Hey guys, so it's been a while... again. Although, at least it's been less than two months this time, so that's progress, right? I'd actually originally hoped to have this out last weekend, but trimming my tree took longer than I'd anticipated (it always does, I don't know why I expected differently). The cat... 'helped'. Anyway, then I got sick, because of course I did. I mean, I'm still not feeling well, but at least now I have medication and am off for two days so I can hopefully just kill this bug.

Ehem. Anyway, as it happened I ended up with unexpected writing time last week so the next chapter is already about a third of the way done. I mean, it's not going to be a long chapter, but my goal is to have it up around Christmas. Whether before or after will depend entirely on if I end up going home for Christmas. If I go to my mom's you probably won't get the chapter until after Christmas, if I end up in town then you'll get it by Christmas Eve.

As usual, thank you to everyone who commenting on the last chapter!

City of a Thousand Wonders

"I'm so sorry, this meeting was supposed to take place later this afternoon, however something came up–"

"–That's quite alright, young lady. I understand perfectly. Sometimes things happen that are completely out of our control. You mentioned it shouldn't be more than about half an hour or so?"

"No more than that, no. They were just beginning to wrap up when I slipped in to tell Doctor Yeoman you were here. If you'd like, I could make you a cup of tea in the Balcony Lounge."

It was the woman's use of the word 'make' instead of 'get' that had T'Challa finally turning towards the conversation he'd been vaguely paying attention to. The Balcony Lounge was a member's only lounge on the MET's second floor. That the woman was implying she would make the older man she was speaking to a cup of tea herself instead of leaving it to the lounge's employees was... curious.

His first glance told him very little, except that the employee was a woman with copper-blonde hair tied back into a bun and a warm smile, and the older man looked like a retired university professor, though not necessarily one who'd have business with Doctor Clarise Yeoman, the curator of the Arms and Armour Department. His long white hair and beard looked vaguely unkept, as though he'd ran a comb through them in the morning and not bothered since, his blue sweater and khakis looked equally wrinkled in places, though were clearly clean. T'Challa remembered Doctor Yeoman from the last gala he had attended in New York and while it had been almost two years ago, she'd been quite the memorable presence: tall and thin, with glowing porcelain skin, thick wavy black hair and delicate-looking deep red lips. His first impression had been that she looked like a retired runway model more than a museum curator of any sort, let alone one whose specialty were weapons. Then he'd been introduced to her, shook her perfectly manicured hand and met bright green eyes which had held his gaze with a piercing fierceness even Okoye had been grudgingly impressed by.

She'd been even more impressed later, after they'd both witnessed those delicate red lips verbally eviscerate an obnoxious rich patron who'd made the mistake of commenting on how the beautiful woman would be more suited to the art wing instead of arms and armour.

"Oh, don't bother on my account, young lady," the old man was quick to assure the employee. "I'm sure you have plenty of work to do."

"It'd be no trouble, Merlin, really."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow at the name. So, perhaps not a rumbled old professor, but a wrinkled old wizard, he thought in amusement. He certainly looked the part.

The old man waved off the young woman. "Tamara, dear, I appreciate your offer, but this is a museum, after all. I'm entirely certain I can find something to keep myself occupied with."

The young woman – Tamara, apparently – smiled fondly at the old man. "Yeah, I guess you can. In that case, you should definitely take a look at the new additions to the African collection. Oh, and that ax you helped us with last month was finally added in earlier this week."

"Ah, there, you see, that's more than enough to keep me occupied for half an hour!"

"Is there a problem?" a voice suddenly hissed Wakandan into T'Challa's ear. Though his bodyguard spoke several languages fluently, she refused to speak anything other than Wakandan unless absolutely necessary

He sighed internally before calmly turning towards Okoye. "No, I am merely being curious," he told her. He nodded towards the old man, who was standing alone now that the museum employee had left. "He is here to meet with Doctor Yeoman, the Curator of the Arms and Armament Department."

His bodyguard nodded. "That woman had a warrior's spirit," she grunted as she carefully examined the old man askance through half-lidded eyes so as not to be obvious. "He, however, does not."

The Wakandan prince chuckled under his breath, amused as always by the very exacting measure Okoye used to judge people. "Perhaps he is simply very good at hiding it," he offered mildly.

She snorted. "Then he is exceptionally good."

The old man looked casually around the room and then began to slowly shuffle his way down the hallway, his cane tapping gently on the marble floors. T'Challa blinked in surprise as light reflected briefly off the large polished crystal orb on its top, revealing a beautiful purple stone being grasped by the old man's wrinkled and liver-spotted hand. It was a more elaborate handle than he would've expected on the otherwise plain, though slightly gnarled, wooden cane. Perhaps it was a hint of something more lurking beneath the surface of the otherwise ordinary old man... or perhaps it was a gift from someone with more refined tastes.

Either way, T'Challa found himself following automatically.

Behind him, he felt Okoye's eyes on him, radiating her own special kind of unimpressed annoyance. No one managed to project that mix of emotion quite the way she did.

"And where exactly are we going now?" she asked him dryly.

"To take a look at the new additions to the African wing of the arms and armaments collection," he answered as he idly smoothed down the front of his burgundy sports jacket. His only answer was an ever-so-slightly sullen silence, his bodyguard no doubt annoyed she couldn't come up with a good reason to protest their direction.

Merlin didn't rush to his destination, but there was a certainty in the old man's steps that spoke of someone who knew the museum well. He wasn't ignoring the other exhibits around him, but his eyes also didn't linger on any in particular. They were clearly familiar to him, which cemented the impression that the old man was frequent visitor. There was a reverence in his demeanor but no awe and, for some reason, this intrigued the young prince.

The African exhibit was impressive, though sterile in the way all things were in a museum, the pieces sitting proudly in their glass displays, removed from the world as it flowed around them. Here T'Challa couldn't help but slow his steps as he entered, the history contained in the room speaking to him more intimately than the other exhibits he'd seen so far. Almost none of it came from Wakanda, yet it still felt kin to him: a breath of the jungle, the wild rivers, vast plains, wind-swept deserts, and the people who lived in them.

His father had taught him that all history was worthy of their respect for it had something to teach them – if they were wise and took the time to listen. T'Challa knew well that he was not yet as wise as his father, but he tried to observe and listen as best he could in the hope that, perhaps, one day he would be.

A glint of metal to his left caught his attention and he looked over, only to find himself momentarily awed by an intricately-crafted shield. It was beautifully preserved, covered in thick leather woven together in familiar geometric patterns of red, brown, beige and dark yellow, and from between the interwoven strips of leather, glinted hints of a silver metal. Vibranium had a very distinct shine to it to those who knew it.

T'Challa strolled over to the display case and glanced at the description card. He just barely managed to contain his snort of amusement – or perhaps derision. It was labeled as Kenyan.

Sometimes it rankled just how much the world overlooked Wakanda, how poorly it estimated its history and its warriors. However, the young prince remained calm, reminding himself it was a measure of just how successful his ancestors had been in concealing their might. How successful they were at it still. He suspected he'd never quite grow out of his boyhood desire to wipe the superior smirks and condescending pity off the faces of outsiders he'd encountered at various functions, dash their preconceived notions of a poor, pathetic nation barely scraping by. His ability to look past those glances and find silent amusement at their ignorance had gotten much better since he was a boy but he suspected it would never disappear entirely.

"Hm, a magnificently preserved specimen indeed," a voice beside him suddenly interrupted his musings. T'Challa only barely managed to stop himself from visibly startling.

"Yes, it is," he answered as he casually turned to partially face the old man he'd followed into the exhibit room. "The colours in the leather are especially impressive for their age."

The old man didn't look away from his admiration of the shield, though his expression became thoughtful as leaned forward on his walking stick.

"That they are, young man, that they are," he said after a pause. The corners of his lips twitched. "But then I'd expect nothing less from Wakandan craftsmanship."

T'Challa froze. "The display card marks it as Kenyan," he commented once he'd managed to unfreeze his vocal chords, relieved his voice didn't catch or stutter. It was the first thing he could think to say that didn't consist of demanding how exactly this old man recognized Wakandan craftsmanship.

The old man chuckled, finally shifting in order to regard T'Challa with blue eyes that twinkled with amusement. "Young man, I have been on this Earth for many years and during those years I have seen many things and travelled to many places. During my travels across the African plains, I came across a woman. She was a wanderer like myself, although Africa was her home and, unlike myself, she felt no desire to stray from its shores. Though I had already been impressed by the land, she taught me to truly love Africa. Once she took me to the Savannah to witness the Great Migration, hundreds of thousands of stampeding wildebeests tearing across the plains..."

He trailed off for a moment, seemingly lost in memory. A few moments passed and the old man shook himself out of it before turning to face T'Challa fully.

"Of all the wonders I've seen in my life, that will always be one of the most amazing," he continued. "If you ever need a reminder that you are but one small cog in the turnings of the world, that there are places where the difficult decisions you face do not matter in the slightest, where events are propelled by a primal power neither one of us can touch nor effect, then journey to the Savannah. Go watch the wildebeests, young man. It will change you."

T'Challa listened to his words, saw the genuine awe in the old man's voice, and felt a stab of jealousy that this old, white man – this visitor to what was T'Challa's land and that of his people – had seen such an awe-inspiring sight in Africa that he, a prince, had not ever seen. In fact, it had never even occurred to him to seek it out. He was heir to the Panther; what did he care for wildebeests? And yet the tone of Merlin's voice...

T'Challa frowned and considered the old man's words. Suddenly, he wondered if perhaps this old man knew who he was. Wakanda was a small nation, but they had a seat on the UN Council. Anyone with an interest could easily find pictures of the country's ruler and his children. Had it not been for the conversation he'd overheard earlier, he'd almost wonder if this was a setup.

Suddenly the old man shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Ah, my apologies, but I appear to have gotten side-tracked, haven't I?" he said, abruptly breaking the mood. "My friend showed me many more places, of course, sights I'm almost certain I never would've found on my own, Wakanda among them. A beautiful land, Wakanda, full of lovely and talented people. In fact I have a large knitted blanket that's just as soft and supple as the day I bought it from a tiny slip of an old woman whose eyes clearly indicated she would stuff me full of elephant dung should I dare to besmirch her products. Though why she thought I would has always been a mystery to me as she was clearly a master of her craft."

The old man paused in bewildered contemplation. Meanwhile, T'Challa carefully bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling – he was fairly certain he knew exactly whom Merlin was describing.

"Ah, but that is, supposedly, only one side of Wakanda," Merlin continued and T'Challa felt his breath catch, conscious of how Okoje's already still form, froze. "You see, my friend told me that beneath the surface of Wakanda lies a hidden city. A City of a Thousand Wonders she called it."

T'Challa felt as his mind exploded with jumbled thoughts and racing speculations. This old man definitely knew he and Okoje were from Wakanda, that much was obvious. But who was this woman who'd revealed Wakanda's secrets to a stranger? Even if he'd proven himself worthy of her trust, it was something that was simply not done. And why was the old man telling him? There was no hint of malice in the old man's voice, no indication he was attempting to blackmail T'Challa with this knowledge.

T'Challa felt his eyes narrow at Merlin, carefully taking in his appearance, knowing that Okoje had no doubt already taken an image of him to investigate later. Oddly enough, the old man had turned back to his contemplation of the shield, seeming entirely unconcerned by T'Challa's inner turmoil. Carefully, the Prince of Wakanda considered his answer.

"Wakanda might, supposedly, be home to a city of a thousand wonders," he finally said. "But most importantly, it is my home."

A wide smile stretched across the old man's face as he turned back to T'Challa, approval shining in his eyes. "And that, young man, is perhaps the greatest wonder of all," he declared. "Certainly it is priceless beyond all others."

T'Challa couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips in response, feeling like he'd somehow passed a test he hadn't known to expect.

Okoje cleared her throat, pointedly looking at her watch when he glanced in her direction. Trying to be both discrete enough to be polite and yet visible enough for his gesture to be noticed, he peeked at his own watch. There was still plenty of time before he needed to leave in order to meet with his father at the Wakandan embassy, which meant Okoje was setting up an excuse for him to leave. He understood the implied wisdom of disengaging from the conversation with Merlin, though couldn't help the disappointment at being unable to follow it to its natural conclusion.

"I apologize," he said smoothly, meeting Merlin's curious eyes. "I'm afraid I have an appointment elsewhere I must get to. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance..."

He trailed off, not wanting to let on that he'd been eavesdropping earlier.

The old man turned and held his hand out, his face illuminated by a large grin. "My name is Merlin Pratt," he said. "And the pleasure is mine, young man. Should you ever find yourself in the city again with some time to spare, my friend and I run an antiques store in Little Italy called the Isle of the Blessed. You may just find some interesting items hidden within our collection."

"I am T'Challa." He smiled warmly, finding himself unable to dislike the old man despite his suspiciously acquired knowledge. "Perhaps during my next visit to the city I will find myself with more time to spare."

With a final incline of his head, he and Okoje left the exhibit room.

"I will begin researching him after your lunch engagement," Okoje informed him, switching back to Wakandan as they waited for his hired car to drive up to the museum's steps.

He nodded. "Very well. But be discrete. He has clearly not been a threat until now and I'd hate to bring attention to an old man if he happens to be just a curious scholar who managed to somehow charm the right person."

Okoje's glare burned into the side of his face. "I am always discrete," she said pointedly as the car finally pulled up.

T'Challa didn't bother trying to hide his amusement.

Merlin watched the future king of Wakanda and his honour guard walk away. Bastet's claim was clearly visible on the young man – to those with the ability to see such things. This man was, without a doubt, one of her Chosen Warriors. Or at the very least, he would be.

In all his years, she was one of the more interesting being he'd met: a goddess as wild as the African plains, as mysterious as its jungles, as seductive as its sun-warmed valleys and beautiful waterfalls, and as savage as its deadliest predators. She was by far the oldest he'd ever met as well. Most deities withered from existence once their purpose was gone, but Bastet had been clever. She'd left the crumbling walls of Egypt behind and found herself a new people, a new purpose. Wakanda was minuscule compared to the mighty Egyptian Empire in its prime, yet she was fiercely proud of it, of her people and what they had accomplished.

Merlin couldn't deny she had much to be proud of. He'd felt both awed and humbled when she'd led him through the heart of Wakanda. Though, for him, the city paled in comparison to some of the other sights she'd shown him – such as the Great Migration – however the clean, smooth lines and human ingenuity present in Wakanda's hidden capitol was impressive and called to an entirely different part of Merlin.

He turned back to the shield that had sparked the conversation between himself and Prince T'Challa and wondered for a brief moment whether he should mention to Clarise that it was labeled incorrectly. Almost immediately he discarded the thought. No, he'd promised Bastet he would keep her secrets unless given permission otherwise.

Bastet did not give her friendship lightly and Merlin hoped to someday return to Africa with Aithusa and spend more time travelling its depths at her side. Perhaps Nimueh would accompany them next time. After all, she'd said before she was curious as to how Aithusa had learned to transform herself into a cat. Introducing her to the being who'd taught the trick to a dragon was probably even better still.

"Ah, Merlin, there you are!"

Merlin took a deep breath and pulled himself out of his musings and memories before turning to the stunning dark-haired woman hurrying towards him.

He smiled warmly. "Clarise, hello," he said. "It's good to see you again. The new additions look lovely."

She smiled widely. "Thank you, I'll pass your praise on to Ken when he comes back from vacation. And I do apologize for making you wait. This meeting wasn't supposed to be until this afternoon."

"It's no problem, I assure you," he waved off her apology. "Now where are these daggers you wanted me to look at?"

Her eyes instantly lit up. "Follow me and I'll show you! You'll love them. They need a bit of care but otherwise they're in excellent condition. A truly amazing find!"

He echoed her grin, already looking forward to the rest of his morning. And probably most of the afternoon (after all, Clarise no longer had a meeting to get to later).

I don't think the movie really mentioned the panther goddess of Wakanda: Bastet/Bast, but according to the comic books (ie marvelwiki because I don't actually read comic books) she is one of the gods worshiped by the Wakandan people.

Anyway, in case I don't update before Christmas: Happy Holidays Everyone, whatever holiday you happen to be celebrating! And if you're not celebrating any holiday, then have some goodwill and cookies anyway! And eggnog, don't forget the eggnog.