He had to do it. He had no choice. There were some things...some things that just had to be taken care of personally. He climbed up Pride Rock, winded and panting, a gash on his side. Nothing fatal, not even close-but it could have been. It could have been. He had been backed into this corner, and forced to take action, and now the king himself was injured.
And it was all the hyenas' fault.
It was because of them. Because they intruded into hi lands. He had to chase them off, because who knew who else would do it. And Scar, the slippery, double-speaking bastard, didn't seem to even care. The menace had to be stopped. This was his kingdom-and clearly only he could protect it now.
He let out an involuntary groan as he hoisted himself up the last rock, gathering the attention of some of the lionesses there.
"My king?" someone said. And in a moment, all of the lionesses were on their feet. "What happened-are you alright?"
"I'm fine!" he snarled.
"You're bleeding! What-"
"I'm bleeding because no one else was there. Because no one was there to help me against the hyena menace!"
The lionesses fell silent.
"None of you seem to give a damn about this kingdom! I don't see a single one of you lifting a paw to protect it or patrol it! Not one of you seems to realize that we're in danger!"
There was a very, very uncomfortable silence, the lionesses looking at each other. The cowards didn't even want to look at him.
"Your majesty, we thought you were keeping us us safe and-and secure," stammered one.
"And you think that I couldn't use help?"
"Help with what, exactly?"
God, that snide voice. That smug charm, how he hated it. The aloof posture, the superior, demeaning gait… Scar looked the king over, and his eyes widened. "You're bleeding."
"Yes, brother, I'm bleeding!" he snarled.
"Yes, yes, but why?" Scar said flatly.
"I was chasing off hyenas!"
And now Scar was really serious. "There were hyenas in the Pridelands?" he asked, his voice hushed. "They did this to you?"
"I had to chase them off alone, brother." He stepped toward Scar, wincing as he felt his side burn. "But that isn't what you would have done, is it? You would have left them this far inside the Pridelands, given them hugs and made peace-"
"Brother-"
"There is a threat, Scar, one that I keep trying to tell you-"
"Brother, I-"
"Brother what?!"
"Brother, I was wrong."
Mufasa blinked.
"If they truly did violate our borders that much, and if they dared to lift a paw against you, then it's acceptable to… to help them leave." He stepped forward. "I'm sorry I wasn't there at your side."
He expected the lakes to boil and the sky to rain blood. Scar, apologizing?
"You're sorry," Mufasa said.
Scar nodded. "I'll go get Rafiki myself," he said, walking off.
"...Thank you, Scar." Words he had never imagined he would say. Least of all now.
He took a deep breath and lowered himself down, ignoring the pain in his side. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that Scar hadn't been on the other side of the argument. Now, he almost seemed tolerable.
Well. A moment of tolerability didn't excuse a lifetime of intolerability. Nevermind his stupid foreign policy ideas.
And then Zazu came fluttering in from the distant horizons, shouting as soon as he was within earshot.
"Sire! Sire! Sire, it's urgent!" Scar paused in mid-step, looking back at the hornbill. "Stampede. In the gorge. Simba's down there!"
For the briefest second, he and Scar stared at one another. Not a word passed between them, though, before they started to run at best speed to the south.
"Secure the borders!" he yelled back at the lionesses. "The paths in the gorge are too narrow for more than my brother and I. And the hyenas that attacked me-they were just a scouting party. It's up to you to keep the others out!"
The moment of distraction put Scar a few strides ahead of his brother, but it wasn't long before the more powerful red-maned lion caught up. His injury slowed him down, though, so the brothers were soon racing neck and neck, side by side, toward the gorge, toward Simba.
Already grass was giving way to bare sand and rock. Already the dust could be seen rising into the air from where the herd had kicked it up. A thousand animals and four times as many hooves, and each one of them could be a death blow for the future king.
And yet, for a moment, he and Scar found themselves looking at one another. This was the first time they had run together-done anything together, in… neither of them could remember how long.
And then the cry of the lion cub brought them both back to where they were.
Scar was the first to dart over the cliff precipice and along the shaking narrow trail into the bowels of the gorge. His brother followed him, panting, bleeding harder than ever.
A thousand animals. More than a thousand animals. A teeming mass of living chaos, all terrified, all swarming, all running as fast as they could. The dust was so thick and the sun was so bright that though both lions tried, they couldn't see, couldn't-
"There, there, on that tree!" Zazu cried.
And through the haze of the bodies, the dust, the thunderous roar of a hundred stomping hooves, they saw him. That precious little defenseless boy clinging to the tree.
"Hold on, Simba!" his father bellowed. But it made little difference, regardless of whether or not Simba could hear him. He was a goner. Dead, unless someone saved him. Unless he saved him. And so Mufasa coiled his muscles and prepared to jump-
"No, Sire! You mustn't!"
That was Zazu, darting in front of his face and crowding him away from the edge.
"I mustn't-I mustn't save my own son?" Mufasa thundered.
"No, Sire!" Zazu said. "Please, the life of the monarch is invaluable. You don't risk the king to save the queen, and you certainly don't risk the king to save the prince!"
Mufasa snarled, but through that snarl, he began to cry. He knew that his Majordomo was right. And so he turned to his brother-just in time to watch as Scar darted down to the lower part of the cliffside.
"Go and check the lands south of the gorge," Mufasa heard himself say. "Sarafina and another lioness may be on a patrol near there; if they're still in the area, maybe they can help from the other side."
Zazu nodded, but rather than moving, he opened his big beak to squawk again.
"Now!" Mufasa yelled. "Damn it, NOW!"
And finally, the Majordomo alight from his perch and darted off into peaceful clear blue skies. That trouble finally taken care of, the Lion King turned to watch, just as his brother jumped down into living chaos.
Rock formation left. Charging wildebeest right. Jump past it, roll to your feet, and take a glancing blow off the one that had sprinted up unseen behind it.
Too many animals to track. All choked with dust, every one of them moving at fifty miles per hour. No time to think, only to act. And Simba's grip on the branch was weakening all the time.
Simba. His laughter when they roughhoused together, his tears when he told his uncle about the barely-justified beatings he received, his curiosity, his love for learning, and, above all else, the fact that his uncle was the light in his life. And that he was the light in his uncle's life.
The next wildebeest that darted toward Scar seemed Hell-bent on a collision path. But instead of dodging, Scar lowered his stance, prepared himself, and then, all at once, engaged every last muscle in his body.
He leaped forward and tackled his enemy to the ground. The force of the onslaught was enough to knock aside several of the others around it, and drop the next one behind it. Soon there was a car made of living flesh that Scar drove with his jaws, and it was getting bigger with each successive impact, each successive body bolted on to the pile.
A quick left-right twist of his head tore out his target's throat and ended its life. And now the path to Simba was-more or less-clear. Better yet, the boy hadn't gawked and frozen up at the awe his uncle had just managed; he stayed aware and useful, just like he had been taught. And when his uncle was close enough, he dropped down from the tree and allowed the dark lion to take him by the scruff of his neck.
And, just when each of the lions thought they were in the clear, Hell itself broke loose. The dam of writhing bodies Scar had created was overwhelmed, all at once, by no fewer than a half dozen of the biggest, strongest wildebeest he had ever seen.
No time to think, only to act. Dash up to the rock wall and scamper high enough to deposit Simba on safety, and then brace yourself before the raging beasts batter you down and carry you away.
The last shock of wavy black mane disappeared into the herd. Scar was gone-vanished-trampled to pieces beneath a thousand pounding hooves. Simba screamed so loudly that he heard it, even over the chaos, even over the beating of his own heart in his own chest.
And then a motion. A movement. One beast was knocked aside by some unseen force, and then, all at once, Scar fought to his feet and leaped for the rockside. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he began to muscle his way up the sheer textureless surface, to where his brother stood on a stable outcropping, several meters away from the chaos.
Mufasa reached down to Scar. The dark lion reached for him-and fell down, almost into the same Hellhole that he'd just escaped. Only an unseen fracture in the rock formation broke his fall.
The Lion King swore. Then he met eyes with his son.
"Get away from there!" he thundered. "It's too dangerous. Climb to safety, Simba. Now!"
A charging bull bashed up against the rockside. Simba stumbled and nearly careened over the edge, but he caught himself and shrieked an assent to his father. Then he turned into a nearby crevice, a fissure of shattered rock and sand, and started to climb.
It was almost peaceful in that little tunnel. Almost. The earth trembled and shook, but the worst of the roar of the charge was dampened. And there was nothing to see. Nothing but stone and dust and the distant light at the end.
Simba felt himself crying. He swore and rubbed the back of his paw across his visage and then climbed faster. Kings didn't cry. Not even if they were just future kings. And besides, everyone was going to be alright. He was alright, his father was alright, and as soon as Uncle Scar climbed back up and locked paws with the Lion King, he'd be alright, too.
Simba felt himself start to smile. Just a little bit. And that expression held, even as he emerged from the tunnel. He saw Scar's pain as Mufasa's claws sank into him, saw his father's body pull with all the force it had, and for the briefest moment his heart began to beat again as his uncle's head crested the top. And then, suddenly, Scar's hind legs had no purchase, claws scrabbling for a hold that wasn't there.
He saw Mufasa's grip loose and Scar fell against the mountain, sliding lower. Scar pulled himself up, terror in his eyes, and Simba saw his father nearly go over as he reached for his uncle. Scar roared out-and then, as Mufasa pulled again, Scar slipped.
The hind legs broke free, pebbles spraying from the canyon wall.
Mufasa's grip on his brother gave out, Scar's body suspended for one moment before he fell.
His mouth opened, fear in his eyes, "Mufasa!" ripping from him as he fell.
And then-then he was gone. Simba stared where he had landed, nothing but wildebeest trampling over him. He looked over at his father and saw him still halfway over the cliff. Mufasa stared down at that same spot, stunned, unmoving.
Scar was dead.