The smell of seared flesh, of singed fur, permeated the air, in addition to the smells of damp earth and burnt grass.
Night had fallen, but celebrations continued on across the African Plains, as word spread of the newly returned king. Upon Pride Rock and around it, the largest celebration was taking place, in honor of Simba, with the lions and other creatures feasting and drinking and making ruckus to their hearts' content. Mostly, though, there was stories being told (stretched, exaggerated) of the great and valiant Simba's tearing down of the tyrant Scar.
It was a wonder, in all of those celebrations, that no one noticed when their victorious hero vanished, excusing himself for a bit of silence.
Simba was overwhelmed, you see. Having spend nearly his entire life isolated from this home, and then returning so suddenly to become its ruler of all things...it was rather hard to take in all at once, especially when his name was being likened to that of his father's.
Simba paused, in his wandering about, turning back to look at Pride Rock. Pride Rock, where the first thing he had done upon his return was to murder his uncle.
Simba quickly turned away, his eyes scanning across the Pride Lands. Rain had ceased, though the smell in the air signaled it was not yet through with them, for which Simba was grateful; the ground was very dry.
A shout went up behind him, Rafiki's voice growing loud with enthusiasm as he (no doubt) recounted Simba's tale for the hundredth time that night, breaking occasionally for those gathered to hear the story to "ooh" and "ahh".
Suddenly, he felt like running away from all of this. Running away, back to his true home in the forest, where he ate bugs and lounged around and had fun. Back to his true family of Timon and Pumbaa, not remaining here to be surrounded by practically strangers.
He didn't want this responsibility that had been thrust upon him. He wanted to live his life, not let his life live him.
Simba stopped suddenly, looking down at his paws. They were wet. He was standing in a shallow pond.
He glanced up towards the sky, briefly, a small smile gracing his face as he caught a glimpse of the miniature Pride Rock and accompanying tree that he and Nala used to play on as children. How he wished to return back to those days, before his world became a confusing mess...
Simba inhaled deeply, and only then did he realize the smells of burnt hair and flesh, the sting of coppery blood in the air, were far stronger there than it was back at Pride Rock.
Simba's eyes dropped from the stars, narrowing, as they focused on the dark crumpled form on the other side of the spring.
His nostrils flared, jaw nearly quivering as he restrained the absolute rage pulsing through him. Words fought to surface, his claws and teeth ached to tear and destroy.
In spite of this, he only allowed one hissed sentence to fall forth from his mouth. "I thought you died."
Scar's eyes opened, bright and green in the night. They were narrowed, though whether it was in a glare or through necessity, Simba did not know. Scar did not lift his head, his bright and feverish eyes merely observing Simba.
"I am nearly there," Scar spoke finally, his raspy and garbled words dripping with a mixture of resentment and resignation.
Simba breathed in and out slowly, but those breaths did little to calm his nerves - the at least calming scents of rain and mud were completely and utterly overwhelmed by the smells of Scar's dying body.
"Why drag yourself all the way out here?" Simba asked, nit being able to help himself. If Scar would have remained back at Pride Rock, it was likely a few of the lionesses would have taken pity on him, saved him of some of the vast pain he was currently experiencing, before demanding he leave forever.
"Why are you asking about such things?" Scar asked (and was it Simba's imagination, or was his voice growing weaker?). "This is the last time you will ever speak to me. Do you not wish for answers to questions that have been, no doubt, driving you mad?"
Simba bared his teeth and very much considered turning around and heading back to Pride Rock. However, the thought of doing that, of the weight of his newly assigned duties and status made him feel more ill than remaining there with Scar.
"What questions should I be asking, then?" Simba asked roughly.
Scar shifted, causing Simba to tense, but the older lion grunted, only bringing his head around to lick at one of his various wounds. When he turned back around, his mouth appeared darker and damp with his own blood.
"Perhaps...Why I killed my own brother?" Scar's eyes glowed in the darkness, as he rose an eyebrow. "Why I killed Mufasa?"
Simba lunged across the water, only a few quick steps to stand over Scar. "Don't you dare speak his name! You have no right!" Simba roared.
Scar looked up at him, through those half-lidded eyes. Only his eyes had moved.
It was only being this close to Scar, that he realized the full extent of the damage done to the elder lion. His skin seemed to literally be falling off his body, the charred bloody shreds nearly showing the brittle bones beneath.
Finally, after several deep breaths, Simba spoke. "Why should I ask you a question that I already know the answer to?"
Scar made a sound like a laugh. "You think...you know...why I killed him...do you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Simba snapped. "You wanted to be king!"
"I never wanted to be king!" Scar said forcefully, his eyes briefly shining with a fire, before that fire died almost completely, his head lolling to the side. "I merely...wished to be his equal..."
"His equal?" Simba snapped. "You tried to accomplish this by killing him?"
Scar turned his head away from Simba, though it was clear it took a great deal of effort. After several minutes of silence, with only Scar's harsh breathing and the occasional uproarious cheers from Pride Rock filling the air, Simba made to leave.
"Do you...even know my real name?" Scar asked quietly.
Simba blinked, opening his mouth to retort, when it dawned on him. He did not, in fact, know Scar's real name. That name had been what everyone called him, including his father.
As though sensing Simba's thoughts, Scar sighed slightly, the sound rattling in his throat. "You do not know what it is like, to be the second born. The one to be beaten and scorned for their attempts at greatness." Scar let out a long hacking cough, that brought up a fair amount of blood. "The spare..."
"No," Simba muttered, "I don't know how that feels...but I sure as hell wouldn't kill my brother over such stupid feelings!"
"You've never felt like you could die, and no one would grieve your passing," Scar said, his voice fading. "To die...with no one knowing your name..."
Simba suddenly felt tears prickling in his eyes. He blinked furiously, his anger overwhelming his other emotions - only this time it was focused at himself as well as Scar.
He didn't have a right to die yet. Not before Simba got the answers he wanted.
Only...Simba didn't know what questions he wanted to ask, let alone the answers he could receive from said questions.
There was only one question at the front of his mind, in those final moments.
"What is your real name?"
There was silence.
Simba's red-tinted eyes widened in the darkness as he leaned down, staring at Scar's face, at his eyes forever trained on the slightly cloudy night sky.
"Scar?" Simba asked quietly.
There was more silence.
"What is your name, damn it?!"
A/N Yeah, I know. I'm a bad person. But...ya know?!
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