Red God: The Morning After

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

T'Challa and Ororo pause to process, during a perfectly ordinary sunrise. The king of Wakanda even has a possible explanation for one aspect of what happened.


It was a perfectly ordinary sunrise, if a beautiful one. Maybe more beautiful for the fact that it was a perfectly ordinary sunrise, a very real sun rising over Mount Kanda, shining down on a solid, ordinary - if very quiet - town. The hush was not quite natural, even this early in the morning. From where Ororo sat on the verandah of the guest house, there were only minimal signs of activity. As if the people of Wakanda weren't entirely convinced that they wanted to wake up to the new day just yet. Wakanda's constitution had no measures providing for martial law, but the government had asked citizens to stay in their homes for the time being, as much to prevent any sort of panicked reaction after the fact as to wait and make sure that the phenomenon, whatever it was, had truly passed.

One of the exceptions to the semi-official curfew was the king who walked up the path towards the verandah, raising a hand briefly in greeting. T'Challa looked exhausted, moreso than Ororo had ever seen him. "I am not accustomed to making radio addresses," he said, sinking into the chair beside hers. He was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing when the dreamscape dissolved, and looked as though he hadn't stopped moving since the previous night. "But the government thought it would help calm things." He paused. "I'm not even certain what I said."

Ororo shifted to face him, though she kept the sunrise in the corner of her eye, like a touchstone. "Reassuring words from a strong leader can do much to instill a sense of calm," she murmured, reaching out to place a hand over his. "They will be looking for guidance. It is good you are here to provide it, now."

"We had thankfully few deaths. Perhaps a dozen, mostly heart attacks." T'Challa didn't look like he was particularly thankful. There was something ragingly angry deep in his eyes, although it wasn't directed at Ororo. "Rather more injuries. Falls, driving accidents when... this struck."

It had been an hour, in the end, from start to finish. One hour of unconsciousness for most of the country; a few of the border villages had been unaffected, the cause of which had been as much a mystery as the rest until Nyami, T'Challa's mother, had pointed out that those villages laid outside the old tribal boundaries.

One hour. Yet Jean had indeed wound up with an unconscious Achebe near the summit of Mount Kanda, just as T'Challa and the other two X-Men had wound up at Warrior Falls. There had been several levels to last night's journey.

"You could not have predicted this. It was not within your control. What is important now is moving forward, understanding what happened." There was a beat, and then the silver-haired woman said, "I have some... colleagues you may wish to speak to. They are very knowledgable in occurences such as these."

T'Challa gave her a quick look, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I would take whatever help they could give, gladly," he said gruffly. "This is beyond any of us - except for perhaps Nathan and Jean, and who knows what they may be able to tell us when they are coherent." There was no edge to T'Challa's voice, but 'incoherent' was a considerable understatement to describe the state the telepaths had been in the previous night.

Leaning back into the chair, breathing out on what was almost a ragged sigh, T'Challa kept watching her. "Are you well?" he asked after a moment, almost brusquely.

The unspoken 'Now that you aren't trying to kill me' passed between them, and Ororo felt a blush rise to her cheeks, dropping her hand back to her lap. "Yes. I... feel quite more myself today."

T'Challa's gaze softened. "Ororo. There's no need for..." He trailed off, as if he wasn't sure precisely what name to put to the emotion. "We were both at the mercy of this. The mercy of them," he amended, and gave a slightly shaky laugh. "I had always seen the idea of the Black Panther as a nod to custom and tradition. Which I value, of course. But I never expected it to become true, let alone literal."

"I think I would have worried had you expected that to be true," the weatherworker replied with an equally trepidatious chuckle. "But still. I cannot help but wonder why it chose me. You know I do not bear you or your people any ill will?" she hurried to clarify. "Or wish them any harm."

T'Challa raised both hands to forestall any further disclaimers. "Of course," he said, very firmly. "The thought would never cross my mind." He paused, flushing slightly. "I may have a theory," he said, almost reluctantly. "There are many stories about the Panther and Lion cults, the mythology behind them. In some of the oldest, the Lion is indeed a lioness."

"I see." Ororo nodded stiffly, hoping T'Challa wouldn't feel the need to elaborate further. "Then in makes sense, as I am a female and Nathan is... not." Speaking of the gray-haired man, she knew he would find this bit of cultural information particularly tease-worthy if he ever found out. So he wouldn't. "Of course."

T'Challa was possibly too tired to pick up on her silent cue. "Some of those older tales say that the conflict between the two was a lover's quarrel, in the beginning. The Panther loved the people more than he loved the Lion, and so she swore to take the people away from him..."

Ororo's blush grew, and she looked away, into the sunrise again. "There are a great many tales of the beginning of things. I have read quite a few, and I am sure you know yet more."

"And what changes, when stories become real..." Either T'Challa had finally picked up on her discomfort, or his mind was simply wandering; he was staring at the sunrise himself, so it wasn't clear. "How Wakanda goes forward from this will be a revelation, I think." He gave a sudden shake of his head. "But I will not become the focus of a renewed tribal religion, whatever happened yesterday." The look he gave her was wry. "Everyone I've spoken to saw us - or the things riding us, rather, as they fought. I suspect it's what these... beings wanted."

"To give them strength," she murmured in agreement. Her gaze flicked over to him then, and she tipped her head to one side, regarding him frankly. "It is strange, the thought that what gives us strength may also take it from us. It can be a mutually beneficial arrangement - or it can be exploited quite easily. I am glad that you will be careful of that. Your people are lucky."

T'Challa shrugged slightly, looking back out at the mountains. "My family has worked for generations to bring Wakanda into the modern day, while still preserving what and who we are as a people. Gods from the dawn of our civilization won't change that." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Neither of them won. To me, that suggests Wakanda is still free to pursue its own destiny."

The thought that this surely meant the gods would try again crossed Ororo's mind but she didn't voice it, wanting to maintain the pleasant atmosphere that had arisen. She knew both she and T'Challa would be investigating further, and chances were these would not be the last words they would exchange on the subject, but for now, she let it rest. "It seems we are never destined for a restful meeting," she said then, with a wry smile.

T'Challa smiled back, an ironic light in his dark eyes. "Would we know what to do with peace and quiet, and pleasant meetings over lunch?" He rose slowly, reluctantly, as if sitting down had just hammered home the reality of his exhaustion. "My mother will be here in a few hours. I asked her to make arrangements to send the three of you safely home. The least I can do is prevent you from having to put up with Nathan on yet another commercial flight."

"Yet another kindness." Ororo stood as well, grateful that she seemed to be able to do so without wavering now. "Thank you, T'Challa."

"Thank you," he said, and reached out to take her hand for a moment, squeezing gently. "For coming to find me." His lips twitched again. "Even if it did lead to some additional complications."

Ororo couldn't help but smirk. "I promise I do not usually try to kill the people I go to save. I would not be very good at my job if I did."

T'Challa smiled at the comment, but his eyes were very serious. "If you keep saving me, I may have to take action. Custom and honor requires certain things, you realize."

This brought the blush back in full force, and Ororo found herself suddenly wishing it was dark once again. "I think we both need to sleep some more before either one of us can contemplate custom and honor and any other courses of action." This didn't come out how she intended, and briefly Ororo considered the benefits of being transformed into a giant cat, including the lack of vocal chords.