I see you no longer deny it. Then you must know what I want now. Where is it?"

"Do you think I'd tell you now, knowing that it's my only card to play?" Malcolm asked, gaze rising to meet hers. "What's to stop you from killing me when I tell you? No, what makes you think I'll tell you at all? I am a terrible man, Talia, I can admit that much to myself, but you… you are so much worse than I could ever hope to be."

Talia peered at him searchingly, before smirking. She clapped her hands once, twice, all loudly, and a minute later two of her men entered the room. Malcolm noted that their garb was similar to the League, except their armor was black instead of gray and used more cloth. Each went to a different side of him and picked him up by his armpits, dragging him away, with Talia following.

With the sack gone (which he would forever be glad for), Malcolm was now able to see where his captors were taking him. He was getting an inadvertent tour of Talia's new abode, and he was stricken but not entirely surprised to see the differences and similarities it had with Nanda Parbat.

For one thing, the location. It was a temple up in the mountains — which mountains, he could not say — and while he could see some snow from the surrounding peaks, the temperature itself was cool, not unbearably cold. Otherwise he, with his lack of winter wear, would most likely be already dying of frostbite by now. He could even see some greenery from the open windows; a deep contrast to Nanda Parbat, which was not a building but a fortress carved into a near-desolate mountain.

For another, the atmosphere. Nanda Parbat had life, yes, but that life was not lively in the least. With few exceptions, the Assassins were stoic, obedient, and rarely expressed any emotion in public. Whatever feelings they needed to vent, they left in the privacy of their rooms, where no one could see them.

Talia's temple was different. Her students were dutiful, and professional, but they spoke far more, expressed more. However, what they expressed was not the grief and sadness that often plagued the Assassins, but arrogance, pride, and even greed at times, from what he could hear of the few snatches of the conversation made around him. It seemed students truly did reflect the teacher, because they all shared some similarity with Talia herself.

Malcolm remembered meeting the eldest daughter of Ra's al Ghul twenty years ago. While he had impressed upon Nyssa enough to gain entry into the League, Talia was another matter. She had been on a mission when he first arrived to Nanda Parbat, and when she returned they had not gotten off on the right foot. In Ra's and in Nyssa, there was arrogance and pride, and perhaps rightfully so. But in Talia, those traits were magnified tenfold, and she had never successfully managed to hide it, let alone temper it. She was haughty, vain, temperamental, and by the standards of the League, excessively cruel. Combined with her entitlement issues, Malcolm did not understand why Ra's had never bothered to straighten her out before. Perhaps it was because he had never intended for her to succeed him.

Or perhaps it was because she was a brilliant assassin. For all her faults, Talia was a talented combatant and extremely cunning. She had not evaded her father for all these years thanks to mere luck. Most of all, however, Talia respected those whose skills were comparable to her own. Not surpassed — unless they were her father, Talia never liked anyone better than her — but comparable. Once his own skills had grown to something worth noting, she had come to grudgingly respect him as well. Enough to take him on whatever missions that needed two assassins of their caliber.

It was on one of those missions that he saw the true depths of her depravity. It had been a routine assassination. Some warlord in a third-world country he could scarcely remember the name of. She had infiltrated the man's harem as a dancer, he as one of the hired mercenary guards. The warlord had a tendency for throwing truly decadent celebrations that lasted weeks, in-between whatever scuffles or wars he had gotten himself embroiled in; a form of spending money as you go, just on a more grand and violent scale. The League, whose list of targets never seemed to end, had finally decided he needed to go.

Despite the man's proclivities, he was also paranoid and surprisingly competent. It had taken the League's scouts months to find some sort of opening they could exploit that didn't involve bombing the entire area and inviting attention they could not afford. It had taken half that amount of time to plant Talia and Malcolm, but to say the vetting process was rigorous was an understatement. Every bit of training that the League's various teachers had beaten into Malcolm was utilized just to avoid detection; he imagined Talia had it harder, since she needed direct access to the guy for the assassination to succeed.

The one fault the man had was a special dish that he ate at every party. It was not a particularly tasty dish, but it was an expensive one. However, what was noticeable about the dish was not the dish itself but how he ate it — using the mouths of his harem.

Malcolm refrained himself from learning any more of the details, because he still had some limits, but Talia, of course, knew everything. She wasn't one for failure either, so if this was what it took, then that is what it took. Talia's entire life was to serve the League, and she'd dare not falter from her duty now.

It was only supposed to be the warlord that died. Just him. The League knew that another one would be lining up to take his place soon enough, but this one needed to go regardless. Talia knew that as well, so he left the assassination in her hands. His job was just to get her out once the deed was done.

To this day, he wished he had left her to the dogs.

The plan was simple - she would poison the piece given to her, feed it to him, and then take the antidote while no one was looking. A few hours later, he'd die of a painfully ruptured digestive tract, and she'd panic and scream with the rest of the girls, and in the midst of the chaos they'd leave. Not the most elegant or safe plan, but effective enough.

But on that fated day, one of the girls had insulted her. Something about her looks, no doubt driven by some form of misguided jealousy. An insignificant slight from an insignificant girl. Malcolm had no doubt Talia heard her, but she had hardly batted an eyelash at it. She carried on, the moment came, she did the deed, and a few hours later, the warlord was dead.

Along with his entire harem. Over fifty girls, all dead except for Talia.

And Malcolm knew.

Knew it was her, knew why she did it. Talia, of course, spun a tale for her father, one that he nodded along with, but inside he was sickened. There was being extreme, there was being petty, but this… this was neither of those things. This was just wrong.

Staying in Nanda Parbat was no longer an option, not after that. He had everything he wanted from the League besides — skill, clarity, understanding. He threw himself before Ra's and asked for his release, and when his master agreed, Malcolm finally felt as if he could breathe. He'd leave this place, return home to Tommy and begin his crusade to avenge Rebecca.

But he never forgot that day. And when the rumors came, of Talia's disinheritance, of her flight from the only home she had ever known, he was not surprised in the least. It seemed Ra's had never been fooled by his daughter at all. And, God willing, she'd be gone from this world soon enough.

But, as Talia's men continued to drag him away, Malcolm knew that God wasn't willing. Not yet at least.

Malcolm let out a silent breath of relief when his guards finally stopped dragging him about. Instead, they pulled him back up on his feet, directing his head towards one of the windows of the building. Well, it was less a window and more a balcony of sorts. He was pleased to note that his initial observations about the area were correct; that would be useful for his inevitable escape.

He looked downwards — the balcony had a view of a vibrant, manicured green field. Dotting it were various groups of men and women, all practicing familiar katas and the like. Some were even sparring. So caught up in the sight, he barely had time to hold back a flinch when he felt Talia move to stand next to him.

"Impressed?"

"Somewhat," Malcolm admitted honestly. "But if you're trying to intimidate me, Talia, you're failing."

"Oh, Al Sa-Her, have your eyes begun to fail you in your old age?" Talia asked him mockingly.

Malcolm frowned. Instead of explaining further, Talia simply pointed. He followed her line of sight to find—

Immediately, he began to pale. It almost felt as if the world was spinning.

No.

"Next."

Tommy took a deep breath and settled into his stance, watching his opponent do the same. They circled each other for a moment or two, then pounced.

Block, block, dodge, punch, parry, kick, parry, block, punch, kick, kick, catch, drop—

Gotcha!

A second later, Tommy had the other man on the grass, pinned beneath him. A hand was wrapped around the man's throat, a chop angled above his head. It was a win.

"Winner: Merlyn!"

"He's quite the talented one." Talia commented casually as Malcolm continued to watch his son spar amongst the members of his group. "It won't be long until he joins the advanced classes, and if he does well enough, I'm thinking of taking charge of the rest of his tutelage personally. Of course, it's only to be expected, he is your son."

"And after he's done with your training?" Malcolm felt himself asking the question before he could really think it over.

"He'll make a great successor." Talia answered, smiling. "That is, if he can live long enough to fulfill his potential."

"… what do you want to know?"

"His name is Adrian Chase." Amanda announced, knowing she had Oliver and Laurel's full attention. "He's a terrorist and mercenary-for-hire that's been making a name for himself the last five or so years. His origins are unknown, as are his motives. However, whatever he wants with Malcolm Merlyn can't be anything good."

"Do we have a handle on his location?" Oliver asked before Laurel could.

"We're tracking him down now." Amanda confirmed, "Once we have it, it's yours. However, this time you won't be going at it alone."

"Who's joining us?" Laurel asked her.

"Me."

Oliver and Laurel turned around to see a smirking Mari McCabe leaning against the door.

Sorry for the abrupt ending. Needed to get things going.

That's right — Tommy was a hostage all along. Talia went through all that trouble to get Tommy out of Starling City and under her control without alerting the Justice League, A.R.G.U.S., and the League of Assassins. All so she could use him as a hostage against Malcolm to find the location of the extra Lazarus Pit. Of course, that's not to say Malcolm is out of the game yet. He's still got a few tricks up his sleeve.

You'll notice there's differences between this Talia and Arrowverse Talia. That's deliberate - I was going for crazy, genocidal Talia from the comics vibe. I think this a logical progression; you have to remember, Bruce Wayne never became Batman in this world. Bruce always brought out the best in Talia, and without him Talia has nothing really holding her back from the deep end. She's never met Oliver either, so he has no impact on her character either, unlike the one he has on Nyssa.

Next chapter, we get our next confrontation with Chase and Oliver. More of Talia's plot will be unveiled as this act goes on.

Until then, review, comment, and/or update the TV Tropes page! Flames will be ignored!