BITTER WOUNDS

I'll bet some of you are surprised to see a TLK story from me, especially after I posted that "Anti Hakuna Matata" thing. Well, while the Lion King certainly doesn't top my list of favorite movies, I certainly don't hate it. (I don't hate "Hakuna Matata" either; I admit it is catchy, but when you've heard a certain song 20 million times over, that's when your ears start bleeding.) I don't see any harm in writing a story or two for it.

I decided to give it a try. It's a welcome change from all this Narnia and Transformers and anti-Twilight stuff, isn't it?

Characters © Disney

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

Simba could not sleep.

It was very late, and the lionesses scattered throughout the den all appeared dead to the world. Simba wished he could do the same, but try as he might, he simply could not get his body to settle down and his mind to shut off.

He did manage to doze off a little now and again, but he kept waking up.

Finally, when he felt he couldn't take it anymore, he stood and made his way out of the den, trying to move as carefully and quietly as possible.

Outside, the night was cool and clear, the sky spangled with multitudinous stars. Simba remembered his father telling him at one time that the great kings who had gone before them viewed them from each star. He wondered if Scar could be up there among those kings. At the thought of his old uncle, the young lion felt his throat and gut simultaneously tighten. Even now, he recalled all too well the terrible things his uncle had done to him, how he had betrayed them all. Simba's heart still stung from the knowledge that Scar was the one behind his father's death all along, that his dominion was based entirely on lies and deceit.

Simba couldn't believe how foolish he had been to believe what he was told, how he could have allowed Pride Rock to fall into his uncle's paws, into chaos and ruin. Notwithstanding Scar was gone, the hyenas were gone, and the kingdom was slowly but surely on its way to recovery, Simba feared he had wasted his life.

So many years, he thought dismally. So much misunderstanding…so much gone wrong…so much to make up for.

Things would never have gotten this bad in the first place if it hadn't been for him. Simba had essentially thrown his entire birthright away. He shuddered to think what would have become of his realm if he'd never returned, if Scar had remained king forever. How could I have been so stupid? he couldn't stop asking himself. I let everyone down. I let my people down, I let my pride down—worst of all, I let my father down. How can they accept me as the new king? Who's to say I'd make a better king than Scar?

At that last thought, Simba felt his eyes burn, and his vision grew blurry. It took him a moment to realize he was weeping.

Sinking to the ground in a heap, he draped a forepaw over his eyes and allowed himself to cry freely. He cried for his father, he cried for his uncle, he cried for all the sorrows and sufferings that had come about.

All of the pain, grief, and bitterness, every last thing that was suppressed and stifled for so long, came forth in one steady flow of tears.

Simba didn't know how long he lay there sobbing, but at length, he sensed someone's presence. He felt a warmth brush against his face, heard a soft whisper in his ear.

"Simba?"

Even with his eyes covered, he knew it was Nala. Very slowly, he withdrew his paw and gazed up at her, barely able to see her face through the shimmering flood. All the same, the love and concern emanating from that beautiful face were unmistakable. She asked no questions, but only settled quietly beside him, curling into a snug ball, even going so far as to link her tail with his.

The two lions remained like that for a time, keeping each other warm in the cool night. When Simba could finally speak, he said throatily, "I thought you were asleep."

"I could say the same for you," Nala replied. "When I woke up and found you weren't in there, I figured I'd find you out here." In another moment, she asked, "Are you all right?"

Simba started to say that he was, but quickly thought better of it. He knew he could never fool her, especially now that she had seen him for herself. He decided it would be best to simply tell the truth and be done with it.

"I say to you what I dare not say to anyone else, Nala. The truth is…I am sore troubled, in soul and heart as well as body."

"Is it about your father?" Nala knew Simba had yet to fully recover from that awful tragedy. He often awoke late in the night from terrifying dreams of the constant replay of the wildebeest stampede, of his father falling freely through the air while he watched helplessly from the rock face, their screams blending into one—

"Yes," Simba confessed, "as well as Scar. But it's more than just that."

"What is it?" Nala asked gently.

He did not answer right away, but she was patient and did not rush him. At last, Simba let it out: "I don't think I'm the right lion for this position, Nala. I really don't think I'm fit to be king."

"What makes you say that?"

"I deserted my kingdom," Simba answered miserably. "I turned my back on my people in their greatest need. While I was off gallivanting in the outer lands, without a care in the world, everyone was suffering under Scar's tyranny. Everyone was struggling and starving to death…and all because I didn't have the nerve to face my problems and do what was right. I gave up my honor, my title, my crown; overall, I abandoned everything and everyone that I once held dear. I took the easy way and ran and hid like the great big coward that I am."

His eyes welled up afresh while he spoke, and Nala just stared at him, stunned to hear him decry himself like this.

"My father would have been so ashamed of me," Simba continued, now rising to his feet and slowly trudging away with his head hung low. "I betrayed him as much as anyone else." Settling onto his haunches at the edge of Pride Rock, he finished with, "After the things I've done, I don't deserve to be called his son."

A long, heavy silence followed this speech. Nala stayed where she was, her bewildered gaze fixed on Simba, who never looked back at her, or moved at all from that spot.

At last, Nala stood as well and began to slowly approach her old friend from cubhood. Simba still didn't budge as she sat alongside him, but he didn't look up, either.

Resting her shoulder against his, curling her tail tenderly around him once more, Nala whispered, "If I know your father, Simba, he could never be ashamed of you. If anything, he would be very, very proud."

Now Simba did turn his face full on her, the starlight reflecting off the tears that still quivered in his eyes.

"You see," Nala continued, taking advantage of the opportunity, "a coward wouldn't have come back and braved someone like Scar, especially when he knew it could result in his own death. A coward wouldn't have taken on a whole army of savage hyenas that could have easily torn him to pieces. Above all, a coward wouldn't fight to the death to defend the things he believed in and protect the ones he loved…and who loved him."

"But—" Simba started to protest, but she gently cut him off.

"What's done is done, Simba. There is no point in obsessing and beating yourself to death over what is already past. You're here now. All of us are. What else matters?"

Simba recalled old Rafiki telling him as much, not so long ago: "Yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it—or learn from it."

"Do you really think I can do this?" he asked Nala at length.

She smiled. "Why else would I have come all that way, just for you?" She nuzzled his cheek, and he felt the light tickle of her whiskers. "You're not going to be a great king, Simba. You already are one."

Touched, at a loss for words, Simba could only nuzzle her in return. She purred, and he couldn't repress a slight purr as well.

It was unknown how long they stayed like that, but when Nala spoke again, she said, "Come on. Let's get some sleep. We're both going to need it."

So Simba accompanied her back to the den. Neither of them hurried. Already, Simba was feeling better, and quite pleasantly drowsy. It would take time for the bitter wounds to fully heal, he knew, but that healing had begun.

He felt grateful to Nala, and wondered what he had done to deserve someone as special as her.

Just before they entered the den, Simba paused long enough to say, "Nala?"

"Yes?"

Smiling at her lovingly, he only said, "Thank you."

Knowing what he was thanking her for, Nala returned the loving smile. "You're welcome."