**This movie is awesome, don't get me wrong, but I genuinely do not like the ending. The obvious "he was the bad guy the whole time", the "liar revealed" twist, the un-protesting lionesses…this movie is too good for such things. It seemed such simple things to fix that I just had to do so here! Title is from an actual article about "Hamlet", which was a little too fitting not to share, as Hamlet falls under the same faults as this movie did. This starts when Simba confronts the jerk who just slapped his ma-ma.**

"You see them?" Scar croaked, pointing a single claw upwards. Simba looked up and his heart sank. There were hyenas on every inch of the cliff face, staring down with gleaming eyes and wide grins that had haunted his nightmares for most of his life. He hoped they wouldn't have to fight here; with such a position, Scar's cronies would have no trouble starting a massacre.

"They think I'm king," Scar continued. His voice grated on Simba's ears.

"Well, we don't." The two males turned to see Nala approaching them from the stone ramp. The rest of the lionesses were behind her, some already helping Sarabi to her feet. They glared at Scar with hatred, none as much as Nala. "Simba is the rightful king."

Simba's spirits soared again, or maybe that was relief at seeing his mate again. "The choice is yours, Scar," he proclaimed to his uncle. "Either step down or fight."

Scar hesitated for barely a second before he was onto plan B. "Oh, must it all end in violence?" He bemoaned. He began to pace around his nephew, encircling him as quickly as his honeyed words were. "I'd hate to be responsible for the death of a family member. Wouldn't you agree, Simba?"

But Simba held his head high. "That's not gonna work, Scar. I've put it behind me."

"Eh, but what about your faithful subjects? Have they put it behind them?"

Nala looked back and forth between Scar and her mate. "Simba, what is he talking about?"

Scar's mouth curled into a sneer. "Ahh, so you haven't told them your little secret. Well, Simba, now's your chance to tell them. Tell them who is responsible for Mufasa's death!"

Simba knew what he would have said mere days ago. Then, his father's death had been completely his fault. He would have agreed with Scar that Mufasa's blood was on his hands, no matter how accidental. But the bruise on his head reminded him of that strange-yet-familiar baboon he'd met on the plains, and what he'd learned in their conversation.

It was like an improved version of Timon and Pumba's favorite saying. Hakuna Matata…sometimes, accidents can happen. But they won't be the end of the world if you let yourself leave the past behind you.

"It was an accident," Simba told the lionesses.

He briefly saw Scar falter in his steps, before the lion resumed his pacing somewhere to the right of him. Perhaps his perfect plan had an unforeseen flaw?
"Scar led me to the bottom of the gorge because he said Mufasa, my father, the king, had a surprise for me. In practicing my roaring I caused a wildebeest stampede. My father pushed me onto a cliff, which surely saved my life. But he was pulled back into the fray. Out of the chaos, Mufasa jumped on to the cliff face farther down than where I was and began to climb it. I ran farther up the cliff, intending to meet him at the top. But when I turned around, he was falling."

Simba tried to keep his breathing as even as possible. This was the first time he'd told anyone the whole story, and trying to do it as emotionless and "kingly" as possible was much harder than he'd anticipated. "I reached his…I reached him too late."

The lionesses were horrified, Nala and Sarabi especially. For a young cub to experience such a tragedy at such a young age…

"Murderer!"

Scar's voice cut through the air like a knife, but it's edge did not feel as sharp as it usually did.

Simba looked back and forth between Scar and the lionesses. "No! It was an accident!" He couldn't stop a note of panic from creeping into the end of his words. He hadn't planned any of this! What if the lionesses didn't believe him? After all, they thought he was dead not too long ago.

"And quite right, too!" Somehow Sarabi's voice sounded as confident as ever even as she was trying to fight back tears. Simba could have cried with her in relief. "No child should ever be accused of such a horrible act. Certainly not my son, the rightful king to Pride Rock."

Behind him, Simba began hearing a low rumble. It wasn't the approaching storm this time: it was the hyenas, growling restlessly as they felt the changing tide.

"But—He caused the stampede!" Scar objected. "I told him to wait there, patiently and quietly. And what does he do but start trouble as soon as I leave!"

Nala scoffed. "And why should you care so much who caused Mufasa's death?" Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Where were you during all this? What was Mufasa's 'surprise', anyway? If there even was one."

Scar turned his chin up at her. "I told my brother about the stampede." He added, as an afterthought, "As any loyal brother would do."

Sarabi stared at Scar in confusion. "But, at the gorge. Didn't you help the king?"

Scar's tone was blunt and void of expression. "He was beyond my help."

But Nala's hackles raised even more at his tone. "He was on the side of cliff! You must have seen that! You mean to tell us that you just stood there, without running for the lionesses or…" Her voice trailed off in thought. She turned to Zazu. "Zazu, what did you say knocked you unconscious that day?"

Zazu didn't hesitate in answering her. "I assumed it was a fallen rock. But now that you mention it, we were on the top of the cliff. And Scar had been behind me at the time."

Nala flexed her claws. "Who's the only one who could possibly benefit from the death of the king and prince on the same day?"

The color drained from Scar's face. One by one, the lionesses put two-and-two together and began to snarl in unison. Simba felt like he'd received an antelope's leg to the chest. Of course it had been Scar the whole time! Who'd suggested he go to the elephant graveyard? Who encouraged disobeying his father? How could he have missed that? How could his father miss it?

He realized that now he could only hear the growl of lions and storms. The hyenas had fled, correctly realizing that their leader was done for. How ironic – the lion with honeyed words defeated by simple, straight-forward communication.

About an hour later, in the middle of the ensuing rainstorm, a field mouse burrowed deeper into his dry hole. But just before he did, he paused and watched a dark-furred lion pass by, limping heavily from several severe wounds. That next day he would tell his family and friends about the mad predator that had been repeating the phrase, "I wish I was surrounded by idiots again."