I Know The Bottom

by PrincessKittenteeth

On a turbulent, stormy night in the Pridelands under Scar's rule, Zira finds the abandoned cub Nuka and grudgingly decides to raise him as her own. The story follows Nuka as he grows from a strange, quiet cub into a dark and troublesome adult - but what drove him to become the crazed, incoherent lion we know him as? What was Nuka like before Simba began his reign as King?

(Hi there! To give a little background, this story will focus on Nuka's upbringing; it begins a little after Scar has killed Mufasa and banished Simba, thus claiming the Pridelands as his own. Work in progress. Each chapter will start with lines from Sylvia Plath's poem "Elm". Next chapter hopefully uploaded in the coming days, enjoy! :) ~PrincessKittenTeeth

I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.

It was a black, turbulent night.

In the centre of the tremulous sky, a thunderous hurricane was brewing. The air was still and eerie, as though it was waiting for the last few moments of peace before unleashing a gale upon the savannah. An immense heard of zebras, wildebeest, gazelle and giraffes moved towards the East, and their hooves upon the dry earth sounded like the distant marching of a far-off army. A solitary lioness surveyed the flat terrain that was spread before her like a map, sitting with her tail curled round her hind legs on the body of a fallen tree. Her pelt was the colour of wet sand; her eyes, narrowed and shadowed with dark fur, were a glinting, black brown. Restless, she kneaded the bark with thick claws, the motion carrying all the way up to her sinewy shoulders. She was agitated for several reasons; she'd caught nothing for the pride on her hunt, she worried the hurricane would start before she reached home – and she was unsure exactly of what to do with the abandoned lion cub she could see curled about fifty paces below her, at the bottom of the rocky hill.

The cub lay on its side underneath the thick branches of a baobab tree; it was sickly thin, to the point of being malnourished, and as it took in shallow breaths its side shuddered with the effort. It hadn't yet started to rain, but on the horizon of the plains, thin white streaks of lightening flashed like cracks in the seam of the night sky. Zira considered this momentarily as she stalked closer to the bundled cub, but it fazed her little. What was lightening to a creature of such beauty and grace as the lion? The very weather should quiver before her; she dismissed any notion of turning back to the Pridelands with a flick of her tail. The adult lioness was thin, like the cub, but in a slinkier, softer way. Her lean body stretched and contracted with every step, large tawny paws leaving no trail in the muddy loam as she moved towards the tree. She was a beautiful specimen, of that there was no doubt; her muzzle tapered sharply, brown eyes slanted. Her head lowered, hips raised, she observed the sickly being with dark eyes; when sure there was no threat, she moved closer, nose twitching. Zira nosed one of the cub's paws from its face - there was no mistaking it. The lion babe was dark skinned, and with unusually black claws, prominent ribs and large green eyes, it looked like a younger version of Scar himself.

All of a sudden the cub began to mewl loudly, whether for milk, warmth or comfort she could not be sure. She hissed at it out of habit. Her tail tip twitched in annoyance at the loud cries, and she bent her head closer threateningly. 'You're scaring half the Pridelands away, you little runt. Come now, hush.' He was surely too young to understand a word the lioness had said, but as soon as she'd begun to speak, the cub quietened, looking at her with orb-like, innocent eyes. Zira looked up, raising her proud head towards the lightening-struck east; soon it would rain, and she'd caught nothing for the pride. Scar would not be happy, but, she supposed with a sigh, he'd have to deal with it. And her family was lacking in warriors – surely she could train this one up, make him strong, build him up to follow in her footsteps? She had no heir, and Scar was preoccupied with chasing that cream-furred, sapphire-eyed princess, Sarabi. Zira's mouth twisted bitterly and she spat, resentful, into the dust. Hesitating only for a split second, she inexpertly picked the young cub up in her powerful jaws, took a last look at the sky splitting open; then turned and started a slow lope over the plains to the west.

That night the cub was brought home to Pride rock, and that night he slept sound beneath the shelter of the ancient lion kingdom. Under the eaves of the hallowed halls, a tall, dark lion christened the foundling 'Nuka'. When the other lions had gone one by one to their beds, Scar stood over the skinny cub, green eyes neutral. His elegant, almost derisive jaw line was held, as always, high and proud, but he lowered his head to Nuka and let out a drawling whisper. 'Grow up strong, young one, and you will follow in my footsteps. Stray off the path...you'll wish you'd never come into the company of the Pridelanders.'

Zira closed her eyes tight as Scar's shadow paced past her, making no sign she'd heard him speaking. But she had. And though she didn't love what the alpha had said, she would adhere to it; for Scar was law, and so was his word.