After the council’s deliberation.
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The day of the council meeting -:- T’Challa -:- Accompaniment: Pray You Catch Me by Brooklyn Duo For most of the deliberation T’Challa felt like he was underwater. The horror, sorrow and emotions he has held inside for months were finally unleashed. The ground is no steadier under his feat, but whatever would come, in this meeting here and now he has done the right thing. He told the truth to the best of his ability, and honored Bast to the best of his understanding. This more than anything makes him feel resolved. Following the conclusion of their decision making those in attendance who had been previously sent out are called in and relayed the breadth of the situation. There is no time given for discussion or further questions. The elders leave the decision to share the details of the vision to each person’s discretion but make it clear the details of the king’s curse and the instigating offense would remain private. Directly to T’Challa’s left, N’Jadaka displays the animation of a statue, not disagreeing or even commenting like he might in previous meetings. T’Challa does his best not to examine any of the members too closely, their relief or disappointment wouldn’t change what had just been decided. When the council session has formally concluded, E’Nena calls him to her before she leaves. T’Challa reluctantly walks over, aware of the eyes of those remaining in the room watching the two of them. Once close enough, T’Challa takes her offered hand gently. Sharp brown eyes analyze him as if seeing him for the first time in a long time. Then the Merchant Tribe Elder says, “T’Challa...It has been too long since you visited. Don’t be a stranger.” T’Challa can’t quite smile, but he returns her reassuring squeeze. “I will, aunty.” When all the other elders have left, Sampani is still present. The border tribe elder, W’Kabi, and N’Jadaka stand apart from everyone else, speaking quietly. T’Challa doesn’t approach the three, instead he walks across the room to where his mother and her attending Dora Milaje, Vi, are. Okoye is speaking with them. T’Challa catches the tail end of an inquiry about the new Dora schedule as he approaches. Okoye’s response is unusually sparse of solid information, giving only the promise of an answer soon. T’Challa simply offers a nod to Okoye which she returns before stepping away. There is a professional distance between them, a bridge over an ocean of unspoken words and questions. His mother addresses him quietly, “Have you eaten breakfast T’Challa?.” T’Challa shakes his head, not quite meeting his mother’s eyes. Knowing this invitation would lead to discussions he would rather not deal with right now, he’ll put it off for the time being. His eyes unconsciously move back to where N’Jadaka is still talking. The Wakandan people needed answers, a formal address at least to explain the last 24 hours. Something on this scale hasn’t happened in many years, certainly not in his lifetime, they couldn’t just shrug it off. The council would naturally make their own statement, but the king had to give his own, too. “I can wait, we have to give statements.” N’Jadaka’s Wakandan is lacking on a good day, and he was hardly what one would call diplomatic, he needed all the assistance he could get on a morning like this. T’Challa’s first concern in this matter is the Wakandan people, reassuring them and settling their fears mattered the most. If it meant writing the statement for N’Jadaka himself, he would. His mother’s expression turns sour. “I’m sure he can manage on his own. Why don’t you join me for breakfast?” Ramonda makes her request a second time. T’Challa frowns, irritated that she wouldn’t let him have his way. He shoots another glance towards N’Jadaka, who is still talking to Sampani and W’Kabi. Not even a glance spared in T’Challa’s direction. T’Challa doesn’t want to say no, he just needs to speak with N’Jadaka first,, “I will join you for lunch. Let me speak to him first.” His mother doesn’t press further but her dissatisfaction is clear. She leaves the throne room finally and T’Challa goes back to waiting. Five minutes then ten then fifteen pass. T’Challa waits with growing impatience. The moment the group of three finally separate he steps forward, gaze flowing over W’Kabi and his uncle to focus on N’Jadaka. Neither Border Tribe men acknowledge his presence when they leave. The moment the large door slides shut T’Challa says, "We should discuss our public statement." N'Jadaka's gaze, sharpened upon T'Challa's approach, seems to harden. "We?" “It would be best if it came from both of us.” T’Challa’s skin is thick from the wait, and he ignores the disdain in N’Jadaka’s tone. “I’ve had enough of your ‘help.’ Why don’t you go scheme some more with Aunty?” N’Jadaka’s expression, already derisive, is now hateful. T'Challa's throat works but he momentarily loses his words in the face of such obvious disregard. Hate hardens in his heart. What right did N'Jadaka have to say such things? To look at him like that? After what he's done? He was still king wasn't he? After commiting a crime that should have lost him everything. He remained Bast's avatar, even displayed her blessed marks. What did he have to feel angry about? Why was T'Challa even talking to him? This was obviously a waste of his breath. With those thoughts in mind T'Challa turns around sharply, leaving the throne room. His shoulders unclench slightly when the door shuts behind him, pushing away the memory of previous times where he had tried to leave N’Jadaka’s presence and a Dora Milaje intercepted him. His mother is waiting outside. "—T'Challa." She greets him and she must see how upset he is because she swiftly pulls him into an embrace. A rush of feeling swells where she’s pressed to his chest. Anger, dismay, outrage for himself, outrage for his nation. He holds her tightly, eyes shut to prevent any tears from falling. They don't speak but he can feel her disappointment, her anger—on his behalf. T'Challa swallows the lump in his throat, lifts his head and looks in his mother’s eyes, "Let's go." The Dora Milaje that had been previously waiting in the atrium space fell in line behind him and his mother as they descended the building. He wants to laugh thinking about the effort expended to make N’Jadaka look unfit, all for their Goddess to upstage them. Once they're in the elevator he says, looking forward at blue and silver paneling, "The council won't help him anymore. They know." His mother gives him a sidelong glance, her gaze filled with concern and anger. "Then why didn't they remove him? After what he's done?" T'Challa runs his teeth over his bottom lip, not really wanting to answer. "Bast did not ask for him to be removed." "Bast cursed him." His mother's voice carries across the hollow space. The Dora, as usual, hold their silence. "She also blessed him and gave him an assignment that She still expects him to complete. I can’t—" T'Challa stops speaking when the doors of the elevator slide open and they all move to exit onto the ground floor. The building’s entry plaza is unusually empty but for some kingsguard, nevertheless they wouldn't continue speaking until back in private. He's glad for the excuse to stop talking, his voice breaking on the word 'can't.' It hurt him deeply to speak in any sort of 'support' of N'Jadaka's continued kingship. But he couldn't lie, not in the Goddess' name. Not after having a real encounter with Her. She had touched him, told him, 'You have never disappointed me.' His mother doesn't prompt him to continue and they walk in silence. At the exit, they pass by some officials who probably worked in or around the building. The looks they give T'Challa are filled with awe and respect, their greeting is more formal than necessary and T'Challa salutes them perfunctorily. He doesn’t take it to heart, crediting their attention to the impact of divine intervention. His mother tells him after they’ve left the building, "It's been many years since Bast visited Her people in such a manner. Any aspersions that last night’s events may have cast on your cousin, cast no shadow on you.” She’s taken on a teacher’s tone T’Challa remembers from long lessons as a young boy. As she continues T’Challa realizes she’s referencing the way the officials back at the administration building saluted him. “The opposite, in fact. And as rumor spreads of your involvement in the vision, your esteem will only rise. It's only right that people pay you respect." Their walk continues until they arrive at his mother's apartments. The beautifully decorated entrance opens up to terrace walkways and an elegant rock and water garden. This wing of the palace had formerly belonged to a queen consort of a previous Black Panther and the ostentatious yet comfortable layout showed it. T'Challa has blurry memories of running around in these rooms with Nakia as a child. He's glad this is what his mother chose for her new apartments when she relinquished her and T’Chaka’s chambers, and that her selection wasn’t just because the wing was a significant distance from the king's wing. Their three accompanying Dora do not proceed past the main foyer but Vi does. There's a warm kettle waiting for them in the sitting room and T'Challa carefully pours his mother and then himself some tea. His mother skips any further inquiries of what the council discussed to ask that he give a statement independent from the king. T'Challa counters deftly with precedence. In the past when serious situations occurred his mother had never given a statement, that was his father's job as Black Panther and king. His mother points out he had been a witness for the vision, if he didn't give a statement that would court chaos. At the mention of 'chaos' T'Challa's lips quirk and he asks, "Isn't that what you have already been doing? Courting chaos?" His mother sabotaged the festival proceedings to a disrespectful degree, reigniting old grudges between the tribes. All in an attempt to make N'Jadaka look bad. T'Challa isn't even thinking about whatever else she's been sowing behind the scenes. "No..." His mother purses her lip in a manner that tells T'Challa to tread very carefully. "That man does that on his own." T'Challa sighs and leans forward in his seat, knowing that speaking his mind would not be received well, and trying to deter her with reasoning she would accept, "We have to wait, at least until the next challenge day. Let him ruin things on his own, not—" "I will not sit back and let some outsider spawned and abandoned by your treacherous uncle destroy what your father and I have built. Do not ask me to just wait, T'Challa." This is the first time his mother has brought up N'Jobu on her own accord and T'Challa is struck speechless. T'Challa doesn't have the will to probe or the courage to disagree. Ever since his loss at Warrior Falls there's been a new shadow over their interactions. He could hear, unspoken from her, that they wouldn't be in this mess if he listened to her back in the throne room the first time they had admitted N’Jadaka and he refused the challenge. He had been the one to disappoint her first. Now, instead of a peaceful retirement she had new crises to deal with. What a good son she had raised. "He can not be allowed to wreak havoc unhindered. You need to position yourself as the leader Wakanda needs and should look to. We need to control him so his fumblings don't destroy us all." His mother speaks passionately, self-possessed in a way T’Challa hasn’t felt since before the Festival. A moment into the silence and T'Challa not meeting her gaze, she entreats, "T'Challa...?" He looks up. "Yes?" "Why did the council not see fit to grant you a separation?" T'Challa quickly looks away, self-doubt entering his thoughts for the first time since the council meeting. T’Challa isn’t eager for this exchange, but there was no sense in avoiding it. “They offered, and I told them no.” She looked murderous, her voice quiet and deadly, “You did what?” “I allowed the marriage to remain.” “T’Challa, why on earth would you refuse to be separated from that man?” “I believe it was Bast’s will—” His mother’s outrage deepens, derisive, “How could you possibly ascribe to HER that—” “--it was the vision.” She looks stunned. “Wait, what precisely in the vision gave you this notion? Tell me!” He’s about to speak, but then finds he can’t point to a specific word or moment. He runs through the events, his distress growing. He had been so certain that the vision had guided him, clearly, to do this. She wanted him to stay wed to N’Jadaka, but now he can’t say clearly why. Was he even sure, now, that that is what She had wanted? His mother was watching him closely, surely reading his expression. He considered her in turn, her expectations, and put his own thoughts aside for later as his own rising bitterness and anxiety crystallized, “I can’t control him if we separate.” He doesn’t give her an opportunity to respond, continuing, “Even now I'm struggling to keep track of all that he's doing. It would be far worse if we were entirely shut out." Nevermind the terrible job he's been doing in 'controlling' N'Jadaka so far. His mother doesn't say anything for a while. T'Challa wonders what she's thinking. If she were as disappointed with him as he was with himself. Perhaps if he were better, more experienced, more capable he could control N'Jadaka. Could have made that terrible night different, could have reacted differently. Won N'Jadaka's understanding or at least his respect. Perhaps it would have never come to this. "You shouldn't allow him any more leeway now that the council knows, you must use every failure to your advantage." T’Challa’s impulse is to refuse, he didn’t want to use what happened to him as some sort of special leverage. But reality doesn't care for his feelings and there is undeniable power in holding what has been revealed over the council’s and N’Jadaka’s heads. T’Challa doesn’t like breaking with precedent and there was little precedent for a spouse of the king giving a separate statement. But this wasn’t normal, precedence was already being ignored. His statement couldn’t make it worse than it already was. He doesn't expect things to magically improve or for N'Jadaka to suddenly grow a conscience but he now has more options, more to bargain or threaten with. N'Jadaka may not care about his reputation or the council's regard but those things still mattered. T'Challa remembers the trouble, pain, and ridiculous situations his father weathered to build up a reputation, a name, an understanding with the people of Wakanda and it's council. N'Jadaka would never have that, not after what he had done. T'Challa wouldn't allow it. "I'll give a statement and I will write it myself." He tells her with finality. -:- Accompaniment: Shoot by Sally, KANIS, Chilla, Alicia., Koanna, Vicky R -:- Before T’Challa records his statement he spends time reading through the news and first hand accounts as well as watching the videos people were posting. He also goes to see Shuri. His sister practically tackles him once the door to her room opens. He hasn’t seen her since the last calm moments of the Bast Festival, having only his mother’s reassurance that she was fine. He grips her tight as they hug. “Are you... T’Challa are you king again? Will they have a new challenge day?” Her first discernable question in the stream of talk after they separate hits him in the chest like a blow. He shakes his head, trying and failing to hide his disappointment. “No.” He can see the exact moment his answer sinks in and the light dims in her eyes. “Oh… Even—even after all that? They’re saying he’s cursed!” “He is.” T’Challa makes his way inside her rooms, pulling her along with him when she shows no sign of moving from the entryway. “He is?!” Shuri’s disbelief is evident. T’Challa nods, casting his eyes about the room. Unconsciously noting new additions and changes as he goes. A new hologram here, a different machine there. “He is. Bast visited the two of us in a vision last night. The contents of the vision are why he’s still king.” Shuri’s eyes widened comically. “Bast?!” T’Challa fights a smile at her incredulity. His sister has never held their religious traditions very highly. Feast days and temple holidays were the bane of her existence, distractions from her work and projects. Yet the omens from yesterday evening were undeniably real in a way he knows she’s never seen before. “What-What did she say?” Shuri’s voice is softer, more curious now. “She only spoke directly to me at the end. The majority of Her words were for N’Jadaka, I was just a witness.” This is not the first time he will use N’Jadaka to deflect and it won’t be the last. He knows his sister doesn’t truly care about the particulars and is only asking to ask, so he refuses to go into detail. “But what did she say?” The incredulity returns, that and a very stubborn look. “I don’t care to go into specifics.” T’Challa sticks to his resolve in the face of her pouting. “What’s so secret about it?” Shuri asks but T’Challa takes the question to be rhetorical and redirects. “Right now, the most important thing is calming people down. There’s been a lot of speculation, the council’s statement will be released soon and that should answer most questions.” He doesn’t mention N’Jadaka. He doesn’t know if the man will even give a statement. “Aren’t you going to say something? You received a vision from Bast! People will want to know.” “I will. I actually…-” He signals to his kimoyo beads and pulls up the screen he had just been watching. “I wanted your help with recording my statement.” His sister’s eyes brighten immediately and T’Challa inwardly sighs. He’s sure she’ll have more questions, most of which he can’t technically answer. In the meantime, asking for her help with something like this, spending time, would go a long way to reassuring her and it would make his unofficial statement look even better. -:- Accompaniment: stuck by barking continues -:- After recording his statement, he goes to find the chief-steward and asks to have an unused wing prepared for him. The chief steward, a tiny Merchant Tribe woman, seems panicked at the suddenness of his request and he has to reassure her that a few days’ wait would be fine. Then he goes in search of a very late lunch. There’s not much to do in the way of meetings or administration. T’Challa finds himself watching his news-feeds almost compulsively. He had been the last to release his statement, N’Jadaka’s being first, then the council and finally his two hours after. People have a lot to say about the omens and different forums and pundits pick apart his statement, N’Jadaka’s statement and the council’s with gusto. There are so many videos from different angles and places for when the divine acts happened. The one T’Challa watches the most has an elevated view, and looks down on where he and N’Jadaka had been standing. He looked happy, he notices as he watches the footage. He hadn’t smiled, shocked as he was like everyone else, but he remembers feeling such strong, unfettered, elation in those moments. As terrifying as it had been, to see such acts, to watch what was undeniably phantom panthers surround N’Jadaka, watching him asphyxiate for the second time since they were married: T’Challa had thought his cousin would die and he had been glad. The panic from the surrounding Dora Milaje had certainly supported that assumption, they hadn’t been able to reach him, forced to watch helplessly like everyone else. The panthers had prowled around N’Jadaka for three and a half minutes. More than long enough to suffocate, long enough that when they melted away, T’Challa expected a corpse to greet them. He had wanted it so much. He only caught a glimpse before the Dora Milaje converged, lifting their king up and away for medical attention. But T’Challa will never forget N’Jadaka’s raspy choked breaths. Too much like their cursed honeymoon. Confirmation that the man was still alive. He had been escorted by the Dora after that, along with some of the council and those that hadn’t already fled. Mind racing, thoughts reserved. He had wanted to be hopeful that this time, surely, N’Jadaka would die. The hope that maybe things would go back to normal. But as time sped forward, and he finally noticed the marks on the man’s skin, he knew he would not be receiving his heart’s desire. The showing they had just witnessed could only be a warning for N’Jadaka. A beautifully terrifying one, but only a warning. After that realization, the vision wasn’t so surprising. Bast had recommitted to Her champion—even after expressing Her displeasure so overtly—because of some promise. Something only N’Jadaka could deliver. Bast chastised N’Jadaka but did not condemn him to death or remove him as Her champion. As far as T’Challa is concerned, no more needs to be said. It remained true regardless how much it pained him, or how much he hoped N’Jadaka would die and that the council would grant him back his kingship in the face of N’Jadaka’s unfitness. It was not Bast’s will. With the clarity of hindsight, T'Challa is ashamed of his actions on their honeymoon; what he had attempted to do was dishonorable. Yet he has no doubt that the council would all have looked the other way had N’Jadaka died during their honeymoon of an ‘allergic reaction.’ They knew it too. Had he not attempted to kill N’Jadaka he may now be King, till the next regular challenge day anyway. N’Jadaka’s actions had been enough. Should have been enough, had Bast Herself not intervened. T’Challa has never gone against their goddess before. He believed in Her yes, but as an abstract figure, a guiding principle. She wasn’t present in daily life and observances of ancestor veneration. He Never thought he would be in a position to be working against Her wishes. The realization isn't kind. Bast as a deity, as their patron, has always been abstract. An element of history so ancient it was often treated as lore. She had chosen Bashenga, and the tribes who followed him were set apart. Given everything they needed to flourish and eventually shield themselves completely from the rest of the world. Her intervention in Wakandan life was the stuff of stories. Old ones, involving her blessed ones and the occasional priest. Not something that he would have thought could stop him from taking his rightful place. He wonders if it hadn’t been Her own intervention that kept N’Jadaka alive that night at the honeymoon suites. Such intervention that now pressed a council who knew and cared for him to allow his rapist cousin to remain king. Before the vision, some part of T’Challa had believed it was only a matter of time before he was king again. Believed that N’Jadaka’s interruption to what should have been his succession after his father was just the unfortunate result of bad decision making on his part. If N’Jadaka was truly being directed by their goddess, it changed things. If T’Challa continued to undermine his cousin’s rule, he would be working against Bast’s will. He had made his public statement with these thoughts in mind. T’Challa did not want to work against their goddess’ will. He has never been visited by the goddess before the vision. She had told him he had never disappointed Her. She had told him ‘Wakanda would endure.’ He wants to believe Her. More than belief, he wants to be Her vessel again. Wants to be the person She trusts to fulfill Her will. He wants to deliver whatever She wants, desperately. He wishes She had chosen him for these tasks instead of someone else, someone like N’Jadaka especially. T’Challa skims through previous edicts, journals of black panthers, records of curses, and he’s still lost. He spends most of the day alone for once, N’Jadaka busy elsewhere. The distance is good, but T’Challa feels uneasy not knowing who and what his cousin might be speaking to or working on. It feels like he blinks and then it’s late evening, almost night. On a whim he decides to go to the main market for the evening meal. As expected, many people approached him. But it’s unlike any other visit he’s had. He noticed the way people greeted him was different but he assumed incorrectly that it was simply out of reverence to the previous day’s events. The minute he steps into the market square he’s inundated by all manner of people, seemingly waiting for him to arrive. It was well known that he came to this specific market once every few weeks, and he realized his mistake too late. As prince and then king, he had always experienced a certain amount of public awareness, but nothing close to this level of interest. People crowded around him, pressing forward, putting their hands on him, trying to drag him toward them, trying to shake his hand or slap him on the back, or even just trying to get his attention to answer their questions. Not as a young man presumed destined for the throne, not as the newly-minted Black Panther, not on the first day he was king did he experience this level of attention. People who couldn’t get close enough soon started shouting to be heard, and within minutes there was a cacophony of noise. People had questions, concerns, wishes, prayers—and they all wanted to share them with T’Challa, question him on Her intent, demand answers he was not about to give. People wanted T’Challa to cut through the mystery and ambiguity surrounding the vision, give them details, give them enough information to find their own clarity about it. In retrospect the minimal information in everyone’s public statements had probably fueled some of this. The three Dora Milaje that accompanied him out are quick to pull him away from the crowds of people pressing on all sides but T’Challa isn’t unaffected. Having never experienced this level of public fervor he’s shaken, the screams and calls from the crowd ringing in his ears even after he’s left the market. He had expected interest, questions of course. But not like this. He sends a message to Nakia. Habit, unease, and something else drive him to go see her. She would be leaving soon, Nakia hadn’t spent longer than 4 months in Wakanda at one time in years. She messages him back surprisingly fast, confirming that she would be home shortly. T’Challa changes course for the War Dog apartments. This time he’s more sneaky about entering the public sections but the response from the people he passes is much different. When he arrives at the large compound he’s greeted with a lively outdoor scene. With so many War Dogs being recalled and it being the sociable hour of the day, there were a lot of people out and about in the compound. Not just the agents who lived there but their families, partners, friends, and children. Someone started a large fire pit not far from the center of the complex and people gathered with food, music and blankets where space allowed. T’Challa’s presence doesn’t go unnoticed, not with an entire compound of some of Wakanda’s most prestigious special agents. Mercifully the manic energy is missing from this crowd. More than a few people call out or come up to greet him. He’s careful to greet them back and tries to extricate himself as quickly as he can, making it clear he was here to see Nakia and couldn’t linger to talk too long. He has to repeat himself a few times, yes he already ate, no he couldn’t give any details about his vision and after another round of greetings finally manages to enter Nakia’s apartment. Nakia is not yet home so T’Challa makes himself comfortable in the sitting room while he waits. Having eaten, he settles on the love seat by a window with a view of the central courtyard below. As he waits his mind wanders. Flitting from the day's events, his statement, his conversation with his sister and the much less reverent reaction from the War Dogs. He hears Nakia’s arrival before he actually sees her: she, like him, is waylaid by the neighboring crowd in the compound and T’Challa hears bits of conversation as she stands at the door for several minutes. When she enters the apartment T’Challa stands to greet her. Her answering smile is tired but dazzling. It feels so natural to hug her, and he feels infinitely better by the time they separate. “Will you be joining them tonight?” He gestures with a flick of his head to the burgeoning party outside. He doesn’t remember the last time there were so many active War Dogs in the compound. Nakia sighs and shakes her head. “I spent today and most of this week at my father’s house; I’ve barely gotten any work done.” T’Challa doubts that greatly. Nakia was always working, even when she was supposed to be relaxing with friends and family. But he supposes for her, not being able to focus fully on her work… counted as not working at all. “How is Hayat? He invited me to dinner a few days back but I wasn’t able to attend.” Nakia’s father invited him every year during Bast Festival, T’Challa usually attends but this year he had not. “Everyone is good, Junibe is expecting. They’ve been very busy.” Nakia sounds exasperated, T’Challa had only seen some pictures but he can imagine how excited her father and his partner must be. A part of him clings to the normalcy of their conversation while another itches to discuss his current situation. He decides to let it be for now. Nakia walks to her bedroom, presumably to change, and T’Challa waits in the sitting room. What did she think of all his policy changes? He hasn’t asked outright, but he thinks he should. He checks his news-feeds yet again: there’s nothing new. Some alerts of him being at the market, blurry footage of his hasty retreat. Inane and unending commentary on specific parts of his statement. Soon he’s hovering over the video, the one he’s already watched too many times today. T’Challa starts the video again, muting the sound. Like every other time he’s watched, he notices something he hadn’t before. Focuses on a different face, or part of the video. It’s still playing when Nakia walks back over. He pauses the video but doesn’t manage to close it before she sees. Their eyes meet; T’Challa looks back at the video. After a moment Nakia says, “The footage makes the old stories about Bast seem tame.” After the fact, the destruction they witnessed was minimal but in the moment it had felt cataclysmic. He hadn’t seen Nakia in any of the footage following the commotion. W’Kabi had immediately reacted, heading directly for the circle of Dora Milaje around the king as if to help, the rest had either covered their respective elders or in Nakia’s case not been anywhere in the live footage. "She’s spoken to him before this vision.” T’Challa doesn’t need to say his name. She already knew everything else, why not this? Nakia steps closer, undoing the clasps of her headwrap. “She favors him.” T’Challa manages a nod and says, “I have to wait.” For N’Jadaka to fail, or the next challenge day. He doesn’t know if he can wait. Nakia’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he leans closer so his chin is resting on her shoulder. Her face now hidden from his view he dares to ask, “How long till you leave again?” “One week. I’ve been promoted.” The hand on his shoulder moves up some to rest in his hair. “Congratulations.” T’Challa can’t work up much enthusiasm for Nakia leaving, but he says it gracefully enough. He wonders if it's as bittersweet for her as it is for him. Nakia in turn doesn't seem to take his less than ecstatic response to heart. “I tried to go to the market today but had to leave. It was too hectic.” He brings up the incident at the market, adds a little queasy: “Before I thought it was because of him. But they treated me as if I were…” He doesn’t know what to compare himself to. “It’s not everyday the goddess communicates so loudly. People are excited.” Nakia doesn’t seem to share that excitement. “It wasn’t like that when I came here. They didn’t behave like that.” Sure the greetings and salutes in the War Dog compound had been a little warmer than usual but people hadn’t all mobbed him on sight. “War Dogs are different.” Nakia’s tone is a bit off, prompting T’Challa to lift his head and their gazes to meet. His coronation had felt like a turning point for him. Despite the grief of losing his father, and the unexpectedness. Nakia had come home and the future looked so bright. Now that brightness is cast over the last person T'Challa would ever expect and he's left feeling—lost. Lost at the implications of the last few days, lost at what might be happening within the next few months. Now with Bast’s blessing. “Some people are saying… he is Bashenga reborn.” It’s clear in his expression how little he thinks of that sentiment. “People are saying lots of things.” Nakia doesn’t say if she believes it or even cares. Something like resentment rises in his heart, irrational and dark. “It suits your plans doesn’t it? As long as he’s king.” She could work unfettered, with the king’s blessing. “He’s not T’Chaka.” Nakia’s response causes T’Challa to inhale sharply, feeling as if a knife was sliding between his ribs. “Do all of your brethren support him?” Nakia leans back. “We are not a monolith. Not all of us were unhappy with how it used to be.” But Nakia had been unhappy, and T’Challa hadn’t realized the extent until now. T’Challa is reminded of times in the past where she would bring up her work or some pet project. How he would always humor her by listening even if he thought her ideas outlandish or too idealistic, it hadn’t seemed important then. He would listen, but he would not do or say or think any different after than before. “I’ve always known you wanted to do more. But I didn’t know what you would accept to be able to do it.” For the first time, she looked at him with something like outright scorn. “I’ve always known what you were willing to accept.” “What does that mean?” “The things we could do, the things we’ve avoided doing for years despite report after assessment after confirmation that it would cause no legitimate damage to our order of operations—that it could be done discreetly even to our benefit! The number of times I or my sisters and brothers have been forbidden from intervening—” “We have our ways for a reason, Nakia.” “But you never question that reason, never once thought that it should be challenged. So now when someone comes along who isn’t afraid to do the right thing, who isn’t afraid to listen and wants the people who have been on the frontlines to tell him how, are we supposed to tell him no?!” T’Challa’s eyes sting, was Nakia truly speaking about the man who raped him? Who came into Wakanda intent on humiliating his family and destroying his father’s legacy? “That man is a danger to Wakanda and the rest of the world. He is not some selfless hero, he has an agenda and you all don’t care as long as —” “What agenda is that?” Nakia doesn’t ask the question he’s expecting and for a moment it throws T’Challa off. He didn’t need to know N’Jadaka’s agenda in all its specificity to know it was ill advised and that’s what he focuses on. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, every time he sets out, he creates division in the tribes and upsets the balance that the Black Panthers before him have worked so hard for. Now he is throwing our entire War Dog division into some ill-advised scheme and you are encouraging him!” By the end of his statement he’s all but shouting. Nakia’s response is yet again not what he expects. Her face gentles, and she puts a hand on his chest. “I know he hurt you—” “This is not about me!” T’Challa is being too loud but he can’t restrain himself. “It’s about Wakanda and what a good king does.” “No. It is about the world, and what a good king should have been doing for a long time.” “The Black Panther is not a king of the world, he is a king of Wakanda. My father always put Wakanda and her people first.” Nakia holds T’Challa’s gaze for a long moment, then she sighs, eyes closing. “He did.” T’Challa has nothing to say to that. The culmination of so many discussions and arguments and mental exercises weighing on him. He walks away, back to the window and the love seat. Nakia wanders off to another part of the apartment and soon the sound of water boiling filters over from the kitchen area. When T’Challa looks up Nakia is making tea. The familiarity of the motions on the tall kitchen counter momentarily enthralls him, their eyes meeting when she pulls out two elegant cups. “Would you like some?” She asks, and T’Challa nods yes. With the tea in hand he suddenly feels off balance for arguing with her over something neither of them could really change. It’s been years since they fought like this. He can’t work up the energy to apologize, however. So instead he brings up his main reason for coming. “In the vision, Bast resembled our grandmother.” Nakia’s gaze is encouraging, “Was her voice the same?” “Not exactly,” he tries to explain, and before long T’Challa has described the entire vision to her. Together they turn over details, far less impersonally than the interrogation of the priests right after he and N’Jadaka had come out of it. Their discussion of the vision itself naturally flowed into a discussion of the council meeting that had followed. “I could have told them Bast wanted him dethroned. They would have taken my word over his, half of them wanted me to say that regardless of the truth.” It would have been a lie or at least a very strong manipulation of the actual events. “But it was not Bast’s will.” Nakia doesn’t disagree, “From how you described the vision, we can assume Bast made him king to serve a purpose for her, and she is still holding him to that purpose.” T’Challa nods. He felt confident about how he responded to the council’s questions and his interpretation of the vision. There was only one moment he was starting to have doubts about. “They asked me if I wanted a separation and I… refused.” “Why?” Nakia’s tone carries no judgment. “I believe Bast wanted me to stay with him. To guide him, to be a bridge. And in the moment, in the council, I was so sure. But now… I am not so sure.” “Did Bast say that? Did she say anything other than what you told me?” “She didn’t speak to me for long, I told you what She said to me—” he struggles to articulate why he had been so sure, “She told me—I’ve never disappointed Her. Nakia… me. She came to both of us in a vision, but even though I was only there as a witness, and She blessed me with Her words. How could I… ever abandon my duties after such an encounter? Isn’t my role in all of this to temper him?” “Are you asking me, T’Challa?” T’Challa doesn’t respond and so Nakia says, “If the goddess wanted your continued service, and wanted to assure you of Her patronage, who’s to say it wasn’t in some other capacity? There are many ways to serve. Clearly she was displeased with his treatment of you, why would she wish for you to endure that any longer?” T’Challa had wanted to have this conversation with her, because he had to have it, and she was the only person he trusted to have it with, but now he wasn’t ready for it. He shook his head, “I don’t know—” “You were the one who told me there are many ways to serve Bast and to serve Wakanda.” “If I’m no longer king consort, how can I know what he’s doing?” T’Challa isn’t just anyone, he couldn’t just leave the purpose he’d been trained for since birth. “Ah-hah.” T’Challa immediately recoils at the knowing in her voice. “You said you had to remain with him to serve Bast, but it is also to serve your own sense of self importance.” “No.” but T’Challa is more and more unsure, “It’s not like that.” “You have been trained and prepared your entire life to be king, T’Challa. It makes sense that if you cannot be king, you would not want to accept anything less than king consort.” “I don’t care about my position, Nakia. I just want to protect Wakanda.” That’s all he’s ever had to focus on, Wakanda’s wellbeing, Wakanda’s future. He couldn’t fold his hands just because he was no longer king. “Someone has to challenge him and if I’m…” “Just a prince? Instead of his spouse?” Nakia hits the nail on the head and T’Challa can only stare. Yes, he could challenge N’Jadaka as a prince, he could protect Wakanda’s interests somewhat without being the primary spouse of the king, however the latter offered more leverage than the former. “If I’m not there I don’t know who will do these things.” She knows what he means by ‘there’ and it wasn’t locked out of council meetings and important deliberations where nearly everyone involved would be looking out for their tribe and personal interests first. Nakia for once doesn’t disagree. She was River Tribe, even if she was probably one of the least tribalist Wakandans he knew, T'Challa knew she still held ties to her family, her clan, her matriarch. T’Challa in contrast was Panther Tribe, they were tasked with caring for the whole. “You’re not the only one who is worried, you know. N’Jadaka is hardly going to go unchallenged.” Nakia once again reveals the optimism T’Challa has always known her for. It also tells him that for as much as she was using N’Jadaka’s policies and interests to her ends, she wasn’t blind to who he was. “After what happened yesterday, I expect a lot of challenges.” This was something T’Challa could smile about.