The new king was born.
Simba, my Uncle Mufasa's first born son with my aunt, Sarabi. My little cousin. Simba was yellow-orange with brown eyes, looking similar to my uncle. He was small, but a king. Instantly knocking my father off of his place as future king.
I was only a few weeks older than Simba, and was being raised on Pride Rock by my father, Scar. My mother had died in a savannah fire while hunting only a few days after I was born, and so my father had the constant duty of looking after me all the time.
I inherited his darker, tanner fur and greenish yellow eyes. I was a spitting image of him, except for my more muscular body structure of my mother than his lanky, rawboned and gaunt physique. He was comforting and loving towards me, but as I grew up, I noticed he was vicious and sarcastic to my uncle Mufasa, as well as Simba.
As I grew up, I saw a monster in the lion that had raised me.
It was almost as if he had two sides to him. To me, Scar was a good father; strict yet gentle. He was playful and patient with me when I roused him and tried to play by biting his ear or tail, and he taught me how to hunt and roar. He was also a bit over-protective and posessive.
Around Mufasa or Simba, he was troublemaking and sarcastic, cunning and at times insulting. He had anger directed towards my uncle, I began to notice.
I remember my father's anger even as an infant. When I was only a few weeks old—before I could even speak—on the day of the presentation of Simba, Mufasa had confronted him. I was cradled in Scar's massive paws as he sat in the den on Pride Rock, watching as my father and uncle snapped at each other.
"Sarabi and I didn't see you at the presentation of Simba," Mufasa had snapped at Scar.
"That was today? Oh, I feel simply awful. It must've slipped my mind." My father had hissed in reply, narrowing his eyes at his brother.
"Well, as slippery as your mind is," Zazu had snipped, "As the king's brother you should have been first in line."
"I was first in line," My father replied, "Until the little hairball was born."
"That hairball is my son," Mufasa said sternly, "And your future king."
"Tell me, Mufasa. What makes your cub's birth more important than mine? Yours gets a presentation in front of every animal on the Prideland. While mine simply gets a nod in awknowledgment." He hissed again, looking down at me, then up to his brother.
"Sabiha's birth is just as important as Simba's," Mufasa corrected, "She is of royalty as well as Simba, just as you are. But, Simba is the future king."
"Oh well, I'll have to practice my curtsey." Scar retorted, picking me up by his mouth, grabbing me by the fur on my neck, turning his back on his brother.
"Don't you turn your back on me, Scar." Mufasa growled. Scar lowered his mouth, and set me on the ground between his paws and glared over his shoulder at Mufasa.
"Oh no, Mufasa. Perhaps it is you who shouldn't turn their back on me." He replied nonchalantly.
My uncle ran in front of him with a roar, to stop Scar from walking any further. I trembled between my father's paws, staring up at Mufasa fearfully, never hearing a roar quite that loud beside Scar's. "Is that a challenge?" Mufasa growled.
"Temper, temper. You're scaring Sabiha," Scar said bluntly, turning in a paw to hold me closer to him, and glaring at Mufasa, "I wouldn't dream of challenging you." My father's words were dripping with sarcasm.
"Pity. Why not?" Zazu asked, as he stood between Mufasa's front paws. Scar lowered his head, glaring at Zazu, "Because as far as brains go, I have the lion's share. But when it comes to brutal strength, I fear I am in the shallow part of the gene pool."
He shot both my uncle and Zazu narrow-eyed glares. Leaning his head down, he opened his mouth and picked me up by my fur on my neck, carrying me off and away from the heated arguement.
That was my earliest known memory I had of the hostility and tension between my father and my uncle. I remember how negative my father was when he was in the presence of Mufasa, and I when I was an infant and child I had always wondered why.
3 Years Later
"Dad," I groaned, "I don't need a bath. I'm clean."
I attempted to scurry away to find Simba, but my father caught me by my tail with his paw—which was bigger than my head—and pulled me back into him.
My father looked down at me in disbelief, his scarred eyebrow arched and yellow-green eyes not convinced. I sat in between his massive paws, caged in. His dark, black mane cascaded down his chest as I pressed my body to it. He was a large lion, tall and lanky, but big. He didn't look like he believed me.
"Sabiha, I know you hate baths. But you haven't gotten a bath in days, and you were playing in the waterhole yesterday," He said strictly, looking down at me, "You were drenched in mud when you came back with Simba." He seemed to roll his eyes when he recited my cousin's—and the future king's—name.
"Fine," I muttered.
Scar reached down and ran his tongue over the back of my head, then behind my ears. I winced everytime he groomed me, given that I hated getting bathed. Occasionally Sarabi would groom me, but I preferred when Scar did it. He was gentler and more patient when it came to bathing me.
"The next time Simba wants to go somewhere dangerous or dirty, refrain from doing so, Sabiha. I mean it," Scar mumbled, continuing to groom me, his tongue cleaning my back.
I put my small paws over one of his massive ones, attempting to escape, "Okay, okay. I'm clean, right? Can I go play now, Dad? Please?"
He nudged me with his nose to sit back down between his paws. He looked down at me wearily, "No, no, no. Not yet. You're filthy, Sabiha. Lift up."
I groaned but obeyed, lifting my head back, and closing my eyes, his tongue cleaning my neck, then my back. During my bath, Simba came prancing up to our den, clearly excited. My father saw him out of the corner of his eye and seemed to brush his nephew off, going back to grooming me.
"Hey, Sabiha," Simba said happily, standing in front of me as I was enclosed in Scar's paws, "Hi, Uncle Scar."
I smiled at him as Scar's tongue ran across the top of my head, fur blocking my eyes as it was pushed forward, "Hi, Simba." My father nodded to him in awknowledgement, seemingly too busy in bathing me than Simba.
"Guess what?" Simba asked, grinning. I smirked at him, "What is it? I'm kinda in the middle of a bath."
Scar's tongue ran across the side of my face.
"What is it, Simba?" I asked, still in between Scar's two paws.
Simba smirked, "Guess!"
"I'm bad at guessing." I said eagerly. "Tell me."
"Can you guess, Uncle Scar?" Simba asked him brightly, looking up to my father.
"I despise guessing games." Scar mumbled miserably, his loving mood towards me instantly switching to miserable once Simba came into the den.
"My dad said that I'm the future king," Simba boasted, walking to the ledge that looked over Pride Rock and the vast African savannahs that Mufasa ruled, the land green and healthy. I arched my eyebrows at him, "How much do you get to rule?"
"He said that I'm going to rule it all." Simba said happily. "Yes, well excuse me for not leaping for joy," My father snapped in a hiss, "Bad back, you know."
He flopped down on his side, and I leaned against him, lying on his back. Simba climbed on his head, smiling. "Hey, Uncle Scar, when I'm king, what'll that make you?"
"A monkey's uncle." Scar muttered, and Simba laughed. I smiled, a little giggle escaping my mouth. Simba looked at him, "You're so weird."
"You have no idea," Scar grinned at him, "So, your father showed you the whole kingdom, did he? I have yet to show Sabiha. Especially the shadow land."
"Why, what's in the Shadowland? My dad says I can't go there." Simba's ears went back, clearly not pleased that he didn't know about it.
"And he's absoultely right! An elephant graveyard is no place for a young prince." Scar said, "Oh, dear. I've said too much. Oh, I suppose you would've figured it out sooner or later. Just promise me one thing. Don't ever, ever go to that dreaful place?"
"I promise." Simba said, smirking at me. I knew he'd go against what my father instructed, and that he'd let his curiousity get the better of him.
"There's a good lad," My father smirked, with his usual sarcastic drawl, "Now run along and have fun. And remember, this will be our little secret." Simba nodded, smiling brightly, then asked, "Sabiha, are you coming? Let's get Nala and go to the uh. . .waterhole."
I looked up at my father, grinning innocently and pleadingly as I began to follow Simba, "Please can I go?"
"You can," Scar replied, "After you finish your bath." He got up lazily, reaching down and grabbing me by my neck, carrying me over to finish grooming me.
"Aw, Dad. Can't you finish it later?" I groaned, pawing at his paws that encaged me.
"Sabiha..." He said.
I huffed and rolled my eyes, "Okay, fine."
I looked to my cousin, "I'll meet you by the lionessess' rock in a minute, Simba."
He nodded and began running down Pride Rock.
Scar continued to lick my neck, then my back, and finished my bath by licking the side of my face, "There. Done. Now it wasn't all that bad, was it?"
I leaned against my father's chest, nuzzling into his black, thick mane as a thank you for the bath. He leaned down and nudged his nose on my body affectionately in reply.
"No. Can I go now, Dad?" I asked him, leaning my nose into his chest, against his mane, "Please?"
"Yes," He said carefully, his yellow-green eyes watching me suspiciously, "But, no matter what Simba chooses to do, do not go to the Shadowland. Do you understand, Sabiha? It's very dangerous, and it really is no place for a young lioness. I mean it."
He was serious, his eyes apprehensive and strict. He really meant it.
"Yeah, Dad. I won't." I said, smiling innocently up at him.
"Good girl. Run along then, and stay out of trouble." He warned, nudging me affectionately with his nose, formally dismissing me.
I smiled, running down to Simba and Nala, knowing one thing for sure.
We were going to explore that elephant graveyard.