What’s up it’s 12:30 a.m. and I can’t stop thinking about how after T’Chaka is killed in Civil War, T’Challa tells Natasha their culture views death merely as a stepping off point, but then explains that he doesn’t hold those beliefs himself, though his father did.
That little piece of dialog means this scene from Black Panther is far more significant than it first appears, without that context:
T’Challa didn’t believe in the afterlife or the possibility that he would ever see his father again.
When he comes back from the ancestral plain, smiling and laughing, out of breath, telling Zuri, “He was there, I saw him, my father was there,” the triumph of his joy comes from the fact he didn’t believe it was possible. He knew what was said to happen during the ceremony but he never expected it to be true.
T’Challa’s uncertainty at the beginning of this scene along with his pure elation following the first conversation with T’Chaka now have a totally different meaning for me.
T’Challa realizes the truth behind his people’s beliefs, understands that his father was never truly gone, and knows that one day he’ll be reunited with his father, his ancestors, and all of their loved ones – that death won’t be the end.
And yet despite that “safety net,” as it were, all he wants is to be a worthy king for the living.
Anyway, thanks for reading my Ted Talk, this is why I’m crying at almost 1 a.m.
Characters: Young Erik Stevens/N’Jadaka, Zuri, T’Chaka, N’Jobu (deceased)
Summary: After T’Chaka kills his brother, Zuri makes a request that changes the course of Erik’s life.
Warnings: Character death, angst. An attempt was made at a happier Erik AU, but the start is inevitably dark. Also spoilers for the Black Panther movie, obviously.
“My king, he is dead.”
Zuri rose from where he had bent over N’Jobu’s body, and T’Chaka said nothing. He had not needed the confirmation and needed it, for without those words he would have stood rooted where he was and never moved.
His brother N’Jobu was dead. The words unblocked the flow of time and forced him to take the next step, then the next in this new world without feeling and without a brother.
“We must leave now.” His voice overflowed his tight throat. There was no pain, for he felt nothing.
“Your Majesty.”
“Come, Zuri. We must away before the local authorities arrive.” He turned his back on N’Jobu’s body. There was nothing more important in the world right now than to be away from this place, right now, before he was forced to feel again.
A body thudded to the floor behind him and T’Chaka only just kept himself from screaming, the sound too close to the memory of N’Jobu falling.
“I cannot go. Not alone.”
T’Chaka turned inch by inch, not letting himself look beyond Zuri’s prostrate form. “Our time is short.”
“Yes, and that is why you must leave now, sire. But I cannot, not without Erik. N’Jadaka. He has no one else.”
“Zuri, this is my order as your king. You will leave this place with me at once.”
Zuri raised his head, the tracks of recent tears shimmering on his face. “You gave your own brother’s life to save mine, and it belongs to you now more than ever. Do what you wish with it, my king, strike me down for my disobedience if it please you. I will not leave that orphaned child while I live.”
Or while you are conscious. T’Challa considered knocking Zuri out and taking him onto the transport. It would be easy, with the power of the Black Panther coursing through his veins.
Just as he could have done with N’Jobu.
Against his will his gaze was pulled from Zuri to the body that lay on the floor. He flexed his hands, which remembered the sensation of claws slipping into his brother’s chest. Why had he not punched N’Jobu instead, incapacitated him to go back to Wakanda and justice? Was it the cold-hot fire of rage that had whipped his claws out? Was it the heartrending cries of the Border Tribe child who had lost his parents?
“This is my order as your king and sovereign. You will return to Wakanda with me.”
“Your Majesty!”
“And you will bring the child.”
Zuri stared at him, absolutely still, not even breathing.
“Quickly, Zuri. I will take N’Jobu’s- I will take him to the transport. Find N’Jadaka and bring him at once.”
Zuri bowed his head down with such force it thumped on the floor, and T’Chaka winced in sympathy. Zuri rushed out the door with what T’Chaka could only assume was an aching head, and with his enhanced senses he heard the young shaman’s feet pound down the stairs.
What have I done? He looked down at N’Jobu’s face, peaceful now in the wake of the rage that had consumed him in life. And what did I almost do?
He put on his helmet, putting that barrier between himself and the world. He gathered N’Jobu into his arms, the weight of his little brother bringing back memories of a drunken trip back home after the rain fest.
Lulama and Sisipho, his Dora Milaje attendants, greeted him at the top of the building where the royal transport awaited. If they were shocked at the sight of him carrying N’Jobu, they were too well-trained to show it. He refused their offer to take his burden from him, the weight of him a comfort now that kept him from floating far away into unknown skies. He could think for a moment that his brother was unconscious. He would wake up and they would talk again, for how could it be otherwise?
He had just laid out N’Jobu in the ship’s infirmary when he heard two other footfalls, one an adult’s, the other a child’s. He came out to meet them and faltered at the sight of the boy.
“Uncle James, where’s Dad?” The child who must be Erik looked around at the sleek interior of the ship like a bewildered antelope. He fell silent when he caught sight of T’Chaka’s armored form.
In the few steps he took toward the child T’Chaka walked through an ocean of memories, looking down at his baby brother in his mother’s arms, the wind blowing through his hair as they spurred their horses down the border plains, splashing in the shining threads of the river.
My brother, I have lost you…
He knelt before N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu his brother who was gone now to the ancestors, to face their justice or welcome.
“Erik.” Zuri placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is His Majesty T’Chaka, the Black Panther and the King of Wakanda.”
“Uncle James?” The boy looked up sideways at Zuri but stood his ground. A cautious and intelligent child, thought T’Chaka, yet brave.
“I am your father’s brother.” He met his nephew’s eyes through the visor of his helmet, not trusting himself yet to compose his face. “The enemies of Wakanda have harmed your father, but you are safe with us. You will grow up in Wakanda with my children, T’Challa and Shuri, and I will raise you as my own.”
“Harmed my… where’s my dad?” The child’s voice rose in panic.
T’Chaka stood. “Lulu, escort Prince N’Jadaka to the infirmary. Zuri, go with them. Sisi, with me.”
He strode to the cockpit as though to keep ahead of the wails that would rise behind him, the sound of a child made an orphan at his hands.
“Set a course for home.”
Home, to Wakanda so beautiful and so aloof from the world. Wakanda that he had given a brother’s life for. Wakanda where he would bury his flesh and blood. Wakanda where he would raise N’Jobu’s child, and teeter on the edge of truth and lies through the years, and know pain and joy and pride and not an hour of peace.
“Take us to Wakanda.” The tears flowed at last behind his mask of star-steel, and the hum of the engines lifting them into the sky almost covered the screams of a bereaved child.
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