T’Challa and Erik meet before the wedding.
OC Visuals
T’Challa meets his fiancé for the first time, a little over two weeks after he agreed to marry. He sent a private message to N’Jadaka’s chief of staff. He did so in order to telegraph his intention across a number of underlings and force a meeting. N’Jadaka had to keep up appearances after all. “What’s this about?” N’Jadaka doesn’t look pleased and he doesn’t bother with standard, addressing T’Challa in English. He arrived late and gave no explanation as to why. T’Challa could read the lines of tension in his shoulders and stance. Either T’Challa forcing a meeting or someone else earlier in the day must have really pissed him off. There are benches and alcoves all along the private garden T’Challa chose for them to meet but neither of them bother to sit. It’s even easier for T’Challa’s eyes to glide on and away from the Dora attachment standing in a loose arrangement along the garden’s walls. The Dora that came with N’Jadaka, T’Challa doesn’t recognize them, they weren’t the ones he chose for himself. Were they newly promoted? “You sent my sister an invitation. When do you plan to retrieve her?” T’Challa’s tone is conversational as if the two of them met all the time. N’Jadaka’s expression smoothens into something less cautious and T’Challa wonders if he’s stepped into a trap. “I was planning to, before the wedding. But apparently, going mountain this time of year is a death sentence. I figure I’d wait till after the wedding to reunite you three.” N’Jadaka’s tone is nauseating, all fake concern. T’Challa ignores his discomfort to ask, “And what about the Jabari?” They hadn’t been able to get the full contents of whatever message N’Jadaka sent. Just getting their own letter to arrive first was an undertaking with the backwards message relay system that was the only tool they had to reach the highlands reliably. “What about them?” N’Jadaka plays dumb, giving him no information about what he might have said or not said to Wakanda’s oldest neighbor. T’Challa considers what to ask and discards each potential question as they come to him. The hands at his side itch to clench into fists but he controls his outward appearance the way he might his internal fluctuations. “Are you aware of the treaty we have with them?” T’Challa assumes the General if no-one else would have told him. Whether or not he respected the blood soaked agreement was another matter. “They stay up in the mountains, we stay down here. Nobody gets hurt.” Not for the first time T’Challa frowns at N’Jadaka’s manner of speech. It’s like it was specially formulated to irritate him. He knew his cousin was very intelligent, well spoken in public yet in private he regressed to this confrontational, childish… *American* caricature. “Maintaining the treaty is important. My sister is not reason enough to infringe on their territory. I hope you understand that.” T’Challa finishes stiffly, trying to understand what N’Jadaka was thinking behind his stupid smirk. “That’s all?” There’s a way N’Jadaka raises his eyebrows when he speaks, a question but not really. More like a dare, and it makes T’Challa want to punch him. “No. That’s not all.” T’Challa works through the points he’d practiced in private before. He doesn’t give N’Jadaka a chance to interrupt. “When my sister went up to Jabarilands, she wasn’t alone.” A deep inhale before he continues, “A man called James Buchanan Barnes, was with her. Before you arrived she was tasked by me with performing neurological modifications. I promised Steve Rogers—a man I encountered while hunting my father’s killer—and a friend to Barnes that—” T’Challa speaks quickly, knowing an interruption was coming but needing to get the basis of his request out. “Wait.” N’Jadaka interrupts his explanation, looking absolutely incredulous. “Captain America?” For the first time T’Challa notices a wide white fleck on the corner of his iris. It makes the man’s eyes look alien. “Yes, listen to me. That man, Barnes, was still with Shuri when she left for Jabarilands.” T’Challa stops trying to give context and background and cuts to the point. “Okay.” N’Jadaka looks like he’s swallowed something foul. T’Challa can’t read his expression nor does he know how to interpret the one word response. “Okay.” N’Jadaka repeats again, voice lower. As if he just realized something important. “Who knows?” He questions. T’Challa purses his lip, this is not where he wanted to start. “My mother.” The General, all 1st rank Dora Milaje, Nakia, a small selection of medical and engineering personnel that had assisted Shuri in her initial prognosis… “And why are you letting me know this now? You’ve hid him real good so far.” N’Jadaka’s voice is more like a snarl by the end, all mirth or teasing gone. T’Challa can see the calculations N’Jadaka is making and he forces his trepidation down about showing his hand too soon. “If you or anyone else kills him, it will cause more problems than it solves.” He may already be dead, they haven’t even received a message from the Jabari or Shuri but T’Challa isn’t counting on that. “So that’s what this is about.” N’Jadaka’s deep concentration fades into something that T’Challa might have called relief if he knew him better. “So what do I get for keeping your little secret under wraps?” The words are underlined with a smile that revealed gold tapered canines. For the first time during their conversation T’Challa smiles too. Just the slightest curve but a genuine smile. “You get to continue being unnoticed by people that would make things much harder for you.” Thus far T’Challa hasn’t considered his allies abroad, because he knew allowing outsiders to interfere in any way with Wakanda’s internal disputes would be a recipe for disaster. But if they were already in crisis, what was more oil to the fire? N’Jadaka’s smile disappears. T’Challa waits patiently for his fiancé to understand the layers of his threat. When the silence starts to stretch, T’Challa speaks with a much more leisurely tone: “Captain America will eventually want to know what happened to his friend. The C.I.A. will eventually have to mark you dead in the field… or alive. The man you shot in Busan—” Everett Ross was dead, but N’Jadaka didn’t know that. “You can’t do shit.” N’Jadaka practically growls as he looms closer. “Are you sure—” T’Challa pauses when N’Jadaka’s face is mere centimeters away from his own. “—you want to test that?” T’Challa voice is now much softer. But it might as well be a shout to enhanced hearing. N’Jadaka laughs, still too close—like their first official meeting in the throne room. A slow trail of blood starts to drip down from his nose. T’Challa watches the trail with growing confusion. Then a hand shoots up, faster than he can react to grip him by the throat. The grip immediately cuts off his airflow and T’Challa struggles in vain to pull away, he can’t look away from N’Jadaka’s face. Bast—his eyes. The fleck of white circling the black of iris has grown wider. The Dora around them yell and advance in distress but the sound is like white noise to T’Challa. Reminding him that they were not alone. But they couldn’t protect him. If N’Jadaka acted on the burning hatred resonating in increasingly strange eyes, no one would protect him. Delay him maybe but not for long. T’Challa’s vision is starting to go black when the grip loosens and he’s allowed to collapse to the floor. His coughs and heavy choked breathing fill his ears. Someone lifts him to a sitting position and then another hand is rubbing his back. The three Dora gather around him in a loose, protective formation. He’s too surprised to feel fear. Something was very wrong with N’Jadaka. The nosebleed was one thing but his eyes. What had he done? T’Challa looks up warily, dragging himself to his feet. N’Jadaka is standing, unnaturally still. He looks like he’s in pain and his teeth are clenched in a snarl, his hands forming first at his sides. It’s as if he was restraining himself—or some force was restraining him. His eyes are blown white, with no iris to be seen. He looks as if he’s been possessed. The two Dora in the room are silent now and T’Challa looks from their wary faces then back to N’Jadaka. Has this happened before? What was going on? He wanted to leave, run, before N’Jadaka tried to kill him again but he couldn't move. What in Bast’s name was happening? “What… Do… You… Want?” N’Jadaka’s voice comes out in an unnatural gravely strained staccato. “Leave the Jabari alone and leave Barnes alive.” T’Challa lays out his request in a daze, at the last second he adds: “Don’t force me.” He doesn’t specify further. Not even sure who he was speaking to at the moment. It may not be N’Jadaka. He doesn’t get a response. Before the silence can turn into something else T’Challa begins to edge towards the exit. The next time he turns to look back N’Jadaka’s left hand has risen to scrub down his face. When he looks up, his eyes are still unnaturally white. He looks utterly resentful. Neither of them say a word. -:- After a month of ridiculous buildup—the wedding is almost underwhelming. It’s certainly not how T’Challa ever imagined his wedding would be. The first day is a blur of ceremonies and faces. They visit several temples and important sites to worship over the course of the day. Sharing small meals with important families participating in the hospitality rites, performing community service and then a required several kilometer trek back to the wedding grounds. It’s enough to make T’Challa collapse by the day’s end. N’Jadaka is much less affected by the physical demands however his patience for the rigid ceremony and forced interactions is much less. T’Challa’s hands hurt from the few times N’Jadaka held them during the day. The contact while not intentionally malicious was not as gentle as it could be. The second day goes a little slower and is less busy but it’s still too much. It’s hard to feel anything other than bland detachment to the spectacle. Accompanied by hundreds, honorable enough to join them in person and watched by millions of Wakandans eager for the show. He speaks the ceremonial flowery script best and so has to handle more of the required interactions for the two of them, deeply aware that N’Jadaka didn’t understand much of what was being said. Nor did he care. He follows along as they’re led through what had to be the most strict wedding procedure he’s ever seen let alone participated in. There are small moments when it hits him… the two of them were really married. Each time it’s like sinking into a bucket of icy water. One such instance is when they drink their wedding wine. The two of them were expected to serve each other first from two goblets, drinking together. T’Challa gets the dubious pleasure of watching his newly wedded husband’s eyes widen as the wine causes T’Challa’s body to emit a purple hued glow. The glow is strongest at his eyes and was a reflection of T’Challa’s ancestry as Panther Tribe. It has no such effect on N’Jadaka. Apparently the genetics that allowed him to take the herb without dying, didn’t translate completely to other substances. Later that hour when T’Challa bumps into him, tired from sitting bent knees, in the same spot he can feel something stiff against N’Jadaka’s inner thigh. Silent and unwanted confirmation that the wine wasn’t totally ineffective on N’Jadaka. By the third day he longs for it to end, for every last proof of his cousin’s ‘respect’ towards him as consort to stop. Eventually it does and they set out for the harem palace. T’Challa doesn’t feel relief exactly as much as exhausted acceptance. Every action he took in the last month was leading to this moment after all. The knowledge that he chose this propels him further into the abyss. Upon arrival they’re greeted by a group of attendants, managerial staff and N’Jadaka’s wives. T’Challa met them briefly during the 2 nd day of the wedding but this was their official first meeting. Once again—there are only 7, marked by special bands on their head, arms or wrist—instead of the expected 8. A slender figure, who must be the palace’s chief steward, steps forward first after they all salute N’Jadaka and T’Challa, “My king, prince consort. Welcome.” A beautiful woman, T'Challa, recognized to be the River Tribe princess that tried and failed to stick to N’Jadaka’s side during the 2 nd day of the wedding also steps forward. She greets both of them but has eyes only for N’Jadaka. T’Challa has words prepared, a diplomatic introduction but before he can say or do anything—N’Jadaka dismisses them all. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it’s late. We can handle this in the morning.” In typical N’Jadaka fashion he doesn’t wait for a response, expecting compliance as he strides forward and through the gathering of people. T’Challa has about 5 seconds to decide whether or not to follow or stay and deal with formalities. Then he’s walking forward as well, falling in step beside N’Jadaka. T’Challa gets the added benefit of seeing the group’s collective reaction to N’Jadaka’s dismissal. Most are surprised, a few of the wives look dismayed. The river princess looks upset. Their faces are flashes in the side of his vision. T’Challa swears that he will do things properly in the morning, but tonight he also wants to rest. When they’ve walked some distance T’Challa says, “They won’t be happy with you this week.” He’s not bothered about it. N’Jadaka could have taken a few minutes to go through greetings and pleasantries instead of giving the appearance of being over eager to spend the night with his new consort. He chose not to. “Don’t care.” N’Jadaka following the trend from the last few days responds shortly. T’Challa doesn’t speak further. Considering they’ve spent the last three days in close proximity and in ceremonial tandem, they’ve said very little to each other. After the incident in the gardens, N’Jadaka was much more careful. Not exactly respectful, simply less talkative which translated to being less irritating. T’Challa’s successful threats while effective aren’t the only reason. He knows he shouldn’t have witnessed what he did that day, that N’Jadaka wanted to keep it secret. Unspoken is the very real threat that N’Jadaka could still kill him, especially if his ‘illness’ became public. T’Challa has yet to find an explanation about what exactly was wrong but he has his suspicions. He decided not to tell his mother about what he saw or what he thinks might be causing it, not till he knows for sure. There was no need to endanger her even more over something he didn’t yet fully understand himself. What he did know was that N’Jadaka was harboring a spirit, a spirit strong enough to possess him momentarily. The two of them walk through long halls and spidering pathways till they reach the king’s wing. Without the usual shadow of Dora—N’Jadaka refused to bring them into the harem palace—it’s even more eerie. As the entrance to the wing slides open and then closes behind them T’Challa wonders if he should be worried. Technically their ‘sharing’ of the wing tonight was the last ceremony for this farce of a wedding. More unwanted proof of N’Jadaka’s sincerity before T’Challa could leave for his own private rooms. Nothing but sleep should be happening but T’Challa has been wrong before. N’Jadaka stalks off to what was probably a bedroom without a glance in his direction. So, T’Challa takes the initiative to begin his nightly routine and put himself to bed. A cursory investigation reveals several rooms that could be offices or living areas, 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. One of said bathrooms was the size of a small gathering hall, complete with fountains and deep circular pools. T’Challa picks the smaller, more modest bathroom. There he finds a fully stocked perfume, soap and aromatics counter that he quickly makes use of. He passes the time in peaceful quiet, washing off the paint from his skin and the filth from the day. When he reluctantly dries off and puts on pajamas he checks his kimoyo beads to find that more than an hour has passed. Upon leaving the bathroom, he finds one of the three bedroom doors’, the one N’Jadaka had entered initially—to be closed. T’Challa picks the bedroom furthest from that one to rest. The last thing he does before settling into uneasy sleep is to unlock the special compartment in the small travel pod he brought with him. All of his things would be arriving in the morning and settled into his new rooms outside of the king’s wing but there were some things he didn’t want any foreign staff moving or handling. The gel capsule tastes like oil in his mouth. The medication could be mistaken for vitamin supplements at a glance. The doctor promised it would soothe some of the symptoms he had been experiencing but not all. What T’Challa noticed is that they helped him feel less fatigued and more focused; however they did more important work internally to regulate his body. He’s worked hard to hide the extent of his new limitations but not all of it could be hidden forever. Wakandans didn’t often become disabled. More often they were born with certain conditions such as deafness, or a genetic condition. Becoming disabled especially through methods of poisoning is… unusual. The loss, especially for things he used to take for granted, is something he’s still processing. What he’s clear on is that no one, let alone N’Jadaka would know the full extent of what that cursed anklet has done to him.
If this chapter feels weird it's because i'm playing with a faster less direct writing style. Tell not show, which isn't intuitive for me but covers plot much faster so i can get to the scenes I want to write. I really wanted to give y'll Erik POV again but I just wasn't satisfied with it. For the folks who read bloody waters............................. Yes, i know this pokes big fucking holes. Shut up. It's a different take ok??? T'Challa in bw is not the T'Challa in ss. This T'Challa had months in captivity, lots of time to come up with better talking points. Next up, T'Challa v Harem. For the cnovel folks in the back, it's the much written 'concubines paying respects to Wangfei' scene Expect way more dialogue. Will dig into T'Challa's hidden disability as the plot allows