Work Text:
Simba was dead.
Nala squeezed her eyes shut. Her best friend was gone. Everything hurt at the mere thought of it. They had just been running through the savannah the other day, tricking Zazu and getting punished by their mothers. Simba had affectionately bumped her shoulder at the end of it, telling her that soon they were going to go hunting, real hunting, and they’d learn better ways to play with that bird.
And now he was dead.
She tried not to cry. It had been weeks; she should have run out of tears by now. Instead, her eyes were as wet as ever. Nala sniffled as she lay in the gloomy cave, her tail flopped beside her, her snout buried in her paws.
“Again?” Scar groaned, reminding her that she wasn’t the only one in the pride’s den. Reminding her that Simba wasn’t the only one dead. His dad, the king, was gone too.
Leaving behind a lion that didn’t seem to care for the loss the pride felt.
“Can someone shut these crying kids up?” Scar snapped, rising to his haunches from the back of the cave. He had taken Mufasa’s spot almost immediately, setting up camp as though he had been waiting for this moment all his life.
Maybe he had. Simba had once called him a kooky uncle, but Nala had always been more than a little scared of him. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at Simba, like a lioness on the hunt, or the sharp way he spoke. There was a cruelty in him that Nala couldn’t find the words for.
And now his glare was directed at her, and she couldn’t breathe. Her sobs choked her throat, but she didn’t dare make a sound.
He could kill her. He would kill her. Every part of her felt this.
Golden fur blocked her sight and Nala remembered how to breathe. She looked up to find Sarabi’s familiar back, the lioness blocking her entirely from Scar’s view.
“Mufasa…” Sarabi stopped, her voice thick with emotion. Her claws extended slightly, digging into the dirt as though to ground her. “Their deaths were just a few weeks ago. The cubs are still grieving.” She paused again, her voice cracking slightly. “We all are.”
“Is that so?” Scar asked callously, every word as a bite. Nala could hear him move, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached Sarabi. She didn’t have to see him to know his eyes were glinting in the dark. “It has been weeks.”
“It has only been weeks,” Sarabi retorted, her strength returning to her. She was the only one who dared to challenge Scar like this; the other lionesses had reluctantly accepted the new status quo.
“The king is dead, long live the king,” Scar said, repeating the words he had used that rainy night when everything had come crashing down. They hadn’t sounded right then and didn’t sound right now. “You have had long enough. Get used to it.”
Sarabi repressed a growl. “They’re just cubs.”
“They’re noisy.” Scar didn’t bother to hide his malice. He glared at Nala when she peeked through Sarabi’s feet. Did he remember her from her days with Simba? “I’m trying to rest. Take her hunting.”
Sarabi stiffened. Her tail lowered, her ears flattened. Nala tried not to gasp at the obvious signs of aggression. The lioness ground out, “She isn’t old enough yet. None of the cubs are.”
“If she wants to eat, then she needs to start pulling her weight,” Scar snapped, drawing up his full height. It wasn’t as impressive as Mufasa’s, but in the dark he looked like a monster, as though the shadows only made him stronger. “There are lots of mouths to feed.”
Yet, Sarabi was not one to be cowed that easily. She snorted, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Perhaps the hyenas can start feeding themselves.”
“Or perhaps I can feed her to the hyenas,” Scar shot back. He smirked when Sarabi flinched. Turning around, he sauntered back to his spot. “Take her hunting.”
Sarabi’s claws dug into the ground once more before she sighed and lowered her head. Gently, she nudged Nala, giving her an affectionate lick on her forehead. “It would be better if your mother taught you this, but we don’t have a choice here. Come along, Nala.”
“Y-yeah,” she whimpered, eagerly trailing after Sarabi out of the caves. Anywhere was better than here, with Scar’s frightening presence.
The only problem was that everywhere outside was saturated with Simba’s presence. There was the space where they both got groomed by their mothers’, trying and failing to escape a bath. Here was the rock where they had a roaring competition. And over there was where they giggled as they hid from Zazu, accidentally alerting him to their presence.
They played everywhere, from dawn to dusk. All they had really needed was each other, though a little help from the wildebeests or hippos had never gone unwelcomed. Simba always had the best ideas, dragging in other animals until their games covered the entire savannah.
Nala’s ears twitched and she glanced around. That was odd. The wind rustled the long grasses, hiding her from the sun, but aside from that she couldn’t hear anything. It was quiet, too quiet. No chirping birds, no grunting hippos, not even the trumpet of an elephant.
“Where—” she started to ask before cutting herself off.
The answer was obvious. Where? The hunt. The ever-increasing hunt.
Her mother had once told her of the circle of life, how all things were connected. The playmates they made could end up on the dinner menu one day. Yet, it had always been limited, the kills spaced out to keep everything in balance.
The hyenas made that impossible. They always needed to eat, always asked for more. The lionesses had to return with more and bigger prey. If there were any herbivores near Pride Rock, they had either fled or were in hiding.
They would never dance or sing with her again, like they had done with Simba.
Her eyes started to water once more, her sight growing blurry. Nala sniffled.
“Nala?” Sarabi stopped, turning to look at her. Bending down slightly, she gently licked the top of Nala’s head, pulling her closer with a paw. “Shhh, it’s ok. Let it all out.”
Her sniffles grew into sobs and Nala pressed her face into Sarabi’s leg. “He’s dead,” she wailed. “Simba’s dead!”
“I know,” Sarabi soothed, her voice breaking as she gently nuzzled Nala. “I know.”
“Why’d he have to die?” Nala cried harder. It was all too much, all too soon, all too sudden. “I don’t want him to be the grass, I want him here with me!”
“I know,” Sarabi repeated, her voice cracking as she comforted Nala. “It hurts. It’s hard.”
A salty drop hit Nala’s nose and she peeked up to find Sarabi blinking away a tear. That only made her want to cry harder. “I miss him.”
“Me too.”
Sarabi nuzzled her once more as she cried, waiting patiently for her sobs to slow down. It was only when Nala finally started hiccupping that Sarabi stepped back. She lowered her head so they could see eye to eye. “Feeling better?”
“No.” Nala hiccupped, her ears and tail flat. “Why is Scar the king? I hate him.”
Sarabi chuckled mirthlessly. “You’re not the only one. Unfortunately, just like the circle of life, that is how it works. He is the next king.”
“Can’t we get a new one?” Nala pleaded, staring up at Sarabi with watery eyes. “He’s scary.”
“Dangerous words, little one.” Sarabi glanced around, her ears twitching as she checked their surroundings. When she confirmed they were alone, she sighed and relaxed. “Make sure you don’t repeat that in earshot of anyone.”
Nala nodded reluctantly.
“Good.” Sarabi smiled slightly. “I would like that too, but, unfortunately, he’s here to stay. Who knows, perhaps he’ll improve.”
There was nothing in her voice that sounded like she believed it. Nala narrowed her eyes. “Do you really think so?”
“No,” Sarabi admitted immediately, disdain dripping in her voice. “I’ve known him for years and he has only grown worse with power.” She sighed again, glancing at Pride Rock. “Still, I have to hope. We’re stuck with him. Perhaps the weight of the crown will help him come to his senses, one day.”
One day. That sounded so far away. That sounded like it would never happen.
If only Simba were here. He always knew what to do, to say. He could even make the scary Scar smile. Maybe if he were here, their new King would be nicer.
And if not, they could have pranked him together.
Nala’s sight grew blurry again and she sniffled. “I hope so.”
“Don’t worry, little one. Your mother and I will protect you.” Sarabi gently nudged her head with her snout. “We can’t go back yet, sadly. Wait here and I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?” Nala asked.
“He’ll be expecting something.” She snorted, annoyed. Standing up, Sarabi rolled her shoulders and stretched her back. “I’ll catch something small we can take back.”
A hunt. Nala shivered. It had always sounded so fun before, learning to hunt. She’d become a real adult then, catching prey just like the other lionesses. But then, she had always imagined learning with Simba, comparing their catches and bragging to one another.
Now, it was almost a punishment. Would Scar expect her to do more in the future? The hyenas certainly would. They were always lurking in every nook and cranny, wanting more, craving more. Would her mother and Sarabi have to keep taking her out like this, telling her to hide while they caught the prey? What if they got injured?
What if they never came back?
Simba was dead. No amount of tears would change that. Simba was dead and Scar was the king and Nala didn’t have time to cry about it anymore.
“No.” Nala blinked away her tears, forcing herself to stand strong. “I’ll go too.”
Simba was dead but she was alive and Nala had to do everything she could to protect what was left of her family.