Chapter 7
Excitement bubbled up in him for the first time in centuries. Today he was going to fight the Black Panther again, but as allies instead of enemies. The opportunity to show his strength was too hard to pass up, and he found himself waking early to explore the Wakandan training facility.
The underwater portion was small by Talokan standards, but there were enough rooms for fifty soldiers and the actual training arena took up most of the space. In his wanderings, he came across a doorway that led somewhere outside, and noted with surprise that the architects had built a doorway into the river as well as on land. He was bemused to see a small eating hall with panels in the wall displaying all the food they could have brought to them. My warriors are going to be spoiled here.
He ran into Attuma in the passage that acted as the entry point to the dry half of the grounds and raised his hands in greeting. “Could you not sleep, friend?”, he asked with a knowing smile. The warrior shot him a sardonic smile and bumped him into the wall.
“As if you are any better, king.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, something that the king would usually find disrespectful but instead smiled fondly at as he watched his general fidget. He glanced above them at the opening in the water and gestured with an open hand.
“After you then, mighty Hammerhead.” Attuma shot him a glare at the nickname and huffed before attaching his mask and jumping out of the water. They wandered around the dry facilities, finding twin versions of everything they had been provided with underwater. Walking towards the center of the land arena, he found himself looking up through a large window at the orange skies above. Sunrise. It’s so much more colorful up here.
The sound of doors opening and hurried footsteps drew his attention to two figures entering from the southern entrance. Quickly, he appraised them and found no threat, only many nerves and the faint smell of something burned. Ignoring the smell, he turned to face the newcomers.
The one on the right cleared his throat. “Feathered Serpent, General Attuma, good morning. Are either of you available to discuss your standards for the matches this evening?” There it was again, his godly title. Had she told them to use it? A frown breached his features for a moment before he remembered where he was and hid it. Glancing to his left, he allowed Attuma to step forward and begin speaking. This ordeal was his idea in the first place, so he was better suited to answer the questions the delegates asked.
“The general and I will fight with spears and no armor. Until one of us yields or an hour has passed, whichever comes first. The king’s match will be weaponless and armorless, under the same conditions.” The woman on the left was frantically typing onto a screen before her while the man on the right nodded.
“And who will be permitted to watch in person? Unfortunately, these facilities were not designed to host an audience.” At this, Attuma looked to him, knowing that the king would care more about who was present than the warrior would.
Clearing his throat, he spoke. “The princess and I will observe the match between our generals, but your King may observe as well if he wishes. For the safety of all involved, however, I recommend only the necessary medical and broadcasting staff be present for my match with the Black Panther.” The two delegates did not blink, merely nodding and continuing to note things on their screens.
“Very well, the matches will begin at sundown. We will send an attendant to retrieve you when the time comes.” He gave a slight nod before turning around, hearing Attuma do the same beside him before walking back towards the pond that led to their quarters. As they dove in, he felt the water rush over his skin and relax his muscles. Attuma turned to look at him as soon as he had taken his mask off.
“You would not allow me to watch your match in person, K’uk’ulkan?” Shaking his head, he placed a hand on the general’s shoulder and smiled.
“No, Attuma. The last time I fought the princess, we turned a beach to cinders and rubble. The last thing I want is to worry about harming you or others while I fight.” The Hammerhead looked offended still, but nodded before swimming off. Sundown cannot come soon enough.
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Energy thrummed through his body as he waited for the match to begin. He was sat in a modest throne to the right of King M’Baku, and was only mildly irritated that the princess was sat on the other side of Wakanda’s ruler. He had hoped to comment on the match with her for its duration, but instead he made polite conversation with the gorilla man about Talokanil rites of passage.
“In Jabariland, we make our men survive a week in the mountains in the heart of winter. If they come back alive, then they are worthy. Some give up and come back early and we kick them out. If they cannot survive on their own, then they are not worthy of being called Jabari.” The ape man was speaking while eating some sort of surface fruit, and the god-king tried to hide his amusement at the man’s boisterous proclamations.
“Talokan requires a man to go on his first hunt alone. He may try as many times as he needs, but the greater the beast he brings back, the more acclaim he receives.” It was only fair to offer information back and forth with the strange, muscled king, and he found it heartening that their cultures were similar in a sense. Though, he can remember reading something in the exchange notes that this M’Baku man was not of the same culture or heritage as the princess or the rest of Wakanda. Interesting that she would choose to give the throne over to him.
“What beast did you bring back?”, came her curious voice from beside the gorilla. His shoulders straightened and he tilted his head towards where the woman was leaning forward in her seat.
“The sun, princess. My test was not a fish or whale to be caught or trapped. It was the sun itself that I wrangled from the sky and brought to my people.” Her eyes seemed to squint at him, and he grinned, knowing that his answer was not the one she had hoped for. It was much the same expression as the one she wore in the throne room the day before when he’d declared Attuma’s intentions to battle the general Okoye once more. There was something fun about subverting the intelligent woman’s expectations, and he reveled in the sourness of her expression whenever he did.
Booming laughter sounded from his left, and he found the gorilla king wiping tears from his eyes. “You are very egotistical, K’uk’ulkan. I imagine if I were a god, I would be too.” He used the name my people gave me? Did that mean M’Baku did not see an enemy in him? His voice held notes of humor and seriousness at the same time, and the Feathered Serpent found himself puzzled at whether he should be offended or not. The Panther still calls me Namor. I suppose I am still no better than an enemy to her. He was saved the trouble of continuing those thoughts when the attendant to his right announced that the exhibition match would be commencing shortly.
The light in the arena was a swath of purple and orange, and he turned his eyes towards Attuma and the warrior. They wore simple garb, with the woman donning strong blues, blacks, and golds on her cloth coverings. Attuma was dressed only in his mask and simple shorts. It was a striking opposition to look at, with so much blue on either side of the battlefield. Settling in his seat, he gave the signal to his men to begin the broadcast in full and start the match. With the sound of a horn, the warriors sprang into action, both aiming to seize the first strike.
They wielded simple vibranium spears, and the clang of them echoed in the large room. Attuma was at a clear disadvantage, being out of his natural element and without his usual weapon, but the man was trained to near perfection and barely faltered once in his movements. He held the rank of general for a reason. The god-king watched with fascination as the warriors broke their intense first bout, springing back a few steps each and staring each other down like two territorial eels.
Their movements were deliberate and powerful, seeming much more like a dance than an actual battle. The woman was beyond the nature of warrior he had come to expect from the surface world. Her disposition reminded him of a certain grumpy old woman in Talokan, and the thought nearly made him laugh. If Attuma ever realizes, he will never live it down. Namora will make sure of that. For now, he kept the observation to himself and watched with a sharp eye every movement that unfolded in front of him. The king and princess beside him were also silent, appraising their best warrior with the focus deserved of such a respected position.
For an hour, no words were spoken, and the only sounds were those of heaving breaths and clashing spears. Both warriors managed to get hits on the other, with Attuma drawing first blood. In his victory, however he’d left his right flank unguarded, and the woman had seized the opportunity, even with her freshly bleeding shoulder. They were both bleeding, and though he wasn’t familiar with surface bodies enough to spot bruises, he imagined both would be covered with them by the time the match was called. It was ruthless, and yet the mutual respect that flowed between the pair as they battled grew with every strike parried.
By the time the one-hour time period was up, the warriors were appraising each other with near-matching expressions. Attuma was grinning slightly underneath his mask, and the god-king rolled his eyes. At least one of us has gotten what he wanted. A draw was called, and he applauded the show of force he’d just witnessed. He noticed the Wakandan warrior shooting a glare at the princess, and he narrowed his eyes, wondering at her disrespect. Glancing to the Panther, he found her smiling at the woman and relaxed. Ah, it must be a hidden conversation then. He exchanged a secretive glance of his own with the Hammerhead, who scowled at him in return.
The warriors were then surrounded by Wakandan medical staff and whisked away, and he stood alone with the two royals. King M’Baku struck his staff on the ground once before speaking. “Well, that was entertaining to watch. I only hope the two of you make a more interesting show of it. As fun as it is to see soldiers so evenly matched, it is much more fun to watch someone get their ass handed to them. Good luck.” And without further prompting, the large man spun in place and marched out of the arena with an air of arrogant satisfaction. I cannot tell if I enjoy that man’s company or not.
Alone with the princess now, he turned to fully face her, glancing over her outfit for the first time since he had entered the room. She wore a black and white patterned suit of some kind, not the panther suit as he had been expecting. It was so tight to her skin that for a moment he wondered if it was in fact painted on, but he did not let his thoughts linger in such disrespectful places. His eyes trailed her frame, taking in the lithe muscles beneath her suit and wondering at how such a slight frame could pack such a heavy punch. He reached her eyes and found that she was looking over him as well. He let her. Her eyes were squinted and thoughtful, almost disturbing in the way they analyzed him, and he once more felt as though he were a prey being hunted by her.
She continued to stare at him, her eyes flickering from his arms to his wings to his abdomen, and he could see her mind running at an impossibly fast pace as she did. It was fascinating to watch her think and plan in real-time. Her strength was formidable, but it was her mind that had beaten him, so it was her mind that he was most wary of. Looking at her now, he was reminded of a story his mother used to tell him of a jaguar goddess. Her domain was medicine and the moon, but her power and prowess shone through in her command of war and the earth itself. He remembers how his mother would describe her with a serpent in her headdress, and suddenly wondered if perhaps that story was more of a prediction than a history.
Blazing brown eyes met his own, and he watched as their fire spread through the panther in front of him. He could see every muscle flex in turn as she prepared herself for battle. This whole time they had been staring in silence, and he found that he wanted to speak, but did not know what to say. It was both comfortable and excruciating to be in silence with her. Especially now, when the look in her eyes betrayed more anger than curiosity or cunning. A voice broke them from their reverie and announced that their match could commence as soon as they were ready.
Her head snapped to the entrance, and he found himself studying her profile and the firm set of her jaw. The excitement he had felt that morning began to reignite in his heart, itching to go all out and fight. This would be more than an exhibition match, for the both of them. He suspected she had still not yet come to peace with the outcome of their last battle, and he was prepared to fight her as long as she needed until her heart found peace. He knew what it was to carry such a burden, and as protectors of each other’s kingdoms, it was only right to allow her the chance to shuck the chains of her burden.
They gazed at each other for one moment longer, then the panther turned heel and paced to the other side of the arena. He removed the gold bracers, greaves, and neckpiece that he always wore and placed them against the wall. There was no need to stretch, as his body was already thriving on the oxygen in the air and the thrill of a prospective fight. He could not resist the chance to speak before their bout.
“I will not yield this time, princess.” She stared him down with an eerie sternness to her gaze, but the barest hint of a smile pulled at one side of her lips, and he felt something in him settle at the sight. The tune of a horn sounded from somewhere around them and the princess rushed at him almost too fast for him to adjust for. Almost.
His feet shifted under him with only a little help from his wings, and he deflected her striking fist away from his body. Letting the instincts of centuries of training take over, he sent a blow into her side with his elbow that sent her flying across the room. Her feet dug into the hard ground, and she skidded to a halt just before slamming into the wall. Not waiting for her to regain her balance, he launched at her in one bound, aiming a fist for her head. Quick as a minnow, she ducked and aimed a strike at his jaw, clipping him just next to his ear.
Like lightning striking across the ocean sky, their hits moved in rapid succession, the tides turning too quickly for either to be winning or losing. His eyes traced her body as she moved, finding tension in her legs and moving just in time to avoid a kick aimed for his head. Even then, he was not fast enough to dodge the punch aimed for his gut, and he braced as the fist landed, sending him stumbling back several feet. They were back in the center of the arena and began circling one another. No blood had been drawn, but still it felt as though they were sharks circling a common prey.
Without the panther mask obscuring her face, he could see the glint in her eye as she examined him. Her expression was guarded, but he could tell she was entirely focused on only him and their battle. The thought sent a thrill through him and set his blood alight. He grinned and watched her step falter the slightest inch, and he struck. This time, he did not aim a punch or a kick at her, but rather an open palm to her stomach. The force of which sent her flying backwards once more. Her body twisted in the air and she landed on all fours, scowling.
“You’re playing dirty.” The words were growled, but held no malice in them, merely annoyance. His grin widened. She even lands like a panther, he mused. She stayed low to the ground as he calmly approached her. A proud part of him was preening that he had managed to distract her, but he silenced it to better concentrate on the fight. However, it was his turn to falter when she suddenly smiled at him, the expression almost saccharine sweet. His foot, mid-stride, was struck out from under him as she spun low to the ground in a graceful kick. If it were not for his wings, he would have fallen. Hovering in the air, he shifted away from her clawing strikes and righted himself to aim a driving kick at her side.
Surprisingly, the princess took the hit, despite having ample time to dodge or block it, and used the point of contact to grab his leg and twist him to the ground. The hard surface knocked the air from his lungs, giving him no time to recover before her knee was pressed to his throat. Stilled, his breathing shallowed out as he stared at the woman above him. She’d grabbed his leg and twisted it at a painful angle, pinning one of his arms with the leg that wasn’t on his throat. His free hand and leg came up to try and shove her off and resume battle, but she was unmoving on top of him. Her grip tightened on his leg and her knee pressed deeper against his throat.
“Yield.” She hissed at him, her brown eyes burning a fire that he felt on every inch of his skin that touched her. Even through her suit, the heat of her body was so present and intense that he could draw the exact pattern of her hands on his leg with his eyes closed. Her head was haloed by the last pinks and purples of the sunset sky above, and the ferocity that she stared at him with threatened to take his breath away completely. He was struck with her might and will just as strongly as he’d been on that beach, but he resisted the urge to give in to it, to yield. He was a proud king, and he would not yield to her today.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, princess.” His grip on her arm turned soft, his hand shifting from a vice grip to a soft caress, and he watched in wait as her eyes widened in surprise and her grip loosened in turn. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough room to kick out his free leg and flip them, sending them rolling across the floor with the force. Using his wings, he made sure he did not hit the ground again and twisted himself to grab hold of both of the panther’s arms. Placing a knee onto the back of her leg, he pulled her arms together and forced her face to the ground.
Like this, she was pinned beneath him, and with only one leg free to move, her struggles were more akin to squirming than actual fighting. She was warm, so warm, beneath him and he found with a start that he was nearly straddling her as he fought to keep her powerful strength under control. Mindful of the eyes watching the broadcast, he leaned only as close as he dared and spoke in as firm a voice as he could summon. “Will you yield, princess?” He tightened his grip on her arms and prepared for the violent reaction he imagined she’d have at the turn of events.
What he was not prepared for, in the slightest, was the near-guttural groan of frustration she let out instead of an answer. He froze. His reaction was split, with half of him wanting to check on her, and the other half wanting to hear that sound again. Both sides he scolded for their lack of control and decorum. Those thoughts could wait until he was alone, now was the time for battle. In his moment of weakness, she had managed to get her knees beneath her and flung the both of them backwards. The impact of the ground at his back sent him sprawling awkwardly to the side. Springing back up with a wince, his mind zeroed in on his opponent once more and he grinned again. He was glad the fight was back on, and he quickly forgot all previous hesitation.
They circled each other once more, the Black Panther proving her title as her gait turned into a catlike stalk while they moved. She jumped at him, and they traded blow after blow with enough force to cause small thunderclaps in the large empty room. She stayed close, not letting him get more than a few steps away from her, and used fast strikes that took all of his focus to block. When they landed, they hit with the same strength as Attuma’s fiercest strikes, and he felt the bruises they left in their wake. He did not hold back, utilizing his elbows and the edges of his palms to counterstrike while not letting down his blocks if he could help it.
The sounding of the horn snapped him out of his focus, and he looked around to try and find its source before realizing it must be projected through speakers of some kind. The attendant from before scurried into the room much like a frightened mouse and announced the match ending in yet another draw before hurrying back out of the room again. He found her eyes and smiled, breath heaving and muscles tired from their fight. Her eyes seemed molded from steel at first, but the expression bled from her face along with the power stored in her coiled muscles and she gave him a small, exhausted grin in return.
He noted with fascination that her eyes flashed between anger, annoyance, satisfaction, and exhaustion for a brief moment before the medical attendants entered the room and surrounded them. Prying hands and roaming scans covered his body in seconds and he resisted the urge to swat them all away and run. They found him to be in good health, just severely bruised, and let him go with congratulations for holding his own against their protector. Shaking off his discomfort, he looked over to find them leaving the princess in much the same state. He remembered that there was a feast to be had after their match and approached her to ask about it, stopping only a foot away from where she stood.
When he opened his mouth, however, she held up a finger and closed her eyes. “Just… can it just be quiet for a moment?” Her voice was a pleading whisper. He nodded but did not know if she wanted him to leave or not. He found that he was reluctant to leave, even if she were to ask him to. So, he waited while she seemed lost in her head, watching over her frame as she relaxed further and swayed on her feet. Her swaying led her head to knock against his collarbones and he kept very still so as to not disturb her. She seemed to be trying to calm herself out of her battle-mode, and he did his best to pretend as though he was merely a pillar she could lean against for support.
Concern started to bleed into his mind when her eyes did not open after many minutes, and he wondered if it was possible for surface-dwellers to fall asleep standing up. Her breathing was deep and slow, and she had hardly moved since she had first rested her head against him. Did I injure her, and the medical staff did not catch it? Guilt coursed through him; an unusual feeling. He felt no guilt for the spear he had stabbed through her middle, but that was in war. This was supposed to be a fun show of strength to begin uniting their people. It was not right if she got hurt because of it. His thoughts were slowed to a halt when his sensitive ears picked up on her voice murmuring something against his chest.
“Griot. Duration,” called her soft voice. He frowned, not understanding her request. It turned out that the question was not intended for him though, as he heard a voice reply from the curious beads on her left wrist.
“Twelve minutes, princess.” There was another moment where he was unsure of what to do with himself, before a second statement was given by her odd bracelet. “Mineral levels dangerously low.” She sighed, her breath fanning across his skin and sending a small shudder through his body. Her voice was low and upset when she spoke her next words, but they were too soft for him to fully understand. Fish and seaweed? That cannot be right.
Clearing his throat softly, he gingerly brought his arms up to lightly grab her shoulders. “Princess, are you hurt? Did I injure you?” He tried to keep his voice down, not wanting to startle her. Her shoulders moved under his hands in a deep breath, and she pulled back from where she had been resting under his chin. Her eyes were tired and pinched with something he did not recognize, but she shook her head and replied.
“No, it is merely the side effects of the herb I took to defeat you. It is nothing, I just need to eat.” Frowning, he released her shoulders, remembering her words on the river those weeks ago, and pulled his hands back to his sides. Side effects of the herb she took to defeat me? Is she sick? Did my actions force her hand and cause this illness? Her uncanny ability to read him seemed to kick in once more as she quickly spoke and drew him out of his thoughts.
“I am alright Namor. You did not hurt me. I would have taken the herb sooner or later, I just happened to complete it after you…” Her words trailed off, but he knew what the rest of her sentence would contain. Solemnly, he shifted his gaze to the ground, feeling no regret for his actions, but still the force of her grief hit him like a riptide. She shook her head in front of him.
“It does not matter. Thank you, for uh-”, here she seemed to fluster, stumbling over her words as his head lifted to meet her gaze, “for standing here with me while I recovered. I appreciate it.” She cleared her throat awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. Her tone was sincere, and her eyes were open, even if they were not pointed at him. He lifted his hand to reach for her chin but stopped himself halfway. Do not touch me, she had said. Swallowing back the urge to comfort her, he dropped his hand and shifted his posture to face the door instead of her.
“You said you needed food, yes? We should head to the feast the King is hosting. You can get your food there.” He felt her shift to look at him but did not meet her gaze. Vulnerability is a precious thing in Talokan. He would not take what she had just shown him for granted.
A small cough escaped the woman next to him before she spoke. “Uh, yes. Yes, we should start heading that way before guards come running. Follow me. I hope you like fruit.”