Shuri waited on the banks of the water, in the very same location in which she'd first met Namor.
Wrapped around her was her mother's shawl, a beautiful beaded beige piece that, according to Ramonda, was 'priceless'.
She recalled being a child and stealing it once, coveting the shimmery embellishments. She'd tied it around her head and called it a veil and pretended to get married to a diplomat's son at the age of seven.
The marriage obviously hadn't been taken seriously, but more than that, Romanda had been furious that her daughter had stolen it.
It had been handed down from wife and queen to daughter of each ruler. It was sacred. It was history. And one day it would be Shuri's.
Shuri had picked it out this night, wanting the strength of all the women before her for this meeting and anything that came after, but mostly wanting her mother's arms wrapped around her. Her mother had worn this shawl at any time one could wear a light arm covering, mostly in the sanctity of her own room, like when she read or looked over paperwork. Shuri thought of it as an extension of her mother more than a piece on its own.
In fact, until she was standing, staring out into the water, she had completely forgotten the memory of acting out a tableau of marriage in this.
It feels serendipitous.
Shuri wondered what her family would say if they were still alive.
Would they have agreed to this proposition? Would they have laughed Namor out of the water? Would they have brought her in on the plan earlier? Would this not even be occurring?
It was hard to think of 'what ifs'. Once, thought to be a useless endeavor, until Tony created time travel.
Not that Shuri hadn't been tempted after her mother's death.
And she'd tried.
And failed.
Which had made her feel useless, and she decided to ditch the project altogether.
Time was not meant to move backward. Only forward. Just like the water in a stream.
If she were superstitious, she'd say that she had the strength and spirits of her family around her here, and for just a moment as she closed her eyes, she caught a whiff of her mother's perfume.
It was a distinct, bespoke smell that no other had. Ramonda had created it specifically to her own tastes. No one would dear wear the late queen's perfume.
Shuri leaned forward, as though ready to fall into it, accept her mother's hug and wake up to find all of this had been a dream.
And for a second, Shuri's mind almost tricked her. She almost believed that her mother might be here for such a moment, walking between the worlds to help her daughter in such a moment that would change her life forever.
Until she remembered that the more likely scenario was that her shawl still retained pockets of her perfume, having been worn in the days before her death.
And Shuri felt foolish for letting herself sink into the fantasy for a second that she was not alone, on the beach, under the brightness of a full moon.
Still, she tugged the fabric tighter over her arms and tried to stand in the visage of a goddess, ready for her betrothed to appear.
Namor seemed to step from the water like he was forming from sea foam.
Shuri let herself do a once over of him, to see how his wounds had healed since their last meeting.
She spotted that his foot was still wounded, not quite fully feathered from tearing off his ankle wings. It was growing back, but slowly, and looked like it probably, at the very least, itched often.
She grinned broadly at this, letting Namor see her own pride in her own fighting prowess. She'd always thought of herself as the person behind the hero, not the hero itself. Knowing that she won against an immortal in a hand-to-hand combat battle made her giddy often.
Then, she traveled upwards.
All the other wounds were scarring over. Like Shuri had elected, Namor had chosen not to heal them to the point of vanishing, though she wondered if he had the ability.
The places her claws pierced his skin crisscrossed his back, shoulders, and chest like spiderwebs clinging to wet flesh.
"Have you finished?"
His voice, though on repeat in her mind for the past six months, vibrated around in her mind as soon as he spoke, like her brain was trying to catch the scale of quakes that he was creating in her perfectly fortified mind.
"You seem to have recovered fine," She finally said.
She looked past Namor to where a pair of eyes watched her suspiciously from the water. Crossing her arms and tapping her foot, she nodded.
"Can you call off your watchdog?" She asked, "I swear on Bast I am not going to try to kill you…again."
Namor looked over his shoulder, then back at Shuri.
"Only if you call off yours. I am also not here for blood."
"I'm meant to believe that?" Shuri asked, snappily, wanting to argue. For some reason, she wanted a screaming match with Namor and she would prod him however need be, "You killed my mother, and then you attempted to kill me. Your record is far from spotless."
She felt anger rise up inside of her, so violently she felt she would choke. And, she was hit with the thought...
What was she doing here?
"You killed my mother, and you have the gall to ask for my hand in marriage?" She repeated, sobbing, wanting to kill him at that very moment, slice him upwards from his toes and see his innards spill out on the beach, die in the same country her mother had.
This anger fueled her. She never felt such raw emotion toward another human as she did toward Namor, and could he even count as human? Her emotions around him were overwhelming, like drowning at sea, being pushed down by wave after wave of feeling, each more intense than the last, and never any two of the same emotions.
"That was a miscalculation," Namor admitted quietly, "I did not think she would protect the young scientist."
"If you knew my mother..." Shuri held back salty, furious tears, "It wouldn't have surprised you so. She was kind and strong and everything you are not."
"Killing her, or the scientist, spurred you forward," Namor said calmly, "And it was necessary. You were a ghost through time. Even I saw that."
"So you killed the only person I had in my life to better me?" Shuri stumbled back, as though he'd physically wounded her, "You know what? Forget this and fuck you. Seriously."
As she turned to leave, Namor grasped her wrist, holding tight. She turned back to see an intensity burning in his eyes.
"Don't put words in my mouth, princess," He spat, his eyes impossibly dark and stormy.
"How did I misspeak?" She demanded, "Tell me what part of my phrasing was incorrect?"
"You needed a change, that's all I said. For better or worse is not for me to say. Only you. I am not the master of your destiny, only you are. So, how it changed you is up to you."
Shuri yanked her hand away, "It was for worse." She hissed.
"Was it, or is this just stubbornness?" Namor asked, "You are the Black Panther. Your country has its protector again. You are awake and able to move through your grief. And you said it was for the better. Those were your words, not mine."
At Shuri's stony silence, where she considered whether she should wipe her tears from her cheeks or stand tall with them running rivers down her face, Namor sighed, coming around to the original question.
"No, I asked for you to be my wife. I think killing you would be counterproductive to that. I know you're smart enough to have concluded so."
He spoke so plainly, so simply, as though it was a fact. Something indisputable, so alarmingly casual.
The night was dark, the water was wet and Namor had asked for Shuri's hand in marriage.
His candidness and truth made her mentally stumble, and she saw his flash a quick grin.
At once, she understood how this was to go. Perhaps how their entire marriage was to be.
They'd always be trying to get the higher ground on the other, fighting for dominance, to take the other off guard.
Shuri held back a grin.
Peace for her people was possible. Peace for her? Not at all.
And in some ways, thank Bast for Namor and this whole plot.
But of course, if she told him that, he'd win the war entirely. She could not possibly tell him that she was thrilled at the prospect of spending the rest of her time at odds with him in an almost friendly way, embroiled in a never-ending tumble, where with each rotation, one ended up on top of the other and won a small battle.
And it began today.
"Fine," Shuri said, turning back. She spoke into her beads, "Okoye, you can go. I'll be okay."
Ridiculous that she needed backup. She was the Black Panther, after all. But then again, Namor was also a literal god, and he'd brought someone.
Namor watched as Okoye grumpily retreated, muttering something in Shuri's ear that this was already a bad idea. Shuri took off her earrings and shoved them into her pocket. One might take it as an olive branch, but Shuri knew the way that Namor also knew it wasn't.
It was a chess move.
Namor turned and made some motion to Namora. She stubbornly stayed until Namor took just one step, not a threat, but a severe sign.
Slowly, she sunk back below the water.
"I do not think your kin likes me much," Shuri said with a half-laugh.
"Nor does your warrior," Namor agreed, "Or likely anyone in Wakanda. Probably not even you."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Shuri asked, raising an eyebrow, "To discuss the terms of a marriage."
"It took long enough," Namor said, giving Shuri a mental point against M'Baku. She had been right. He had been waiting for her.
"Well, I just found out this afternoon, so excuse my tardiness," She said, rolling her eyes.
"I know. I was sure you would have stormed down to the beach the moment you were told."
Shuri pursed her lips, anger still rolling off her in waves, though she'd decided to push them towards Namor, not M'Baku. M'Baku promised her if the wedding went off, as her wedding gift, she would be allowed one punch to his face for this union. Seemed fair. Shuri had long ago decided that M'Baku deserved to be punched often.
"If you knew I would react so poorly, why even suggest it?" She asked.
"Perhaps I just enjoy you best when you're full of anger," Namor said, taking a step towards her, "Your eyes get this look in them. And your nose does this thing where it flares, just slightly. And your whole body…" He looked her up and down, making no motion to his glance, and the slow way it cataloged her, "Well." He finished.
"Well, congratulations then. That's the only emotion you get from me." Shuri said, almost feeling like she couldn't be angry now. Not that Namor had countered by making it clear he enjoyed her when she was bursting at the seams, ready to bite someone's jugular open.
Damn him!
But she did not want to give up her anger. She was not ready to wash it away in the stream. She could not predict what emotion would replace it.
So…okay, Namor.
You got that round.
"I imagine you have questions." Namor prompted, "Or are we to stare lovingly-,"
"Furiously-," Shuri corrected, "Or murderously,"
"Into each other's eyes all night?" Namor finished. It was a sarcastic jab. She didn't see any love there, not that she would be expressing that herself.
"Yes, I do," Shuri growled. She had the feeling that she was continuously losing ground here, "First off…" She paused, a thousand questions all pressing against her mind at once, but unable to pick one out, "First off... because you never answered…what gives you the right? The fucking audacity?" She hissed.
Namor smirked, "Which part of it, Princess?"
"I'm not a Princess anymore, one-," Shuri corrected, but Namor waved her dismissal away.
"You will always be a Princess. It is literally in your blood, just as being King was meant in mine." He said, "But please, be more specific."
"All of it!" Shuri threw her around out, "Let's start with the fact that you decided to go through M'Baku instead of me. I have thoughts and opinions and a voice."
"Clearly," Namor said, amused, "I didn't realize you cared so deeply."
"I care when I am left out of conversations that involve me." She corrected.
"My apologies," He said, and he sounded surprisingly genuine, "You just always seem to be the result of actions chosen around you, instead of in the driving seat. When you were in Takolan, you were rescued without a part of the conversation. You had to beg to go to find the young scientist and even then, many choices were made by others. Your mother babied you; you were her last child. It makes sense. However, it was to your detriment and mine as well. And now you give up your throne. Can you imagine if I had come to you and then we'd gone to your King?"
Shuri tried to think for a second, about all the things he'd said. About how perhaps her mother would be alive if she had been able to reason with Nakia and not gone, or stayed to work things out from the start. Or how M'Baku might have actually converted away from vegetarianism if she came betrothed to the man who tried to kill her and everyone in her country.
"Do not look so sad, Shuri," Namor said, "I have been doing this political dance far longer than you've been alive." He said.
"Okay," Shuri growled, "But a warning perhaps would have been the kind thing to do."
Namor blinked at her. Then, quick as lightning, he grasped her arm and found the bracelet still tied to it.
"You still wear this."
It was not a question. It was a statement, something veiled over with almost an unexpected hum.
"It seemed a shame to be hidden in a jewelry box," Shuri said, yanking her arm back, though she couldn't be sure in her own mind why she hadn't just taken it off, and why she'd fixed it enough to be wearable again.
She knew she should not have worn it to see Namor, though. That much was clear.
It's like she was willingly handing all these wins to him, by Bast! She made a mental note to study politics better because for as long as she'd lived as a Princess, she was surprisingly horrible at all of this.
"You said you wished for a forewarning," Namor's eyebrows crinkled, "I thought this would have been a clear enough motion."
Shuri's fingers brushed over the twine, trying to swallow back the feeling rising in her throat.
"I…" She looked down.
"You assumed I gave you a family heirloom to keep for…for…" Namor struggled to explain his thoughts, and shook his head, "Is that how it's done here? That you would give that shawl to someone you meet for the first time?"
"No," Shuri admitted, her throat going dry, "You're not incorrect. So when you gave me this…"
"It was an unspoken proposition or a future discussion," Namor said, "Had you not been taken back."
"You…" Shuri struggled to piece together what this meant, "You were intending to ask me to marry you before?"
"Yes," Namor nodded, "Once again, the bracelet," He said, gesturing, "You were the daughter of the other great nation with vibranium. It made sense."
"But why?" Shuri said, "That's what I'm struggling with. Why then and why now, after I nearly killed you? Isn't that a blow to your masculinity?"
She hoped her question would come off as condescending, but instead, Namor just quirked an eyebrow, as though her questions amused him.
"Hardly. A true man knows when he's met his match." He said, meeting her gaze and refusing to look away, "You are a true Princess. You have empathy. You are intelligent. You better your people and I had the feeling you would better mine. Allowing me to live confirmed that. And your mantle as the Black Panther is an added bonus. A truly strong partner."
"But I almost killed you. I don't think your people will just forget that so easily."
"If I tell them to accept you, as their King, they will. Besides…one could say our union was designed by the gods even greater than I, in the works for hundreds of years."
Shuri almost bowled over with emotion, forced out, "You almost sound like an old romantic."
"Not romance," This clearly irked Namor, and Shuri felt a tiny sense of relief that she'd found a chink in his armor, "Science, which you hold so dear. I was created of the enriched herb, and now…so are you," He pointed out, "As I said. My true equal."
"Equal, huh?" Shuri asked, dubious.
"I have no wish for a submissive, doting, fawning wife," Namor replied, face screwing up at the idea, a mild shudder running through him, "I want us to be equals in this partnership. I want someone to challenge me. You have no idea how long I've waited for you."
"For a competitor?"
"For someone that…" He let out something that Shuri would have called a grin, "Makes life interesting again." And as though it was impossible to forget, Shuri was forcibly reminded that there weren't just a few decades between them, but centuries. So much life he'd experienced long before her great-grandmother was even born.
But shouldn't that make her feel superior and strong? That out of all that time, she was the sole person that piqued his interest enough to offer a marriage? That her, a mortal, a second child of a long line of rulers, was the person an immortal god had waited for?
"Am I your first wife?"
"If this happens, yes," Namor dipped his head, "And I have no intention to take others."
"Good." Shuri harrumphed, and at his curious expression, she felt her face go red, "I don't like sharing." She muttered.
"Is that so?" Namor asked, taking a step towards her.
Shuri took a step back, shaking her head.
"There is an issue."
"Oh?" Namor raised his eyebrows.
"I am the Black Panther and my people need me. And my lab will not be moved to Takolan. What I am working on is Wakanda's secrets. And I will not be your wife and not be allowed to work. Besides, Wakanda is my home. It's rather medieval that the woman has to leave all her family."
"You are free to answer the Black Panther call whenever it needs you," He said, easily, "And, we can work out a…custody, between your two homes," He said, a wry grin, "Ten months in Takolan, two months here."
"Eight months here, four months there." Shuri countered.
Namor's jaw twitched, "An even agreement. Six months here and six months here. With probably a little on your side, considering that you'd be called back here if someone was attacking your country." At Shuri's hesitation, he tilted his head, "We are meant to be married, not estranged. I think this is far more generous than I need be."
"Fine," Shuri sighed, "Six months." She muttered, "Will you build me a lab in Takolan?"
"Naturally."
"A house?"
"If you wish."
"A honeymoon?"
"Wherever you want."
"Children?"
The question was out before she could stop herself.
Namor seemed entirely caught off guard, more so than anything else tonight. He stiffened, eyes darting to her quickly and then away, before swallowing back some comment.
"Is that…something you wish as well?" He asked, the most awkward she'd ever seen him.
"I…" Shuri had imagined herself a mother one day. Not soon, though, "The phrasing came out too quickly. I meant to ask if you expect children from this union. So I can prepare for it." Mentally, literally, physically…take your pick, she thought, on what she meant by that.
"It need not be soon," Namor said, catching his ground, "But eventually…" He raised his eyes to her face, expression entirely unreadable, "Yes. My kingdom deserves an heir."
"I thought you were immortal?" Shuri narrowed her eyes.
Namor moved again, always surprising her by how swift he was, and took her hand and placed it against his stomach, one of the places she'd gotten the closest to killing him. Not dissimilar to her own wound, though his were claw marks, deep gashes.
"Immortal, not invincible," He reminded, and they were so close that hardly a foot of open air stood between them, "As you know better than anyone."
"Right. So a son."
"Or daughter," Namor said, but he hadn't stepped away, nor dropped Shuri's hand from his, "Either can take the throne. And if you have a second child, I will even let them be squired in Wakanda."
Shuri knew the process by which children came into being, and all at once, this was pushed to the forefront of her brain. And she ought to be embarrassed, but instead, she felt her own feet move an inch closer.
If she were braver, or better in tune with the need that was growing in the lower parts of her stomach, or if she were suaver, she may have asked him if they wanted to get practicing right away.
But she was none of these things, so she stumbled back like he'd electrocuted her, panting hard even though she hadn't moved more than two feet.
"When," She forced out, "When is this to happen?"
"If we agree to these terms, no reason it can't be soon," Namor said, and if he was disappointed she'd pulled away, he didn't show it.
Shuri licked the inside of her teeth, thinking long and deep.
Finally, she thrust out her hand.
"Shake on it, then?" She asked.
"If we're going to be married, wouldn't a kiss be far more apropos?" Namor asked.
"I'm saving it for our ceremony," Shuri replied, deadpanning, "Build the suspense."
Namor didn't pause as he clasp her hand in his, and at that moment, the deal was set.
"I'm perishing from anticipation," He said, and though his tone was equally as sardonic, she couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth hidden deep below the surface.
They stayed, hands clasp for perhaps far longer than necessary before Namor made the first move to back away.
"I will make the arrangements with your king. I assume you would wish the ceremony to be here?"
"Yes," Shuri agreed, kicking herself for not adding that provision in as well, "And I want my friends there."
"Of course. It is a wedding after all," Namor agreed. He reached out and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, "Until then."
"Until then…" Shuri repeated, almost enthralled, and she wondered if he could feel her heart rate quicken as his lips touched her skin.
She stayed on the beach until he vanished beneath the waves, trying to catch up with the reality of the situation.
"I'm going to get married.' She said out loud, and she hoped somewhere, in some plane of existence, her family heard her.
