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Look at how far we got
I would of never thought
Look all around you (You)
Lucky I found you (You)
Look how you made your way
Wasn't it worth the wait?
Look all around you (You)
Lucky I found you (You)
- Trust by Alina Baraz
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In the early days W’Kabi remembers having faith. That eventually his parent’s murderer and the man who hurt Border Patrol and Border Tribe so badly would be found. That Wakanda would give him and his family justice for such a terrible crime. That faith dies in stages. It starts to wane when the one-year anniversary turns to two and then four. It becomes tested when his tribe and family’s legitimate concerns are pushed aside as ‘alarmist’ and ‘fear mongering.’
He realizes for the first time when he’s ten to T’Challa’s fourteen that they aren’t equal and neither are they friends. It is expected of course for W’Kabi to be friendly, for him to seek T’Challa out and remain in the prince’s good graces. But he learns quickly not to speak of his parents or much of the Border Tribe going-ons. T’Challa doesn’t understand and W’Kabi struggles to explain. As he grows older, he wonders less. He throws himself into becoming a better fighter, a better leader. He takes on the tribes’ coming of age rites the moment he’s deemed ready and blazes through the trials with precision.
He learns, he fights, he works. Eventually he stares back at the most powerful woman in his age group and she stares back without turning away. Their relationship isn’t perfect but W’Kabi enjoys her smile, her humor, and the way she tugs him closer when she’s tired of listening to his teasing. Time flies, yet nothing really changes. The outside world continues on without Wakanda’s input and W’Kabi silences the occasional simmering in his belly when the “incident” all those years ago is mentioned. He knows Panther Tribe headed by T’Chaka wants them to forget but he can’t and neither can his tribesmen. When he tries, he’s reminded of his dead parents during memorials, of the missing among them within his generation and the reason for their increased militancy every time someone comes too close to their borders unwarranted.
T’Chaka’s death changes everything.
T’Challa goes and comes back with a white fugitive. His father’s killer un-apprehended. W’Kabi wonders at the irony of the late king’s death.
Then the news of Klaue reaches their ears. This isn’t the first time in the last 3 years but it’s the strongest lead following the disaster at Sokovia. W’Kabi just wants to be the one to take him. It’s the least he deserves but T’Challa denies him, and he can only trust his wife’s promise.
They come back empty-handed. T’Challa’s explanation is non-existent, stiff with anger and yet another white man in custody. W’Kabi gets part of the story from Okoye but it’s not enough and like too many times before her role as General supersedes her partnership to him. W’Kabi has no choice but to stew, in anger, in disappointment.
N’Jadaka’s arrival signals a change.
It begins with the ring around his neck and the tattoo on his lip.
It continues with a tense confrontation in the throne room where N’Jadaka accuses the late king of fratricide.
It ends at Challenge Falls with a spear thrust into T’Challa’s ribcage and the old priest, Zuri bleeding out not too far away.
With the priest down, it’s up to the elders and champions to call the match.
W’Kabi calls the match in favor of N’Jobu’s son and no one disagrees, saluting the new king. He listens with half ear as N’Jadaka barks to the Dora to confine the princess and former queen mother.
Not too far away his wife watches on with tears in her eyes. It’s for that reason and perhaps a niggling reminder in the back of his mind that he steps forward to their new king and pleas for T’Challa’s life.
Zuri too could be saved, but he doesn’t beg for the old man. Only T’Challa.
N’Jadaka’s nose flares at the request, and W’Kabi waits for the refusal. But then the king relents, and W’Kabi’s heart—cautious throughout this whirlwind of events starts to soar. The minute the command leaves N’Jadaka’s lips, several Dora converge on T’Challa’s body. Somewhere nearby the princess is sobbing, W’Kabi looks over and his gaze meets Nakia’s. Her eyes are surprisingly clear. He nods her way and then turns to follow his king away from the Challenge grounds.
That night, Wakanda welcomes a new Damisa-Sarki.
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“I met my dad.” N’Jadaka’s voice sounds raw when he speaks. “He told me he was proud.” The king continues as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “He asked about… he asked about my plans. Told me to forgive my cousins.” At that point N’Jadaka seems to be out of words and W’Kabi standing at the edge of the empty throne room doesn’t speak. He cannot offer words of wisdom in the matter of forgiveness. N'Jobu means little to him, his role in W'Kabi's parent's death a new unexpected ache. Yet envy colors his thoughts for a moment, that N’Jadaka would be allowed to speak to a father long dead. He’s heard stories of the dreams the herb brought. Heard a few more about the people it killed who tried to take it unauthorized. For the fact that N’Jadaka is still alive and now invigorated with the heart-shaped herb. W’Kabi is affirmed in his choices and their new king.
When the silence starts to stretch N’Jadaka asks, “Why did you support me?”
W’Kabi stirs from his thoughts. “You gave my Tribe justice.”
“A dead body counts as justice?” N’Jadaka’s tone is almost teasing.
“This dead body was protected by the kings before you.” W’Kabi responds and then goes no further.
N’Jadaka’s eyes narrow in a manner that shows his distaste for what W’Kabi is saying and not saying. Then he smirks and leans back on the dais.
“The reports I’m reading… interesting stuff. Wakanda knows alot about everybody don’t they?” W’Kabi assumes the question is rhetorical question and doesn’t respond. Wakandan agents were embedded into nearly every intelligence organization globally.
N’Jadaka continues, “But they don’t do much with that knowledge do they? Nothing for their neighbors, just eyes everywhere and all these resources going to waste.”
“What would you have the Division do?” W’Kabi asks as if it were a mystery to him.
“Whatever bright ideas they’ve had outlined since…” N’Jadaka points to a display luminescent in the evening light. “1992. Revisions in ‘99 and ’07. All, ready to go with a word from yours truly…”
W’Kabi nods like he understands, wonders for the first time if it shouldn’t be his wife in his stead. She was supposed to be the king’s confidant after all. He was merely a champion, albeit N’Jadaka’s first major supporter within Wakanda. But he’s never paid much mind to the Division or international going-ons. His focus has always been Wakanda and it’s borders, those dates, outside of his parent’s death hold no significance to him.
N’Jadaka must see his lack of understanding but he must not mind simply smiling and shaking his head.
“Come on, let’s take a walk.” When N’Jadaka stands the fabric of his top catches for a second on the edges of the throne before sliding away. W’Kabi’s eyes stray to the scarred skin on display before moving back to king’s eyes watching him. “You know no one really stares at my scars here… guess they must be used to this sort of thing?”
W’Kabi shrugs, “Different tribes handle it differently.”
“Rites of passage sort of thing? Or more for the fashion?”
“Depends on the clan and tribe. Border Tribe has rites.” Mining Tribe loved body modification, often taking scarification to levels the other tribes rarely did. N’Jadaka simple nods. Then N’Jadaka walks briskly to the room’s entrance opening the door before the Kingsguard can. The two posted there stare sheepishly as N’Jadaka strides away. W’Kabi trails him more sedately and wonders when he would be released for the evening.
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It’s almost midnight when W’Kabi receives a message from Okoye. She confirms that T'Challa is expected to recover and the princess and her mother were safely confined. She doesn’t ask when he’ll return, as if she knows something he doesn’t. He assumes she is with Ayo tonight and feels a bit of envy for the two now in bed while he were—He casts a glance around, finding the object of his search perched on a high platform overlooking the capital below. They were standing on the highest administrative building currently and the king doesn’t appear to be moving anytime soon. A request to be excused has been on his tongue for the past hour but he’s been reluctant to speak. Could N’Jadaka not sleep? Or—did he not trust them? The latter seems more accurate based on the commands he’d given right after his ascension.
W’Kabi doesn’t know how if he even could reassure the man. He skimmed the history garnered from foreign databases on ‘Erik Stevens.’ Besides being sparse pre-adulthood, it was… sanitized of any actual insights to the man’s personality outside of his work persona, ‘Killmonger.’ N’Jadaka always passed his psych evaluations, and always completed his missions, without fail.
W’Kabi perks up a bit when N’Jadaka starts to climb down from his perch, limber with new abilities and a commendable sense of balance. The king prowls forward till he is within touching distance, his gaze is predatory.
“Why did you support me?” He asks again and this time it’s like he’s daring W’Kabi to lie.
W’Kabi sizes him up, the explanation he had given before slipping his tongue. Would N’Jadaka kill him if he were dissatisfied? Or would he simply deem W’Kabi to be in the same camp as the rest—untrustworthy.
“I saw myself in you. I wanted—” He trails off, uncertain and now more afraid at the inadequateness of his response. “I wanted you to be king.”
“Not cause o’ revenge? For your parents, against my cousin and his daddy?” N’Jadaka doesn’t put any inflection to show what he’s thinking and W’Kabi flounders for a few tense moments.
“You brought the body to me. You beat him fairly. Our goddess accepted you! That is enough for me. ”
N’Jadaka just stares while W’Kabi wonders if he’ll be finally let go.
Then the king takes one step closer, eyes still on W’Kabi and asks, “You’re really mine?”
W’Kabi blinks, struck at the connotation and the realization that only just presented itself to him now. He swallows and then nods, suddenly unable to meet N’Jadaka’s eyes.
“Say it.” N’Jadaka demands.
“I am yours, N’Jadaka.”
“Use the correct honorific now, W’Kabi don’t be lazy.” N’Jadaka drawls W’Kabi’s name like an endearment.
“My king.” W’Kabi corrects and looks up to catch another beatific smile.
“Good.”
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