"In this hollow I do grieve for all the things that cease to be."
- Angie Weiland-Crosby
"Sire! What on earth happened out there?"
Simba sighed, doing his best to control his emotions as the majordomo flitted about, fussing over each lioness as they staggered, weary and exhausted up the rock ledge.
It had taken his party a good part of the morning to return to Priderock. Their injuries were numerous and the sting of defeat had taken its toll. Simba himself was nursing a front leg and a gash on his side still bled, the red substance staining and matting his fur. But he had gotten off quite lucky. He noticed early on the gruesome wounds some of his pride were inflicted with. Nadira's leg was shredded and Marini, a younger, less experienced lion, had to be carried back. He grimaced as he glanced at her from where she lay on the rock face, sides heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. Her stomach and chest were scored with claw marks; each red, raw, and bleeding. From the looks the lionesses were giving each other, he could tell they weren't sure she would survive.
Simba muttered a curse and unsheathed his claws, scratching at the stone beneath in frustration. The fight had gotten them nowhere and, if anything, they were now thrust back to where they started. Even though they had found Kiara, she was still lost to them, and she would be as long as that she-devil had her. He pictured his daughter cowering, hungry, and in pain.
Simba wished more than anything that she was here now. Priderock felt hollow and empty without Kiara's endless chatter and bright ideas. His heart felt as if it were being squeezed tight. His stomach sick with worry.
He had failed.
He had failed as a king and how he was failing as a father.
"Zazu," He called wearily. "Fetch Rafiki. We'll need him."
The bird nodded and took off, wings flapping urgently as he flew.
Simba hoped Rafiki had enough herbs and skill to heal everyone. Again, his gaze flicked to Marini. Some of the lionesses were doing their best to clean her wounds, but he noticed her chest wasn't rising as quickly as before. He hoped Zazu would reach the baobab soon.
As he watched the small group, it dawned on him that he hadn't seen his mate since returning. Embarrassment shot through him. He should have checked on her immediately, but his mind was so clouded with grief and worry that she had become a passing thought.
Picking his way through the crowd of lionesses, injured and healthy alike, he searched for Nala's cream coat. He did his best to ignore their pained cries and moans, knowing there wasn't much he could do. Healing lay beyond his realm of capabilities. He hoped Nala had escaped relatively unscathed. He knew she was a fierce and formidable fighter, so there was no doubt she held her own, but he worried for her nonetheless.
He found her sitting within the entrance to the main den. Her blue eyes, usually bright and full of life, were transfixed on the ground, unseeing. Sarafina, her mother and one of the oldest lionesses in the pride, sat with her, smoothing down her shoulder fur with soft, comforting strokes of her tongue. She stopped when Simba approached and met his gaze, her own eyes, so much like her daughters, clouded with worry.
It was times like these that Simba wished he could seek the comfort of his own mother.
Sarabi had been the former queen of the Pridelands, ruling beside his father with a strong and fierce presence. She had suffered through the reign of Scar and helped to see the pride through dark times. But, despite her strong nature, she couldn't escape the passage of time. Sarabi had passed peacefully a few sunrises after Kiara had been born. Simba's heart still ached when he thought of her. She had helped him establish a stronger hold on the kingdom and eased his anxieties about taking on such an enormous task. Now that she wasn't here, Nala was his only source of comfort, but if she couldn't comfort him, he didn't know if could handle it alone.
"How is she?"
"As well as she can be, my king." Sarafina said, with a wary glance at her daughter. Nala remained silent, gaze still fixed to the ground. Sarafina sighed and smoothed down another stray clump of fur.
"Is she alright? Is she hurt?" Simba inquired, scanning Nala's pelt for any signs of damage.
"Yes." Sarafina responded after a beat. "But her greatest wounds are beyond our reach. Nothing a simple remedy or herb can cure, I'm afraid."
"How can you be so sure?"
"You aren't the first to lose a cub to madness." She stated simply, shooting him a knowing, but sorrowful look. "And no doubt, you won't be the last."
Simba understood her implications.
He looked to Nala again, trying to picture his mother in the same state. He wondered if she too had mourned this way when he had run away. He supposed he would never truly know, and part of him didn't want to know.
"I'd like to speak with her." He said gently. As king he could have commanded the elderly lioness to leave him alone with his wife, but he knew Sarafina deserved respect, especially in this situation. She nodded, gave her daughter one more comforting lick, then padded away to tend to the others.
Simba stepped closer to his mate, willing her to look at him, but she stayed still.
"Nala," He started, reaching out a paw towards her own. She flinched away when their paws touched.
"Nala." He tried again, more urgency in his voice.
"Get away from me." She whispered, so quietly he almost didn't hear. He furrowed his brows, confused by her strange behavior. This Nala was acting almost as a stranger to him.
"Nala, I-I don't understand."
"Get away from me!" She snarled suddenly, leaping to her paws. Her eyes now wild with what Simba could only guess was anger. He stepped back in shock. Nala had been angry with him in the past, but this sort of anger was different. Something he didn't quite understand.
"This is all your fault!" Nala spat, lashing her tail.
"My fault? What are you talking about?"
Nala growled and began to pace back and forth before him. Her claws, unsheathed, made harsh clicking noises with each strike of her paw.
"Everything!" She cried harshly. "The drought. Zira. Kiara. None of this would have happened if you had just done your job."
"Done my job? Nala, do you hear yourself?" He snapped, forgetting to keep his own rage in check. "I didn't take Kiara. Zira did. And the drought? I wasn't even here, remember?"
"Exactly my point." She countered. "If you had been here when we needed you, when Kiara needed you, none of this would have happened. If you had done what we had asked, Zira wouldn't even be alive!"
A hint of a memory danced across his vision. Scorched earth, corpses, and the call for swift retribution. The chant for blood, and the quiet fury that followed. Cubs, small and afraid, trailing after a grieving mother. The stench of death and fear.
"If I had done what you asked, if I had killed her," Simba said slowly, straining to keep a level voice. "I would be nothing more than a murderer. Like Scar. If that's what you wanted, you shouldn't have come to find me. Maybe then you wouldn't have lost your daughter."
"How dare you!"
In a flash, Nala had flung herself at him, paws colliding with his chest and knocking him to the ground. Simba cried out, surprised, and winced as he struck the ground. He barely managed to raise his paws in time to block her strong swipe. He battered at her stomach with his hind paws, claws sheathed, and tried to throw her off, but her grip was like iron; her muscles strong from all those years of hunting mixed with adrenaline. Despite the earlier scuffle, she seemed to have no lack of energy.
Simba squirmed beneath her, trying to figure out how to dislodge her without actually hurting her. He reached up and wrapped his paws around her neck, pulling her down. As she pitched forward, he kicked with his back legs and swept her legs out from underneath. They rolled.
Once.
Twice.
On the third roll, Simba regained his bearings and landed on top, pressing her gently, but firmly against the ground and doing his best to secure her front legs. She thrashed and snapped at him, but was unable to do much beyond that.
"Nala, listen to me!" He shouted, bringing his muzzle as close as he dared. "Do you think I wanted this to happen? I'm trying to bring our daughter back. Just, please, don't do this. I need you. I can't do this alone."
Nala stopped thrashing and snarling, and looked at him, truly looked at him. A moment passed. He watched as her face crumbled and her mouth opened as a sob escaped her maw, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. Her wails bounced off the rocks, echoing loudly around them.
"She's lost to us, Simba." She sobbed. "My baby is lost."
Simba felt his heart sink as she continued to emit anguished cries. Nala had given up. And if she gave up, he wasn't sure if he could hold on to his last remaining shreds of hope.
"Your majesty?"
The soft voice jolted Simba from his trance-like state. Rafiki stood before him, a grim look crossing his visage, as he leaned against his staff. The gourds clacked together gratingly. A few lionesses crowded behind, their faces just as grim.
"I'm afraid I couldn't save her. Her wounds were too great. She walks with the great spirits now."
Simba felt an overwhelming wave of nausea pass through him, nearly taking him off his paws. Nala's cries seemed distant and far away as he processed the news. Death seemed to follow wherever he went, it's cold, malicious claws dug in deep. His kingdom was falling about and he seemed to be falling with it.