A/n: Imagine you're walking down the street and there's a photo book lying on the sidewalk. You open it and you see a bunch of strangers, and the photos are grainy and blurry. You ask yourself, Who'd bother to take the pictures? You don't know who these people are or why those poorly captured pictures were worth saving. Far as you're concerned, these photos are meaningless.
That's what my first attempt at After the Roar was: a bunch of poorly written chapters that meant nothing. There was no character development, no exploring the depths of Simba's heart and mind, precious little attention to the struggles in his life, and little reason for people to care. The end result was a bunch of events that had no meaning or context, and it was painful to read (and even more painful to rewrite).
I know it looks bad to scrap a story and start over, but I don't care. As C.S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, "Progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong [turn], then to go forward does not get you any nearer. . . . There is nothing progressive about being pig-headed and refusing to admit a mistake." As far as I'm concerned, the only way to make any progress is to start over.
This story is no longer about Simba's ascent to power and restoration of the Pride Lands. It's about Simba—which it should have been about all along. Even in this chapter, things are becoming more Simba-centered. I'm going deeper into his heart and mind. He's acting less like a moron and more like a king. And for all who love a good romantic subplot, his relationship with Nala is strained from the get-go.
In other words: This story's making progress.
(At least, I hope so.)
Chapter 1: King of Pride Rock
He didn't want to go out there.
He knew what was out there. A dusty land with a lot of bones. There was nothing to rule over, nothing to protect. If he went out there now, it would break his heart. Besides, the cavern was cool and quiet, and the new sun was turning the rocks gold. There was no need to ruin the moment.
But he had to go out there. This was his home, and now it was his kingdom. It was his responsibility, and he wouldn't change anything by lying around. And for all he knew, maybe everything had grown back. Now that he had taken his place in the Circle of Life, maybe everything else would take its place, too.
He was the king, after all.
As he lifted himself onto all fours and padded into the morning sun, his heart pounded and his breath started to tremble. He knew what was coming, and the most spectacular sunrise wouldn't make it any better. But if there was any sign of hope, any sign that he could stay home, he had to find out.
And with a quaky breath, the lion stood at the edge of the rock and looked out over his inheritance.
Everything the light touched was dusty and dead. There was no grass to see or smell, no water except for the puddles of rain. Bones dotted the land from border to border, their curved shadows sweeping over the mounds. Every tree within a hundred paces was charred and smoldering; the rest lifted their arms to the sky, as if they were praying for mercy. The smells of rain and smoke lingered all around, making his head pound. There was no sound—no birds, no cicadas, no wind rushing down the wasteland—nothing.
He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. All he felt was numb. All that land to rule over, and there was nothing he could do about it. Part of him had hoped that when he woke up, everything would be restored and the herds would come home; but wishing didn't make it so, and last night's rain was just a drop to quench the throat of the thirsty earth.
Simba wondered what kind of evil could ruin such a land, but when Zazu and the lionesses told him the story last night, he didn't have to figure it out. Scar took the throne and let the hyenas run loose, and most of the Pridelanders fled. The rest stayed, refusing to be terrorized. This had been their home for generations, and leaving it was as good as treason. A few hoped Scar would come to his senses and get the hyenas off their backs, but the hyenas carried on with ever more lavish banquets. And when the rest of the herds started to leave, the hyenas terrorized them by picking them off. Their bones littered the border of the Pride Lands, a ghastly monument to the wrongful king.
And Simba hated him for it. He started to wish he had ripped him apart when he had the chance. Scar deserved it, and maybe his blood would have made the land grow back to atone for his crimes.
But he knew what he had been taught. He knew how things worked. Everything had its own way of caring for itself. And now that Scar was dead and the hyenas were gone, the land had a chance to be reborn. All he had to do was let it happen.
He was the king, after all.
"Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance," Mufasa said. "As king, you are to understand that balance and respect all the creatures, from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope." Simba's face went all confused. "But Dad, don't we eat the antelope?" Mufasa didn't miss a beat. "Yes, son, but let me explain. When we die, our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. And so we are all connected in the great Circle of Life…"
Simba heard the clacking of nails behind him. Zazu was waddling out of the cavern, standing tall and proud, and ready to receive his royal order. As Simba turned around, Zazu smiled and flared his wings, and he greeted the new king with a deep bow. Simba felt himself blushing in embarrassment—he felt nothing like a king—but he wouldn't show any sign of awkwardness. And when Zazu rose up and looked him in the face, he said, "What would you like me to do, Sire?"
The question wasn't a stroke of etiquette. It was earnest. Simba and the pride were arguing late into the night, and they didn't come to an agreement. Of course, Zazu had to fly out and look for the herds, but what would the pride do in the meantime? Would they wait for Zazu to come home, or would they leave and do their own survey? Simba, Zazu, the meerkats, and half the pride thought it was smarter to wait. Everyone else wanted to leave at first light and hope Zazu would catch up. Just as the debate blew up into a fight, Simba slammed a paw down like a gavel and delivered the ultimate compromise: "We'll talk about it in the morning." No one was happy about that. Simba could feel the pride's disappointment and frustration as he waded through shallow sleep.
But now that Zazu asked Simba for the order, the matter became clear. "Start looking. If you're not back by the end of the day, we'll head out."
Zazu didn't even have to try to smile. It came of its own accord. With a bob of his head, he said, "Very good, Sire," and the hornbill spread his wings and leapt from the promontory, soaring into the cool morning air.
A pent-up breath fell from Simba's chest, giving way to a sense of calm. He watched until the hornbill was a speck against the blaze of the morning sun, and he turned around and headed back for the cavern, pulling his jaws apart in a massive yawn. Even though he hoped Zazu would be quick, he had a chance to get a nap in, and he was going to take it.
But as the cavern slipped back into focus, he saw Nala padding up to him. She saw his face, and hers went dark with disappointment. She knew what he did, and she didn't even try to hide her desperation. The pride hadn't eaten in a week, and it was about to show.
Nala broke her gaze away and let out a sigh. "Simba, I wish we talked about it more."
He let out a weary breath and looked away. "We talked enough."
"You couldn't let us rest on it? We're your pride. We have a say in this, too."
"I know. But I'm not putting you in any more danger."
A moue of anger darkened her face. "So this is how it's going to be? You're just going to ignore everything we say?"
"It's not like that," he said. "We don't know where to go. We don't even know who's out there. And if we go the wrong way and have to turn around, it'll be too late. Zazu said he'll find the herds by the end of the day; if he doesn't, we're leaving."
"Simba—"
"No. I'm not going to lead you into a trap. I will do whatever I have to to protect you—even if it means we wait."
And with a glare, he swung past her and padded toward the cavern.
"Simba, your father wouldn't have waited!"
Without warning, he spun around and snarled at her, silencing her with a glare. "I'm here," he said. "He's not."
Nala stared at him with her mouth hanging open, but no reply came. She turned around and started for the cavern, and he stayed at the edge of the rock, staring at the morning sky. There wasn't going to be any morning nap; he was too tense and frustrated for that. He just wanted to wait for Zazu to come back, and they could finally leave. Maybe then she'd start thinking of him as the king.
He started to let his guard down when a twig snapped below.
Simba's shoulders went tense, and he swung to the edge of the promontory. A lioness and her pride were slinking up the hill, marching in perfect unison. They were muscular and well-fed, and the vibes they put out were bad. They craned their heads up to the promontory, and their eyes met his; they all went tense, as if they'd seen a ghost. But then the alpha's eyes narrowed, and a crooked smile wove up her face. "Why, Simba..."
With a huff, he narrowed his eyes and charged down the promontory. Nala said, "Simba, wait!" but he ignored her and burst into the cavern. The lionesses were stirring, Rafiki was pulling himself onto his feet, and Timon and Pumbaa were wiping the blear out of their eyes. As soon as they saw Simba, they lifted their heads in alarm.
"We've got company!"
All the sleep went out of their eyes. They scrambled to their feet as Simba turned around and dashed back into the sun.
He heaved himself off the promontory and bounded down the huge rocks. With every mighty leap, he lifted his head high, never daring to let the strangers out of sight. As he jumped off the last rock, he landed in front of the alpha, his paws squishing in the dirt and mud, and his pride and his friends landed on the ground and flanked him like an army.
The alpha stared at him for a minute, taking in the sight of him and his pride, and her face grew even more smug.
"Why, Simba," she said. "Is this any way to greet your Auntie Zira?"
Murmurs and tense breaths filled the air, and Simba's mouth fell open. "You knew my uncle?"
"Oh, better than that, dearie. He was going to make me his queen—and then you came back and murdered him."
Simba's eyes went wide in anger. "You were going to marry him?" he growled. "You don't know what he did."
"Oh, I know all there is to know. He slaved over this land day and night. He wanted to make the Pride Lands something to be proud of—and you came back and stole his crown. That's right, Simba—I know what you did. You threw him into a fire, and you gloated as you watched him die."
A growl rippled through his chest. There's no getting through to her.
"Zira, don't make any trouble. Take your pride and get out."
"Oh, we'll leave. But we'll be back. This land is my inheritance. Scar left the Pride Lands to me in his will; as Queen of the Pride Lands, I'm taking it upon myself to restore this place to its former glory. We will be painting a great and glorious picture...as soon as we get rid of you."
And she bolted at him with a snarl.
Simba charged through the dirt and slammed into her, and the prides collided in a tawny wave. Pumbaa swung his head and dug his tusks into the belly of a lioness as Timon clung to the warthog's ears like a pair of reins. Rafiki vaulted into the din and swung his stick through the air; the tip whistled and gourds rattled, and a lioness crumpled to the ground. Another lioness rose up and aimed her claws at Timon and Pumbaa; the two screamed and started to run, and Rafiki gave his stick another swing. A loud SMACK filled the air, and Zira hit the dirt with a thump.
Simba swung around and saw Zira's pride backing away. When their eyes met his, they scrambled toward the charred trees. He threw back his head and roared, and he and his pride charged. Timon and Pumbaa galloped beside him with Rafiki standing on the warthog's back. Sun-baked bones and crumbling grass scrolled past them as Simba's muscles burned and his chest swelled to take in breath. The border of the Pride Lands scrolled beneath him, and he and the pride gave a mighty roar, sending Zira's pride down the ravine.
"Yee-haw! Get outta here!" Timon said. "You mess with Simba, you mess with me!" Beneath him, Pumbaa was hanging his head, panting for breath.
Simba glared at Timon in annoyance, then watched Zira's pride charged down the slope. They flung their heads over their shoulders, showing their horrified faces, and they scrambled down the slope with more vigor. They filed over a fallen tree that crossed the ravine, and as soon as they lighted on the other side, they gathered and turned to look at Simba.
Wait, he thought. Where's Zira?
And Pumbaa said, "SIMBA, WATCH OUT!"
A creamy blur burst all around Simba and shoved him into the dirt. The world spun all around as he and Zira tumbled down the slope. He kicked her away, sending her rolling into the dust, and they went up on their back paws, swiping and lunging for the other's neck. He batted at her and knocked her to the ground, but she scrambled back onto all fours and lunged for him again. He dove at her as her head twisted, and he closed his jaws with a clack.
Zira howled in pain as she crumpled to the ground. He shoved a paw into her chest, pinning her into the dirt. She swung her ear into view, and he gave a start. Blood oozed out of a newly punctured hole in the edge. She snarled and swiped at him, hoping to tear off his face, but her claws went through air. She realized it was no use, and she let out a sigh and let her head land in the dirt.
Simba turned away and spat out a clump of hair and blood, then glared down at her. "Take your pride and get out. If you ever come back here...I'll kill you."
Everyone around him went quiet. Zira's eyes widened in alarm, and all hints of smugness were gone. Across the ravine, her pride looked at him in shock. With a snarl, he lifted his paw and backed away, watching her as she rolled onto all fours. She scoffed at him and spat in the dirt, then turned around and limped away to lead her pride into the termite mounds. Simba watched her cross the river, then turned around and started for Pride Rock.
All around him, his entourage gone even quieter. He kept avoiding their faces, but he felt fear and anger emanating from them all. Even Timon had gone still, Pumbaa's eyes had gone wide, and whatever Rafiki was thinking had to be too heavy for words. And Nala was padding up alongside him, her dust-covered face wide with horror.
"Simba, you can't kill them," she said. "It's against the law."
He stopped and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Not anymore."
She opened her mouth to say something, but he swung around and cut her off mid-word. Whatever she wanted to say, he wouldn't hear it. He was in no mood for a lecture or a reprimand, and he didn't want to hear about how Mufasa would have handled it.
He did what he had to do.
He was the king, after all.