I actually wrote this a little while ago and thought I could share it with you guys. This was meant to be a set up for the sequel. Sort of like a deleted scene between Scar and Simba, I guess. Enjoy. ;)

The rain from the storm splattered noisily to the ground. It wasn't a warm, summer rain, either. It was cold. The kind that pierced your skin like needles... chilling the marrow of your bones.

Simba stood at the bottom of Pride Rock. The triumphant praises and congratulations were almost done. His mother and Nala had already thanked him for his noble return to reign as king. They were speaking with other lionesses in the moment of their victory.

Simba looked around with a smile forming on his face. His brilliant red mane was getting drenched down with water. Everyone was sharing the joy and happiness that came along with the defeat of their previous ruler. But then the smile on Simba's face began to weaken. There was a hint of reluctance to it.

He had taken the throne… he had found his place in the Circle. But it still felt like things weren't quite finished yet.

Simba raised his head… watching the black storm clouds float high over Pride Rock. The rain drizzled down his face, hitting his eyelids. Now that he was king, he had take the responsibility with it. Trees needed to grow back, animals needed food... there was a lot of work to do.

The lionesses were still talking in their little circle. As they did, Simba began to head off in another direction. He wandered around a little to get a better view of the kingdom... the kingdom he hadn't seen in years. Simba turned a corner, and the pride's conversation's faded.

He sauntered along the rock walls, in regal, composed steps... observing the facets of debris. The roaring fire that had engulfed the place only moments ago had died down. It left bits and pieces of scorched rock and twig, and embers that were still nestled inside grooves and cracks. They glowed silently, sheltered from the rain.

Simba continued to head down towards the back of Pride Rock. The fire had blackened the entire walls… along with anything else getting in it's way. There was a lot of work to be done. But with some time, things would go back to the way they were.

Simba was only there for a few seconds... until a voice croaked out in the rain.

"…You."

Simba suddenly blinked, and glanced in the assumed direction where he heard it. He then spotted a mound of dark fur, lying in a secluded corner by the side of Pride Rock. Simba's face hardened, studying the mass a little harder. It was a wounded, motionless lion... black-maned, and barely breathing.

Scar.

A strange, gripping sort of emotion came crawling up into Simba's heart… it felt pretty close to pity. Simba opened his eyes wider, suddenly remembering about his uncle.

He then sprang forward into a run, prodding his way over to the lion. As he came closer, Simba was cautious to move any closer. He looked down upon Scar's pummeled, mangled body. Then his face softened a bit, upon realizing how critical his uncle's condition was. Thunder rolled faintly in the clouds above him.

The body was barely recognizable, but it was Scar alright. He had landed right where he fell after their confrontation. Scar was lying on his side, exposed for all the world to see. He kept his eyes clamped shut… in all the agony he ever had to bear. He opened his eyes, revealing two, piercing green irises. His eyelid shook as a trickle of cold water ran down his bleeding forehead, numbing his wounds.

He bared his teeth.

"…You…" Scar said again… then sliding on some sort of twisted, delighted grin, closing his eyes. An odd chuckle escaped his lips. His lungs made a wrung out, wheezing noise.

It looked like he was enjoying this.

Simba felt a small dose of sympathy for his uncle, but he disregarded it… remembering he was staring down at a murderer. All the things he had done to him. Simba narrowed his eyes in disgust, bitterly acknowledging him.

"…Scar," he said sternly.

Scar's lips curled into a sneer… and he closed his eyes again to fall back into some more pain. He strained to speak again.

"You just think you're… so valiant… don't you?"

Simba could tell he was struggling to keep his voice even and intimidating. But it did him no good. He was completely helpless. If Scar wasn't so badly hurt right now, he would have killed him on the spot, and he knew it.

Simba frowned. Scar's breaths were falling shorter. He was shuddering.

Simba stood there, dignified... and exhaled through his nose. He was disappointed in the murderer sprawled out before him. It didn't have to end like this. He felt a strange combination of sympathy—and disgust for him.

He wore an expression of deep contempt… the kind his father would have worn if he had been here.

"This isn't my fault," he told him. "You brought this on yourself."

The rain continued to pour over Scar, hitting his helpless form. The murderous lion looked up and smiled again, chuckling quietly. He was quivering. Either from the cold, or from the tormenting pain he was in. His giggling was cut short by a cough, and sputum came up from his mouth.

Simba took a step back. He didn't know what he found so funny. Scar was still clenching his teeth, keeping the grin on his face. It was starting to worry Simba… this looked like a delusional grin. Perhaps this was some kind of early stage of excruciating bliss before his death.

Scar suddenly closed his eyes… wiping the grin off his face. He murmured something under his breath, but Simba couldn't quite catch it. It was four syllables.

Simba cocked a brow in confusion. He brought his head closer to him.

"…What?" Simba asked, implying he say it again.

Scar opened his eyes. A flicker of lightening lit up his face… and he smiled. Simba blinked—a little concerned. His uncle inhaled, granting his request.

"…You… haven't… won…" he uttered once more.

A roll of thunder collided above their heads after he said this.

Simba uneasily pulled back his head to proper height. He stared down at him… worriedly. For all he knew, his uncle's sanity could have been slowly falling away, due to all the pain he was going through. He could have been loosing all contact with reality.

Scar chuckled again, bracing his eyes shut. He sighed. He said it again, like it was the most beautiful sound he ever heard.

"Yoou… haven't… wonn…" he said—almost with a hint of sing-song in his voice.

Whatever Scar was indicating, it was a little vague… and said as if he had completely lost his mind.

Simba's eyes flicked ed up, beginning to get angry. Scar's mentality was hanging by a thread, and it was beginning to irritate him. Why was he still priding himself in this? Here he was, dying… and yet, he was still imagining some kind of unfulfilled fantasy that was never going to happen.

Simba snorted.

"…Whatever that's supposed to mean…"

Scar reopened his eyes… and dropped the grin… now appearing a little taken back. He gently looked up at his nephew. And for a brief instant, the spiteful glint of in his eyes was suddenly gone.

"…Do you really…" he began, but he paused to gripe loudly in pain. Scar closed his eyes, refusing to move. It was torture just to talk to Simba.

Once Scar's wave of pain had passed over, he relaxed and sighed. He was barely breathing now, and even that looked like it was taking a lot out of him. He tried again…

"…Do you really, truly want to know?" he said, looking up at Simba. "It will be our little secret."

A roll of thunder quietly came through the clouds.

Simba eased back. Scar's eyes were dead earnest… now looking at him like he was the sanest thing alive… and now willing to share this information with him… if he really wanted him to. Simba moved his mouth, thinking about it. It wasn't even really worth it talking to him much longer.

Simba briefly glanced up back at the pride. They were all still chatting around the base of Pride Rock. Nala was conversing distantly with his mother. Then they both laughed and smiled. They had no idea that Scar was still alive.

Barely alive.

Simba's eyes fell back down to his uncle. Whether he was really loosing it... or whether he was actually serious, Simba went with it anyway for the sake of his welfare. He glared a little at him.

"What does it mean?" he asked coldly.

"It means... you're done for... when they find me..."

Simba then twitched a brow.

"Who's they?"

All that could be heard was the rain, now. It was as cold as ever. Scar gazed up at his nephew, giving him a weak, but sinister smile. That was all the information he would leave him with.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he closed them. Simba now stared down at his motionless, breathless uncle.

Scar said nothing more.