42b. History pt 2.
Toussaint tried to keep his hands from sweating any more profusely than they already were. The seashell almost slipped out of his grasp. A breeze from the sea made his very inconspicuous trench coat flutter in the wind.
He blew into the shell once more for good measure. With shifty eyes, he kept an eye out for the Dora or worse.
After some time, Toussaint saw him bubble up from the sea. His face was somewhere near hopeful and surprised before it turned to steel. The ember of something bright snuffed out at once in his soulful eyes, and a face of impassivity was left behind.
"Shur—Young Panther, why do you summon me?"
Toussaint had to fight not to smirk, but Bast was it hard. Of course, Namor was disappointed. The one time his aunt sought to meet him outside of a council meeting only for it to be someone else.
Stalling, Toussaint answered with a question. "You call my aunty by her name? That's treasonous in Wakanda. You could be hanged right now," he lied.
Namor lifted his eyebrow the slightest. "You think I could be hung? Many have tried to defeat me only one has managed," he whispered at the end. "Besides, we're equals."
"Yeah, but everyone I know calls her Princess Shuri. Wakandans may take offense to you, K'uk'ulkan. Should I still call you that?"
"Are we enemies?"
The young boy paused. He didn't think they were, but with the way other Wakandans spoke of him maybe they should be.
"Choose the one that suits me best in your eyes. I've many names as does your aunt."
Toussaint's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How so? The royal family doesn't really use surnames—we use parentage and ethnic group to differentiate ourselves. She has one name, Shuri."
"Not to me." The answer said everything and nothing.
Waves rushed back and forth leisurely on the sand. They would wash away the evidence of his footprints and meeting with Namor.
Almost tiredly, Namor asked again. "For what reason do you call me?"
"Yes, Na—Ku'uk—King of Talokan," Toussaint swallowed. He had no history with the man to know how else to address him. "My aunt sent me here in her stead."
"You're a poor liar."
Every etiquette lesson disappeared and only sheer brattiness could emerge, "What? I'm not! I trick my manman all the time, and she knows me."
Namor folded his hands. "When you've seen the lies of the surface dwellers as I have, you learn the ques. Yours—your nostrils flare and you grip your wrists."
What he could say to that?
A dark tone seemed to settle into Namor's voice. He ventured closer to the shorelines as if stepping on land would declare something. Cause something to move.
"Your Queen Shuri—"
"Princess. She never took the throne," he interrupted and from Namor's look, he wouldn't again. The man's patience and goodwill had an end as his aunt had repeatedly said. A faint chill went down his back.
"Yes, Princess Shuri hasn't sent you, so what are you scheming this time? Trying to lure me out won't end well. I promise this." Namor gave the smallest of smiles. "The former queen could attest to this if she were here."
He still didn't know the story between Queen Ramonda and Namor, so he was clueless about any deeper meaning. However, this was the fourth or fifth time he had spoken to Namor, and there had never been any shenanigans. Well, until now, but how could he have known that?
With as much bass as a fourteen-year-old's puberty-stricken voice could muster, Toussaint relented. "You're right. I don't want to strain our alliance with duplicity. I've come here with an offer."
Namor folded his arms. The sheer brawn of them startled Toussaint. The man was as strong as he looked and probably then some. "There's little you can offer me. I've my people, the riches under the sea, and, of course, vibranium."
Toussaint took a deep breath and set the seashell in between them, Namor still hallway in the sea and himself standing in the sand. He clasped his hands in the shape of a heart.
"But you don't have my aunt's heart. Love! A second chance! I could help you two make up. It'll be like that movie The Parent Trap."
Namor could only blink, stunned into silence. His arms unfolded and lay at his side.
Toussaint explained with a toothy smile. "Don't worry, I've never seen it either, but it's an apt reference."
"Young Panther, I see you're very foolish—and optimistic. But at your age, it's often the same thing," Namor said, not unkind. He was searching Toussaint's face for something.
"But why?"
"It isn't possible for Princess Shuri and me to return as we once were."
"Because you're not trying hard enough. The plant a.k.a 'you guys' relationship' may have gone rotten, but change out the soil and you can save it." His mother said there were many life lessons in gardening: endurance, patience, and faith. Maybe that was the reason he had such an affinity to the earth. His friends hated all his gardening analogies.
Namor still said nothing. Only his eyes could speak – a certain wistfulness and indignation were fighting in them.
But Toussaint loved talking. He couldn't stand silence and needed to fill the space with how awesome his idea was.
"My aunty is always touching your bracelet. She cares for it and polishes it almost daily. No one else can touch it, and I would know. I have the bumps on my head to prove it."
Namor chuckled lowly.
"When I showed her the photos you gave me, I could see the memories plainly on her face. She told me how she wished to be your wife."
"You lie again."
"Dang it!" He had tried breathing out of his nose slowly and gluing his hands to his side.
In the blink of an eye, because how fast could this fishman run, Namor had a heavy hand on Toussaint's shoulder. The chill of the night sky didn't seem to affect him. Bare chest, vibranium jewelry, and swimmer's shorts were all he wore.
"Ixchel and Luna," Namor began, narrowing his eyes. The grip on his shoulder tightened almost painfully, and Toussaint didn't know if it was done subconsciously or on purpose "Those were their names. Ixchel was in her fourth swimming year and Luna was in the eighth. Not much older than you by your standards."
"Who are they?"
A sneer. "Ask your aunt."
"Okay, I'll. They seem important to you."
"They were and forever will be. As far as the ocean extends was my love for them. For all my children."
Grief came for everyone it seemed. Toussaint knew how much Shuri struggled with it. He didn't wish it on anyone. "My condolences. May they be with your gods, K'uk'ulkan. If it soothes you to hear this, death is never the end—but a new beginning in the ancestral realm. They will guide others along their path."
It made Toussaint's eyes water with how Namor cradled his chin in the gesture of a father. How his father would have if he were here, he hoped. Then, Namor touched his forehead against his—a Talokan gesture of greeting and comfort.
"Toussaint, don't give pity to me. I'll not ask for an apology, and I cannot give one if you ask the same. Your heart is noble as that of a king."
The rare usage of his name was unnerving.
"What do I need to demand an apology for?"
"What do you know of Queen Ramonda?"
"She was my grandmother. She seemed very strict, but she loved to laugh. She'd do anything for her family."
"Yes, even if it led to her demise."
He didn't realize they had moved closer to the sea. Water spread over his sandals and rushed back. If Namor sang a siren song, he could lead him to his death that easily. No Dora Milaje around and a sleeping Shuri and Mama were none the wiser.
"It involved you." He figured it out, rolling the different scenarios in his mind. "No one will tell me how she drowned, but you know. She drowned and you could've saved her? She tried to swim to Talokan? Or, you two were fighting?"
Namor moved away from him. The immediate distance disappointed him.
Was he so starved for a father's touch? How embarrassing. But it was hard growing up without his father around. Admittedly, he had started leaning on Namor for advice about being a king and even becoming a young man. None of his advice had been terrible so far. Besides, the burn the world thing, but that had its ups and downs.
"The story may not be mine to tell. Know what you ask for when you ask for this story. I could give you my perspective. But Itzia—Princess Shuri will have a different one."
"Itzia? That's one of your names for her?"
The smallest of smiles graced Namor's face. "Young Panther, you're bright. But some things cannot change.
"Wait! If, and I mean if, my aunt was willing to would you give it a chance? You two apologize to each other. Love each other again. It'd be best for both kingdoms and the alliance."
"Love isn't the issue nor is it enough. I'll always love Shuri. I'd rob the stars from the moon for her. Bleed the land for her nourishment. And adorn her with jewels."
Toussaint's short hair was just starting to form into locs. If he had the length, he would've pulled at his hair. Adults made everything so hard.
"If you love her, then what's the problem? She loves you too. I know it, and that's not a lie. I see it in the giddiness and regret she has whenever you're mentioned."
"Loving and being together are two different things. And Young Panther, I'm afraid our time has run out. My priority is Talokan not the whims of a naive prince."
Toussaint wouldn't let it go. Not when these two were so stubborn.
"I want to see her happy, okay? I don't know what she has done to you, or what you've done to her. Forgive but don't forget. The past cannot be changed, but what about your future? Are you going to die never seeking reconciliation?"
"You'll find I can live a very long time. I'm centuries old."
"Yes, but my aunt cannot. Wakandans live long, but my aunt has maybe 100 years at most. My great-grandfather lived 120 years, but my actual grandfather's life was much shorter. At any time, our lives could end." Toussaint closed his eyes, letting the somberness hang there.
"Young Panther, truly your mind is bright. You may be righ—"
"WAIT, are you seriously like immortal? I thought Aunty was just making fun of how old you were. How does that work? Do you still eat and drink? I've seen you eat Wakandan clams before. But like where does it go? Do you have a stomach? I mean you've abs, but that's not always the same. And is it offensive to call you a merman? Actually, we can talk about this later."
Namor's mind seemed to be elsewhere as he rambled on. A thoughtful expression on his face.
"Fine, you've my agreement. Let's do this how do you say, trap of parents."
Toussaint smiled before rolling his eyes.
"You're playing me right?"
The king of Talokan smiled widely with a full set of white teeth.
"The surface dwellers' entertainment is as devoid of soul as them, but yes. I'm joking."
"No way! How have you seen The Parent Trap before I have? You realize you're going to have to give me a full review, right?"
After some time, Toussaint was able to maneuver Namor's hand into a fist bump.
"Anyway, let's get you two back together! And if it works out, Wakanda will have an heir just in case. As a backup, because I'm going to be king."
Namor nodded. The mention must have drawn out some type of memory because Namor had a fleeting, very satisfied look and the tips of his ears were red.
"Whoa-whoa! Slow down, mister! Holiness is right." Toussaint wagged a finger. "But let's pivot from the babies, the first thing we're going to do is get you and my aunt to talk to each other one-on-one. Like, in a room together without prying eyes. And I know just the excuse."
The water stirred a far distance away, and a blue-skinned Talokan halfway emerged from the water. Her expression was neutral, but the female Talokan watched him closely. Namor's people had to be concerned. They had sent one person, but the longer they talked more would be on the way.
Namo made a salute with his hands to the woman before addressing him. "Yes, yes. I must return home, and your mother awaits. Your aunty has surely noticed your absence now."
Toussaint began to trudge up the hill from the beach with the shellphone in hand, heading toward the guest home. While in Wakanda, his mother and he stayed there. Living in the palace would raise too many eyes.
"For sure! One day you should meet my mother. I'm sure she'd like you."
"The pleasure would be all mine. I'd be honored to meet the mother of such an accomplished, well-raised prince. Until next time, Young Panther." Namor returned to the sea, disappearing as quickly as he had come.
Toussaint smiled to himself, pulling the hood of his trench coat down. Love couldn't wait. It wasn't always enough, but it could be repaired and rekindled. He was sure of it, and his Aunt Shuri deserved love. Namor did too.
Now, if only getting Fabienne to like him was this easy. How could everyone else's love life flourish, but his sucked?