Chapter Text
It had been five years since her mother died.
Since the alliance had been made with Talokan.
Since she met Namor. K’uk’ulkan. God King to the people of Talokan .
Shuri stood in front of the mirror in just her underwear. She touched her stomach where there was still a faint scar, a reminder that she had left on purpose for herself. Not to remember Namor’s violence, but to remind herself of the mistakes that she had made along the way. Mistakes she could admit too, but she didn't think she would have changed anything she did if given the chance.
Her hand slid up her stomach, over her breast, and up her neck as she focused on her face. Despite the years that had passed and the grief and stress that should have aged her, she looked exactly the same as before.
Not a single thing had aged her.
She had her theories.
Theories that she was positive was a fact.
Theories that originated to the bracelet that she wore on her wrist.
She should have destroyed it the second she successfully became the Black panther. Destroyed it and tossed the broken pieces back into Namor’s face, but she could never bring herself to do it. Every time she held it, it was always with a careful and delicate touch. Even on her bad days, especially during the first year without her mother, the worst thing she would do was shove it into a locked drawer and force herself to forget about it.
Forget about him.
Shuri chewed on her lip as she touched her face just under her eyes, the only feature that had seemed to age in her young face. Just like the bracelet she couldn’t get rid of him either. No matter how hard she tried.
Despite their tumultuous beginnings, the alliance had thrived. The foundations had been carefully laid out and slowly built over the years, and it had been clear to anyone how beneficial it had been for both countries. Talokan protected their oceans, brought information that did not reach Wakanda, and shared their own technology and resources.
In return, Wakanda protected their secret, kept them in check so as not to reveal themselves unnecessarily, and dealt with the surface world in ways that Talokan was unable to. Talokan had been generous and open, and under the guidance of King M’Baku, so had Wakanda.
Shuri had been relieved to see M’Baku thrive in his role as king. He was a far cry from the disgruntled leader of an isolated mountain tribe, and maybe that was one of the things that helped him and Namor get along so well.
In the beginning, Namor had not seemed pleased that Shuri did not take the throne, but he never seemed to push it. Push her. It had taken more time for the two of them to start talking to each other again. For a long time Shuri had left that responsibility to her King, but having to had sit on numerous council meetings as dignitaries and discussions on strategy as the primary protectors of their nations, it was difficult to not speak to one another.
For Shuri, their conversations had evolved from from quiet rage, to indifferent single word answers, to stilted conversations that only involved topics of their respective nations, to tentative passing comments, to finally officially being on speaking terms that were still mainly impersonal.
She wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but to her she felt resigned to the fact that he would be a constant in her life. Her eyes blinked slowly, tilting her face from side to side. A constant that seemed would last for longer than a single lifetime.
Her resignation came with time, along with the help of a mind that never seemed to turn off. After the events of their private battle on that beach, she could only think of him as a monster who killed her mother in front of her. But then her mind shifted through her memories, set them up carefully and she reexamined each one. As if to make sense of this unbreakable thing she could not label that linked her to Namor.
Much to her dislike she gave reason to each and every action of everybody involved.
Her mother came for her despite knowing the risks. Her mother chose her last surviving child over the safety of her kingdom. She had already lost so much to it. Shuri could not blame her mother’s actions.
Nakia had come into this with the information that Talokan was dangerous and of her sister’s abduction. She had been told to do what she needed to do at any cost . Shuri could not blame her sister’s actions.
Riri had simply done the impossible. She had the brain and the vision to make a machine that others could only dream of making and was successful. Riri had no way of knowing that she would expose a hidden civilization. Shuri could not blame her friend’s actions.
T’Challa had revealed Wakanda in hopes of bringing about a better world. If he had lived, maybe that would have come true. Shuri could not blame her brother’s actions.
Namor had a kingdom that he had protected for centuries with thousands of people who relied on him. He had witnessed how cruel the surface world could be, and after having opened his borders to a surface dweller for the first time, two of his people died for it.
Shuri let out a shuddering breath.
She could not blame him for his actions.
It was a string of events that led to an inevitable tragedy.
Her eyes dulled somewhat.
That did not mean she forgave him, but she could at least come to terms with it. With him.
And in return he did not blame her for her actions either. Did not expect her personal forgiveness. She wished that he was worse. Wished that he was the monster she had painted him as in her worst nightmares, but with the years of having known him she could understand him.
However it was only something that she would admit to herself and never aloud.
And since today was a day she decided to be honest with herself, it being the only thing she could control today, she could admit that she missed talking to him. To have that privacy of being open with someone and being able to read in their eyes that they would never judge you. She missed it more than anything, but she would never allow herself that luxury ever again for the memory of her mother.
“Show him who you are.”
Her mother’s voice, tangible and distant.
I gave him a glimpse, mama. That should be enough.
A soft knock sounded at her bedroom door and Shuri pulled away from the mirror. Pushing her thoughts of Namor to the far reaches of her mind, even though she knew it would be almost impossible to keep them away completely. He would be within the palace today and it was always the hardest to keep him from her thoughts when he was in front of her.
Shuri slipped off the bracelet and shoved it into a drawer, before opening her door to let in a number of palace workers that were there to help get her ready for the day. They brought in a number of things, ranging from the ornate dress she would wear, the headpiece and hair combs to be intertwined within her braids, shoes, jewelry, and make up.
She stood stiffly as she was dressed and made up, feeling more like a doll than a person. And in a way she felt that to be true since none of what was happening to her today was by choice. Her mind found no joy in the process, so it carefully blocked it away, careful not to allow Namor back into her thoughts either.
The women attending her were excitedly talking about the upcoming ceremony, but their voices were a distant blur.
Princess of Wakanda. Chief scientist. Black panther. Officially, on paper, the last of the Golden Tribe.
Shuri Udaku, was to be married today.
Bast. Give me the strength to get through this day.
Shuri let out a small breath as the ceremony was being performed. Trying her best not to let out a laugh at how her hands were shaking. Hands that could perform meticulous medical operations, build complex machinery, and had the strength to rip a man apart if she chose too. Hands that were now trembling with an emotion she could not place or did not wish to dwell on.
In the grand scheme of things, the wedding was quite small, which strangely made it more suffocating to Shuri. It had been one of her stipulations of agreeing to the marriage. Well to be more specific it was one of her stipulations to agree to be less combative, because no matter what the wedding was going to happen whether she agreed to it or not.
The council had wanted an assurance of a continued bloodline which would in turn strengthen the alliance between Wakanda and Talokan.
Shuri honestly thought it was more of a well thought out punishment for nearly dragging Wakanda into an eternal war with Talokan, using an outdated concern to lock her in place.
No one said it outloud, but she knew that the council was relieved she did not take the throne.
She looked up at her husband to be, who stood with a self assured confidence that she currently envied, and she quickly looked back down at her hands.
Blocking out the words of the one performing the ceremony, her mind recalled the first time she met Namor. The intensity of him made the memory feel as if it had happened just yesterday.
Shuri glanced at Namor for the hundredth time that day, and as always, his eyes did not look at her. It irked her that he seemed to almost refuse to look at her the entire ceremony.
She shouldn't care but she did.
Her mind instinctively tuned back in just as the final words were said.
The final rites performed.
Shuri was now a married woman.
Hours later Namor found Shuri standing on a secluded balcony, away from the festivities celebrating the union. She was staring up at the moon, her hands braced on the banister of the balcony. He opened his mouth to speak, but a peal of laughter from back inside made him pause. What would he even say to her? Would she even want to hear it coming from him?
He swallowed thickly, placing a hand over his wrist. “Black Panther.”
Shuri’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, before she relaxed and turned towards him. A careful mask of neutrality on her face. “Namor, You know you don't have to keep calling me that. I believe we are well past formalities.”
… And we are past being enemies to one another, yet you still call me Namor.
“It is simply a sign of respect.”
“Well can you respect me enough to do what I ask, and just call me Shuri? I think I’ve had enough formalities for the day.” She shrugged a single shoulder, looking off to the side distractedly.
“Alright…Shuri.” It was the first time he had ever called her by her first name. The sound of it rolling from his tongue felt too intimate.
Her eyes flickered and her mask slipped for a split second before she quickly turned away from him. Namor wasn’t sure if he should stay. If he should say something.
Should he compliment her? Tell her how lovely she looked tonight? Although he had always thought that. Even when he had yielded to her all those years ago.
Should he say something more appropriate, more formal to fit the occasion?
In the end he chose something that he had been meaning to ask since he had seen her hands trembling during the ceremony. Something that crossed the lines of their complicated relationship. “Are you alright, Shuri?”
Her head whipped back towards him, looking at him in surprise. Their conversations had always been stilted, devoid of anything personal. Even questions as simple as the one he had just asked seemed jarring.
Shuri let out a soft huff of laughter, as if she couldn’t believe he had asked her something so personal. She looked down at her hands, and clenched them into fists. The silence stretched long enough that Namor assumed that that was most likely the end of their conversation.
However when he tried to walk back inside, Shuri surprised him with a question of her own.
“Are you enjoying the party?”
He watched her as she cautiously tilted her head towards the spot next to her, and not wanting to waste the small peace offering he slowly stepped further onto the balcony. Placing his hands on the banister to mirror her stance. “Attuma is enjoying himself for the whole of Talokan…the rest of my people are sorry to have not come and celebrated the union.”
“Hmm…” Shuri glanced over her shoulder towards the music and murmurs of conversation. “I apologize for it being so small…I just…didn’t want to make it a big spectacle.” She laughed, and it was a heart wrenching sound. It was a laugh that held no joy in it. A sound that could have been better described as a sob. “I’m expected to be a baby maker now, the rest of my life will be a spectacle.”
The thought of her getting pregnant made his stomach churn uncomfortably, but Namor kept quiet, his eyes studying the space between their hands. They were only a foot apart, but Namor couldn’t decide whether they felt too close or too far apart. He could offer no words of comfort to her, none that she would want to hear from him. So all he could do was listen.
She tapped her fingers on the smooth stone of the banister with an unsteady rhythm. A thing he noticed that she would do when she was uneasy. “A child who scoffs at tradition…and yet I am trapped by it.”
A child with no love for the surface world…and yet…
Namor gently locked that thought away, numbing himself to a feeling that he knew he would never have the right to examine.
“I am sure you will not make things so easy for the ones that have trapped you.”
Shuri glanced up at him and a smile, although very small, lightened her features. Seeing it gave some relief to the tension Namor had been feeling since the marriage had been officially arranged and announced a month prior. He would have offered a smile back if they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Shuri?”
The two turned to look back as Shuri’s new husband Jiya walked onto the balcony dressed in the blue colors of the border tribe. He was a tall, foreboding looking man, years of being an exceptional warrior clearly etched on his features.
Namor glanced at Shuri, his heart clenching painfully as he noticed that the smile was still on her face, but her eyes had considerably dulled. It was a mask that he hoped to never see again. His hand gripped tightly onto the banister.
“Yes, husband?” It was meant to be a term of endearment, but Shuri made it sound like stone sinking into depths of a murky sea.
“It’s getting late, we should say our goodbyes and retire for the night.” Jiya gestured for Shuri to come towards him, his hand hanging in the air as he waited.
“...Of course.”
Shuri looked at Namor, giving him the briefest nod. Jiya didn't even look at Namor, but that was nothing new. The border tribe, in general, had a strong dislike of the Talokanil, despite how well the alliance was going.
Namor turned away from the retreating backs of Shuri and her new husband, noticing that the stone beneath his hand was now cracked.