A/n: One of my favorite things about writing stories is the plot twists. Every multi-chapter fic (and many of my one-shots) have some sort of twist that makes my jaw fall. But this twist is something special. It came completely out of the blue and at the last minute, and it works so marvelously with the rest of the story. So even though I've written some good surprises in stories of long ago, this may be one of the most stunning developments I've ever written.

This chapter also contains a few references to After the Roar, but you still don't need to read it to understand them. Everything is self-explained and self-contained, although my readers who enjoyed After the Roar will appreciate them the most.

Finally, the titular character of this chapter is pronounced "a-HENN-ay." It's a Twi word meaning—well, you'll see.

Chapter 3: Ahene

Blood.

The life of the flesh, and the king of stains.

Too little of it, and you die; but if you get it in your fur, it's not coming out.

Some lions are lucky. Black and brown manes hide it well enough; they look a little glossy and wreak of salt. But if one's fur is tawny or blond, everyone can see it. And if one's fur is white? Well, it's in the gods' hands now. One has a great sanguine tattoo, and all one can do is wait until spring for the fur to shed.

But if you're a king? You should hold your head high. You're spilling the blood of your enemies, and every stain is a trophy. Even if your whole face and mane were red, no one would touch you, and everyone would fear you.

Alas, the white lion wasn't so lucky. It was a little blood—a smudge on his face, some splotches on his mane, a dozen wayward drops splattering his muscular belly. He didn't look battle-hardened or feel like a conquering hero; he just looked stained. And since he was half a day's walk from the nearest river, the stains were permanent.

But such was life. If you're a lion, blood is part of your world. You have to hunt, and you have to fight; you spill it to live, and you spill it to keep others alive. And since war was a thing in Ahene's kingdom, the only thing better than coming home a hero was coming home alive—which is quite a remarkable thing when the Sambuku are your enemies.

That insane asylum of a pride started a war last year; they believed the land was theirs by divine right, and Ahene and his pride were the trespassers. On a moonless night, the Sambuku launched an assault from all four directions, and the loss was steep. Ahene had already lost three lionesses to these desecrators, and this surprise attack cost him four more. But then he got word of something stunning: One of the Sambuku's informants was stupid enough to show her face in the rocky valley along the western border. It was a rogue lioness who called herself Zira, with a hole gouged in her ear and a chip on her shoulder the size of Pride Rock. Ahene knew he had to go alone. He'd already lost enough troops, and it was just one lioness, so he went out there, ignoring the protests of his pride.

When he arrived in the rocks, he saw the lioness, silhouetted in the morning sun. She was hiding among the rocks, bathing and grooming herself, and she was oblivious to the Forest King's presence. Just as she turned her head and saw something moving in the grasses, he sprang forth and heaved her into the ground, and he told her to beg for her life or face a death so horrific that only the gods could numb her pain. But it wasn't Zira. It was another lioness. Binti, the Sambuku's youngest and newest recruit. She too had a hole gouged in her ear, and her face had a weird crookedness like Zira's. That's when Ahene knew he had been duped. Zira must have known she had been discovered, and she must have put Binti there to arrange the escape, perhaps putting that hole in her ear to complete the ruse. At once, Ahene remembered a proverb his father taught him: Do not make your enemy chase you; make your enemy chase your friend. That's what Zira did, and it worked to perfection. Now she was long gone, and only the gods knew where she was.

He started to curse himself for his own stupidity and repent to the gods for his carelessness—and then he remembered something a little too late.

Binti wriggled out from his grasp and broke loose. She unleashed herself upon him in furious abandon, and it was all fur and roars and claws flying and fangs snapping. He felt blood flying and skin cleaving before he got his wits about him and threw his claws across her throat. As he watched the light go out of her eyes, he he remembered another proverb from his father: Do not think hard or long about your war. Fight so you can live to think another thought. Ahene knew he had obeyed it too late, and his bloodstains were not a cause for celebration—they were a cause for shame. And as he began the long march home, he brooded with every step, grumbling under his breath.

A cloud blocked the sun and gave him a shaft of shade for the last mile of the journey, but it drifted away just as his pride came up to meet him, giving everyone the full view of at his scars and stains in their crimson infamy. But a glare from him put an end to any hope of a conversation, and they gave him a bow and offered their reverent mutterings. His queen said something about a kill that had just been made, but he let out a rueful sigh and slunk over to the creek to have his fill, and a young male crouched down beside him and lapped at the sunlit water.

"I told you not to go alone," the young lion muttered between sips. "I told you to take the pride with you, but you didn't listen."

"It was one assassin," Ahene grumbled.

"But it could have turned into something worse. And from the look of things, it did."

Ahene glared at him out of the corner of his eye, but kept drinking.

"Zira wasn't there," said the younger lion. "It was someone younger and stronger."

"Enough, Baraka."

"Father, you are too old to be noble," said the young lion as he lapped at the beads of water on his cheeks. "Your nobility is turning into sentiment, and it's making you a fool."

"And you are lazy and thoughtless, and you don't care about anyone but yourself."

"It's the only luxury I have," said Baraka. "We live in a tiny corner of the world. My sister is first in line to the throne. I have friends in the Sambuku, and you want me to treat them all as traitors. I don't have to care about anything except my own amusement." He lifted his head from the water, and he loosed the last drops with a shake of his mane. "Well, if it please you, I'll say something that concerns you: You're losing your mane, you're blind in one eye, and I could still whisper into your left ear without your knowing it. The strength of the army is its weakest soldier, and that soldier is you. Your pride knows it, Mother knows it, and you know it."

A terrible pause fell over the river, and Ahene stopped lapping at the water and stood there with his head dangling, drips falling from his chin. His reflection twisted and danced in the water, but the scars and wounds from battles of old were all over his face, and his glazed-over left eye blinked back at him.

"Even a soldier has to die, Father," said Baraka gently. "But no one should have to die for you."

With a quaky breath, Ahene turned to his son and gave him a teary gaze. "That's why I went out there today," he said softly. "I was ready to die if it came to it. If anyone had to go out there and put himself in harm's way, I couldn't let anyone else go with me." But with a rueful sigh, he shook his mane and padded away from the river, and Baraka trotted close beside. "Even so, I should have listened to you. Zira wouldn't have been so careless as to show herself; and even if she were, she would have been a mighty foe. She joined Sakora's army and trained with his sons, and I don't need to remind you the sort of monsters they were."

"Unfortunately, you don't," Baraka said bitterly. "I will never forgive Sakora for what he did to my first wife. The way he tortured her, the way he forced himself on her, the way he made us watch as he killed her—"

"Mind your words, my son," Ahene said. "We all know what he did, so let us not explore it further. Besides, this fanfiction is to be rated T."

"Yes, yes, of course," Baraka muttered.

"At any rate, the champion who killed Sakora must not go unrewarded. Did we ever get a name?"

"We did," said the young lion. "They call him Simba, the King of Pride Rock."

"Then I shall give him our thanks," Ahene said. "I shall journ to the Pride Lands and deliver them in person. Or do you have any objections, O young and mighty son?"

Baraka chuckled and nuzzled his father on the cheek. "Father, if you want to go to the Pride Lands, I have no complaint," he said. "But at least take Mother with you. She'll want to give her thanks, too."

"My son, have I taught you nothing? We do not withhold our gratitude for even the tiniest deed. If Simba did nothing more than give a single order, and if it is the one that saved us all, we shall lavish him with a thousand gifts and the gratitude of our kingdom."

"Then you and Mother shall go forth and lavish Simba as long as you wish," said the young lion. "But lest you forget, you will need someone to fight in your stead."

"No, I need you to fight in my stead."

"...What?"

"You spoke rightly of me," said Ahene. "I am too old to fight for my land, and it is time that you earned your stains." He swung around and looked his son in the face, standing majestically over him and beaming down at him with pride. "Look alive, my son. You are the new general. You will do whatever it takes to rout the Sambuku from our lands. Be strong and courageous and vigilant, and never forget what I taught you: We live and die for those who can't defend themselves. The present belongs to the living, but the future belongs to the brave, for it is the brave who bring it to pass."

"Father, you just called me lazy!"

"Well, it's time for you to grow up. Now arise, General Baraka of the Forest Pride, and be the king that you are!"

"Father, I can't."

"Yes, you can, and you will!"

Without warning, the shrubs parted in a sharp rustle, and Baraka and Ahene lifted their heads as a lioness strode through. It was Queen Morowa, tawny and solemn, the princess of another mighty pride, and her peaceful and joyful face was stern and grave. "Ahene, Baraka, I have something to tell you both."

"I know, love," said Ahene. "Zira got away, and she's falling in with the Sambuku's allies—"

"It's not about Zira," said the queen, struggling to hold back her sobs. "It's about Ashanti."

"Oh, not this again," Baraka muttered. "She wants to ruin her life; we might as well let her."

A thick silence fell between them, and anger twisted the queen's face With a growl, she hurled his paw across Baraka's face and gritted her teeth in anger. "Don't you ever speak of her like that again. She is your sister!"

"She's also a traitor," Baraka snapped. "She was supposed to join the war, and she ran off like a coward. And now, she's been trying to act like a victim of a horrible crime. 'Oh, I'm pregnant!' 'Oh, I've been abandoned!'"

"Well, apparently, she was," said Morowa, her face darkening with anger. "She met a lion at the edge of the desert. He took her in and bore her a son, and he left her for another girl."

A stunned silence fell over the grassland, and the apathy and disdain in Baraka's face twisted into rage. "Cowardice! Treachery! Insolence!" he said. "Who's the traitor who defiled my sister? I want a name!"

With a cold sigh and a deepening scowl, Morowa uttered a single name: "Simba."

With a snarl and a whip of his tail, Baraka paced across the grass, letting out growls with every step. "That treacherous pig, that verminous blighter, that maggot-riddled dog. We're marching on the Pride Lands now!"

"Baraka, we can't."

"We have to. That's my sister!"

"We're in a war. If we left, we'd be giving the Sambuku our land."

"If they want it, they can have it! I don't care if my sister is a traitor; she's still worth a million acres. We'll make Simba marry her and raise her child, and we'll be in the Pride Lands forever. If we can't, we'll tell his people what a traitor he is, and the Pride Lands will be ours. Either way, we're leaving this war zone. We're getting a kingdom worth the name. We'll have allies on all sides, and the world will bow down and say, 'All hail Ashanti, Queen of the Pride Lands! All hail Baraka, champion of Pride Rock!' I'll make you proud of me, Father. I know I will!" And with a jubilant smile, he spun around and marched through the trunks as he roared, "OSEI! AKUA! EFUA! YOUR GENERAL IS GOING TO WAR!"

The young lion vanished into the grass and barked his orders, and the lionesses rose up and gathered around him as he slunk down the hill. Behind them, Ahene and Morowa followed him, looking on with pride and delight. "He's just like his sister," Ahene said softly. "Stubborn and brazen."

Morowa gave something of a shrug and kept smiling warmly. "Something he picked up from you."

Ahene chuckled softly as she gave him a nuzzle, and he purred as she tucked her head beneath his chin. "Oh, I hope he's ready for this," said the queen. "He's still so young..."

"Baraka said we need someone younger to take charge of things, and there's no one better than someone who has everything to fight for."

"I agree, darling. But Baraka is not a stupid lion. Eventually he'll know we're leading him on."

"But for now, he thinks he's in charge, and we'll let him think that. It's time for him to earn his stains, and this is how he'll do it. He is his father's son, after all."

Morowa gave a reluctant smile and stared out at her son. He was still strutting proudly and looking completely enthralled with himself, and the queen answered it with a weary sigh. "That's what I'm worried about."