Chapter Text
T’Challa
T’Challa, soon to be former King of Wakanda, walks with a purposeful stride through his palace in the capital city of Wakanda. He had just finished dressing in formal Wakandan attire, even in exile he would leave with dignity and grace. The black robe was decorated with finely woven thread of gold, the geometric patterns on the shoulders resembled panther claws. He enters the chamber where the new Prime Minister of Wakanda was being sworn in.
“As our former King begins his Exile, we must never look back. It is with an eye toward the future that I nominate to the position of Prime Minister of State, Imani Kolawole. They have served this Nation well-”
T’Challa only listens with half an ear as he takes in the people filling the room, statesmen and women, Elders and representatives of every Tribe that made up the collective of the Nation of Wakanda, Princess Shuri, The Dora Milaje, and finally the everyday ordinary citizens who were free to be in assembly and speak their mind should they chose to oppose the new direction that Wakanda was taking. He almost expected someone, anyone, to stand up and declare that T’Challa’s exile should be halted, but no one stood, no one spoke for him, and no one looked at him. He felt like a ghost already… no, there was one person who saw him, who stared through the crowd of finely dressed Wakandans that separated them.
The Atlantean’s gaze was laser focused on T’Challa and only on him, he looked at no one else, even when his Atlantean Ambassador leaned in to whisper something to him, he only gave a small nod of acknowledgement to indicate he heard the woman through her water mask. T’Challa holds his gaze for a moment, taking him in. Namor wore clothes, which in itself was a surprise, and the Atlantean attire was very beautiful. Golden threads in the form of moving waves of water adorned his shoulders against a background of black and green fabric, while green scales added extra flare. If Namor and T’Challa were standing beside each other their outfits would have complimented each other, almost as if they had planned it as a couple. Namor’s hair was longer these days, different from the short slicked back hair T’Challa had known before. Now it was long enough to be tied back into a short half bun. Yet the biggest change in Namor was his eyes, when before they had looked normal, now they looked otherworldly and alien, the black sclera highlighted the bright blue gaze that burned like a cold fire in the ocean depths. A man could get lost in those eyes…
There was a slight shifting of Namor’s lips, one corner rose up in a half smirk as T’Challa realized he had spent far too long looking at the Atlantean King. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he ripped his gaze away and focused on the assembly once more. Why was Namor even here? Was it to soak in the praise of his army arriving to help Wakanda during the latest incident? Or was it to watch T’Challa’s humiliating downfall as he was officially forced out of his position as King of Wakanda? If Namor spoke a single word, a single taunt in that moment then T’Challa didn’t know if he could hold himself back from launching himself across the room to claw those pretty eyes out of Namor’s head.
His name is called and T’Challa steps forward, through the throng of people who parted before him like the sea receding from the shores of a beach. He steps with confidence and a somber attitude until he reaches the front of the crowd. The people who sat upon the Council looked down at him with no sympathy. The new Prime Minister clears her throat, “As the first act of my office, I hereby declare that you, T’Challa son of T’Chaka, exiled from the Nation of Wakanda forever more. Your titles and rights are stripped from you, you have no access to the wealth of Wakanda or to any of her secrets. You are no longer a CItizen of the Nation and cannot ask for asylum or aid. Should you be found on Wakanda’s soil after three days from today’s date then you shall be subject to our laws with no promise of leniency. Exile is the option that was decided on by the People of Wakanda, so do you have any words you wish to enter into record?”
The silence is loud, and T’Challa no longer feels like a ghost among his people as everyone watches him, waiting for him to speak. His back is ramrod straight, and his face is a mask of calm that didn’t reveal the turmoil of emotions inside him. The rejection, the loss, the disbelief that everything he had is being ripped away from him. In a soft carrying voice he speaks with a surety that would rock every person in the room, “I shall be taking the mantle of Black Panther with me into Exile, the mantle is my own, passed down from a father to a son, not from a King to a Prince, while you may have your new Black Panther, I shall never stop protecting the people of Wakanda in the world, even if I am no longer welcome here.”
There was a flurry of noise; from the harsh mummers between those who sat in the Council seats, to shouts behind him from the rest of the people, he tuned out the words, and he didn’t need to turn around to see that Namor was still watching him, he could feel his gaze. As T’Challa waits for the uproar to cease, ignoring the people who shout and claim that he should give up the mantle of the Black Panther as well. The Prime Minister calls for silence to address the concerns. As the crowd slowly settles suddenly T’Challa is aware of the Atlantean as Namor’s arm brushes up against the side of T’Challa’s, but T’Challa only glances at him from the corner of his eyes as he stands beside him. Namor was very handsome, that hadn’t changed since they last met.
Namor’s voice is laced with an imperious tone, and carries throughout the chamber, finally silencing the dissenters, “If I may esteemed Council? I believe we had an agreement and your part of the treaty is yet to be fulfilled even though I have already brought my armies forth in the defense of Wakanda…” Namor’s deep baritone rumbles like water over rocks as he speaks, and T’Challa closes his eyes to the sound only to have the memory of a few weeks ago play in his mind; Namor leaning over, and extending his hand to T’Challa, while saying;
Rise T’Challa,
and know that on this matter, with you, and against all others,
Atlantis fights at your side.
Rise T’Challa,
and know that I fight with you.
The way Namor’s dark hair glinted in the sunlight as he helped T’Challa to his feet stuck with T’Challa, and feeling of anger at seeing his old enemy there was still an ever present burning rage in his heart. T’Challa hated Namor. He couldn’t stand being anywhere near the Atlantean, but- but he couldn’t lie to himself. He knew he was always fascinated by Namor, and though their past had been very rocky, there were moments when T’Challa wished things had been different. They had nearly killed each other during the Secret Wars that were fought to save the universe, but they had worked together as well. It was as if there was some invisible thread connecting Namor and T’Challa, but there was never enough time to unravel it. He snaps back to the present when he hears the next statement.
“- So then it is decided? That T’Challa will accompany me to Atlantis to repair the damage between our Nations and stay there as my guest for a year and a day.”
WHAT?! At Namor’s words T’Challa is shaken out of his thoughts as he stares in surprise at Namor’s profile. Quickly turning towards the Council he states, “I did NOT agree to this! Exile me, or throw me in a cell and let me rot there, but I will not go to Atlantis with Namor.”
The new Prime Minister looks down coldly at T’Challa, “I would rather do either one of those options but I cannot, not when there is a Treaty to honor among our Atlantean allies, and I am tired of Wakanda having to deal with the fall out of your actions T’Challa. Namor has argued long and hard for this treaty to include a chance for you to return to Wakanda and be reinstated as a Citizen, and give you back your titles. However that is dependent on your choices, should you choose to go with Namor, for the period of one year and one day, then at the end of your time spent with the Atlanteans, being our ambassador below the sea, we will reconvene and return to you all that you have lost, you may even have a hand in governing alongside the new Council… however should you choose to throw this opportunity away then you shall be Exiled forever. With no chance of ever returning. What is your choice?”
T’Chall couldn’t believe this, that his choices were either Namor or never being allowed home again, deep down he had harbored some small hope that when enough time passed, then he could approach the Council and request that he be returned to Wakanda. Now he knows that will never happen. So it was either Namor or nothing at all.
For a very long moment T’Challa’s pride nearly won the battle with logic in his mind and he was going to throw this offer back in Namor’s face and storm out of the assembly. In the end he did not.
He turns to Namor who faces him and this time he does not break the eye contact like he did earlier when they gazed at each other from across the room, “I accept Namor’s proposal and vow to be ambassador for Wakanda while I spend a year and day in Atlantis, in accordance with the guest laws of our of peoples.”
Namor smirks, and T’Challa resists the urge to don his Black Panther suit and use his claws to rip that smirk off his smug face. It’s only a year and a day. He could do this. He had to.
