T’Challa’s body is found before it can drift to Jabarilands and Erik kickstarts his plans on day 1. This divergence creates the possibility for a totally different story. After months of house arrest Erik asks for T’Challa’s hand in marriage.
Weeks 1-4 The palace wing they’ve been staying in has more guards than actual palace attendants. None of these guards are Dora and that small fact goes a long way to emphasize the difference in their situation now. T’Challa has been sick in bed for days after they fished him out of the river. With no treatment or physician forthcoming and total radio silence outside their walls, it’s clear this is house arrest. His mother paces their shared quarters and helps him as much as she can. Every time she peers down at him on the bed he’s reminded of how she warned him subtly in the throne room. Reminded of how he had disregarded that warning and allowed his anger and pride to accept a challenge he shouldn’t have. Now they were here with him bedridden, his sister’s location unknown and no one to see them. “Your fever is gone.” His mother tells him on the fourth day and T’Challa smiles weakly up at her. “I asked the people at the gate to call a doctor again. I have also asked to speak with him.” The second sentence catches T’Challa off guard, he’s heard his mother arguing with the lone palace attendant that came to deliver food as well as the nearby guards. But to go so far as to ask for the new king… He tries and fails to sit up in the bed, his mother seeing the attempt pushes him back down firmly. “It’s a miracle, Bast’s miracle you are still alive. Rest T’Challa.” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and tears are more forthcoming than words so he obeys stiffly. He closes his eyes and falls asleep soon after. When he wakes up the light in the room is off. Listening carefully for any sounds of his mother he sits up. He manages but the headache and dizziness take time to dissipate. His lips are chapped and his mouth unbearably dry. A look around his general vicinity reveals nothing to address either issues. He doesn’t want to call on his mother, not if he could help himself so he carefully pulls his legs from under the bed sheets. This process is painstakingly slow, causing a bubbling urge in him to vomit. He stops when the sensations are too strong and begins again when they fade. He’s resting, waiting for the dizziness to lessen when an odd sound causes him to freeze. He assumes it’s his mother coming to check on him but an anxious feeling causes him to track where the sound is coming from. His hearing isn’t as acute as it used to be under the herb. A figure soon appears at the edge of the room and his apprehension from before spikes into deep fear. The figure doesn’t make a sound as they step forward and T’Challa wonders if what he heard before wasn’t just his own premonition. It hurts to swallow let alone speak so he doesn’t try, readying his breath to scream. He can’t move without significant bouts of nausea and disorientation so he times his attempt. Mere milliseconds from when he would have moved, the figure turns on the lights and T’Challa freezes at the sight. Nakia stares back from under a hood. The sight makes him wheeze, deep painful gasps of relief. She immediately draws closer, a face full of concern and worry. T’Challa has never seen anything more beautiful. He brings up a hand and signs, Mother? Sister? You here? The words are jumbled due to his frenzy to communicate but Nakia gets the gist just fine. Mother sleeping, sister safe, here for you. Nakia doesn’t speak, signing like he had. The confirmation makes him sigh, muscles untensing in relief. The last time he saw his sister was at Warrior Falls. He had heard her screams when N’Jadaka… What happened? He asks finally and Nakia tells him. He doesn’t interrupt the entire time but by the end of her retelling the apprehension from before has turned into deep dismay. This was something out of a nightmare. A foreign intelligence agent was king and the tribes instead of coming together to oust him were jockeying for position and leverage. Treating N’Jadaka as if he were just another eccentric Panther Tribe son. T’Challa almost spits blood; he's just so upset. Nakia doesn’t spend much time on the intra-tribe movements, focusing most of her retelling on what Killmonger had managed to do in the few days since he’d been king. Her hands shake as she recalls the Division detonating or collecting the weapons they’d so egregiously distributed. About the destruction they managed to cause in 48 hours. She tells him N’Jadaka was following a plan of his own making and some of the Division’s own emergency outlines. She tells him Killmonger would soon declare martial law in Wakanda if their involvement in the uprising Killmonger began days ago was ever discovered. T’Challa can barely breathe, he’s so shaken. Why support? This is mad. He means the elders, the Division, the Bast damned Hatut Zeraze. Nakia understands, she always does but takes time to answer. All that matters is Wakanda’s safety. It’s a reminder of their conversations before. The day of his coronation, her plea that they do more. He hadn’t responded in such terms but he’d felt it in his heart. Wakanda first, always. Such sentiments were now reflected in the Elder Council pretending to be blind and dumb to the turmoil outside their borders, the Division fermenting unrest abroad and Wakanda’s peace keepers coordinating with the new king. Surveillance turns on soon, must go. Nakia signs her exit and T’Challa lurches forward. Take me, no take mother. Nakia shakes her head. Mother already knows, she won’t leave you. At that T’Challa deflates. Of course she did, his mother had eyes and ears now even if she couldn’t force a doctor to see her son. She had been queen mother for decades, a change in kingship wouldn’t cow her but T’Challa dying would. He doesn’t try to stop Nakia and she doesn’t say anymore. He can’t fall back asleep after that. T’Challa doesn’t get better. How can he? There’s no one to treat him, add that to his withdrawal symptoms from the herb, he’s in a sorry state. His mother keeps him company and they pass the time discussing, sleeping, eating paltry meals and generally living in fear for when their house arrest would end. T’Challa worries most frequently about his sister. She was alone now in Jabarilands, Nakia confirmed the Jabari had agreed to take her in. A deep favor from Lord M’Baku to him but they refused any further assistance. He worries about his mother. As the days passed she talked less and less and prayed or meditated more and more. Showing only surface level thoughts and concerns with him despite his attempts to probe deeper. She tells him what she gathers from the palace attendants and guards she can bribe or cajole but not all. He knows the Mining Tribe recently rescinded from their yearly agreement on job placements and assignments. He knows River Tribe has been clamoring for re-designation of formerly settled agriculture and building agreements. That Border Tribe had expanded past their ancestral holdings and that Border Patrol had subpoenaed funds and resources from ‘non-essential’ entities including the Bast priesthood. These are troubling and unimaginable things, the sort to make his mother shake with fury. But they are only a portion of what has been happening, and T’Challa more than anything wants to know what Killmonger has been doing besides letting all of this happen. But such information is much more elusive, even the things Nakia told him are hard to confirm. Which Wakandan paid much attention to foreign affairs beyond entertainment and some scornful reports on the latest gaffe? T’Challa remembers one time even cautioning Shuri from following too much about some of the current events going on in the neighboring country, for fear it would make her depressed. At the time he had been speaking from experience, a candid talk based in his own first forays into ‘international study.’ Now he can’t help but curse the sentiment. One day after another disheartening report, he asks his mother: “What will we do if he refuses to release us?” This isn’t his most prominent fear at the moment but it’s something he’s beginning to wonder with frequency. His health wasn’t good, he could walk and stand now but he constantly felt fatigued and disoriented. His coordination wasn’t the same either. All of these were issues could be fixed with a visit from a Doctor and appropriate medication, maybe some physical therapy as well but with neither forthcoming he could only wait for his body to recover on its own. “He will.” Is his mother’s only response. T’Challa isn’t moved by the conviction in her voice. “You sent a message to E’Nena days ago, this is after you already asked Yetunde and there is still no movement. You hear what they’re doing now, isn’t that their answer?” T’Challa used to have a favorable opinion of the Mining Tribe Elder, E’Nena but no longer. Her actions these last few weeks have unsettled all his assumptions. He wonders what his father would think and has to bite his cheek to distract himself from the ensuing emotion . It’s not lost on him that all the council needed to do was call for another challenge day and then have their champions go one after another till the king died or yielded. Even denouncing Killmonger would have more effect than whatever they were doing now. “They are testing his limit. Soon they will find it and when they do, they will remember us.” His mother explains gently and T’Challa steams in silence. He wouldn’t have expected that before Wakanda’s most venerated leaders did the right thing they would first grab benefit for themselves. Hadn’t expected that they would ignore T’Challa and his mother wasting away in a far-away palace wing for the opportunity to do things they all knew were inappropriate and out of bounds. He couldn’t even speak of the Border Tribe. His mother and he already argued on that matter several times in the first few days after he regained his voice. Now all they could do was wait. Week 6 A little after a month of house arrest T’Challa is able to walk the entire length of their courtyard. The exercise is necessary but exhausting. On one such rest break following several ‘laps’ the guards at the gate tap a familiar rhythm and salute as one. T’Challa stops breathing at the sound of the salute and only regains his breath when the tall doors slide open and then shut. The person who steps in is unaccompanied by anyone else and for that T’Challa immediately wishes to disappear. Killmonger strides forward, pace unhurried and expression absolutely blank. That expression turns into a terrible smile upon sighting T’Challa. T'Challa, formerly sitting on a bench, stands gracefully. Hiding any discomfort and smoothening out his breathing. He doesn’t salute. “Cousin~” Killmonger greets appearing unbothered by T’Challa’s cold face. “N’Jadaka.” T’Challa responds when the silence sits too long and Killmonger’s expectant face starts to grind his nerves. In response Killmonger brightens, nodding. “I’ve been reliably informed that you should be dead, congratulations on beating the odds cuz.” T’Challa’s right hand tenses into a fist, “It is by Bast’ grace.” Silently, he wonders if Killmonger’s visit here had a point besides gloating. “Mmmhmm. Must be divine intervention, because I broke a couple things and then that fall? Damn... you are one lucky—” N’Jadaka prowls closer and T’Challa instinctively pulls back. “—Mother fucker.” The curse sets T’Challa’s temper burning, but he bites back any disparaging retorts to ask: “When will you allow my mother to leave this wing? Much of her affects are still in the Queen’s wing.” He plays dumb, as if their matter of house arrest was simply oversight on Killmonger’s side. “Oh, hmm. Sorry about that, I’ll have someone send it right over.” By the end of his statement Killmonger is grinning as if fighting laughter, an obvious mockery. “Neither of us have kimoyo beads, new ones need to be assigned.” That was amongst a list of things that had been confiscated when they were brought to their new ‘home.’ Killmonger nods, “Oh right away, can’t have you without your super computer on your wrist can we?” Then the smile breaks and his expression turns cool. “I brought a gift over, come here let me put it on you.” T’Challa doesn’t move. Killmonger doesn’t say another word, patiently waiting. As if T’Challa would do as he said. Like before when T’Challa refused to greet him there is that expectant look, and it needles at T’Challa’s pride. The expectation that he would be obeyed was buried deep into every word out of Killmonger’s mouth. “If I have to come to you, you won’t like it.” Another sly smile, and T’Challa realizes anticipation. He thinks Killmonger found his defiance amusing and treated their interactions as a game. Coming here without Dora, what did he expect to happen, what did he plan? T’Challa edges back, Killmonger moves forward. And then—the figure in front of him moves, faster than T’Challa can track, tackling him directly. Hard enough to break something the two go tumbling to the ground. T’Challa’s response is a little too late. Still he fights, but as soon as the contact begins it ends and something cold encircles his ankle. T’Challa reaches for the thing and finds cool sleek metal the color of glazed onyx with soft bursts of violet and jade in the mix. This was the gift Killmonger brought? He checks around the edge and finds no break in the design to indicate where it might come apart, presumably he wouldn’t be able to take it off either, the weight settling snug at the joints. He glares at Killmonger, “What is this? Remove it!” His mind goes from location tracker (unnecessary) to torture device (probable). “Just some jewelry, heard your birthday was last week.” Killmonger stands up and steps back but his gaze is not focused on T’Challa anymore but behind him. T’Challa stands up too and steps in the line of Killmonger’s sight. He knows if he turned around his mother would be standing behind them. “Thank you for your gift N’Jadaka.” He pitches his voice a little louder, shoulders squared not unlike their first meeting. “You’re welcome.” Killmonger says after one last glance behind T’Challa. T’Challa’s doesn’t relax till the door slides shut behind his cousin’s receding figure. His mother quickly rushes to his side and he leans into her when he starts to sway from the nausea brought from panic and apprehension. “Why did he come here? What did he give you?” His mother speaks in a hushed manner as if expecting Killmonger to burst in again. “This.” T’Challa points to his foot, lifting his leg so she can examine the thing. “We have to take it off.” His mother says what he’s already thinking and T’Challa nods. They spend the rest of the day trying to pry the thick anklet off. Weeks 8-12 One by one the Elder Council finds Killmonger’s limit, just like his mother said they would. Nearly two months since his ascension, Rajvahi offers up her favored grand-niece as a candidate for Queen Mother. This action sets off a chain of reactions. Killmonger refuses the offer in a public and humiliating manner that gets retold and re-enacted by different people, offending the elder and the tribe respectively. If it ended there things might have been salvageable but it doesn’t and the issue simply grows. With the rest of the elders quickly offering up their own candidates it becomes clear the council would not collaborate any further unless the king agreed to a Wakandan spouse. T’Challa and his mother hear of the spiral through bits of news and gossip collected. While some of the finer points are lost to hearsay and second hand retelling, his mother and he can see where things are headed. If Killmonger were someone else, say T’Challa it would have never come to this. For the council to threaten the king and Black Panther so openly, vying for favor and a personal say in the next line was unheard of. But since it was Killmonger, anything goes. Killmonger as expected doesn’t bow to the pressure and soon the opposing sides reach stalemate. The king would not marry, the council would not approve any further projects, going so far as to stall on ongoing arrangements, shirk council meetings and badmouth the king (finally). Suddenly it became very important to the council that the king never once gave proper service to the priesthood, people lamented that the temple was being neglected and that T’Challa and his mother were under undue house arrest. Someone even thought to start a petition to find the lost princess, grumblings and dislike from before solidifying into unrest and resistance. Hearing about the council’s actions doesn’t bring T’Challa any joy. Not when that resistance hinged on them getting their way. If Killmonger took a spouse of their choosing, they would go back to being blind, deaf and dumb. Ever since that unexpected visit, Killmonger has left them alone. The anklet he’d given remained. They suspected it might have some sort of device to clamp down and crush his leg, that or a detonator so they no longer messed with it. T’Challa is careful not to get it wet though he assumes it's probably water proof. The days pass slowly with no word from Nakia or Shuri as to their location or safety. T’Challa prays with his mother sometimes though it’s half-hearted. He doesn’t wish he could die or anything like that but he’s definitely approaching his limit in this restricted isolation. One afternoon after a very long interaction with the palace attendant that served them food and toiletries his mother comes back looking dazed. T'Challa, thinking the worst, immediately questions her, “What happened?” He’s tried himself to ask for news and befriend some of their watchers at the gate and the attendants that sometimes came through but they all treated him with cool politeness. His mother was better at it, utilizing her previous background as a hostess and hard-won social currency from her maternal family. Some days it worked, some days it didn’t. “He is raising a harem,” his mother exclaims breathlessly, and T’Challa just stares. “What?” “That man. He’s forming a harem. They say he has to marry and he’s decided to form a harem!” “That’s…” T’Challa can’t find the words. “The council would never agree.” A member of a harem wasn’t the same as a consort never mind a Queen Mother. “The fools already have. I’m certain.” “Why? They have to see what he’s doing.” Where he had gotten the idea from T’Challa can only guess. “They expected him to eventually cave and I am certain for a while it looked that way, why would they guard for trickery like this? Which monarch in the last 200 years would dare to do such nonsense?!” T’Challa silently concurs, the council had underestimated Killmonger from the beginning. “This might be his undoing, a harem won’t make his gaffes disappear.” “But it would pacify the council.” Give the Wakandan public something to talk about and tear into with gusto. “For now.” His mother nods to herself and then strides back into the house. Later that afternoon a doctor pays them a visit.