The King Who Suffered Most

"Madi ao... Leka sebete chia ho oele sebatha," an elderly mandrill cried out, clutching his knees and rocking back and forth on a tree branch. "Mo leka geme o tsaba hoa... Lebo haleng ha o bue ka le ha..." He leaned against his wooden stick for support. The gourds tied to the end shook quietly. "Oh, oh..."

Rafiki mourned. He mourned for the king whose son had been lost, he mourned for the cub whose life had been cut short, and he mourned for the lioness whose heart had been blackened beyond repair. Rafiki mourned most for the Pridelands.

He had been woken that morning by silence. The Tree of Life was full of sounds, full of singing birds and chirping insects. Rafiki had grown accustomed to the swaying of the leaves, the rustle of this branch, and the way that branch scraped the tree trunk when the wind blew. But that morning, the tree said nothing.

"Halala humba heh heh heya heeyahee... Halala humba hela hela hela," Rafiki chanted, leaping down from his branch and landing in the hollow heart of the tree with a thud. "Halala humba heh heh heya heeyahee... Halala humba hela hela hela."

But he had known, hadn't he? Rafiki could remember a night not two seasons ago when the Great Kings of the Past has warned him of troubled times ahead. Rafiki had felt the looming danger, but he had never thought Kopa would... that Kopa...

"The King Who Suffered Most," Rafiki sighed. He turned his eyes to a painting on the bark, a golden cub with a mane of red. Rafiki traced his thumb over the lion's forehead. "Would that you were a cub again."

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft snap. Rafiki turned his head and saw the thin branch that had made the noise. It was loose, ready to break from the tree at any moment. There was a similar painting on the branch, a cub with a small dash of red. A little tuft of hair.

Rafiki gave a cry and smacked the branch with his stick. It snapped away completely and fell to the ground below, vanishing from view. The cub was gone.

"Forgive me, Simba," he whispered, "but what's done is done."

A pale green sap oozed from where the branch had broken off. Curious, Rafiki climbed over to it, scooped the tree sap into a large turtle shell, and went to work mixing it around with other saps, powders, and fruit juices. He tasted it.

"Simba needs my help!" Rafiki shouted, tossing the shell aside and grabbing his stick. "He is blind, yes... blind with grief, but I will help him see."

Lead him out of despair, the Great Kings had said. Save him.

Rafiki jumped from branch to branch, climbed higher and higher in the tree, until he poked his head out from the leaves and sat at the very top of his great baobab. Rafiki looked up at the night sky and the stars overhead. They seemed brighter and clearer than ever, and Rafiki mourned no more.


The fangs of a cheetah snapped over a young antelope's neck, bringing both predator and prey crashing to the ground. The antelope calf shrieked in pain, but blood was already bubbling out from his heck, and he was soon silenced. The cheetah dropped the corpse, casually licked his muzzle, and began devouring his food.

"My son! Not my son!" an adult antelope brayed. Tears flowed from her eyes and her hooves kicked up grass, but the grieving mother did not dare approach the predator. Instead, she called out, "You've already eaten today, savage! You killed my Nzoka for sport!"

"And what if I did, Antelope?" the spotted cat asked. "Will the king punish me?"

The proud cheetah dragged the dead antelope away, disappearing into the thick bushes and flicking his striped tail as he went. The mother cried and shouted, but it was useless. She retreated to her herd, sniffling.

"I'm so sorry, Nzuri," another antelope sighed. "He was a good boy."

"Sh-Should I go to the king?" Nzuri whimpered. "Maybe he could..."

"I doubt it. The king hasn't done much of anything since, well, you know."

She hung her head and let one more tear slip away. Nzuri trotted away from the rest of her family and friends, but not so far that a sneaky predator could snatch her up for an evening snack. The antelope herd sighed and sobbed and muttered condolences to her, but they soon quieted down. They filled in the spot Nzoka had left.

"How long will this overhunting go on?" an elderly antelope growled.

"Who can say? Perhaps it is time to leave the Pridelands. One of the zebra herds left early this morning."

"But where will they go?" a young calf asked.

"The other side of the mountains, most likely. Where the Mlima pride hunts. I doubt their king has forgotten his duties."

The antelope herd discussed the matter some more, but ultimately decided to take no drastic action for the time being. "Still, if things don't improve..." the elders muttered darkly. The herd returned to their grazing. A blue-feathered hornbill, who had been perched on a nearby treetop, took flight.

On the other side of the Pridelands, a corps of giraffes were surrounding an especially tall acacia tree and chewing its watery leaves. They looked all around nervously, craning their necks to look behind them, below them, and any which way a predator might approach from. Their voices dropped to a low whisper.

"Some of the zebras left this morning, did you hear?"

"I certainly did. The word on the herd is that the gazelles are next to go."

"Which ones? Thomson's or Speke's?"

"Oh, Speke's, no doubt. Always so flighty, aren't they? Disloyal."

"Who's there to be loyal to, eh?" one disdainful giraffe chimed in, sticking out his blue tongue and scowling. "It's not like we have a proper king anymore."

"Leave it to you to be nasty, Nassor," another male snorted. "Simba has always tried his best, hasn't he?" Some other giraffes murmured in agreement.

"Trying to be a good king is not the same as being a good king."

More giraffes gossiped and muttered after that, turning their long necks to shoot dark looks at Pride Rock in the distance. The corps finished off all the good leaves, then they all stormed off. Only two of the group lingered to cast Pride Rock sympathetic glances. When they left, a little blue bird frowned and flew away.

In the heart of the savanna kingdom, a herd of zebras were gathered at the waterhole. There was plenty of water for them and every other animal to drink, the grasslands were green with the end of the dry season, and the skies were bright and sunny. The Pridelands looked perfectly healthy.

But the zebras were as frightened as they had been during Scar's reign. They neighed and whinnied every time a predator stopped for a drink. "It is dangerous here," an old zebra cried, "more dangerous than ever." Just then, a male trotted up and said that he had just escaped from hyenas. "They are coming and going as they please, all because the king does nothing!"

One zebra reared up and kicked out his hooves, getting the group's attention. "We should leave! Why, just the other day, my uncle Zobo was killed by a rogue!"

"Zibi, your uncle has been dead for months. Let it go already."

"The rogue lion Katili came and ate him, I tell you!"

A few zebras gave exasperated sighs, but most of the herd cried out in terror and began discussing the rogue. "Has Katili truly come to the Pridelands? Will he usurp Simba?" were the questions on every zebra's lips. The infamous rogue lion had been spotted lurking around the Outlands, but had not crossed the Jua Pride's borders. "Not yet, anyways," the zebras muttered.

Suddenly, a cackling hyena emerged from the bushes and raced down to the watering hole. The zebra herd shouted and immediately took off running. Laughing to himself, the hyena lapped up his fill. A blue hornbill, circling the waterhole overhead, flapped his wings and made for Pride Rock.

Zazu soared over the Pridelands, flying from the watering hole and past the grazing grounds to the enormous, rocky mountain the lions called home. Zazu landed on the left shoulder of a cream-furred lioness with eyes that were blue in one light, green in another. "How are the subjects holding up?"

"Not well, my queen," the bird sighed. "The predators are overhunting and the prey are terrified. Understandably so. There's talk of leaving."

"Leaving the Pridelands? From which herds?"

"A list of which want to stay would be shorter."

"It's too much too soon," Nala groaned, shutting her eyes in frustration. "Scar was king less than two years ago, then that awful mess with Kesho happened... and now this. It makes us seem like unreliable rulers."

"My queen? With all due respect... are we unreliable?"

"I don't know, Zazu," Nala sighed. She sat down on her haunches and placed a paw on her rounded stomach. There was a kick from inside, as though the cub felt her stress. "But someone has to rule, and if Simba won't, then I will."

"You can lead your lionesses to hunt, Your Majesty, no one doubts that. But what if Leo or Mega won't follow you? What then?"

"They've always been loyal to Simba before."

"Yes, my queen, but... you're not Simba."

The regal lioness got on all fours, whipped around, and began climbing up the rocky staircase that led to the precipice of Pride Rock. "This can't go on," Nala said, gritting her teeth together as she climbed. "He can't just not be king." Her pregnancy slowed her down, but Nala made it to the entrance of the Royal Den.

It only took Zazu a second to fly up beside her. "Your Majesty, it won't do him any good. As your advisor, I have to warn you – "

"Thank you for the advice, Zazu," Nala cut him off, "but I have to try." She moved around him and disappeared into the cave within Pride Rock.

Zazu watched her walk to the very back of the cave, and even when he could not see her, he heard her. Nala's voice carried out of the Royal Den, but he only understood a few words she shouted. Zazu heard "responsibility" and "Mufasa" quite loudly.

The majordomo had not been waiting for long when Nala came storming out of the cave. Her blue-green eyes were livid. She went to the edge of the Peak and looked out at the kingdom below. Nala could remember the day Kopa had been presented to their subjects from where she stood now.

"I don't understand," Nala whispered. "I lost the same son he did. I sent his body down the river, too. How could he do this to us? How can he just give up?"

"My queen," Zazu said, fluttering to her side, "it's not the same for him. You have to remember..." The hornbill sighed and looked back at the Royal Den. "...you saw your father just weeks ago."

Nala's eyes widened. She gazed at the cave she had just left and began to take a few steps back towards it, but Zazu shook his head. Nala stayed where she was.


The Royal Den was dark and cool, but warmer than the land outside when the night grew chilly. The lionesses of the Jua Pride always slept comfortably in the cave beside their king, but they had not been inside for weeks now. Simba was alone in the darkness, huddled at the back of the den.

Sometimes, when Simba laid down on his side with his eyes closed, he could almost feel Kopa's body wrapped in his arms. Other times, when Simba could not fall asleep, he saw his lifeless cub floating away down the Zuberi River, sinking below the water, disappearing.

Simba had been in the cave since the day half his lionesses had abandoned him. How had the lioness who murdered his son swayed so many to her side? Had he really been so incompetent that his lionesses preferred Scar to him? Incompetent. Inexperienced. An embarrassment.

"I can't do it." Simba buried his head beneath his paws. "I can't be their king."

Too much to do. Daily patrols that took hours, dealing with the petty herds, fending off rogues, resolving foolish conflicts, making the law, changing the law, enforcing the law. No time left to relax, to goof off with Timon and Pumbaa, to spend time with Nala. Or with their son.

Lost his son to a deranged lioness. Lost half of his pride to that same lioness. Lost his throne to a cheetah for three months. Lost his kingdom to his uncle. Lost his cubhood. Lost his father.

"I'm sorry, Nala," he whispered. His head slumped to the cold ground. "I can't be the lion you deserve." He knew he had let her down. No doubt his subjects had all lost faith in him by now, and who could blame them? He was pathetic.

This can't go on, Simba. You have a responsibility to be king.

Maybe he should just run away. He was good at that. If Timon and Pumbaa wanted, they could all go back to living in the jungle, away from the Pridelands. He didn't deserve to rule.

I love you. You know that. But you have to be better than this depression. You have to rule for Kopa, okay? Rule for me... and for our next cub.

How could he have sired another cub? He had lost the first one, and the same would happen with the second. "I don't deserve to be a father," Simba muttered. It was selfish of him, bringing another cub into the world.

Say something, Simba! Don't just lie there! What would Mufasa think if he saw you like this? What would he say?

He remembered the look in Nala's eyes when she yelled that at him.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. But you can't just give up. The Pridelands need you now more than ever. I need you. I can't rule them like you can.

The cave was warm and cool, calming and maddening. But he was better off in here, left alone to mourn. Let the herds abandon the Pridelands. Let his lionesses join the Outsiders. They would be better off there.

Fine. Stay in here forever if that's what you want. But I thought you were better than this. I thought you laughed in the face of danger.

Simba raised his head off the ground. When he took a few steps forward and squinted his eyes to see ahead, he could make out the shape of a lioness waiting at the mouth of the Royal Den with her back turned to him. He could see the curve of her belly, swollen with their new cub.

I'll be outside if you change your mind. I love you.

His eyes grew watery at the sight. "I don't want that cub," Simba choked out, "I want Kopa." He wanted to collapse on the ground again, to close his eyes and never wake up, and maybe, just maybe, he would see his son again.


Nala refused to turn around. She would not look at him, no matter how tempting it was or how much she wanted to run into the Royal Den, throw herself at Simba, and break down into sobs. It was pointless to cry, and Nala had cried enough already.

She mulled over what she had said, wondering if she had done more harm than good. Nala loved Simba dearly, but she had been frustrated. "I was too hard on him." Nala bit her lip. "I shouldn't have brought up his father. I should've – "

The queen whipped around and found Simba standing right behind her, smiling. His eyes were tear-stained, and his smile seemed heavy, but he had come outside.

"Thank you for what you said." Simba gently licked her cheek. "I needed it."

"You had to grieve," she sighed. "It's alright. I miss Kopa too."

Nala suddenly pulled away from their embrace. Simba had started shaking. His eyes were shut tight, but tears were coming, and his lower jaw trembled uncontrollably. "Simba? Please – calm down," she said frantically, but it was no use. Simba was sobbing into her shoulder, bawling hysterically.

"Shh... It's okay." Nala whispered, nuzzling her head against his. "You're okay."

"Is the king done mourning yet? It's been weeks!"

The voice came from below Pride Rock, and it had been sudden and loud enough to stop Simba's tears. The king and queen went to the edge of the promontory and looked down to see who had jeered at them.

Several animals had gathered at the base of Pride Rock, gazelles and giraffes and zebras, but it was an angry antelope standing at the front of the crowd who had yelled at Simba. She was glaring up at the lion and lioness.

"My name is Nzuri," the antelope shouted, "and I say you've been in hiding too long! Your inaction had taken a toll on the kingdom!"

"Watch what you say. The king and I just lost our son," Nala yelled back at her. "We have every right to mourn."

"Oh, did you? Well, I've lost a son, too," Nzuri said, her voice cracking a little. "Earlier today, a cheetah murdered my poor Nzoka. But this cheetah had already eaten his fill. He killed my baby for sport."

"That's... truly terrible. I'm sorry, Nzuri," Simba managed to say. "If you'll let me know which cheetah it was, I can – "

"Do you know what he said to me, after killing my boy?" Nzuri shouted at him, her eyes tearing up. "Will the king punish me?"

Simba said nothing in return.

"You've done nothing for weeks. You haven't acted as king, and the Pridelands have suffered for it. But maybe you don't care what we think, because we're just prey animals. Maybe you don't care that my son was killed," Nzuri cried out. The animals behind her were neighing and hollering their support. "After all, he wasn't nearly as important as your son."

Simba said nothing, but Nala shouted, "Hold your tongue, Antelope!"

"You kill our children all the time for food because they're easy targets! So why do you get to mourn? Zira was right. You are an incompetent king."

The gathered animals cried out together. They shouted "Incompetent! Inexperienced! An embarrassment!" at the lion. Simba took one step back, then another, retreating from view.

"You know, I was a calf in your father's day," Nzuri yelled at the king, "and he would never have stood for this."

Simba leapt from the promontory, running down the side of Pride rock in a blur. The mob of animals jumped back, fearing he might attack them, but the Lion King made for the grasses instead. Nala shouted for him to come back, but Simba did not stop or turn around or come back.

He ran from Pride Rock, ran across the grasslands, and was soon gone.


Simba had only stopped to catch his breath. He paused for a moment to look back at Pride Rock in the distance, far behind him, but he knew he could never go back. The sky overhead, sunny and bright earlier that day, had grown dark and cloudy. Simba thought he spied the shape of a lion in the storm clouds, but when they burst open and began pouring, the shape was gone.

The first rain of the wet season drenched the savanna, turning the dirt beneath his paws to mud in an instant. Simba was soaked, but that did not stop him. He carried on, running as fast as he could go.

Lightning crashed overhead and thunder clapped across the sky, making Simba jump as he ran. He passed ostriches and gazelles searching for cover, rhinos and elephants standing calmly in the rain, and hyenas that were supposed to be banished from the Pridelands. Simba did not stop to chase them out.

As he ran, he passed under a line of trees. Simba never looked up at them, but high in the tree tops, watching the lion as he racing through the grass and mud, was an old mandrill holding a stick with gourds tied to the end.

The mandrill's eyes twinkled and followed him across the grassland. He leaned on his stick, chuckling to himself. "Hee hee hee..."


AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been a month and a half, I know, and I'm sorry for the delay. I can explain. I've been super busy with college, and I've been working on some original writing, which has been incredibly fun. But I finish what I start. Here's the next chapter of Legends, in which Simba becomes super depressed and refuses to be king (weird writing this sad chapter while listening to "Hakuna Matata") after Kopa's murder and the Outsiders' betrayal. But he'll get better. Next chapter will be up before you know it. Also, Rafiki's chant in the beginning is the lyrics to "Rafiki Mourns," a song from the Broadway musical.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.