Scar nodded.
"Of course, Mufasa," he said, "I'd be happy to help you."
"Thank you Scar," Mufasa said, "And I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault that Simba got sick,"
"No. I'm sorry I punished you. I know you didn't mean any harm. I know you meant it as a joke. But Simba could have died. If Sarabi and I had lost Simba I wouldn't have a life worth living anymore."
That's what I like to hear, Scar thought to himself.
"I can imagine," Scar replied, "I will see you at the end of the day. See you later Mufasa."
Scar left and went to take care of his brother's responsibilities.
By the time Scar returned to Mufasa's cave, Mufasa was in tears.
"What's wrong brother," Scar asked.
"It's Simba," Mufasa choked out, "He died."
Scar looked over at Simba's body gently cradled by his mother.
"Oh Mufasa… Sarabi I am so sorry. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now.
He hugged his brother.
"I thought you might be gleeful," Sarabi said looking up, "I mean you were angry when Mufasa punished you."
"That doesn't mean I don't love my brother. It doesn't mean I didn't love my nephew. Have you never been angry with what has been done?"
"Of course," Sarabi replied.
"Exactly," Scar said, "I feel my brother's pain."
He laughed inwardly.
One year passed. Every day Mufasa and Sarabi were filled with misery. Then one night Mufasa saw a light fill his cave.
"Mufasa!"
It was his father; Ahadi,
"Father? What are you doing here?" Mufasa asked.
"You are a good king," Ahadi replied, "You are a wonderful son and you are an even better father."
"You're a little late to the party, Dad," Mufasa said sitting up, "I'm not a father anymore."
"Son," Ahadi said, "Remember what I told you. I have a job for you to do. If you complete the task I will be allowed to give you your reward."
"My reward?" Mufasa asked, "What is my reward?"