The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter Two

(TLKFan and Kovukono here again. And we now bring you Chapter Two.)

"Territory is everything," he said.

He wasn't speaking just to his boy, but the cheetah as well.

"It's what sets us apart from the base, wandering rogues. What gives us structure." His eyes darkened. "And I will not tolerate any challenge to it."

The cheetah was carefully weighing his next words, Simba could see that much. The Lion King wasn't quick to anger, he was quick to action. Doing something was always better than doing nothing, whether it be in a fight or in politics. And Mufasa always acted. No opportunities were lost on him. So the cheetah's next words, his excuse of why he considered an expansion of his own territory to be harmless, despite the outlines the crown had put out a year ago, weren't going to dictate whether Mufasa reacted or not. All it determined was how heavy a paw landed on the cheetah's head.

"My liege, the leopards were very much fine with this," he said. "They understood that we needed more room, more hunting space-we've just had so many more cubs. We-we assumed that you would agree since-since all parties were… were happy with the… arrangements…" The cheetah's voice petered out to a mutter as he looked away from Mufasa's scowl.

There was a very, very uncomfortable silence.

"Whose kingdom is this?" Mufasa boomed. It was the only sound in the savannah-even the wind had gone still.

"Yours, my liege," said the cheetah quickly, his eyes fixed firmly on the king's paws.

"And whose laws rule this kingdom?"

"Yours, my liege."

"And whose laws were you acting on?" The cheetah's mouth opened-and nothing came out. "Not mine."

"We-we can discuss this-"

A loud thwack made birds in distant trees take to the skies as the Lion King slammed the cheetah to the ground.

"We have nothing to discuss," he said. "You are going to return your people back to their territory. Their proper territory. And there you will stay."

"Yes, my liege!"

"And to pay for your crimes… you will be bringing the pride one fresh carcass. Per day. For a month."

"But-but sir, we have so many mouths to feed, and you're reducing-" The voice choked off as the King's paw pressed firmly on his trachea. The cheetah's paws scratched at the ground in panic.

"I am reducing nothing. I am reminding you of your place in my kingdom. My word is law-not yours. Be thankful that this is only for a month." He removed his paw and the cheetah gasped. "Learn to live within your means, Loya. This will be your only warning."

He turned to walk away, and his son followed after him, only taking a minute to glance back at the cheetah gasping for air. Simba could see anger in his eyes, frustration-but he would do nothing. Mufasa was king for a reason-no one dared try to act against him.

"Well, you… handled that," said Scar, speaking up for the first time.

Simba was surprised he'd even shown up. He hadn't wanted to come until he realized Simba was coming along. As a prince, technically Mufasa couldn't deny him-a fact that Scar had spent a solid two minutes explaining in scathing detail. Simba didn't know why, but he certainly did seem to enjoy annoying his brother.

"Of course I did," said Mufasa. "I'm the king."

"Perhaps you could consider restraint as one of your kingly properties."

"I did restrain myself," Mufasa said. "A more emotional lion might have killed the upstart. My punishment was firm, I admit it, but fair."

"Indeed," Scar leered. "By the way, my liege, I was thinking about having some zebra for lunch. Do I have your approval?"

"Watch your tone, brother," growled Mufasa, baring his teeth.

Scar sighed. "Mufasa, each day a dozen new problems spring up. In the end, you only address half of them, at best. These subjects managed to solve their own problem-and you chased them away because they didn't ask you first. Why not trust those who prove themselves able of governing themselves? Why must we micromanage everything?"

And then, literally falling from the sky, was the single most annoying voice of his childhood.

"While there are things the king must delegate, it is very important that he speak to his subjects!" Zazu preached. "The feeling of the monarch being a reachable, approachable figure is highly-"

"I'm sure Loya finds him very approachable after today," said Scar. "I would remind you that both the cheetahs and leopards make up a large part of the kingdom's border-and today we managed to antagonize both."

Simba already knew how this would go. Two animals who both loved the sound of their own voices in an argument, both sorely convinced they were in the right. It would probably end when one of them died-and resume once the other met them on the other side.

"It is their place to protect the border. We all have our places-and the king can't be expected to put his life in danger."

"Well, since his life is worth so much, how many leopards and cheetahs should happily have theirs in contention? They are subjects that not only protect us, but now can't even handle their own internal matters because of pride!"

He saw his father's mouth twitch. It seemed to have been doing that a lot lately around Scar. A quick jerk into a frown-and then gone a moment later. Scar might have noticed it, but he never would have noticed the second tic-a short unsheathing of the claws on his front paws to scratch at the dirt before moving back in. But you noticed things like that when you were only a foot off the ground.

"Pride?" Mufasa said. "I call it realism. I am the Lion King, and they are my subjects. They live, and die, based on my will for them to live and die."

"Precisely!" Zazu squaked. "The lives of the subjects-even me, even you, even Simba himself-are valued based on their utility to the standing monarch!"

"In that case, perhaps your greatest value to the standing monarch is as hornbill tartare."

"I will not discuss this matter further," Mufasa said, his voice cutting through the noise. "So consider the conversation closed. Is that clear?"

"I can only imagine what Father would have said," muttered the uncle.

Mufasa whirled around and Simba saw his paw rise, aiming for Scar's face with a roar that made the cub shake. There was a solid thud as it met Scar's upright foreleg, the paw stopping an inch from his face.

"Why, you almost gave me another scar. Mufasa, we're family," said Scar, his tone a mix between soothing and gloating. "Would you really strike your own brother?" Simba saw his father's eyes narrow as his teeth bared. "...In front of your son?"

"Yes," the Lion King growled. "A firm but fair punishment. Simba, come with me," he said. "Scar-you're fetching dinner."

Simba quickly moved after his father, not entirely happy about the company that he would be keeping after Scar had riled him up.

"What am I, a lioness?" asked Scar haughtily.

The Lion King stopped and his son nearly ran smack into his leg. He looked Scar dead in the eye.

"Brother, you are whatever I want you to be," he said.

And then he turned and walked off, his son loping to keep up with him.

Simba walked with Mufasa in silence. He knew his father better than anyone-at least, he thought he did. And he was beyond angry, he was furious.

After a few moments, Simba finally got up the courage to ask, "Dad, are...are you mad at me?"

The Lion King stopped for a moment, then sighed, lowering his head. "No, son. I'm not mad at you."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise." He rubbed the prince's head and kept walking. "Did you enjoy today? What did you learn?"

"A lot, but Dad, I don't understand. Last month, when the parrots and the parakeets said they wanted to trade their territories, you let them. You barely even cared about the deals they were making."

"I didn't much care about the deal itself," Mufasa said. "I cared that they came for my blessing. That's what's important, Simba. That's what being a leader is. Being in charge and letting people know about it, so that there's never a question about who has what authority or how much. A true leader, a good leader, has all of the authority. The cheetahs might not have known that earlier, but they will now. And they'll never forget it."

It's all about the image. That was the saying that had been drilled into Simba's head, and it had merit. A leader who wasn't respected was no leader at all. And spreading authority too thin, letting decisions be made in a decentralized fashion, that was a fast track to anarchy.

But still. The cheetahs had had a lot of cubs recently, and the problem they'd solved, they'd solved without bothering anyone else or hurting them. They might have gotten a bit ahead of themselves by going around Mufasa, but… but that was no reason to fine them so heavily.

"You don't seem convinced," Mufasa noted.

Such a simple phrase. But it told Simba that he was walking on a razor's edge. If he lied, his father would know. If he told the truth-that he didn't understand why a good leader ought to punish the cheetahs so harshly-then he'd be insubordinate. He was precisely one wrong word from a scolding, or worse, and he knew it. And so he chose his words carefully.

"I just don't understand, Dad," he said. "It must make sense to you because you've been King for years, but I-I just don't get it." His father was staring at him with anything but friendliness on his face, but Simba couldn't let himself stammer. That, too, would earn him a scolding.

"It's just… the cheetahs did take your authority away, by making a deal without asking you. And they definitely should have been punished. But isn't it better... to rule from a position of love, not fear?" Simba said. "The cheetahs will fear you now, just like our enemies should, but the cheetahs aren't our enemies. I don't know, Dad, would it have been wrong to be merciful to them? Just this once?"

Mufasa seemed to roll the idea over in his mind several times before responding. "Perhaps," he finally admitted. "But that's a risk, Simba. It's easy for those who never have to be leaders to criticize and call for mercy, but I am the leader, and I know that the slightest slip, the slightest show of anything but absolute strength… that can be a fast track to the end of days. Do you understand?"

That was a loaded question, and Simba knew better than to try his luck again. He responded in the affirmative and fell in step behind his father with his head held high and his posture beyond reproach. Mufasa was right about one thing-it was important for a leader to have an image.

Contrast that with the gargoyle leering over the Pride Lands from his post on Pride Rock. That lithe build, that tousled unkempt hair, that hunched back… Scar could take a lesson or two from Mufasa. On image, Simba thought, and just about nothing else.

He was brooding, as he frequently did. Simba could tell that just by looking at those unblinking green eyes. A thousand things were on his mind: the situation with the hyenas, the forthcoming dry season, maybe even the leopards and the cheetahs. Who knew? Zazu didn't officially report to anyone but Mufasa, but Scar was officially some sort of advisor to his brother. Even if the feathered majordomo was as pompous and official as he put himself out there as, he had to acknowledge that.

Perhaps it had already happened. Or perhaps Simba would be the first to report to Scar. Either way, when he was facing his uncle's back like that, and when the sun was behind him… there was no choice. It was time to practice pouncing.

Low to the ground. Feel the earth beneath your claws. Get into position-wait, just calm down and wait for it… and then… pounce!

Simba charged forward and jumped. At the last moment, his uncle ducked, and he might have careened off Pride Rock into open air if the lion hadn't caught him by the scruff of the neck and set him down on his rear end.

And then Scar looked down at his nephew. Sternly, with a straight back and a wisdom beyond his age on his face. With the sun behind him, he looked positively stately. Maybe Mufasa was the one that could use an image lesson after all.

"Simba, Simba, Simba," Scar chided. "People are watching. You're the future king-you can't play around when your future subjects are watching."

"I wasn't playing," Simba said. "I was pouncing."

"And making a game out of it, surely," Scar said. "Unless you mean to tell me that that half-witted leap was a serious attempt at pouncing?"

He held that stern gaze on his expression for no more than a moment before a smile split his features.

"So. Your father showed you the whole kingdom, did he?"

"More or less," Simba said. "All of the important areas, anyway. We didn't go to the watering hole because it's shared territory, or the stream that cuts through the grasslands, because there's nothing to see there. But other than that… yes, Uncle Scar, we saw the whole kingdom."

Scar shut his eyes. His lips twitched before he spoke again.

"It's your father's opinion that the watering hole is unimportant, is it?" he said. "Well, Simba, what's your opinion on the importance of the watering hole?"

He couldn't be asking that question if he agreed with Mufasa's opinion, Simba thought. That meant that, in Scar's opinion, the watering hole was important. But why?

"Well," the cub said slowly, "it is shared territory…"

"So are the grasslands," Scar pointed out. "And that's where the cheetahs, the lions, and the leopards do a good deal of their hunting when the herds are on the move. Tell me, Simba, what would life be like in the Pride Lands, if something were to happen to the grasslands?" He paused, for effect, before continuing. "Answer that question, Simba, then ask yourself what life in the Pride Lands would be like if the watering hole were to, say, dry up."

"But that would be a disaster!" Simba exclaimed.

"Precisely," Scar said. "So tell me Simba-is the watering hole important, or isn't it?"

"It's very important," Simba said. "For everyone, not just the lions. That's where everyone goes when they can't get water anywhere else. And it's where there's a truce, even between predator and prey animals."

Scar just nodded.

"I agree with your father insofar that territory, and property, are what separate us from wandering nomads. It's these understandings and agreements that make our lives better than the solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short lives our ancestors lived. But Simba, territory isn't just about who controls the best hunting grounds for the biggest wildebeest, or the scenic overlooks, or what have you.

"It's about strategy, in a nutshell," Scar said. "When you consider what territory is important and what isn't, consider who needs it and how badly they need it. Here's an example," he said. "How valuable is the creek in the far south of our land, where the flamingos gather to mate every year? How valuable is that, compared to the pass between the gorge and the grasslands? Think out loud," he said.

"Well…" Simba began, "the pass is… ugly, and hot, and most of the time, nothing happens there. But when the herds move from the gorge to the grassland, it's a bottleneck," he said. "Dad said that last year, when we had a shortage of food, he had a party of lionesses attack the herds at that bottleneck. He was there… and they brought down enough wildebeest to survive the season."

Scar nodded. "Very good," he said. "And the creek?"

"Dad took me there last week," he said. "It's beautiful. It's quiet, and peaceful, and you can see the fish at the bottom, the waters are so clear. But… it's not that useful," Simba admitted. "You can fish there, I guess, and the water is fine for drinking… but there's not much of it. Not enough for a pride, anyway. Plus, it's so far away from Pride Rock… it's a nice place to visit, sure, but not exactly strategically important."

"Isn't it?" Scar said. And Simba knew from the knowing smirk on his face that he was missing something.

"Well, not to us, anyway," he said, and that was as far as he got.

"Not to us, no, it doesn't," Scar said. "But what about the flamingos, who have gathered there at the same time each year to mate, since time immemorial?"

"I… I guess that makes it important to them," Simba said. "But they could move-"

"And we could move from Pride Rock," Scar said, "but not even the most radical lion would consider that a viable option. Not even me." He smiled, and drew Simba up close to him so that, together, they could look over the Pride Lands.

"One day you will be the Lion King," Scar said. "But the name can be misleading. You will be king, but not just of the lions. Everyone in our land-every species-will look to you for leadership and guidance. And protection. And a king is not a king if he won't defend the hallowed homestead of one of his subjects, no matter how unimportant it is to his race. Because, Simba, when you take the throne, the lions won't be your people. Not them alone, anyway. Everyone will be your people. Everyone. Do you understand?"

Simba's chest felt like it was swelling. At the same time, he felt as if crushed by the weight of his burden. The Lion King… not just the king of lions, but the king of everyone. At least, almost everyone.

"I won't be king of the hyenas," Simba said. "They don't recognize the Lion King. They don't even live in the Pride Lands."

And Scar turned away, toward the distant shadowed regions beyond the borders of their land.

"You're right," he said. "The hyenas don't live in the Pride Lands. But Simba, does that really mean they're not people? Because they don't live in your nation? Tell me, would a good Lion King utterly disregard the hyenas, and their concerns, merely because they were born on the wrong side of an artificial border?"

He could see the gears in the boy's head starting to turn faster. And faster. Too fast. This was too much too soon.

"Something to think about for next time," Scar said delicately. "Consider it an academic exercise, no more. Now, Simba, run along and play. You're a cub, prince or not, and you must have a cubhood."

At that moment, Simba might have ceded the throne itself to press the point. The line of thought his uncle had sent him down-it went against everything he had ever been taught, and every instinct he had as well. But that didn't mean that the idea was without merit. Or even wrong.

Still, he knew from a single glance at his uncle's face that he wouldn't get another word on the topic from him. Even now the smirk on the dark lion's face was halfway between condescension and good humor.

And so Simba headbutted his shin, half as a joke, half out of annoyance, and left him to his own thoughts.