A/N: Sorry for the wait, I've had a lot of deadlines and projects lately. I wasn't super confident in my ability to capture this character well, so hopefully I've done an acceptable job. It's short but it's sweet (I hope).
Reviews keep my electricity on.
The outside world had brought them nothing but suffering. It had corrupted N'Jobu, leading to his betrayal of Wakanda and the responsibilities and expectations of royalty. Leading to the conception of Killmonger. It had taken T'Chaka from them, from T'Challa. It's problems and woes poisoned men against each other. It sent men like Agent Ross to poke and prod and spy, trying to use Wakanda. Trying to conquer it. It broke soldiers like Barnes and spat them out when it was done with them, leaving them with mind and body broken. It sent good and well-meaning people, people like Rogers and Romanov and Banner, who tried to brought a galactic army to Wakanda's gates. It took their king from them, again, so soon after they had thought him lost to Killmonger. The outside killed T'Challa.
Nakia saw this clearly as she knelt by where T'Challa had last stood. Opening up to the outside had been a mistake. It had been a mistake and it would bleed Wakanda dry. Not now, they would survive this blow, Shuri would take the throne and she would do well. She would not be alone, she would have counsel. They would weather this tragedy, heal from it, and move on.
But the outside had its claws in Wakanda now, it had its foot in the door, it had its heroes ready to turn to Wakanda for help the next time a city or country or planet was threatened. And it would keep taking until there was nothing left of Wakanda to take.
A single tear rolled down Nakia's cheek, and it was not only for T'Challa.