I doubt that much could really fix this.
But I still have to try.
It's like my father said, this... emotion... it's enough to make kings out of vagabonds. Simba... doesn't see me the way I see him. That is not the point. Not... anymore.
His poor son... I don't dislike Nala. I really don't. Anymore. I don't even know her that well, besides what I must—after all she is my Queen now. It's just...
She's not me. I wish I was her.
It's not her fault. She knew Simba far longer than I did. I never knew Simba when he was a cub. They're betrothed. Betrothed! How was I ever supposed to compete with that?
I couldn't. I never even tried. Not even back when... before he met her again. He saved my father, saved my whole pride, saved me, and promised us free sanctuary in the jungle alongside him and his two makeshift caregivers. His mane wasn't even full, then, I was slightly younger than him (though deeply embittered by life already), and we all marveled at his chivalry... and self-hate. Oh, everyone called it modesty, but in my heart, in my father, Giza's... we could see the loathing. He hated himself for something and no one knew what.
We tried asking. Simba blew it off, saying it was nothing. He laughed, he was happy, but it was not true. Not wholesome. At first I thought Timon and Pumbaa were oblivious idiots. It wasn't too hard of a conclusion.
You have to get to know those two morons, you know? Before you can really begin to read them, before they really start to talk to you. They were worried. Worried sick. Apparently, Simba's always been this way, since they met him, they told Giza.
"Without Simba," Giza rumbled, "we would not be here this day. He released us from our Human captivity, set us free from those twoleggeds, and what do we have to show for it?" He shook his head and stalked off, as he often did. My father was a firm believer in 'an eye-for-an-eye,' and this accounted for good things as well.
We could never find anything out, though... no one knew what to do.
The time came when we had to find a proper base for our pride.
The jungle was large and lush. We could easily find a place there, but it would likely be a great distance across the jungle from where Simba and his friends stayed. I was disappointed. I admired the orange-eyed lion, with all my heart. I found his dark ear-rims distinctive, the shape of his face unique, his smile warm and his blaring bright red mane obnoxious. If I didn't have the dignity I did and still have, I probably would've swooned.
He was my hero. I wanted to be just like him... while still being me, of course.
He came to visit us, seeming a bit brighter every time. Something told me he hadn't gotten a lot of socialization outside of that meerkat and warthog before we came around. The ever-present darkness on his face became a little lighter, especially (to my glee), when he was around me. We laughed, we joked, and on some occasions we hugged. Yes, hugged. I do hug, you know.
We got older. I started wanting more. I thought I was being selfish. After all he'd done for us, I suddenly wanted to push him further? I never told anyone how I felt, though I think it was obvious to most, Giza most of all. I have no idea if Simba ever considered us in... that way.
It's too late now, anyway. It can't happen. It just can't, and I don't know why I'm telling you all this, the only thing I'm doing is digging the truth in deeper... truth shouldn't hurt like this, damn it.
And then Simba never came to visit us at all. Nope. Nothing. Never dropped by to say a thing: "Hey, guys! Guess what? The lioness I'm betrothed to just popped by out of the blue, I most likely slept with her (not that that's really any of your business and you know it but hey) and now a monkey's telling me to go back home to a pride that I'm not sure will even want me back! Just wanna let you know, so you don't, like, go mad with worry or anything! Seeya!"
So of course I began to resent him. He'd stolen my... everything, and ran away with it. Not that he knew. How could he have known? I didn't... say... anything—
Oh look, now I'm tearing up. Regret, regret, regret... always regret when it comes to this guy. He regretted killing his own father by accident (not that he actually did, but still) and now I'm regretting never telling him that I...
It. Does. Not. Matter. I. Am. Not. That. Petty.
That's what I tried telling myself when one of the Royalprides' lionesses came our way. She was a messenger, directly from His Majesty, the Royal King Simba, himself.
I nearly choked on my own spit.
My father didn't look much better. "What?"
So it turned out that the lion I was in love with was some long lost Prince whom was now married to the love of his life and was hailed as a hero (He was a hero long before he stepped foot on your cruddy grasses, I snorted to myself, he saved me first, idjits.).
There wasn't much other reason for messaging us, other than we had been his friends (Me, out of them all, obviously!) and he felt we deserved an explanation for his sudden departure.
That's funny. I don't remember him being so thoughtful... not unless it were a life-or-death type of thing. Ha. His new lifemate Nali or Noni or whatever probably goaded him into it, to fit the picture of being a good little pleasant consort-denwife.
Pah...
Then I actually met the lady. And, you know. Got to know her. Barely. Enough. Once my jealousy died down significantly.
She... uh. Well, she's not like that, even if we're not that close. In fact she's very much a warrioress. My fur. The look on her face can be anything from gentle and wise to fierce and enraged in a moment. Simba deserves someone like her, for all he's been through. I wouldn't be surprised if she's had some badness happen to her, too, from the haunted look in her eye that appears sometimes.
I'm digressing.
The first thing I did when that messenger came was freeze. Slack-jawed. Flabbergasted. The whole deal.
Then I asked if I could accompany her back. Mtume, the messenger's name was (How fitting.), she seemed surprised. I didn't blame her. She quickly assured me, however, that all were welcome in the Royals. I wanted to snap at her, of course I'd be welcome, I'd only kept her King from going insane without the friendship of one of his own kind! But no, not a single bit of the message even mentioned me! After all the times I'd made him laugh... his laughter was like music. Mine sounded like a dying hornbill.
All that stuff about not being petty seemed to fly out on the breeze at that moment.
Giza let me go. He understood. He knew me, my Daddy, and he trusted me to not be... well, stupid. And it wasn't like I couldn't ever see them again, anyway. Over the course of my life, I'd visit them many times, each and every one ending with tearful goodbyes... even after my father passed on. He's with Mom, now, so I don't worry.
To say Simba was surprised would be an understatement. "Dunia!" He cried, racing down Priderock to meet me, as if I was some precious being finally returning to him or something. No sign of any pretty little wifey. "I never thought—"
"That's right, you didn't think," I growled, tossing my head in annoyance. He stumbled, smiling sheepishly and giving a nervous chuckle. Oh, he got that he was in trouble. For sure.
...And then I roll my eyes and mutter, "Geez." He relaxes, smiling genuinely this time. Why can't I ever stay angry...
The messenger, Mtume, for her part looked a bit lost. She had no idea that we knew each other. She probably just figured she was helping her pride by adding to its numbers. I didn't tell her anything, and, well. I guess that's my vindictive side coming out.
"Simba?" A new, smooth voice called, and the sound of graceful footfall came from above us. I nearly wanted to really roll my eyes, this time. She was probably some sheltered, ultra-gorgeous spoiled girl from a foreign, exotic pride Simba's parents snagged just for him—
"Who is this?" Her voice was skillfully emotionless (Well that's a new one.) and carefully polite. It seemed to fly straight over the bozo's—er, I mean Simba's ears, however.
"Nala!" Oh, so that's her name. "This is Dunia! I told you about the pride I rescued before I met you again, didn't I? She was my best friend then—" Best friend then? What, is that just not the case anymore? What am I, regurgitated wildebeest guts? "—she's their King's daughter. Come to think of it, how's Giza, Dunia?" He grinned at me.
I almost faltered. Almost. "He's great. He was really happy to know you were fine and well. So was I. You know, after you left without a word and everything."
He winced. Nala blinked. I couldn't tell what that meant. "Ah-ha, yeah, I know... I'm so sorry about that. I promise someday I'll go and talk to him in person about... Kingly stuff."
"'Kingly stuff.'" I snort. "Somehow I don't feel very safe under your rule anymore, Simb'." Simb'. My nickname for him. Not yours, Nala-dala-fo-fala.
He laughed, loud. Hearty and boisterous. Only I have ever made him laugh that way. "Savannah! How I've missed you, Dunia!"
He missed me.
I wondered, then, when it was going to occur to him to ask exactly how long I intended to stay there? Of course, he's the King, he can tell me to leave whenever he wants, but I didn't think he would. Now, this Nala girlie might, but if he had a brain in that maned head of his, he'd realize—
"Oh, Nala, you're gonna love her, she's practically my little sister."
Little sister.
That's nice.
My presence here might not be so secured after all.
Nala gave a perfectly-timed amused laugh that was done so well no one could ever have been the wiser. Except for me. There's no way she can be genuine, I thought. No one like her ever is. The pretty, pampered type... the ones that don't know true suffering.
"It's nice to meet you, Dunia." She smiled at me in a purely-friendly way. I didn't believe it for a second.
"Sure-sure. I hope you take care of my buddy, here, because I know he's a doofus."
Simba chortled, and I felt light on my feet. I can't remember if it showed on my face then or not.
I never saw what her reaction to that was, if I did. I wasn't facing her at the time. Come to think of it, I had turned away from her completely by then and started chatting with my Simb' once again (he didn't seem to realize we were shutting Nala out of the conversation. Oaf.).
I wonder if that came across as disrespectful?
I think that, at the time, I was hoping it was.
Time went by and I hadn't done anything of significance yet.
Aisha was born. The clever little first daughter—first child at all—of the Royal Couple. Her bright golden fur, ear-rims, she was Simba's daughter. Her silky features and blue eyes, all of which belonged to Nala.
I hated her. I hated myself for hating her. She couldn't help whom her own parents were. But I could not stop. Every time I looked at her I had to force back a silent sneer.
She ended up growing to be a wanderer. Fancy that. Her father was scrambled in his head and so was she, despite how proud she acted in contrast. Here I almost thought she'd actually get the Throne.
Not that I want it. No, I can't handle something like that.
Within a similar vein of thought, have I mentioned that Zira creeped me out while I knew her?
Anyway. Aisha was just in her adolescence when she began voicing her need for freedom. It was obvious that Simba and oh-so-sweet-and-loving mother Nala were disappointed, but happy for their firstborn nonetheless. They revoked her birth-claim to the Throne, as she requested, the one catch being that if something ever happened to their new heir she'd have to return and take her place as rightful heiress (at least until they birthed a new heir).
They wanted her to have a fulfilled life, but they warned that she would not be allowed to actually leave the Royal Pridelands until she was an adult. She could wander near the borders as much as she wanted—did they really expect a teenager to be that responsible? Just look at who her dad is! She'd be dead in a day, I judged to myself... maybe a bit too coldly.
Still. Aisha did just that, and did so happily. She nearly always managed to come back and flop haphazardly on her side every night to slumber in the main den with everyone else. Or, to be more precise, at the entrance to it, so her bottom half was out under the night sky while the rest of her was facing us. It was like the more time she spent away from lionkind, the more detached she became from them in general. She talked less. She daydreamed and stared at the cave ceiling increasingly more often. Sometimes it felt like she was purposely avoiding contact with others, even her parents at rare points.
To be frank, she was a hermit.
Simba didn't seem to mind. Being pretty much an antisocialite himself back in the jungle (When not spending time with me! Or, well, Timon and Pumbaa... speaking of, how have they lasted so long in a pride full of lions, anyway? No one's tried to eat them, yet? As mean as that sounds...) he didn't see the oddity of it that everyone else apparently did.
I give. I'm not a social butterfly myself, either, but even I found it just a tad weird.
I know I shouldn't judge a lioness by her appearance, but it's hard, and in some cases it fits them very well. Aisha's heavily-lidded eyes, drunk on life itself and isolation, her increasing sarcasm, her disdain for 'restrictive pride rules' ever-growing.
Some members of the pride gossiped that she was turning into Scar.
The Queen-Mother, Sarabi, heatedly denied these whisperings, and to my surprise, so did Nala; far more angrily. Nala wasn't from another pride, then. She'd been born and raised in the Royalpride all her life, before and all throughout the Shadowking's reign.
Huh.
"She's just a teenager," Nala scolded (well, scalded is a more accurate term in my opinion), "She'll grow out of it. It's a rebellious phase. Girls, honestly! You too, Chumvi! How can you agree with them?" Chumvi. The only other grown male in the pride and another childhood friend of Simba's. His behavior is recognizably feminine as a result, growing up in a pride made up of lionesses with no real father-figure, or at least that's what I've heard of him. Sarabi nearly died trying to find a way to spare him from Scar, and she's got the faded scars to prove it. You'd have to look really close to see them, though.
One lioness, Pakacha, in particular liked spreading lies about Aisha, to the point where even I felt offended on the child-of-Nala's behalf. "Look closely at her head!" She'd snipe, "Can't you see the way her fur goes? It's subtle, yes, but it goes back—just like Scar's mane! And even the way she moves, her mannerisms, isn't she exactly like Scar? How she slinks and lazes about!"
Can I just be the first to outright say elephant crap? I never even met Scar (thankfully) and I know Pakacha's spouting gibberish.
Few were gullible enough to believe her ramblings, and I was honestly glad for that.
I'm shaping out to be a grand huntress, they—my new pridesisters—praise. Almost as good as Nala.
Nala. Yay.
Isn't that comforting.
Oh, and one lioness even told me that there's talk of me being made the second head of the hunting party. Guess just whom I'll have to work with, then?
Yep. You guessed it.
Well... I can't really say no if Simba—or, yes, even to Nala if she made me the offer, instead. Do you have any idea how much your status is elevated if you're made a leader of the hunt? The main method of feeding the entire pride itself?
At least it means Simba will be forced to spend more time with me. Discussing and evaluating the condition of the prey animal subjects of the kingdom. Oh, sure, he'll do most of that with Nala because she's the main head-huntress and all but I'll still have an important say in it, too.
Moving on to the next addition of the list of cubs-that-make-me-want-to-claw-my-eyes-out.
Kopa.
He was a good kid. Looked so much like his father that it hurt. His mane, though. It was just a shock of fluff on his head, but it was easy to see: brown. Like Nala's tailtuft. His own tailtuft was a much lighter shade of brown than the scruff of manefur on his head. I guess he would've had a two-colored mane if he grew up.
Which parent did he get that from?
I don't want to think about it.
Let's add two more splashes of salt to my wounds. Chaka and Shani.
They weren't... around, long enough for me to really figure out what they were like. Shani seemed to be much more active than her brother, all the same, despite being a cub whose eyes hadn't even opened yet. They were the first couple of cubs of Simba and Nala that actually didn't look incredibly like Simba, most visibly of all in pelt color. Chaka possessed a noticeably darker shade of Nala's fur, while Shani was a much more scintillating version of it, somewhat reminiscent of Simba's in-your-face sunkissed appearance.
At first I was sure it wouldn't kill me as much to interact with these guys like it did with the first two. It wasn't to be. Every time I laid eyes on them it hit me that these were Simba's cubs, not made with me, and just because they happened to look more like Nala didn't make them less of Simba's children and not mine.
Do you see what I'm getting at, here?
Kopa was simply ecstatic at the little brats' arrivals.
His little friends. Afua, the dark-furred son of King Malka, Simba's friend and cousin of the Mountainbase pride. Timira, that bizarre boy cub that never sprouted a manetuft (and his mom annoys the living heck out of me.), they threw a stinkin' party. Laughing and poking at the two babies, though not too hard, Kopa warned them firmly, thoughtful little boy he was.
Kopa also sometimes giggled about an imaginary friend. Or, everyone figured she was imaginary. Asante. Nala always seemed to frown whenever Kopa brought up Asante, like something was troubling her about it. There was never enough time to address it properly, though, not even to Simba.
Kopa left us far too soon.
One day, it happens.
Zira. She...
She...
I can't even comprehend how she could...
I haven't been keeping track of the time. Not properly. Aisha's still here, spending even less time among us as a whole than ever before. Simba was finally starting to be concerned about her. I suppose it's a good thing she hasn't left us all in the dust, yet. It would've been a pain, then, to send someone out to find her, so she could be heir once again.
Pakacha is nearly howling. Aisha planned it all! She wants the Throne for herself! Scar lives within her!
That's when Nala nearly rips Pakacha's throat out, screaming obscenities at the inane lioness all the while.
Pakacha's not going to show her face in public for a long time, and I am amazed.
It began when Sarabi didn't return from taking the little Prince Kopa out for a lesson this morning. Zira and her buddies hadn't been seen since yesterday afternoon, and even before that, they had been appearing off-and-on in unorthodox places. Kopa's nowhere to be seen along with the Queen-Mother, and it doesn't take too much waiting before Nala is unable to sit still while a couple lionesses alongside Chumvi are sent out to look for them.
Nala declares she's going with them even though Simba assures her that it's fine, his mother is too wise to do anything—
Nala whirls on him. "You think I don't know that? You spoiled idiot! Who grew up with your mother while you lived a life of luxury in that fucking jungle of yours?" The silence is thick enough to slice a claw through. "The fact she hasn't sent some sort of word at all—through Zazu or another bird or something is enough to spike my fur!"
So Simba agrees once he picks his jaw up off of the stone den floor, and announces that he's going with her.
I stay behind to guard Priderock with the others. The newborn heirs are hidden away in some secret den somewhere around Priderock, while the other cubs are kept in the maincave. Easy prey, distractions. Are you kidding me? I don't care if they're the bastard kids of Scar himself, they deserve better—!
I hear screams.
The pridesisters scramble at the sound of them, but I don't move for a minute.
When I finally find the source of the putrid scent of fresh blood, my legs give out from under me.
Mata, Kamatwa, and Hifadhi are lying dead on the ground in their own blood. The three most heavy-duty muscle guards of the Royalpride were slaughtered. The distinct smell of Zira's kind is rampant, mixed in with the sickeningly sweet aroma of recent death; it's enough to make you crinkle your nose and cringe.
Chaka and Shani are gone.
How the fuck is this happening? Why is this happening? We are the ROYALPRIDE! Nothing ever slips past us... especially not after Scar...
But it did. I guess the Royals all got fat and blind on their newfound peace, and then when I came along it took over me, too.
How...
Why...
I'm alone. Everyone else has gone after the fading scent-trail of Chaka and Shani.
Why didn't I follow them? Why didn't... I don't want them to die, do I? Not even I...
I realize Nala is back, and then I know why I didn't go.
She's blubbering about something. Kopa... Zira... I'll kill that stupid whore... Sarabi... my baby, my baby...
It sinks in to me what happened.
I can't move, not even when Simba and the others come back.
Simba gives out the orders (It's like he can't even see me.), and suddenly I'm alone again.
Everyone's looking for those cubkilling pieces of scum, just as they should be. Everything feels like a frenzy.
There's a wail, and I see Nala. In the main den. Her face is dripping with tears, streaking her muzzle in the most unQueenly fashion. Is there even such a word?
I don't care.
It doesn't matter.
Not now.
She needs someone, I realize, and I'm the only one here right now. A mother has just lost not one, but three of her children to a bunch of lionesses that probably have been tormenting her for a good portion of her life already, when the Shadowking was in power. One in particular.
Zira. Hate.
Chaka and Shani were stolen and will probably starve on their own, if they aren't dead already. Oh, savannah, they were just newborns.
I liked Kopa. I-I actually liked him. He was smart, compassionate, though a bit too sensitive. But I can't think that way about him now.
He's dead.
Nala falls into me and I grab her by the shoulders. There's a slight pause where I hold her steady, and we're staring at each other dead in the eye, hers blue and mine reddish. She's wheezing with the force of her agony. I've never seen her like this. She's always reacted to hurt feelings with anger and a firm belief in herself.
She looks at me, and I know. That she knows.
How long?
Maybe always.
I hug her. I wrap my paws around her with all the force in my body.
She sobs. She doesn't stop for awhile. A long while.
After some time, she quiets. She's not over it. It will take time. For now... she must rest.
"Daima pili kwa Malkia," I murmur.
She says nothing.
There's not much to say. Whatever is there... shouldn't be said.
Simba comes in. His face is lined with stress like I've never seen. His eyes are red and shiny with tears. At first he only seems to see Nala, and then his eyes (Orange. Orange, the exact shade that makes my chest feel light.) slowly drift over to me. "Dunia." He said, voice breathy, and I wondered— "Thank you, thank you so much. I've been so busy... looking for... I just—couldn't summon the intelligence to realize where I should be." His eyes harden. "Dunia, Nala is fine with me. Please, go after Zira. They've caught her scent. You're the second-best—" I want to scream. "—and I know I can trust you with this. You've been nothing but loyal, I owe you so much already—" You owe me your heart. "—this will only add on to it. After this, ask me for anything. Anything at all, and it is yours."
All except what I want.
I nod, my nerves set in stone (and my everything else, you blind—) and set off.
I can feel Nala's eyes on me all the way out of the main den.
I am no homewrecker.
I will not put this pride in jeopardy by causing drama. Certainly not with their King. Certainly not when their Queen is so respectable. When she's so much more than I will ever be.
Daima pili kwa Malkia.
Zira and her followers are shockingly easy to find. They're probably trying to distract us while the rest of their kind is hiding away Chaka and Shani. There's another party, though, and all I can hope for is that they stop them in time.
We corner her. She's got a bunch of her goonies with her, probably to act as living shields if we decided to rip her to shreds—which we just might. Which we have every right to do after what she's done.
We roar at her. They bellow back. Zira doesn't even try. Her eyes dart back-and-forth between the ruffled, terrified scrawny Nuka in her jaws (Don't remember you showing such concern for your own son before, lady.) and us.
When our pent-up aggression is finally released enough to allow coherent speech, Zira locks gazes with me. She can easily sense that I am the leader of this round-up. "Who are you, wench? I want to know your name, remember your face, so that when I finally overtake this damned pride you'll be one of the first ones I kill, just like I did that damned Sarafina, all that time ago!"
Like I care. Look, I'm shaking in my paws! The other members of my party don't seem to share my sentiment. They gasp and snarl and spit, one shouts that she should have known all along. Who in the savannah is 'Sarafina'? Whatever, it's not my concern right now.
"My name is Dunia," I scoff, lifting my chin and glaring down at the crimson-eyed lioness, "I'm surprised you don't know me, murderer. I am the second-in-command of the hunting party."
Right under Nala in hunting rank.
Always second to Nala.
I will never really stop caring about that. But I do know... this is no longer about me. It never has been. It is not my destiny to get what I want, and I just have to accept that. I don't need a mate. I don't need cubs. I like looking after everyone else's kids just fine. I'm too cynical to be anything more than a babysitter, anyway.
This is my life, and I will use it to make the lives of everyone else easier. Happier (Especially Simba—). After all, I missed my chance. And it's not like I can just go crawling back to my old pride, now. Too much has happened. I am too connected to the Royals. I've become an idol-figure to the little girl cubs, they look up to me, want to be as cool and strong as I am. They don't say nearly as much about Nala, and I tell them that, and they nod their heads eagerly and say, "We promise to respect her more, Auntie Dunia!" when we all know that's the last thing they'll do. At least not until they're older, and they realize... oh, crud! Nala is our Queen! We have to like her!
Why am I thinking about this...?
"You are wanted for cubnapping and cubkilling." My claws scrape the ground as I long to tear her limb from limb. The pure devastation on both Simba and Nala's faces, on the entire pride's—I want Zira to die. "The King requests your presence."
I vow to never use that favor Simba offered to me.
I don't deserve it.
A/N: Daima pili kwa Malkia is Kiswahili for, "Always second to the Queen." Also, Mtume means "messenger" in case you were puzzled about what Dunia meant by, "How fitting."
Also, have you ever seen the Timon & Pumbaa Show episode 'Rome Alone'? Simba shows up in a Rome arena sort of setting, and he is pitted against another lion; whom is meant to be Giza in this story. My Lion King universe is set in the future, after a sort of Human-apocalypse happened, so there are wandering groups of nomadic Humans trying to rebuild something resembling a society. One group in particular finds the ruins of an old gladiator arena and decides to copy it. I'm still buffering out that part, but that's not the main thing of this story. The gist is: they captured many lions and forced them to fight against each other like in the old Rome stories. Simba somehow sets them free with Timon and Pumbaa and brings them back to his jungle, then all of the things you just read occurs. I hope that's not too confusing.
Kiara is born awhile after this, by-the-way, and Aisha finally reaches full adulthood and is allowed to leave the Pridelands for however long she pleases. She doesn't come back until her next sibling, Naba, as well as her new Kiara/Kovu nieces, Habari and Vars, are born. For those curious, yes, Aisha did inherit her loner, contemplative nature from Scar, but she never turns into a villain. That's Shani, silly. And possibly Chaka. I haven't worked out those two's stories completely yet but they're getting there.
Oh and Sarabi's dead. Zira killed her trying to get to Kopa. And if you're curious what Zira was talking about with Sarafina... on the night of Simba's return, Nala's mother was found dead some ways away from Priderock. No one could find the murderer. Until now.
Dunia herself can be found in screenshots of Simba's Pride. I based her off of that nameless background lioness. Take a peek at my profile if you want to see some pictures.
I hope you liked, and please, drop a review? :)
~Celeste