Rain poured heavily, large crystalline drops splashed onto the burial grounds and onto the graven memorial, the shaven marble glistening like a rhino's horn on a bright summer. The field was lined with flowers and the memorial had a silver panther graciously carved in it. The panther was poised and silent, its head was lowered to its paws, tail anxiously curled around its feet; it was paying homage to the man who once occupied the body below the ivory white memorial. The memorial was indeed white, fashioned by the best marble carvers in the world. The only thing whiter than the memorial was the hair of a lady who stood next to it, accompanied by a man standing in silence, staring at the space just above the box.
The lady turned to looked at the man, he had lost weight. She lay a hand on his back. He faced her, smiling and put his arms around her waist, leaning on her for support and for comfort.
No words were needed for this moment.
She looked around. Aside for the guards stationed around to protect them, they were alone. No press, no relatives, no people, just the two of them. Perfect, she thought. He needed to be alone. He needed to express his grief. Wakanda couldn't see their king in a state of distress, they would label him a weakling. He gave his eulogy in the morning, he didn't cry. He couldn't cry. When the funeral was over, their citizens had come to pay their respects. He thanked them for being a part of his father's passing and he didn't cry. He almost shed a tear as he saw a picture of his father at the signing of the Accords, but he didn't. She was proud of him for that.
When was she never proud of him?
She saw him don the Panther suit once. It fit him well. It made her heart pulse with pride and adoration, but she would never tell him that. Now her beloved was the monarch. Now he was the Black Panther, Protector and King.
She had always seen him as the Protector, much less the King. But now, what he needed most was someone to support him.
"You can cry."
He gave a nervous laugh, hugging her tighter.
"The people would not like it."
"The people are not here, T'Cha. Just me. What I like most is for you to be happy. To be happy, you must let go of your grief. So cry."
A single tear rolled down his eye. His heart was pounding wildly, full of anger and bitterness. It didn't match.
"You want revenge?"
T'Challa didn't answer. He closed his eyes and pulled his wife into a full embrace. What would he do without her? It had been difficult to get married. She was a low-life, he a prince. But he had wanted no other beside her. His father had once suggested another girl, a general's daughter. He wouldn't approve of this girl who had run wild in the marketplace, notorious in the villages for being rowdy and a nuisance. But T'Challa didn't see a thief or a thug. He saw a lady who was trying to survive, abandoned by her caregivers. He saw potential and elegance, both of which were rare to find in most Wakandan females. Sure, they could be powerful, but power was not what T'Challa was finding.
And unexpectedly, this lady had powers of her own. He was not sure when she actually found out or where she had them from. He only knew that her ability to manipulate the weather was the selling point for his father's approval. Wakanda would benefit greatly from her powers, the agriculture business here had blossomed several months after she had been wed to royalty.
She was useful.
Not just to the country but to him as well. Her hot-headedness often gave him the ability to perform tasks and carry out policies that he normally wouldn't initiate. She gave him comfort and allowed him to be calm. And courageous. He understood now why his father always carried a picture of T'Challa's mother with him, it provided him with strength. It was the same with Ororo. She made him feel powerful. And now, at the peak of his grief, when he felt helpless as he watched his father pass on before his eyes, he needed to be powerful again. He was glad Ororo could be here with him. She had always been there for him and made him feel content.
When had she ever made him feel discontent?
The couple closed their eyes and listened to the sound of rain hitting the gloomy umbrellas that hovered over their heads, the rhythmic pitter-patter coupled with the occasional sloshing of water provided a symphony so fitting for this moment. They watched the distant clouds create a mist around their beloved country and looked at the muddy landscape turn green before their eyes. The chilling serenity compelled Storm to speak up. She didn't like the quiet.
"So, are you going after him?"
"Hmm?"
"T'Cha..." Munroe's eyes narrowed, in the distance, a soft rumbling could be heard. The rain thickened a little, causing a few drops of water to fall through the umbrella around them. Ororo's left shoulder became slightly damp. T'Challa brushed the water away, feigning ignorance. He felt guilty that he was treating his wife this way, he really was not the sort to resort to a cold war. But he couldn't answer her as he was not sure. And if he told her that he was unsure, Ororo would convince him to let the matter rest. After all, there was justice in this world. But it was not her father. The hurried rain compelled him to answer. He didn't like the noise.
"I am aware you wish I didn't."
"I want you safe. With me."
"So you doubt my abilities?"
"No, I'm just being cautious. You are the King, if your people see you chasing after someone so recklessly, it may jeopardise the very reputation your father tried so hard to build. And one cannot rule out the possibility of you being injured. Even if your suit is Vibraniam, I'm certain there are more ways to kill a man than shooting him with a gun."
The man stroked her white hair, obviously not being very persuaded. The woman pursed her lips, unsure of what to say next.
"If I go, will you follow?"
"The man will be facing a great force."
"Indeed, he will yield easily."
"But if his friends help him? What would we do? They are under the Slokovian law. The countries must have something to say about this."
"They agree that he is to be captured."
"By a Wakandan king?"
"By anyone who can stop him."
She pulled away from the embrace, leaving her husband feeling slightly anxious. He still held both her hands, which was a good thing, he presumed. He didn't want her upset. Neither would he want his father to have passed on with no one to avenge him. If he wanted to fight, he needed his beloved's support. Where else would he draw his strength otherwise?
"So?" T'Challa inquired, hoping her answer would be a "yes".
Storm looked him dead in the eye.
"I love you and whatever you decide, I support you always. But I do not wish to fight. Not now."
T'Challa nodded and gave her a kiss, whispering in Wakandan, "Thank you."
