A/N: Respectful criticism welcome in reviews. I also appreciate your personal thoughts on the story, beyond just technical advice—but that's important too. :)

Please, Daddy?

"Please, Daddy?" Kiara begged. She was no longer content to play as before; today she wanted to frolic beyond Pride Rock.

The day could scarcely have been more inviting. Euphoric rays of pure sunshine painted the Serengeti yellow-gold, a sprightly coat tarnished only by the shadows of the fleeting clouds above, whiter than a Zebra's hide. The breeze danced in the tall grass and the herd of prodigious wildebeest shuddered in delight at the wild wind's call. The sent of adventure carried through every air current, a small so enticing that no young cub could resist it.

"Please, Daddy?" Kiara implored with her large, appealing eyes glittering. She pranced around her Royal sire's firm, golden feet, her tail frisking excitedly, energy coursing through her rambunctious body.

Simba watched his young daughter with unmistakable fondness. The fantastic blue of the sky was reflecting in his loving eyes. The Lion King actually contemplated the fulfillment of Kiara's animated request, for however short a time. After his keen eyes had thoroughly scanned the outlying territory for any sings of peril, he opened his mouth to give the highly desired words of approval.

A memory flashed suddenly in his mind's eye.

The lexis of consent was canceled, and only a deep emanated from the King's jaws. Simba was remembering a day similar to this, many years ago, when his childish enthusiasm for adventure had been akin to Kiara's. Many times he solicited his father's approval to go romping about the kingdom, but one particular occasion had changed his life forever.

Scampering on path toward the gorge, Simba had been alone until he met, supposedly by chance, his uncle Scar. Now Simba closed his eyes, feeling almost nauseas at the recollection of his Uncle's coaxing voice and clever words which masked so much malice. Even now he could see with utmost lucidity the bloodlust in Scar's glimmering green eyes.

"Simba, my dear young Royale," Scar had said with an overdramatic, completely fake note of concern in his dry, elegant voice. Young Simba had failed to notice. "You should not be wandering all alone, now should you? Why, anything could happen to you out here."

"Oh, whatever," Simba had guffawed defiantly.

Then a smile crossed Scar's malicious countenance. "Oh, but you know, I'm glad I found you. I just happen to have a surprise for you in the Gorge."

Foolish, foolish Simba! How could he not have seen through that transparent scheme? Though he berated himself frequently, Simba knew he could not possibly have known Scar's true intentions. Thus he had followed his uncle into the Gorge, where the Nightmare began.

The stampede—the fear—the hundreds and hundreds of galloping wildebeest hooves! Simba remembered the unspeakable horror and heartbreak when he saw his father Mufasa trampled on the dusty ground. He remembered the iron words of his uncle. Most of all, he remembered the sickening, churning feeling in his stomach that guilt and condemnation wrought inside him.

Simba shook his head and opened his eyes. The memories were blown away like dust in the wind, and sunlight reminded him of the world outside his dark past. It was a beautiful world, but deceptively so, Simba believed. It was this world, fraught with fears and lies, that he must protect his Pride from. He must protect all his friends, even Timon and Pumbaa, who were basking in the sun nearby.

"Please, Daddy?"

Startled, the king looked again at his enthusiastic daughter. "Go," he said, forcing on a charade of cheeriness. Kiara skittered off in great delight. As soon she took off, a grim frown shadows Simba's face like a storm cloud, and he turned to face his Timon and Pumbaa.

"Follow her," he said.