The nightmares Simba had expected didn't come that night, but as the weary sun sent rays across the remnants of the once mighty Pridelands, it seemed that guilt and pain arose with it. The lion prince—now a king—rose before the rest of the pride and limped out of the cave. He winced as the minor injuries he'd received from the battle the night before began to plague him. Apparently the physical pain of his body was not to be outdone by the pain his heart was feeling. As he watched the broken kingdom from the overhang, he still couldn't believe the damage caused by his corrupt uncle. How he was going to mend it all was beyond him.

"Simba?"

Nala, the lioness he not-so-secretly hoped would become his mate and queen, appeared beside him. She nuzzled his sun-red mane and put her paw on his, hoping the nearness of someone who cared about and loved him would be comforting. "Sleep well?"

Simba smirked. "As well as could be expected, I guess. My leg is killing me."

Nala kept nuzzling him, purring in compassion. Her heart went out to her childhood friend, whom she knew was hurt by much more than just his leg. She couldn't imagine being made to bear the burden of a beloved father's death when the murder had in fact been orchestrated by another trusted family member. She had been hurt and angry when Simba had first refused to return, back in the jungle, but now she understood. She understood completely. And yet he had come back, after all he'd suffered. Now he could truly be their king, and could lead them out of Scar's darkness. She tried to find a way to help him. "You know I'm here if you need to talk. About anything at all."

Simba leaned against her gratefully. "Thanks. I just need to digest it all first, I guess. I'll have plenty of time for that while we travel."

"We're leaving?" It didn't surprise Nala.

Simba shrugged. "I heard my mother, and she's right. It's either leave or starve."

Nala nodded. "You're right. But where will we go?"

"I'll consult with the pride on that. Maybe if I hadn't been off playing in the jungle I'd know myself." Simba's voice was stained with black bitterness.

Nala now shook her head. "Simba, you can't possibly still blame yourself."

"Yes I can."

"Scar murdered your father and blamed you for it. You said he told you to run away—"

"Well, I shouldn't have listened to him."

"Oh, Simba, you were just a cub. What else would you have done but listen to your uncle? And you know how Scar is." She corrected herself. "Was. He was so manipulative. And convincing. As horrid as he was…" Now Nala sounded bitter. "…you have to admit he planned the whole thing remarkably well. None of us suspected him until last night."

The lion king was afraid to meet her eyes. "You really think it wasn't my fault?" he said softly.

Nala nodded. "It was never your fault."

Simba sighed softly. It would take time to recover from his broken adolescent years, but in his heart he felt that Nala was right: he couldn't blame himself. He had to move forward, had as it might be. He glanced at his companion and felt a rush of warm gratitude toward the beautiful lioness. He turned fully to look at her and saw the wisdom in her fine face. Wisdom that the Pride Lands needed. Wisdom he needed. "Nala," he whispered, "you'll be my queen, won't you?"

Nala then grinned, and Simba saw his playful childhood friend shine through again. "Of course I will. Certainly took you long enough to ask."

Simba had to laugh. He leaned forward to lick her nose, and she returned the gesture before tackling him to the ground in a wonderfully familiar manner. Simba laughed louder this time and touched her nose with his. As he shared this blessed time with the lioness he loved, he almost felt the rain soaking into the barren ground, softening it and readying it for new life. If it was time to start again, he figured this was a fine way to do it.