A/N: Wow! I can't believe I'm uploading the second chapter already. I've decided that I'm going to do my best to write whenever I'm motivated and post a often as possible. That way the story will, hopefully, one day be finished, even though it just started. I'm not over ambitious or anything...XD. Anyways...I delved a little bit into the backstory of Zira, but I'm going to go into more detail later on in future chapters. This chapter is a little short and may not have the most action, but the first few chapters will really be a lot of character introduction and stuff like that. Enjoy!
"Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word."
- William Shakespeare
Zira muttered profanities under her breath as she traipsed across the desolate territory that was the Outlands. Of all the cubs on the entire savannah, her offspring had to be the ones to go missing. And, as if the Great Spirits had elected to play some cruel joke, it had to be the one that held any semblance of importance and not the blocked-headed excuse for a lion that she sadly claimed to be of her blood. That imbecile can never do anything right, she thought angrily to herself. I have half a mind to teach him a lesson he shan't soon forget when I return. But first and foremost, she had to find her other child.
She groaned inwardly as she thought of her youngest son. True, he was leaps and bounds ahead of her eldest child which was something to celebrate, but it angered her that he had been spawned by some other lowly lioness instead of herself. She was a queen, well, had been, and deserved to bear strong cubs, but alas, the Great Spirits continued to heap every terrible curse her way. First she lost her King and mate, then her home, and, to top it all off, she had been forced to live in this barren wasteland as punishment for her loyalty to the true King instead of The Usurper. She remembered everything leading up to the aforementioned event as if it had taken place just the day prior.
Having been born in a different pride miles away from the lush Pridelands, life for Zira and her pride-sisters had been difficult. Between warring factions and exile, it was a wonder there hadn't been more death. When it had finally become too much to bear, she had rallied those loyal to her and abandoned the small Southlands pride, preferring to subject themselves to countless nights of starvation and endless wandering. To say survival had been difficult was an understatement; the lands that were prosperous and bountiful already occupied by other, hostile prides unwilling to share the fruits of their labor with half-starved rogues. Many of her pride-sisters suffered.
But then he came.
Scar had been the light in the darkness and the healer to their pains. When they were on the brink of death, he had come and offered them a place in his kingdom. Sure, it hadn't exactly been in his control at the time, something that the two of them had chalked up to being a minor setback, but the gesture was well received none-the-less. Everything was a complete paradise. At least, it had been, until that rotten Mufasa had found them out. He was furious, and threatened to chase them out and send them back to the hell-hole they had escaped, but Scar - sweet, caring Scar - had stepped in and saved them a second time. Zira and her pride had decided right then and there were their loyalties would lie.
After that nearly horrific event, the rogues, not yet labeled as Outsiders, had been able to live in comfort for the first time in many of their lives. They had food whenever they wanted, fresh water to drink, and time to laze about in the sun; not having to worry about predators or the looming threat of another pride. All was well, until the death of the golden king.
When the news of his death had reached the pride-members, chaos ensued, leaving Zira and her kind to be regarded as suspicious tractors when they did not move to grieve. Many wounds, both physically and mentally, were inflicted that fateful day.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and as time continued on, Scar spread his rule across the land. As the young prince, having been lost the same day as his father, had not been found, Scar had assumed the throne as was his right. He took immediate action, allowing the hyenas to return to the Pridelands, a decision that Zira had been hard-pressed to agree with, and set about rearranging the hierarchy. Sarabi, the previous queen and mate to the deceased king, was promptly removed from her position and replaced with the battle-scarred lioness. To say Zira had been surprised would be a lie. She had known from the beginning that should Scar ever complete his plans, she would be rewarded for her cooperation and silence. She had basked in her new position, using her powers to provide for her pride-sisters - the non-Mufasa worshipers - and set about producing the next heir to the throne, a duty that had been expected. There had been a few issues with that particular part of her role, but eventually the next heir had been chosen and, like it or not, she would be the heirs mother. Even if they had not been related by blood, they were connected by a single purpose.
Unfortunately, Zira's perfect life was not to last. Many sunrises after the heir had been chosen she had organized a hunting party with herself as the lead and her true pride-sisters following. They had been forced to travel farther than usual, as the drought had driven much of the pride's sustenance to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, but they had been successful, managing to bring down an already wounded gazelle with little trouble. With the promise of full bellies and praise from their king, the lionesses began their return journey home, but what they returned to was complete chaos.
Instead of a desolate, yet livable rock formation, it was surrounded by dying flames, the steady rain that had been falling for the last hour already beginning to douse what remained. Corpses, hyena and lion, but mostly hyena, littered the ground and the trails leading to and on the promontory. The scent of blood mixed with singed fur was heavy in the air. The lionesses, quite unsure of the events leading to the scene, began to investigate; sniffing the bodies and searching the land for any sort of clues leading to an explanation. Zira herself, frantic with worry for her mate and cubs, had charged, almost blindly, around the bodies, searching for any familiar faces or a hint of dark fur. Seeing none, her fur began to lie flat, but a sharp cry of alarm reinstated her fears. One of her pride-sisters, Kuende, if she remembered correctly, had been the one to raise the alarm. In a flash, Zira appeared at her side, and what lay before her had nearly been her death.
A lithe, leonine form was on its side in the dirt, burnt orange fur covered in ash and blood and a thick black mane, once glossy and well-kept, now was a tangled mess. Scar. Barely registering her surroundings, Zira fell into a heaping form of pained screams and tears of anguish. Someone had done this. Someone had come and taken her lover's life and she had not been there to protect him. The realization had been about the worst moment in her life. Perhaps things would have gone different if only she had been here to perform her duties, but she would never get the chance to dwell on the thoughts as a resounding roar reverberated around and in her bones.
For the first time in the tan lionesses life, she had been struck speechless. A golden lion with a fiery mane was making his way down the rocky slope, a murderous look in his eyes and a throng of angered lionesses to back him up. Zira had made no move to defend herself, still clinging to the lifeless form of her mate, and even when her own lionesses gathered around her, she remained still.
"Mufasa." She uttered, finally finding her voice. "You're supposed to be dead."
The golden lion, now looming over her, bared his fangs in a silent snarl.
"No. I am not Mufasa." He growled, unsheathing his claws and digging them into the soil. "And you, I can only assume, must be Zira." When she neglected to respond, he continued. "I have been informed of your treacherous ways and now I find I must pass judgement upon you and your ilk. My lionesses find death to be a suitable punishment, but I will not start my reign with bloodshed. There has been enough already."
As much as Zira had wanted to plead her case and defend her pride-sisters, the grief over her mate had destroyed any semblance of clarity left inside her head. She could only watch as the new king, who she would later learn to be Simba, stepped back to address those around him.
"I say these words before the pride and under the watch of the Spirits of the Kings of Old. This lioness, Zira, along with her own, has committed crimes unforgivable to the land and as such, I shall cast my judgement." The lion swept his gaze over the foreign pride, barely sparing a second to breath. "As of this moment I hereby banish you from the lands, never to return. So it has been spoken, and so shall it be done." Throwing back his maned head, he had let loose a roar to seal his command, the first of many.
After that, Zira barely remembered anything beyond being dragged away from the body of her love and blindly following her pride-sisters into exile. She hadn't even noticed when her cubs had been brought to her side, so deep was she in her despair. It wasn't until they had reached the Outlands that the reality of the situation set in. Everything in the equation had made sense except for Simba. He had been the outlier that destroyed her paradise; ripped apart her memories and replaced them with nightmares. It was his fault alone that had resorted in the return to starvation and unending hardship. And it was on that fateful day that she had sworn her revenge. Revenge for Scar, the life she had lost, and for the sanity that would likely never return.
Suddenly a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. Zira, used to screams of such a nature, was unfazed. Instead, she pricked her ears, straining to locate where it had come from. A second scream, lower in pitch, but carrying the same weight followed the first, and this time she recognized who it had belonged to. Breaking into a run, she raced across the dry and cracked ground, drawing herself closer and closer to the edges of her territory. Dodging and leaping over rocks, the lioness carried on until the murky scent of a river reached her nose.
Sliding to a halt at a rocky ledge, she scanned the area before her. The river that created a divide between parts of the Outlands and the Pridelands was a frothing whirling mess of crocodiles and two small, non-reptilian shapes darting back and forth among the chaos. Locking onto the shapes, she recognized them to be cubs. One she did not recognize, the golden furred cub unknown to her, but the second she knew all too well. His dark pelt and even darker tuft of mane was a constant in her life, but the look of terror was something she never expected to see.
With a cry of rage and a motherly instinct thought to be long dead, Zira raced down the slope and threw herself at the crocodiles, her forelegs outstretched and her crimson eyes revealing nothing but a menacing intent.