. (wakanda) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-08-07 21:08:00 |
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He fell asleep listening to Kendrick Lamar’s voice and the words ‘fuck integrity, fuck your pedigree, fuck your feelings, fuck your culture.’ When he opened his eyes, it was in another world. The sound of water rushing past his feet and over the cliff beside him filled his ears. It wasn’t that long ago he stood here facing all of the other tribes, waiting for a challenger to his throne. When he found one in M’Baku, he hadn’t expected to encounter another one. This man was his cousin, his own flesh and blood come to take everything from him. And why? T’Challa knew he was angry, but their father’s choices weren’t their own, or at least they didn’t have to be. But the challenge had to go on. Zuri’s staff pounded the rock once, and the fight began. Almost immediately, he could tell it was a much more even match than with M’Baku. Erik had years of training and years of righteous anger behind him, and it showed. They went head to head, fist to torso, blade to flesh, back and forth until Erik found an opening and thrust his blade into T’Challa’s side before T’Challa could counter it. On the rocky steps, he heard his mother’s gasp. Killmonger’s fist connected with his face again, and he fell to the ground. His voice seemed distant now, saying it was for his father, but Zuri’s staff was there to block the killing blow. T’Challa knew that it meant doom as soon as it happened, knew what Zuri was about to do. His own voice was hoarse as he shouted out for Zuri, but he couldn’t protect their shaman anymore than he could protect his father, anymore than he could protect any of his Wakandans. Zuri was gone. “Is this your king?” Killmonger’s voice echoed as he faced the queen and their guards, confident and full of swagger. T’Challa swung his machete and missed. “Is this your king?” The responding punch landed just where Killmonger had stabbed him before, and the uppercut sent him onto his back in the water. “The Black Panther? Who’s supposed to lead you into the future?” He could hear his sister pleas. “Him? He’s supposed to protect you?” He struggled to his feet and lunged, but his injuries made him sluggish, made him easy pickings. Killmonger hoisted him onto his shoulders. When he fell, he saw the sky above him and heard his mother’s cry fading away. He hadn’t dozed off for long. When he woke, it was to Zacari’s interlude, you love it when I fall on my face. David’s heart was racing in his chest, and his hand moved to clutch his stomach like he expected to find blood there. It ached, despite his being whole and healthy. His entire being ached, not just from the brutality of the memory but also from the heartbreak of it all. And in the middle of it was a face, the face of someone who was supposed to be family, who should have been family, who would have been family if not for the decisions of those who came before. David heaved a sigh and sat up. No wonder he related so much to that album, he thought. The movie was more than just an ode to their culture and their people and their histories. It was his -- no, not his, he wasn’t really a king, was he? It was T’Challa’s life, but it still felt so real. He'd fought so hard to get away from a legacy his father built for him. He had wanted to forge his own way, but he never could shake his father's expectations. Even in death, his father called to him. His father, or was it the king of Wakanda? Or both? It was real, though, in ways he couldn't ignore. And he wasn’t the only one who felt that way, he thought, but he knew he wasn't brave enough to ask. Not yet. |