A/N: I, personally, am a huge fan of Disney, and Lion King has always been my ultimate favorite. This is totally out of the blue, so please enjoy. ;D
Victory
He had everything he needed. He had a goal and he had drive. He was cunning, ruthless, willing to do whatever he had to do to see his plan through to the end. His henchmen weren't as thorough as he might've hoped, but no matter. He was smart enough that their mistakes would be only mild annoyances. He planned for everything that might happen, everything.
Waiting, waiting. Waiting for the right moment.
The hyenas couldn't finish the cubs off at the graveyard. No, that would've been too easy. He had to be careful, though, after that incident. Mufasa was not a lion to cross, especially when it came to Simba.
Ahh, Simba. The young lion's birth was almost a promise that Scar would never be king, like life was guaranteeing it would never happen. Both Simba and Mufasa had to go. He would kill them both with the same stone.
Positioning Simba was no problem. The cub was always eager to please him, trusting in his uncle Scar whole-heartedly. Then the stampede; and then the worried, focused father rushing to the rescue. Simba was placed someplace safe, and never for a moment had Scar believed Simba would die in the gorge.
Mufasa broke free, clawed his way up the cavern wall. Called to Scar for help.
Come to think of it, Mufasa had never been anything but an ideal older brother.
Still, Scar watched him fall impassively. If that final, pained roar stirred anything in the dark-lion's heart, he ignored it. Just as he ignored any remorse he might've felt at the cub pawing helplessly at the fallen king, crying and curling up close to his still-warm fur. He told the cub to go, to run, to never come back.
He was sure the young lion would be dead and devoured before the night fell.
He then delivered the news to the rest of the pride, who were no less than heartbroken. Shattered. There was no fight in them that day; not a voice rose up in complaint as the hyenas swarmed the pridelands. Only cries of sorrow and mourning filled the night air, and Sarabi could do no more than dwell in the loss of the loves of her heart.
The pride was suffering, but he was king.
Victory.
But like an omen, the weather changed, the herds moved, the grass died. The lionesses were hungry and restless, nothing to eat, nothing to hunt. And Sarabi had become untouchable. She was a queen, high out of Scar's reach, looking down on him as though he was nothing, he was no one.
No matter. He was something. He was king.
The loss of one lioness would mean nothing.
Oh, but it was wrong of him to strike her down. The roar that followed put the booming thunder to shame. A magnificent red-maned lion jumped down next to her and brushed his nose against her with a tender love.
Mufasa?
No...
The young lion raised his head, and looked so remarkably like his father it was eerie. He was a glorious creature, healthy and strong; but he was still bowed by regret, by a burden that wasn't his to bear. He was easily beaten.
He was too confident. So sure of his victory as he leaned down and whispered the deadly secret.
Three simple words that sent the young lion over the edge in a manner Scar might never have expected. A cry, a sudden burst of adrenaline, heavy paws holding him down by the throat. Dangerous snarls in Simba's throat, and the threat was all too real.
But how?
Simba had been helpless, there had been no fight in him; it would've been too easy to throw him to his death and watch him burn. No words could've given any lion the strength to completely turn the tables...Scar, who's own father had cast him aside, didn't understand.
Ahh, but things were different in this case. Mufasa had been Simba's world.
He hadn't considered that.
His last thought as the hyenas crept through the flames was of a young Simba crawling over his back, smiling widely at him, overjoyed simply to be in his company as Mufasa lay off to one side, regarding the two of them with a soft eye.
End.