A/N:

The premise of this fic goes to pokeking95, who sent me the basic plot idea. For simplicity, I turned it into a simple 'What if?': what if Mufasa was the tyrant, and Scar was the popular king? Where would this put Scar's act of fratricide - would it be considered an appalling crime for which he should be deposed as it was in the movie, or would it merely be a necessary action for the good of the pride? And what of Simba - where would that leave him?

I was immediately intrigued, and finally sat down and wrote this. I think it goes without saying that Mufasa is going to be very OOC. Scar also has a similar, but not exactly congruous personality. Simba is a lot like the Simba in the movie (for now), but there will obviously be some changes.

Well, since that's been said, we can continue on, right?

Oh wait, but I forgot! We need the disclaimer! ...No, not the type that (needlessly) says I don't own anything, silly! I mean the really important one. You know, in case someone decides to randomly sue me over some story on the internet, as that happens too often... Ahem...

(By entering this fic, you agree to indemnify and hold harmless GeminiGemelo ("Author") for any personal damage caused by this story, including headaches, hair being ripped out, injury sustained by fainting, or brains exploding due to over-exposure to potentially shocking elements, canon twists, character interpretations, and overall AU-ness. You have been warned.)


A lion crept through the shadows of his home, keeping his head down as he always did. Maybe, then, no one would notice him. No one would take concern of him, the lion creeping about and blending into the stark dark in the midst of the day. If he was lucky, his brother would not notice him, either… He could keep to himself, as he always did, as he tired of waiting for something which would never come to him.

I must keep this a secret. No one can know of… of…

Still in his vagabond state, he crept under a rock and hid inside his cave—a relatively secret abode of which he was the only occupant. The trademark stench of urine hung about the walls, a fetid odor which did nothing to soothe his relatively agitated emotions. But he didn't preoccupy himself with it for now… housekeeping was not ranked highly out of his priorities.

… what I am planning…

He traversed the darkness confidently, navigating around the sharp points of the sky-creeping stalagmites which he had accidently stepped on many times before. Finding a comfortable and well-worn area near the back, he flopped down on his side, a layer of dust blowing off his coat and slowly settling on the rock shelf he had settled on. Despite this, however, there was still quite a bit of inlaid dirt in his matted and tangled fur. Under normal circumstances, this would not do—oh no. In any normal time, he would be perfectly groomed, and immaculate, and well-fed, and… and…

The list of 'ands' could go on indefinitely… but alas, such were not the times that he inhabited. Casting a glance outside, the lion noticed with dismay that the earth was nearly the same color as his dusty, grimy pelt—the former was usually a bright and cheery green, and the latter was a hue of rich, dark brown… Now they were indistinguishable.

The pride… it suffers…

He rubbed his goatee thoughtfully, the unsettling tendrils of fear and alarm flowing through his troubled mind. There was nothing he could do, was there? His courses of action were quickly contracting, and any possible chance to make any change at all was sliding away from him like a snake fleeing death from an aerial predator.

Another look outside, and he slowly unsheathed his claws in defense. There was no stimulus for this in the proper sense, no tangible danger or terrifying threat: only the vague, looming sense of impending conflict and disquieting disrepair.

Click… click…

His toes absently tapped the rock, his mind perusing and inevitably rejecting most of his ideas for the rebuilding of the pride. Indeed, though, he was narrowing his options little by little, slowly focusing on one wispy idea of an action… an action so bold, so ridiculous, so mendacious… yet possibly necessary. But no. No. He couldn't think that far ahead. Not until things got worse, and the state of affairs was truly on its last leg, its final downward spiral… He had to act rationally—he couldn't do such a vile thing on a whim, like a madman.

Or could he…?

"Scar! Brother, I search for you… and I know you're around here."

The lion tensed up instinctively, a slight sigh parting his lips as he realized that hiding was futile. Seeing no other choice, he flicked his tail absently and rose to his feet, half-heartedly creeping to the entrance of his silently-putrefying domicile in his stealthy, almost slithering way.

"… Yes, Mufasa…? What could be the matter this time? Has someone oh-so deftly deigned to sleight you, hmm?"

"Cut the lip," he responded brusquely, to which Scar obeyed. The older lion was clearly in no mood for idle games. The brows of the eldest sibling promptly furrowed, and the very edges of his fangs were just visible beneath his scowling lips.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he muttered submissively, countenance bent into a vaguely wrought and terse expression as the last wisps of sarcasm and satire exited his being. A stifling silence enveloped them, and Mufasa only eyed him with a studying glare as they stood in silence.

"Have you seen the hunting party? They should have returned by now."

"They are probably running into difficulty. There's less prey now hereabouts, what with the drought and all…"

"This changes nothing. It's still unacceptable behavior…" his bared his teeth slightly in a firm growl, pacing back and forth as he eyed his younger sibling with a look of distrust. While his misgivings may have been righteous, it still was the trademark glance of a paranoid and exaggeratedly worried figure.

"What do you want me to do about it, Mufasa? You come to me with your quandaries as though I can actually solve them, but I will remind you that I possess absolutely no power in this situation."

Mufasa snorted and flicked his tail to and fro… he said nothing, but Scar could instantly tell that his agitation was slowly rising, like a tempest brewing in a darkened sea. Alas, that was never a good situation to be in: crushed under the brunt of Mufasa's acute and focused wrath. Having a practical and rational fear of his own brother's sharp claws and huge, muscled limbs, Scar would have tried to deflect some of his anger… but the several dark silhouettes which were just visible as they crept across the savanna spared him that opportunity.

"Well, brother…" he spoke up again, "it seems as though they have returned. Ask them yourself, if you would like."

The older lion turned and looked, and lo and behold! —several lionesses, headed by his mate Sarabi, were returning from a hunt. Empty-handed and late though they were, Scar involuntarily let out a relieved sigh at seeing them. Mufasa, however, was far ahead of him. Casting one more glance at his younger brother, perhaps to make sure that something about this wasn't awry, he leapt out of the cave and bolted across the rock shelf, taking his place upon the impromptu rock throne from whence he usually stood: the top of Pride Rock, which offered an astounding view of the surrounding lands and was hence the hub of their kingdom. The king briefly cleared his throat, and then noisily addressed the leader of the group of lionesses which was still ambling as a unit across the parched grasses.

"SARABI!"

His voice, loud and demanding, boomed across the surrounding expanses. In and out of rock caves, in the midst of the savanna, through the ears of each of the lions… it reverberated powerfully, leaving each of the inhabitants who heard it locked in a state of fear and wonder. Indeed, even Sarabi, calm and placid though she was, couldn't help but cast a surprised look about her as the king addressed her so angrily. Scar looked surprised as well, and sheepishly deigned to place a paw outside his cavern and cautiously watch the scene unfold before him, unseen by his older sibling.

"Yes, Mufasa?"

"Where is your hunting party? They aren't doing their job," he looked at her grimly, features twisted into a cross expression as he blandly studied her. Alas, Scar knew that expression well—Mufasa was in no mood for games. The small, wiry lion took a small step forwards, mouth hung open in distress and a vague sense of sympathy towards Sarabi. Several tendrils of fear again took hold and thrust themselves deep in his mind, setting his teeth on edge in apprehension as their confrontation continued…

"Hmmm, honey…" Sarabi heaved a deep sigh, clearly disappointed, "we tried, Mufasa. We all did. But sometimes it simply isn't enough. I'm trying to be a good mate, a good leader, and a good mother to our son, Simba. I'm sorry."

"Then try harder!" his voice rose profoundly, and the subtle unsheathing of his claws from his broad paws sent a clear signal to the rest of the lionesses: stand back. The king's younger sibling inwardly cringed, and indeed would have done something… if a golden ball of fur hadn't come ambling by him at that very moment. As a young cub and the son of a king, Prince Simba carried himself highly and with a considerable amount of brash confidence—he barely seemed to notice the old lion waiting just outside the cave, and was more intrigued by whatever was happening at Pride Rock. Thinking quickly, Scar reached a paw out and firmly pressed it down on the youth's tail, abruptly ceasing his proud step towards the kingdom's hub.

Oddly enough, the cub whirled around quickly, surprisingly cognizant of the old lion's attempt to stop him. In a moment, all of the small claws had been unsheathed and were digging with considerable force into Scar's forearm, drawing several droplets of crimson blood. The latter leapt in surprise and brought back his own paw, preparing himself for another sudden attack. Yet none came. In fact, when he finally let his guard down enough to look downwards, he saw that the cub was only beaming at him good-naturedly.

"Are you impressed, Uncle Scar? Dad taught me that today! We were out sparring again, and I killed two lizards for him!"

"Oh, yes… lizards… how did they taste?" he muttered distractedly, no longer paying attention to the cub. His attention was split roughly equally between the unfolding disturbance at Pride Rock—which had been amplified considerably and was increasing steadily in intensity—and the fresh, sizable cuts across his arm… which were disturbingly long for wounds inflicted by a mere cub.

Much bigger than last time…

"Oh, we didn't eat them, Uncle Scar—that'd be ridiculous! We just killed them for practice…" he trailed off, now suddenly distracted by something else, "… hey, what's going on with Mom and Dad?"

"My dear boy, that's nothing you need to concern yourself with," he simpered convincingly, drawing the cub closer to him with a protective paw, "you're much, much too young to understand."

"Ugh, Uncle Scar," the cub struggled persistently, trying to escape his uncle's hold, "I want to see!"

The older lion did not respond—he only tightened his hold on the cub as he continued to watch the argument between his brother and sister-in-law, appalled. Something seemed… off… about this. About all of this.

"… What's happened to you, Mufasa? I don't know what to think anymore!" the voice of Sarabi briefly arose from amidst the crowd of now protesting lionesses, before falling back into the midst of the murmur.

What happened next, however, was the pinnacle and the climax of the scuffle. Mufasa, countenance contorted into an expression of rage, brought up his paw in anger… before letting it brusquely hit his mate across the face, flinging her across the ground. Scar tensed up, and tried to avert the eyes of their offspring… but Simba, energetic in his curiosity as always, had eluded his uncle's grasp and was watching the scene with an expression of… interest.

Simba did not cower in fear, as would have been expected of a cub that size. Rather, he looked in seeming awe as his own father slapped his mother down. Scar looked on concernedly, suddenly feeling oddly protective of his nephew… but he didn't need it. No, not at all.

"Wow, did you see that, Uncle Scar?" he whispered quietly… mouth agape in surprise, "look at how he just showed that lioness her place! I bet she'll be sore for a week…"

Scar said nothing on this matter, even as the crowd of huntresses disseminated and Mufasa paced to and fro in an effort to calm himself. For several moments the younger lion stood, almost unfazed by the fact that the older brother was now slowly, calmly proceeding towards him…

"Dad!" Simba called out excitedly, running up to the older lion and playfully pouncing on him. A brisk tussle was quickly instigated, the cub's clear reverence for his twisted father obvious, even from afar. Neither of them flinched, even as extended claws scraped each others' pelts and drew blood. Every few seconds Simba would leap back to take a breath, fangs bared and fur bristling, before jumping fearlessly back into the fray. And in those moments, he didn't look like a lion cub. He looked like another violent tyrant in the making.

Sarabi lay on the ground, still dazed… and for a brief moment their eyes met equally. Two sets of eyes equally shallow with aversion and worry. Two faces twisted with horror and familial concern, both mother and uncle equally concerned for the well-being of the cub, the well-being of their family, and the well-being of the kingdom as a whole.

The gaze was broken, and Scar retreated to the cave, wishing to cast the sight out of his field-of-view. For a single, fleeting moment, he knew he had to do something—as the only other adult male, he was the sole candidate for leader aside from his brother. It was up to him to lead the pride out of chaos. And there was only one real choice, only one option for causing his brother to abdicate the throne. A path so outrageous that he felt ashamed for even thinking of it. Alas, chances were he would never go through with it… yet it still hung about tantalizingly in his mind, tempting him. Goading him into an irreversible course of action he could never amend… but in that moment he knew what he had to do, for the good of the pride.

…Tyrannicide…


Eh, I think I spelled 'tyrannicide' right... it wasn't in Microsoft Word for whatever reason, but it means the killing of a tyrant. And the title 'Thus Always', as I'm sure some of you have figured out, refers to 'sic semper tyrannus' (sp?) - 'thus always to tyrants' in Latin. I believe it's what John Wilkes Booth said when he killed Abraham Lincoln, but don't quote me on that. x.x

If you're waiting on an update for Trampled or a response to a PM, then it may be a while - I've reached a temporary impasse with the former and tend to procrastinate with the latter (although I do assuredly read and enjoy whatever you deign to send me ;]).

Anyways, as always, R&R or F&F - whichever floats your boat. :p I'd really love some feedback, since it is (as I said) an experiment. And lastly, please don't tell me Mufasa or Scar are OOC. I already know that. :3

Twin (: