Arrow: Fanfic: A changed man

[m_findlow]

Title: A changed man
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Malcolm Merlyn
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 537 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for m_findlow's prompt "Arrow, any, you lose something of yourself when you go to Nanda Parbat" at fic_promptly
Summary: Malcolm came here to lose his pain, but he lost more than that.

He never imagined it would be so hard to come to a place that would help him through his pain. Nanda Parbat had been the solution. A place where he could take his grief and turn it into a weapon that could be wielded. That was the promise he'd been given. Yet fighting in a physical sense had been denied to him even as the months wore on. Instead the masters put him through all other kinds of physical pain. At first it was unbearable. This wasn't what he'd wanted.

He'd had enough pain to last a lifetime, waking endlessly in the middle of the night, reaching out to find the edge of the thin mattress and nothing more. It wasn't the luxurious feel of Egyptian cotton sheets and of feather down pillows that caused the ache inside him. It was the emptiness of the space next to his body, where not all that long ago, Rebecca had been. He'd never properly appreciated her slim curves, her soft hair, the way she smiled without trying. He was affable and charming in his own way, but he'd always had to work at it. People were nice to him because they wanted something. People loved Rebecca simply because she was Rebecca.

Weeks of being beaten, having his hand burned by molten wax, and whipped until his back was bloody, had brought an end to the painful memories. When we woke now, it was to an inner peace - a contemplative state where he could view the world objectively and without passion. He would sit and make tea, astringent and bitter, scalding hot and full of herbs that elevated the mind to a higher place.

Physical trials were replaced by hours of meditation, and in between, the art of hand to hand combat. With his mind clear of all external intrusions, anticipating the moves of an opponent was no more difficult than a game of chess. The physical sensation of pain was removed, each blow received nothing more than a flea bite. It was the motion and the feeling of being in the immediate present that brought serenity. That he was learning the art of killing never occurred to him. Death was as natural as life, so long as you respected it, and knew your enemy. This was the great lesson he'd been brought here to learn.

Most of the League's followers were nothing but killers, but there were some, like himself, that could serve a higher purpose. He'd always been ruthless in the boardroom, building his empire from nothing to the biggest conglomerate in Starling City. He had a natural flair for playing the long game. He'd been here well over a year, but there was so much more he could still achieve. He hardly gave a thought to the little boy he'd left behind, who still asked every night where his dad had gone and when was he coming back. Rebecca's face became a memory of a different man. None of that mattered until he was strong enough to come back and get revenge on the people who were poisoning his city. Gone was the man who'd been too afraid to pull the trigger. Now he was the weapon.