Scar peered over the ledge of Pride Rock and watched the lionesses spar. Simba stood to the side, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to hurt him. Anger coursed through his blood and pushed him towards action. An anger that couldn't be soothed with the long term, one that needed an immediate cure. He would show that whelp how the hyenas fought, show him that this wasn't going to be some easy battle. Standing there like he rules the world, like nothing is ever hard, like everything's fallen in front of him no questions asked, Scar thought. The destined king. The golden progeny. Blessed by all the stars, and, yet, under his watch, Sarafina had been murdered, Nala had arrived at a fate even worse than death, and this cub in charge had done nothing to prevent either. What a king. He laughed and jumped, the sound like dry wood cracking. He descended Pride Rock, his tail lashing, and stopped in front of Simba.
"Scar," Simba said, and looked over his shoulder, his gaze seeming to lie on the lionesses, but not quite. Somewhere else, Scar thought.
"Look at me," he hissed. Simba's eyes moved slowly, and the lack of urgency irritated him more. "Look at the great king, not lifting a paw," Scar said. He could tell he had his attention now. "Overseeing it all. Isn't it precious ordering others to their deaths while preserving one's own hide on the sidelines? Oh Simba, I can see how the cushy life has made a real fine king of you." His blood seemed to jump in his veins, his heart loud and fast in his ears. Not like last time when he had been so injured he could barely move, now he stood a chance. He could kill him, tear out his throat. Simba didn't know how to fight. On level ground they were equal.
Simba blinked, but he thought he could see a flash of something cross his face.
"Fight me Simba. I know how the hyenas fight. A king should stand with his pride," he said. Simba remained motionless.
"Scar, you're pathetic," Simba said. And he made to turn away, but Scar saw it, the briefest of hesitation, a flick of his tail, it must have been a blink of a decision, a sudden eruption of flame, but he stepped back in time, avoiding Simba's paw. But that was enough. He drew his claws, and looked for an opening, sidestepping another of Simba's attack. Sarabi shouted something off to the left.
"The hyenas attack like this," Scar said with a growl and lunged for Simba's back legs, catching him off balance. Simba raised a paw, his own attack interrupted, and with a gasp of air hit the ground. Scar sank his claws in deeper until Simba let out a roar. Simba twisted around and snaked out a paw. Scar moved, gasping as his back paw twisted awkwardly, but he didn't fall. Good he could fight. He could support himself. He had enough strength.
"Tough isn't it?" he said, almost laughing. "There's more than just one though. When you really fight them, there'll be four or five, one going for each leg, one at your neck, one on your back. Learn to fight little king, or it'll be your neck next that falls to Shenzi's jaws."
Simba stood gingerly putting weight on his back foot. "Scar, you are testing my patients. I'm done fighting you."
"I wasn't fighting you, Simba. I was making a point. A demonstration, if you will. "
Simba stood silently, his tail lashing back and forth. "We're done."
"Will you know how to fight when the time comes?" Scar said. "Or will you leave them to die."
"Enough." Sarabi stepped in between the two lions. "I've heard enough of this."
"You trust your life to this irresponsible, inexperience-"
"That is enough Scar," Sarabi said and flashed her teeth, rounding on him. "I will not hear any more of this. Either teach us in a manner we will be able to use, or make yourself scarce. "
"I was teaching," he said. "How do you expect your son to learn when he's brooding in the shadows? If he is to fight, then he must fight."
"I had no problem fighting you after I returned," Simba said.
"You left me to the hyenas. Can you kill Simba? Your lionesses soak their teeth in blood for you, but can you kill?" Scar asked.
"Coming from the lion who turned his back. Who fights with subterfuge. I think the question you should ask yourself , Scar, is if you will be ready. After what happened last time, you can't blame me if I think you're not."
Oh, so Simba wanted to play it that way, did he? A swipe of his own figurative paw meant to send Scar to the ground. It was interesting to see his nephew try to use words to outsmart him. It was something he hadn't considered Simba capable of. Always in his mind, Simba had been this dumb beast, something to be talked down to with derision. Easy to dismiss. But he wasn't really that way. He had been a curious cub, too curious, and that had left an opening for Scar to take advantage of. He had been easy manipulate back then. Certainty it couldn't be quite the same now. He must have learned.
"I want to see you fight Simba. I want to see how you plan to defend yourself when they all converge on you, and there's no one around to help you. I want to see how you deal with a situation of that caliber. Show me, won't you?" If he could make him upset it would be easy to make Simba look like a fool, trip him up once more, and what sort of faith would the lionesses have in him then? "You fight like a cub. Though it's understandable. Of course, you fight like a cub, you weren't given the opportunity to learn. Your childhood was cut short, wasn't it? You were denied all the love and support a cub needs to grow into a great ruler. You were trampled and thrown away, and you came back expecting to be received with open arms no questions asked."
"You destroyed the Pridelands. "
"I did no such thing. You blame me for drought." He laughed. "You blame me because the antelope fled."
"You grew too close to the hyenas. "
"The hyenas, yes. Always back to them isn't it. Well, that Simba, you can blame on your father. Your father that broke a pact, who deprived them of fertile land and clean water. What else could you expect from them?"
Simba didn't say anything. He cast his gaze across the savanna. A few lionesses continued to spar, but most of them had turned to listen. "Simba, Simba," he moved closer. "Do tell me how you plan to sneak in there. Do tell me what you will do with Shenzi once you have her, because, little prince, I don't think you have it in you. I think your father would be soooo disappointed." There that was it. He saw the effects of his words; a flash in Simba's eyes, that grew from nothing, that blazed wholly now, spurring him on. "You who let his kingdom fall when didn't come back. Who left without a second thought."
"It was you. You made me." Simba lashed out, and Scar sidestepped, ducking low, to avoid a thrash from Simba's other paw. Simba still kept his claws withdrawn. "Now now, letting your temper get the best you will only give the hyenas a chance to attack. "
Scar moved carefully, looking for an opening. "Like," one step back and to the left, and there, there it was, "this!" He lunged, raking his claws inches above the dirt in between Simba's front and back legs. But just before he could attack again, he felt his back leg buckle, not break, but protest the fast movement he had attempted. Simba struck out. Scar hit the ground. He tried to scramble, his leg useless, his paws sending up plumes of dust and sand as he struggled, blinking dirt from his eyes. Kings! That had hurt, nothing broken, but if that were to happen when facing down the hyenas, he would be dead. If Simba with such an easy swipe of his paw could bring him down, then he was in trouble. He needed to play it smoothly.
"Yes, that's right," he said when he managed to get to his feet. "That's how you have to fight them. Take any opening you can get." Feeling exhausted, not wanting to feel the defeat that was welling up in his chest at his apparent weakness.
He stepped back, wary of what Simba might attempt next. But the young lion didn't make any move. He had stood while Scar was still struggling in the dirt and shook himself off.
"You've made your point," he said. "But Scar, I've been practicing. It's you who have been living with ease: lionesses hunting for you, hyenas following your every order. If anyone needs practice it's you."
"Oh, I'll get my practice." He leapt with a growl, aiming for Simba's throat, and from his left he saw a flash of tan and yellow. He couldn't divert his move, he was there, his teeth bared, and Sarabi loomed in his peripheral. Her skull knocked into his own, and bright sparks of light filled his vision. A heavy paw rested on his chest, just under the start of his mane.
"That is enough," she said. "I won't hear any more of this. Scar, try anything else, and I will personally see to your exile." She growled, her teeth flashing, and the glimmer there was even brighter, washing her out, so he could only feel the pressure of her paw against his chest, and the thrumming of his own heart, and it was easy to see Sarafina instead.
The bao game had done nothing to wipe her from his mind. If anything the vision grew stronger Now she stood above him. And the thought desperate, and rushed, unable to be staunched, came to him.
"Fi?" he said. Did he say it out loud? He didn't know. He couldn't stop himself. But as the light receded and dropped in intensity, and everything dissolved back to normal. He knew it was Sarabi, at that not more than a few second had passed. Yet he couldn't be sure if he had said anything. And he wondered if it hadn't really been Sarafina.
He looked at Sarabi, trying to see if he could see it her eyes, see the word there, and then realizing his situation, how weak he appeared, he let out a growl and pushed her from his chest. She stumbled backward. Simba loomed inches from him.
Scar took a step back, trying to avoid the maw of teeth. He raised a paw, but wavered, two Simba's swimming into his vision.
"This is the last chance I will ever give you Scar," Simba said. "The last and I mean it. Either help us or leave. Scar could sense the other unspoken option, the one that would mean his death. The other lionesses gathered around Sarabi and Simba. And he saw now that he had never had their support, never their loyalty. They had clung to him because he was a shadow of his brother.
What they had hoped to see in him was some semblance of the older king. With a horrible sensation, he realized that all along it was Mufasa who had kept him in power, Mufasa who had kept him alive, Mufasa who had taken everything, who had given him everything, but not enough, not enough to thrive; only that connection had made him anything ever in their eyes.
The thought distant and all around him, and those irritating bites of stars that lingered in his vision, made him hateful, made him feel defeated, and combined together within him, so painful, that he dropped his head. Nala was more than dead. He owed them no loyalty. He owned the nothing. Mufasa had seen to his power. His father had seen to his power before that. If not for them he would have been nothing. Weak, worthless. He would appeal to Shenzi at the cost of his life. He would offer the Pride Lands. He would offer Simba. Nothing was left there for him, but to see it wither and die.