Chapter Text
Namor remembers the very first time he became a father vividly; had a child of his very own. The first moment that Zyana had entered the world and drew her very first breath. He smiles as the memory washes over him.
He was beyond overjoyed, gave immediate thanks and offerings to Ixchel and Cha’ac for blessing him with what no other could do. Shuri. The Princess of Wakanda, now Black Panther. The gift of children.
However he sorely wished the circumstances were quite different. Shuri is the perfect Mother, Woman, Goddess that he loved. However their history was one thoroughly drenched with blood, warped with political violence, grief and the broken people, deities that they are.
For centuries being able to have a child of his own seemed like an impossible feat, with Namor trying with a few Talokanil women and a single surface woman from the land of his ancestors and them never bearing fruit. Back then he had sadly concluded that him being a mutant God King had made him sterile, unable to have children of his own despite his name. Not being able to find the right partner, the one.
Until one day he had received a prophecy from the son of the very Shaman that had foretold of his coming existence on Earth. Bembe.
Bembe had been down in age, on the verge of departing this world for Xibalba. His son had already started taking over his major duties, with Bembe doing less and less as he got down in age.
He was weak, bedridden when he had summoned a very young Namor, during the times when they had been constructing their vibranium, underwater sun. Namor had been labouring on it when a messenger had visited the invention quarters and announced the summons.
‘Bembe the Shaman summons you, Aj K’uk’ulkan,’ Nicte announced. Her dishevelled black hair, eyes and tone showcase her panic. ‘He will soon depart for Xibalba and he says that it is urgent.’
Namor reminisces as he watches over his firstborn who has resumed sleeping peacefully in her purple and green woven hanging cot, with it swinging gently with the light breeze that blows through their open balcony doors in Wakanda. The light of the half moon gently trickles in and illuminates Zyana’s angelic, cherubic deep brown face, a face of innocence that does not tell of the power that she holds, the power that she will become.
Namor’s sharp ears had picked up the moment that Zyanya had woken, rising soundlessly from their shared bed without disturbing the sleeping Mama Panther. She had not been getting enough sleep as of late, and Namor sought to remedy that problem by always tending to Zyana at nights when they slept together or trying to pry their child from Shuri’s back while she was working in one of her labs.
Zyana had been hungry, fussing as her gummy mouth and chubby fist, fingers sought out her mother’s breast. Namor had fed her using an invention of Shuri’s, a strapped pouch equipped with a rubber teat. She had made it for him to use when feeding Zyana and it was supposed to replicate actual breastfeeding in order to develop the baby and parent bond.
If the late Shaman Bembe could see him now, Namor thinks contentedly as he gently pushes back a few thick, curly locks of hair from Zyana’s face that had fallen across her button nose. Well he knew, in a way. Bembe knew this was going to happen, that he would meet his equal and have a child of his very own one day. Bembe had foreseen it Three hundred and fifty years ago, when Talokan was a young Nation.
Namor entered the Shaman’s sleeping quarters, seeing Bembe stiffly floating as he slowly gathered pieces of jade, pearls and chunks of vibranium before placing them in three separate woven bags for each on a shrine. The shrine was surrounded by various plants and sealed jars. The room had a few glowing stalagmites and bowls, their softly bioluminescent glowing light dimly illuminating the otherwise mostly dark room.
Bembe looks up, pausing before greeting Namor and gesturing for him to come further into the room.
Namor greets him in return, quietly swimming over to where Bembe was meticulously separating the materials. He sees that Bembe’s ochre skin had become more loose and flabby, like that of a wrinkly blobfish. Bembe was audibly heaving, his breaths laboured as he continued his task. The arms of Death clung to his being, insistently calling for his departure. Namor frowns in concern.
‘Greetings, Shaman Bembe. I was informed that we have an urgent matter to discuss,’ young Namor starts cautiously as he curiously examines Bembe’s current activity. ‘You should be resting, taking it easy before you depart for Xibalba. You are speeding your arrival before its time.’
‘Nonsense Aj K’uk’ulkan,’ Bembe brushed off with a wave, black, ancient, wrinkled eyes looking up from his current task to meet Namor’s concerned, young, hazel gaze. ‘There is too much that I need to do. If I do not do it, the deities that be shall be displeased with me. Yes we do have a lot to discuss. What I am doing now also concerns you.’
‘Me? How does it concern me?’
Bembe is quiet for a while, resumes his task of inspecting the many pieces and supposedly placing the best pieces and chunks in the three woven bags. When he is finished, he brings Namor’s hands to rest on the shrine as he blesses each of them.
‘These are for your future.’
‘My future? What of my future, Shaman Bembe?’
‘You are young, despite your many years and your many years over me. A young god,’ Bembe says somewhat cryptically as he hands each bag of precious items to Namor carefully. ‘Though you will remain, things will not always remain the same.’
A young Namor raises a dark brow and stares somewhat inquisitively, impatiently as he waits for Bembe to get on with what he had to say. Now he is currently talking in parables. ‘Care to elaborate on what you mean by that, Shaman Bembe? You do not have the luxury of time.’
‘Young you are indeed,’ Bembe chuckles, slightly wheezing with the effort. ‘The youth are always impatient. Defiant as ever. That is good. But seeing as time is not on my side as you said, I will oblige your impatience. Things will not always remain the same. I know of your troubles of conception, trying to father your very own.’
At that announcement Namor stiffens, a displeased frown and defensive posture enveloping his being. He clings tightly to the bags in his grasp as he clenches his teeth. His eyes focus to a point beyond Bembe, looking at the wall which contains a painting of Namor in all his finery facing an underwater sun. Before Namor can pull away fully, Bembe rests a fatherly and consolatory hand on his bare shoulder.
‘There is no need to be defensive with me, Aj K’uk’ulkan,’ Bembe soothes as he smiles at Namor, grimacing with the effort. ‘The precious goods I have bestowed upon you are for your future. Your future wife. Queen. They are to be used along with your late mother’s, may Reina na’ Fen’s memory be a blessing. I received a prophecy, a vision from our deities. About you and your future wife. She is your Pixan gemela. It is only by her will you be able to father children of your very own.’
‘Pixan gemela? That is rare, almost unheard of,’ young Namor scoffs, trying to hide his keen interest and curiosity behind some amount of disbelief. ‘How is that even possible? What did it tell?’
‘Cha’ac and Ixchel came to me in a vision,’ Bembe said as his gaze went somewhere far away. ‘They were accompanied by another deity, one not of our own. She goes by Bast, a jaguar goddess of a secret land known as Wakanda on the African continent. A land blessed with vibranium like ours, but untouched and undiscovered by the pale faced demons that have forced us from our ancestral lands. Your Pixan gemela will come from those lands.’
‘How do I get there? What is she like? Let me go at once,’ Namor demanded urgently. His wings fluttered excitedly, impatiently, causing bubbles to form all around him. One knocked over a vase that was resting on a slab of pink limestone. ‘Where do I find her in this place known as Wakanda?’
‘I am not done, Aj K’uk’ulkan,’ Bembe sighed weakly with some exasperation. He floated over to his hammock, moving to rest on it as he tied himself in. He was noticeably slower in his movements. He picked up a parchment scroll tied with purple twine that had been resting on a side table, handing it to Namor. ‘She has not arrived in this world yet. I know not of her arrival, nor her name. I just know that she will be of royal blood and her arrival will be after me seeing as I am departing this world.’
Namor rested the woven bags on the shrine in order to untie and unroll the scroll. The contents of the scroll show a painting of a young, beautiful woman of seemingly east african descent, from torso to head. She had sharp, high cheekbones that gave her a striking, attention grabbing look. The white painted designs on her face accentuated her appearance. In the painting Her hair was done up in long braids that draped across her bare shoulder. She had eyes the colour of cacao, with a mischievous, playful way about them. She was clad in a brown and royal sleeveless blue dress or shirt, lined with what appeared to be blue vibranium.
‘I do find her appealing,’ Namor mumbled as he soaks in the image of his Pixan Gemala, running the tips of his fingers along her finely painted face.. ‘She is divinely beautiful.’
‘She is. While you find her beautiful now, nothing will compare to the attraction you will feel when you meet her,’ Bembe smiled mischievously but then his expression grew serious. ‘Despite all of that, there are two paths that will be offered to you. Decisions to make. It will affect your relationship with your Pixan gemela, affect you both. Your Pixan has to make decisions that will also influence your intertwined paths.’
‘What decisions are those, Shaman Bembe?’ Namor demanded inquisitively, tearing away his gaze from the woman’s image with some difficulty. ‘Tell me now so I have time to choose the right one. How will I even come across her?’
Bembe laughs softly, his breathing getting deeper as he does. His eyes flutter slowly.
‘There is no right or wrong decision. Both just come with immense sacrifice,’ Bembe supposed, his voice coming in softer and slower. ‘They both come with danger. I cannot tell you, Aj K’uk’ulkan. That will defy the will of the gods and goddesses and affect the future. Fate. You will cross paths when the time is right.’
Namor swimmed to where Bembe was, hovering above him as he saw the life drain from the Shaman’s body. He is not long for this world. ‘I have so many questions. You cannot just leave me here. Am I not a god to you? I need more answers!’
‘You are. But I will have to face the wrath of other deities soon if I reveal all to you,’ Bembe chuckled as he reached up a shaky hand to weakly grasp Namor’s own. ‘Be good to her, Aj K’uk’ulkan. She will be just as tormented as you have been. Be careful not to add to her woes.’
‘May you have a safe journey to Xibalba, Shaman Bembe,’ Namor sighed as he watched Bembe’s eyes shutter close and he blessed him one final time. ‘You have my thanks.’
Young Namor watched as life faded from Shaman Bembe’s eyes, his limbs relaxing as he entered a final slumber. A small, satisfied smile lines his face, signalling that he had completed his life’s mission and fulfilled his final duties. He almost looked young again. No one is there to see the tears that float away with the water’s currents and the burning determination growing in hazel eyes.
It takes a while for Namor to come back to the present and this is only due to the restless twisting and turning of Shuri from their shared bed. He strolls back over to his side of the bed, allowing his body to be embraced by the soft cotton lilac sheets once again. He cuddles up to Shuri by draping an arm across her exposed, narrow waist and settling his face into the crook of the graceful arch of her neck. She immediately stills, her unconscious being soothed by Namor’s return and embrace.
Shuri’s smaller hand comes to rest across his own, his mother’s bracelet gently pressing into his skin. He smiles in contentment, happiness.
__________________________________
Namora smiles with satisfaction as she hears her God King settle into bed from her perch right above their Wakandan bedchamber’s balcony in the royal palace in Birnin Zana. She sometimes keeps watch over the new family, especially the precious Zyana who she loved dearly. Aj K’uk’ulkan was finally happy and wed, no longer moping about due to the conflict between Talokan and Wakanda and the half hearted yet constant rebuffs from the Black Jaguar.
She looks over the brightly illuminated capital city, full of life, civilisation and nature. A lot of infrastructure by the river had been rebuilt, with the willing help of Talokanil hands. The people were naturally suspicious and hesitant but with time most had eventually warmed up to their new ally.
Namora remembers the time when she had learned of Shuri’s pregnancy, very early at that. She laughs softly to herself as she recalls telling the God King that he was going to become an actual father.
A month after the Battle between Wakanda and Talokan, Aj K’uk’ulkan’s Royal Hut, Cenote.
Namora enters Namor’s private hut in the royal cenote, only to see the glowing stalactites reveal the God King in question standing in deep concentration while painting another mural of him and the Black Panther again. Only this time they were draped in their wedding clothes that they had worn not only a month ago. The wedding clothes that they had not gotten married in due to the princess being whisked away by that vile spy.
Namor had been adamant that they would somehow find a way back to each other and complete what they started.
*flashback to after the Battle*
‘The Black Panther will find her way back to me. It is as our deities intended,’ Namor assures with a somewhat crazed look in his eyes. ‘The surface world will come for Wakanda and she will have no one else to turn to but me.’
*end of flashback*
Namora rolls her eyes as she sighs into her water mask, bubbles forming in its clasp. This news is going to make him even more insufferable and lovestruck.
She had suspected that being alone for so long had made him batty, but the Black Jaguar awoke a fire in him that set ablaze his heart with a constant yearning. It was both remarkable and frightening.
Then Aj Kulkulkan had revealed that the Black Jaguar was the woman of the prophecy, his Pixan gemela. The Black Jaguar had further sealed her fate or the prophecy by creating and consuming the hybrid flower, making her of two worlds. Namor had grinned madly upon that realisation after the dust had settled.
‘Aj K’uk’ulkan,’ Namora says as she greets him. ‘I come bearing news based on the spies that watch over Wakanda. It is about the Black Jaguar.’
Namor pauses and turns to give Namora his undivided attention, his brow raised quizzically and his hazel eyes lighting up with thinly veiled interest, hungering for this information on the object of his desires.
‘What is it, my Child? What has happened to the Black Jaguar?’
Namora takes a breath, knowing that there is only one way this can go. ‘The Black Jaguar is pregnant.’
With the silence that followed, one could hear a pin drop. A number of emotions flicker across Namor’s face, ranging from shock to jealousy. The paintbrush and palette that he had been holding clatter to the hut’s floor, forgotten with this remarkable revelation.
‘Shuri is with child? For whom? How?’
‘We have learned that she is pregnant and only a month along, my King,’ Namora informs very cautiously. ‘She would have fallen pregnant during her stay here. Meaning that only you-’
Before she can finish, an otherworldly shriek erupts from Namor as his face breaks out into a joyful grin. He rises from the ground, his wings beating excitedly as he loops on the spot.
‘How is she taking the news? When did she discover that she is with child? Did she plan to tell me? That is what my dreams were informing me of!’ Namor shoots out a barrage of questions, not giving Namora much time to answer all of them.
‘The Black Jaguar seems a bit worried but receptive to the pregnancy. She found out yesterday. It was overheard while she was conversing with that blue warrior that Attuma likes,’ Namora huffs with exasperation. ‘She said that you are the only one she has lain with.’
‘Of course I am. Good, very good. I must go to her.’
‘Eh? Aj K’uk’ulkan, I advise that you wait until-‘
‘Let me ready a Dowry suitable for her. She already has my Mother’s bracelet, as I intended. What is an alliance without a marriage? Notify the seamstresses of these developments. My Shuri will need only the best. We head to Wakanda at once.’
‘Cousin, the seamstresses are still recovering, we still have a lot of clothes for her, she is still griev-‘
‘There’s no time to waste. Our Cha’ac, IxChel and her Bast have seen to our reunion and Union,’ Namor beams as he flies over to Namora and presses his forehead to hers. ‘Ix Ajaw will see reason. I will ensure it.’
With that he flies out the hut, leaving an irate and stressed out Namora.
-----------------------------
A month after the Battle between Wakanda and Talokan, Shuri’s bedchamber in The Royal Palace in Birnin Zana, Wakanda.
It is night in Wakanda where one can find Shuri looking out on her bedroom balcony, rubbing her middle protectively and contemplatively as she gazes at nothing in particular. Worried.
They should not call it morning sickness if it decides to come whenever, she thinks. She had just finished puking out her guts, her light supper of beef samosas.
Shuri’s brow furrows as her senses go into high gear, sensing another presence behind her.
She knows who it is before she faces him. She can sense him as much as she can sense herself. She was becoming more aware of that as time went by. The bond grows stronger day by day.
She turns around to see Namor settling on her balcony, his dripping form wetting the stone floor. He is dressed in red today, a gold and red loincloth with a matching velvet sarape lined with gold.
His eyes take in her form, immediately going to her middle and taking in the gentle motion of her hand. Shuri immediately stops the motion, letting her hands fall to her sides and clenches them in order to stop the slight, nervous shaking.
‘Shuri of Wakanda,’ Namor greets, his tone and eyes soft. ‘I come seeking an audience with you. We have much to discuss.’
‘You know.’ It is not a question but a statement.
Namor does not answer her. Instead he makes his way over to her slowly, his eyes holding her gaze. She does not move away as he comes to a stop in front of her, she only silently watches his movements. Namor slowly kneels to the ground, coming face to face with her naked abdomen.
She was clad in a black crop top and a simple, short blue linen wrap skirt, leaving her legs and belly bare to his all consuming gaze.
‘May I? Please.’
Shuri only slowly nods, her voice stuck in her throat, its cavity suddenly devoid of all moisture and capability.
Namor raises both of his strong hands, such hands capable of murderous violence, them shaking as they come to rest gently on her belly. She was not the only nervous one, it seems. His forehead soon follows, with him muttering indistinguishable words in Mayan, presumably talking to the little life developing inside of her.
He kisses it once, twice before gazing up at its mother. Their beautiful mother.
‘In all the centuries of my being alive, I have never been able to Father a child,’ Namor announces softly with a tone of childlike wonder and glee. His eyes hold Shuri’s, making sure she truly understands this marvel. ‘I have tried, only to fail time and time again. I thought myself infertile despite being Aj K’uk’ulkan. But it seems I have met my watch in more ways than one. As the Shaman prophesied all those centuries ago. I know of your own prohecy. I did my own investigations.’
‘K’uk’ulkan, I understand that you are excited-’
‘Excited does not even begin to cover the depth of my feelings, Sweet Shuri,’ Namor interrupts as he stands, his hands holding hers closely in order to impress upon his feelings and perceptions. His pupils dilate further as he soaks in more of her figure. ‘I need you to understand.’
‘I do, trust me I feel excited. However our history-’
‘You are the only woman to have ever been able to make use of my seed. Here I was wondering how the cat’s tail had bewitched me to the point of forgetting my duties, but I see it clear now. I always knew you were special but it is now truer than ever. The constant dreams of you, wanting you like a man starved, they all make sense. I can smell your wetness right now. You cannot deny it. You were made for me, we are destined by our deities. You truly are the woman, the goddess of the Shaman’s prophecy. We must marry at once. As initially intended.’
‘You have clearly lost your mind, Namor.’
‘What?’ Namor mumbles, slowly pulling out of his domestic and lustful musings with such a slap in the face response. He blinks in bewilderment.
Shuri is looking at him like he’s either gone mad or she does not wish to believe a word of his utterings. Probably both. Despite that, the truth is glaring at her now more than ever. She pulls away from him and begins to pace, wringing her hands together and looking anywhere but at him.
‘We cannot get married. We cannot- I cannot be with you.’
Hurt and disbelief clouds Namor's eyes, his mouth gaping as he tries to formulate a response to her rejection. She can feel their souls whimper in anguish at her words, desperately reaching out for each other. She closes her eyes to avoid his expression lest she changes her mind.
‘I understand that we have a… connection. Now more than ever. I cannot get you out of my mind. You overrode my birth control, which is near scientifically impossible. I feel this yearning for you that I cannot stop,’ Shuri rushes out as she turns away from him and clings to the railing for support. It creaks under her superpowered grip. ‘But I can never forgive you for what you did to my Umama. I cannot betray her like that! To even ask me to!’
‘I am sorry for causing you such grief,’ Namor pleads, walking towards Shuri and resting his hands on her tense shoulders and kissing the nape of her neck. She immediately relaxes, much to her chagrin. ‘I will regret it for the rest of my life. You are my other half. Even with all of your disbelief of traditions and love of science you know this, feel it. But you must understand that as Aj K’uk’ulkan I could not allow for that attack to pass without retaliation.’
‘Then you must understand as the Daughter of the late Queen Ramonda, the Queen that you killed, I cannot let this go. She was the last of my family,’ Shuri sobs as tears drip down her face, dripping onto the balcony and the ground many feet below them. ‘We can co parent our coming child, whatever. But I cannot betray her like that. No.’
‘In yaakunaj, Béet. We both will suffer with denial of the-’
‘No. My decision is final,’ Shuri sniffs as she speedily brushes past him and into her bedchambers as if a demon was on her tail. She comes to a halt right after passing the doorpost, still facing away from Namor. ‘I can manage on my own without you. I am tired now, Aj K’uk’ulkan-‘
‘Cha’ah.’
‘Huh?’ Shuri intones, rubbing at her wrist, the bracelet that Namor had given her burning her skin. She knows what it says, remembers what Namor had told her and had discovered it for herself as she became more proficient in Yucatec Mayan.
‘I told you to call me Cha’ah. I know you have not forgotten,’ Namor says softly. ‘You are my equal, my ally and the mother of my child. It is only right.’
Shuri can feel his eyes searing into her back, pleading with her to allow him this one win. She shudders at the intensity of his gaze and the feelings it evokes. She knows within her heart that he will not give up. He is Namor after all and the bond probably will not allow it. But she has to stay strong. For Umama.
Cha’ah, I must rest. I have to keep up my energy levels for this pregnancy. It is our offspring, after all. We will talk. Goodnight.’
With that the Black Panther closes her door on Namor, ignoring the cries of their souls at this rejection.
Namor experienced many firsts that night. The discovery of his first child and the experience of his first real rejection, first rejection and from his Pixan Gemela.