Chapter Text
-= PART ONE =-
TÁAN KA'ACHIJ' (I was)
He planned it all, of course. K'uk'ulkan had protected Talokan for five hundred years by knowing how to properly research his enemies. He and his spies watched the young king, his stoic mother, his flippant sister, and the usurper who burned with the same rage K'uk'ulkan felt in his core; the general and her closest lieutenants; the pale interlopers the royal family foolishly trusted within their borders; the river tribe, the border tribe, even the mountain tribes with falls and rivers running through their land.
From the information he amassed, K'uk'ulkan set out his approach for each member of the ruling family. The new king was powerful but naïve, like a child of bright temperate waters given a weapon he had no business wielding. The fool thought himself so invincible, he opened his borders to the world and left his people vulnerable to the other monsters of the surface. A request for aid would lay the panther king low, for his pride would not allow him to refuse.
The queen, his mother, was more contemplative, a voice of tradition but also support, like a granite mountain. She would respond to an appeal to protect her family. Alternatively, to a threat against the same. K'uk'ulkan hesitated to involve her in the first salvo but protective instincts could still prove useful.
The princess was a bit more of a puzzle but in time K'uk'ulkan thought he knew what would turn her. She craved knowledge and the freedom it provided. To her, he would offer crumbs of Talokan's technology, their history, and their shared disdain for colonizers– shiny toys for the jaguar cub. He did not think she felt jealous of her brother's position but more information on that might yet arise.
All that remained was the right time.
Then the surface world's foolishness attracted a mad god from a far star.
Then half of Talokan washed away like sand in a tide pool.
Then the panther king died in the midst of K'uk'ulkan still gathering the bleached corals of his people's lives.
NGOKU, NDIM (now, I am)
Shuri tasted ash intermittently throughout the day, even now, months after she completed the mourning ritual on that Haitian beach. At first, she chalked it up to the season– everyone cooked outside when the weather was nice. But rain season came around and the acrid scent of bonfires stayed on her tongue and teased her nose.
"Perhaps it is the herb," said Nakia when Shuri mentioned it one day. "T'Challa did say it heightened his senses."
"I understand that but why fire specifically?"
But she was afraid she knew the answer. Shuri literally wrote a book on the psychosomatic effects of trauma in order to treat the White Wolf. She still felt N'Jadaka's flames in the throne room of the Ancestral Plane. Or perhaps the burnt flesh of Namor's back. Even worse, the smell of her mourning clothes turned to ash on that beach in Haiti. A nice, year-long nap in a cryochamber would be so restful right now.
Especially with that dratted M'Baku choosing to learn all about non-Jabari politics and dragging her along as his unofficial tutor. All that grunting and huffing about tradition and isolationism of the mountain tribe and the damn man had the gall to actually take his role as king of Wakanda seriously.
There was an emergency council meeting scheduled at the end of the week. Okoye, in her new role as Head of Security, has briefed them a few days before. Everett Ross had some new information, gleaned from his many contacts who were only too happy to trade information for the chance of getting an “in” to Wakanda. They had three days remaining to pour over briefs and raw information in the hope of understanding the best solutions to this on-going problem.
"This is the fish leading the worm out of the dunes," Shuri muttered, paging through another document about-- she squinted-- comparative financial data analytics from the Merchant Tribe in the past five years. "Why do I want to know the import-export data when we’re talking about other countries stealing vibranium? I wasn't trained to sit on the throne; T'Challa was."
"And I was trained to lead a traditional isolationist tribe not a world-power yet here I am, in the mouth of the hippopotamus." M'Baku took a deep swallow of something frothy and orange from his mug. "Perhaps you and I together can make one sovereign the council will pretend to respect."
Shuri glanced at him from the side of her eye. "Is that humility from the Great Gorilla?"
He thumped his chest. "Never! You are obviously still addled from your injuries. I should tell my cooks to make you one of our morning potions."
"No, thank you, I like my caffeine with honey and spices, not riverweed and wattle."
"And alcohol."
Shuri rolled her eyes at him. "How did my brother stand you?"
"He merely wished to bask in my glory, of course." But M'Baku placed one of his gauntleted paws on her shoulder and squeezed. "Tell your kimoyo ghost to cross-reference Wakanda’s trading patterns with the countries whose Outreach Centres have reported increased government interference."
"Kumkani wam, please never refer to GRIOT as a kimoyo ghost. You can tell him yourself."
“I do not like taking to the air.”
“I will begin cross-reference now, my king,” GRIOT chimed in. “And if you would like, I can project a small image to which you can speak while accessing my program.”
“By Hanuman, no. I will talk to my wrist before I talk to light illusions.” M’Baku peered over Shuri’s shoulder to see the set of files she had closest to her right. “Pre-colonial Mayan history.”
“As much as we have here on the surface,” said Shuri. “A side project. I have delegated it to the diplomatic committee but I still have an interest. Know your enemy, right?”
“An interest.” M’Baku was quiet long enough for Shuri to feel sweat prickling the back of her neck. He didn’t elaborate, only patting Shuri’s shoulder before walking away. She stared her left-hand screens.
***
The Citadel’s throne room was rearranged for function during this meeting. Only the throne remained from the formal council circle. Two rows of curved tables with individual projectors and note-taking functions curved on either side of the throne. The Tribal Elders traded their ornate chairs for more plush ones, made for hours of sitting; they adjusted their frames and softness depending on the person seated and how long they had maintained that position. M’Baku had his own smaller table in front of the throne. Across from him, Everett Ross gave his first formal presentation to the Wakanda’s elders.
"The USA, China, Russia, and many other countries, consider Wakanda's government unstable at the moment," said Everett, his shakiness obvious only to Shuri who could hear the speed of his heartbeat. He wore his Wakandan formal suit well enough although his red and blue sash did nothing for his complexion, a necessary accessory marking him as a security consultant through the Dora Milaje. The emergency meeting of the Tribal Council was only called a few days ago. For all his experience as the CIA’s contact to Wakanda, Shuri reflected, Ross could not have properly prepared for the tension his presence brought. And that was not even accounting for the information he presented.
Maps with colour-coded dots as well as video clips of Western-style soldiers brought down by War Dogs played behind Everett as he spoke. "This is the major reason they've launched their attacks at this time. The head of your government has changed four times in less than ten years. As well, the ruling party has changed for the first time in several hundred years. These transitions in power, especially after many years of stagnancy--"
Several of the councillors harrumphed at the wording. Everett barrelled on as if he hadn't heard.
"-- presents an opportunity for CIA's softworks to gain a foothold in the changing power dynamic."
"We would easily see the influence of outsiders," said Kaserandu, the Mining Tribe Elder.
"With all due respect, Elder Kaserandu, W'Kabi, son of Lerato, and seventy-five percent of the Border Tribe engaged in a civil uprising against King T'Challa within twenty-four hours of meeting Erik Stevens, AKA, N'Jadaka, son of N’Jobu. Who was, himself, trained in CIA softworks."
The junior councillor for the Border Tribe stood up to protest but her elder stilled her with a gesture and a stern look. "All the countries of the world have destabilised after The Blip," said M’Kathu.
Everett coughed before continuing. "But Wakanda has vibranium. A building material, power source, and weapon all in one. Per gram, the most valuable material on the planet. Maybe even off-planet. I'll have to do further research on that. At this point, whoever controls vibranium wields the most bargaining power."
"Except we are not the only ones with vibranium," said Kagisi, the River Tribe Elder “And therein lies our problem.”
Shuri stiffened. Ayo only betrayed her emotions by the whitening of her knuckles on her spear. She glanced towards M'Baku. His lounge on the throne had devolved into a nearly horizontal sprawl.
"Which brings me to my proposal, Elder Kagasi." Everett took a deep breath. "Wakanda must heighten its relations with Talokan from a truce to a formal alliance."
The council exploded into shouts. Shuri closed her eyes, hands gripping the armrests of her chair until she felt them give under her fingers. Thank goodness Everett Ross warned her of his proposal prior to the meeting. With her state of mind these days, Shuri was certain her voice would have been the loudest of them all.
"You will all be silent!" M'Baku-- King M'Baku-- clapped his hands together. The sound reverberated through the council chamber. The pair of Jabari guards behind him chanted rhythmically in support until the council quieted. "Let the desert shrew finish before we roast him for dinner."
Everett peered out from behind a Dora’s spear. "Thank you, your majesty."
M'Baku glared. "This does not mean I like you."
"The thought never occurred to me." He cleared his throat again. “This information is supported by the most recent information from the War Dogs. You will have all of it uploaded to your kimoyo beads.” He waited while the councillors checked their bracelets. “I trust you've all heard some version of the phrase 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Esteemed council of Wakanda, Talokan is indeed your enemy. But they consider the Americans, the French, and the rest of the world their enemy as well. Those same global powers attacked Wakanda to illicitly acquire a resource that's both culturally and financially precious to your own country. Would it not be to Wakanda's advantage to be Talokan’s first friend? Their only friend, their fellow protectors of vibranium, against the colonial powers of the global north?"
"Including your country," M'Baku said.
"My former country, yes," said Everett. But offered nothing else.
"Why would they ally with us? They tried to invade us!" shouted one councillors
"They killed hundreds of civilians!"
"And Queen Ramonda."
"But he yielded to me," said Shuri, her eyes still closed.
"They need to make reparations, not alliances," said Hinan, the Elder of the Merchant Tribe, her voice creaky with age but that much more powerful.
There was a rush of agreements made, one on top of the other, a wave of voices crashing over Shuri's head. She opened her eyes.
"He yielded to me."
Although her words were pitched only slightly higher than before, something of the Black Panther resonated her words through the room. The councillors paused mid-shout, some mid-motion.
"Indeed, Black Panther," said M'Baku. “So what do you propose?”
Shuri tried to rise. But between her knees shaking and her claws, flashing in and out of existence, digging into her seat at the king’s side, it was an eternal twelve seconds before she stood and spoke. Her lips felt dry, her tongue swollen, and if the damned taste of ash did not leave her mouth by the end of the day, she would gargle pure camphor regardless of the consequences.
“We have studied what we know of the Maya, the people from whom the Talokanil descend, as well as the information I gathered while I was in Talokan.” She sent her own projections to replace Ross’ presentation. “As we understand it, their culture was initially tightly bound to a caste system from five hundred years ago. We suspect the low initial population and just the difficulties of transitioning to underwater life forced cultural change. However, from my observations, they still tend to delineate their society along bloodlines. With some room for movement, artisans belong to certain clans, as do the scientist-engineers, houseworkers, soldiers and the like. The generals of the army are descendants of K’uk’ulkan through his cousins, for example. In such a culture, the ties within families are the strongest even relatives by marriage.”
M’Kathu’s brows furrowed. “Am I understanding you correctly, Princess? That your suggestion for strengthening our alliance is arranged marriages between our available tribal leaders and theirs?”
Shuri smiled, a forced twisted thing. “Not quite, Elder. My suggestion for strengthening this alliance is an arranged marriage between K’uk’ulkan and me.”
In another life, Shuri would have howled in pleasure at the uproar her comment caused. This life, this Shuri, felt nothing.
***
Okoye and M'Baku followed Shuri into the coral-walled meeting room just outside the Design Group's main lab. The multifunctional spaces served mostly as a meeting area for those who did not work directly in the lab since the people who worked in the design group tended to toss ideas at each other in a less formal way. Shuri took off her council garb as she went--first and foremost, the ridiculous corset, then the swath of cloth wrapped around her head, then the ties of her long skirt because she hated long skirts especially in her lab where they caused too many hazards to list.
"You know better than to shed skin like a snake for the houseworkers to fetch off the floor," M'Baku chided her.
Shuri braced her hands on the table. "I offer myself up for an alliance and you nag me like I'm a toddler? I could not breathe in those clothes!"
"I do not believe the issue was the clothes," said Okoye. "Princess, the terms of this treaty do not need to include marriage."
"It is only one of many options and a foolish one to tell the truth," M'Baku said. "I knew that ‘side interest’ of yours was– Marrying off the only heir to the head family of the Golden Tribe to Talokan gives them too much power. Did you even discuss this with anyone before speaking?"
"It shows our dedication to the alliance," said Shuri. "If the Golden Tribe is directly connected to Talokan then any child between Nam– K'uk'ulkan and myself will be connected to the throne of Wakanda. His people, his nation, will be inextricably woven into Wakanda. He can't not help."
"Being the Black Panther does not mean you sacrifice your entire life for Wakanda."
"Of course it does." Shuri sank into a chair. "That's everything a Black Panther is. You're Dora. You know this."
"To fight."
"I am fighting!" Shuri shouted. "I am fighting but I can't fight the whole world. I need to ensure the Talokan will never raise their army against us again. I need to ensure they will always side with us no matter who the enemy might be. You saw Everett’s information! Half a dozen of the most powerful countries and a couple more wanna-bes are using everything they can to acquire vibranium. We cannot fight them all; not with all our losses. We are stretched too thin. Wakanda needs their power to maintain our peace."
"And you believe marriage will ensure this?" asked M'Baku.
Shuri nodded. "You know I do my research. And you know my research is always thorough and sound. Bast, do you think I would have even offered it if I didn't believe it would work?"
"How do you know he will be amenable?"
"Because he proposed to me once before."
Okoye seemed to grow taller and wider than M’Baku in her rage. “What?!”
Shuri waved her agitation away. “It was all lies, we know that, but the fact that it was even on his mind--”
“Did he lay hands on you?” Okoye demanded.
“You mean other than the time we tried to beat each other to death on a desert island?”
“Shuri..."
“He was extremely polite and genteel,” Shuri snapped. “Mother would have marvelled over his manners. They were certainly better than mine. He gave me jade and pearls and slinky dresses--”
“I will strangle him with his own bowels.”
“-- and held only the tips of my diving gloves while we toured Talokan. Truly, classier than everyone else I’ve gone out with with the exception of the second cousin forced to escort me to Hinan’s grandson’s wedding, who was so scared of Baba that she acted like accidentally brushing her bare skin against my clothes was a criminal offence.”
“His large bowel. Uncleaned. So in his last gasp, he will smell his own ikaka.”
“Your head gets very shiny when you’re angry,” M’Baku told Okoye.
"Will you take this seriously, you hairy walking stomach?!"
"Your Highness, King Hairy Stomach."
"Argh!" Okoye threw her arms up. "Hayi! Out of the question. We should not even entertain the thought."
"I welcome any other suggestions upon the resumption of this council," said M'Baku. "But I must remain open to all ideas brought to this emergency meeting since you, Okoye, Head of Security, have vouched for the American's information."
Okoye pursed her lips in response.
"Hanuman's balls, I would marry him myself if I did not know it would lead to further strife. And if Nakia had not retired on top of everything else, we would not have this disorder. Now I must go by the word of an American imperialist white man to ensure the safety of our people." He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. "Ngwanu, nothing will be decided now. Let us eat, rest, and make a plan tomorrow with clearer heads."
Before Shuri could leave, however, M'Baku held her back with a touch to her elbow. She turned around, willing impassivity to her face.
"I trust your research, Shuri," he said. "And as much as it pains me to say so, I have a feeling which way this council will vote. We have asked so much of you already. I do not want to ask for more."
"I live to serve Wakanda," said Shuri.
"I know. But I would prefer you simply live. Heretical technology and all." M’Baku cupped Shuri’s face in one of his giant hands. The fur on his bracers brushed against her eyes, irritating them, making a few tears fall. “If this must happen, rain frog, should he hurt you again in any way, I will rip the remainder of his little chicken wings off, roast them in our deepest pit oven, and force-feed it back to him stuffed inside scotch bonnets.”
She let herself grin. “That actually sounds delicious. King M’Baku, Michelin Star chef. We can put it on our Outreach sites.”
His embrace was warm and tight and so full of bristly fur in her face that she couldn’t stop tearing up.