The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter One

(TLKFan here. This fanfiction will be a joint effort between myself and Kovukono, who has been one of my greatest supporters for some years now. I can honestly say that I never had any intentions of returning to The Lion King's universe, but when I watched the film again with a young friend of mine, I was inspired, and this story is the result.

Kovukono: Hi everyone. TLKFan approached me a while back with an idea for a story and we decided to co-write it. While I can't promise any updates to any of my other stories, we are at least going to be updating this consistently from start until finish. I hope you enjoy it.)

It took no more than a moment for the departing majordomo to vanish into the endless sunlit plains. There, somewhere, the proud Lion King patrolled his lands. Perhaps today he'd hear from his supplicants, or plan a hunt, or simply relax in the shade with the lionesses before his wife came back from her reconnaissance mission.

But what was there to patrol? It was spring and the movement of the herds was like clockwork. They'd begin at that little creek to the far south, where a huddle of wizened trees hunched over an oasis like old men over a chessboard. Then, in a few weeks, they'd migrate to the lush forested area to the east. After all the food there was depleted, they'd eat their way west, over the endless soft grasslands, until it was late in the fall. Then they'd scatter to the fringes of the Pride Lands and beyond until the end of winter.

"Perhaps there's been another incursion into our lands," Scar said out loud. "No doubt the fault of the hyenas. Nevermind that they don't have the forces to defend their own lands, oh no, they're doubtlessly scheming to attack us even now."

The very idea was laughable. The meager, anarchic legions of hyenas, face off against lions? Mufasa alone was worth a dozen of them, far more than that in open battle. Scar himself was worth nearly as many, and each lioness could take on more than her share of the enemy that wasn't yet an enemy. The only way hyenas could kill a lion was via ambush, and the only way that would work was if it was a dozen hyenas to one lion. Then they had a prayer of destroying their target before reinforcements swooped in and routed the lot of them.

And Mufasa, in all of his military genius, had sent his wife out to a distant quadrant of the country. All alone, all by herself. Of course he had. Scar only had to touch the gash on his face and remember his namesake to understand why Mufasa had sent Sarabi out there, a dozen miles away from anyone.

Still, he was almost worried. Almost. But Sarabi was a great huntress and almost as great of a warrior. A pack of mangy hyenas couldn't sneak up on her if she was asleep, and Scar had seen her when she was paying attention. No blade of grass shifted without her notice.

But provoking the hyenas, tempting them by sending a feared lieutenant right up to the very edge of their territory, that wasn't enough for Mufasa, oh no. Last night there had been a meeting to which Scar was only invited because he was Mufasa's brother, and the fool-the bloody jingoist had actually floated the idea of staging troops in the hyenas' land. To keep an eye on them, he said. To make sure that they're behaving themselves, he said.

And, Scar had said, how would the hyenas react when the troops were invariably detected? It might take them some time-weeks, maybe-months, even-but eventually, someone would forget to wipe a pawprint, or to stand upwind, or something. Their ire evoked, all the hyenas would rally and eradicate the slight against their pride. Blood to wash the stain away, they'd say, and they'd consider the debt paid.

And then what, he'd asked. Decent lions would be killed, for what? For more accurate reports of how the hyenas were still mired in civil war? How they were still barely scratching life from the rocks and bones of their country? How a few of their fractured armies dreamed of invading the Pride Lands, but hadn't the strength to do so, and knew they didn't have the strength to do so?

His brother had silenced him with a blow that left stars dancing in Scar's vision. It's our right to enter hyena territory as we please; we are lions. And if they harm troops that the Lion King has ordered there, then, in Heaven's name, I will massacre them down to the last child.

Far too much applause had rung out in the den when Mufasa had said that. Roared it, really, so that they could all hear. Some were sycophants, trying to improve themselves in the eyes of their leader. Others were just scared of appearing to question him. But there was a sizable bloc in the pride who-like Mufasa-seemed to dream of a full scale war with the hyenas.

At least then they'd stop their endless civil warring, Scar thought. Predictable. The appearance of a greater, shared threat stops internal squabbling. The absurdity was that Mufasa knew this, or ought to know this, or else the endless hours they'd each spent at their father's feet learning about military theory were all for naught.

It almost saddened Scar that his brother was a madman. Almost. But he'd lived with the reality that the heir to the throne of the Lion King was insane from when he was a child. He'd never gotten along with his brother, ever, and it was only because of tradition that the throne had gone to him when their revered father had died. Ahadi had practically said as much, in one of his last days.

"Protect your brother, Scar," he'd said. "Help me. If you can… advise him. And if it comes to it, if you absolutely have to do it… delay him. Distract him from his obsession with the hyenas. If you don't… our pride will suffer."

Ahadi hadn't known how right he was.

The truth was that this was the golden age, or else, it ought to be. Never had there been such perfect weather for so long, so long that storms themselves were becoming legendary. Never had the herds been so predictable, and reliable, and strong. This ought to be a time of peace and prosperity, of exploration and discovery, and Mufasa was squandering it by balancing on the razor's edge between uneasy peace and all out warfare.

Perhaps madness wasn't the extent of the afflictions he had.

And now-Scar shivered-he had a son. He'd seen little of his nephew so far, but though the lad seemed to be a happy pleasant sort of child, he was his father's son. And he would become his father's heir ideologically sooner or later. Already Scar had heard him make his father laugh by playing with a butterfly and then loudly wishing that it was a hyena's head.

But that didn't make what had to be done any easier to do. No matter that it was for the greater good… it wouldn't be easy to do.

It was at that moment that he heard the sound the pride had grown to abhor in the early morning. Tap-tap-tap-tap, too light to be a lion's, but too loud to be a hunter's. He began to steel himself, but Simba was upon him before he could.

"Hey, Uncle Scar!"

He looked over at the cub. His nephew. And Simba looked back at him with trusting, endearing wide eyes. That perfect age-so happy to learn, to accept. So malleable. Scar sometimes felt a pang of regret that he didn't have any that he could call his own.

"Ah. My favorite nephew," he observed. His voice was all culture and class, frustration buried deep below it. The last time he'd heard "Hey, Uncle Scar," Simba had been covered in elephant dung. The time before that was him showing a bunch of crickets he'd killed. Nothing good ever followed those words. But this time Simba seemed unsoiled. Just excited.

"More like your only nephew," Simba grinned at him. "My dad just showed me the kingdom! It's so big! And it's so great!"

"Indeed," muttered Scar. Hopefully a noncommittal response would put the boy off and he'd go and bother someone else.

"And Dad said I'm going to rule it all!"

"All of it?" asked Scar, mock incredulity in his voice.

"Yeah! Everything the light touches!"

"That's quite a bit of responsibility," Scar rasped.

Responsibility that was going unheeded and unchecked. He remembered his father's open-den policy, no matter was too small for the king's personal attention. Ahadi had been a man of the people, something that Scar had admired. He'd been the one who had gone with his father on the long, tiring walks to inspect everything that had needed inspecting. Mufasa, on the other hand had stopped once he had started getting his mane-and started noticing that girls weren't terrible. The open den policy was maintained, but Mufasa was inapproachable. If he wasn't flexing his muscles at himself, the lionesses were fawning over him, making comments that no Lion King should ever tolerate.

Scar could never have claimed to have good genetics or be particularly strong, but the exercise and tutelage had helped toughen him. Mufasa, on the other hand, seemed to pack it on from simply laying around. Perhaps, in another life, the roles would have been reversed, but Scar didn't have the luxury of dreaming of it. He had the problem here and now. The thick-headed lunk with the ego and testosterone in place of a dim bulb in his head, the one who was not only intent on starting a war, but hellbent on it.

And here was the son of the brute in front of him, happy and wide-eyed, innocent and charming. It reminded him of a younger Mufasa, one who had played lions and hyenas with no true malice behind it. But it was only a matter of time. Without action-radical action-Simba would soon become his father's son.

"If Dad can rule, so can I!" Simba boasted, his chest puffing forward. Scar's lips curled in a smile, half from the ridiculousness of it, and half out of the thought of how little he would miss the prancing about.

"Oh? And what does Daddy do?" asked Scar. "Does he fight hyenas?"

"Yeah! Those nasty, smelly things!" said Simba, bearing his teeth.

"And does he hunt for dinner?"

Simba paused. "Uh...sometimes, I guess." Yes, when his father had the urge to kill and hadn't gotten a decent whiff of hyena in the territory. "The lionesses do it, mostly."

"What about answering the questions of the animals? Listening to their problems?"

Simba snorted. "That's Zazu's job," he dismissed.

Of course it was. Actually dealing with problems, that was Zazu's job, being a pretty figurehead with a mane and a tongue for war, that was the King's job. There was nothing in the child's head but what his father had filled it with. And who could blame him? Mufasa was King. He was strong, intimidating, brash, outspoken, everything that a weak mind would admire. A show of blunt, brutal force, the very thing that empty heads gravitated toward for spectacle or power.

The Hell of it was that there was no unseating him. Scar held no fantasies: if he challenged his brother for the throne, he would lose, and if he didn't die, he'd be exiled, and who would care for the pride then? And rebellion was also out of the question in a pride where looks and bold talk meant more than wisdom and the willingness to listen. Scar was not unmuscled, but next to his brother he was scrawny. That and his dark fur meant that no matter how properly he spoke or how tall he stood, he didn't have the bearing or the demeanor needed to win anyone over to his side.

The boy was the key to it all. Mufasa prized few things in life. He prized his power most of all, but his heir was a close second. He lamented over and over how he had no trueborn child, no one to carry on his name, his line, his beautiful face. Mufasa had scoffed at the thought of anyone remembering his brother in comparison to him-but it had planted the seed in his mind. The idea of what would come after. It was good to be strong now. It was good to be powerful. But people knew him as Mufasa, son of Ahadi. He hated that title, hated it with a passion. He would be Mufasa, King of the Pridelands-and his son, he would bear his name. Simba, son of Mufasa. Mufasa the Great, the Powerful. Mufasa, Crusher-no, Destroyer of the Hyenas. Simba would ensure that his memory remained, telling stories of his father.

Mufasa was strong, powerful, deadly, brutal. But Simba was his weak spot. And only Scar knew it.

"Zazu's job to talk to the subjects, is it?" Scar said. The very idea made him shiver, so he turned away and looked into the distance. "Humor me, Simba. Why is it Zazu's job?"

"Because Dad said so," Simba said simply. "Besides, he's too busy with the hyenas."

"But Simba, have you even seen a hyena?" asked Scar.

"Have you?" the boy countered.

To be honest, Scar hadn't expected the question. It had been so long since he had actually seen one. It had been with his father, the two of them stalking the animal through the tall grass. It hadn't even been a task-they simply needed to follow the trail of blood that was smeared along the ground. It was doubtful that even if they had turned around and gone home, it would have lived. But they found it. Scar saw the viciousness in the beast's eyes, the danger it posed even mortally wounded. But it was alone, something that Scar hadn't ever quite puzzled through. It had proved no challenge. Ahadi stepped to it, closed his jaws, and the hyena was gone forever. Not an execution-a mercy killing.

He didn't say as much to Simba, though. "Oh but I have," Scar said. "A good few of them, just a day or two ago… and they were alone, right on the very edge of our territory."

"Where?" asked the boy. "You better tell Dad! Then he can go and kill them all!"

"I don't think it's worth the King's attention," said Scar, turning away. "Not even the Majordomo's. I'd have gone after them myself, but I had… other predilections."

The trap was laid. A handful of enemy forces, isolated near the Pride Lands. Not worth the attention of the King, but any young warrior who took them out would prove his bravery to everyone. Simba would tell himself that he could handle it, and, in seconds, be captured or wounded. And then Zazu, who was patrolling the skies nearby, would swoop down for a closer look.

From there it would go like clockwork. He'd rush to the King, and the King would react by charging in head first. Scar would join him on the way, and walk Simba to safety while Mufasa did the fighting. And then-shockingly-a previously unnoticed swarm of hyenas would come forth and smother the Lion King until the life was snuffed out of him.

Blood for honor. The hyenas would consider themselves square with the lions, and the King-regent would do the same. Scar would take the throne until Simba came of age, and by that time, he'd know how to rule. He would know how to rule, or else… Scar shook his head. He had years to work on Simba. He wouldn't fail.

But the plan wasn't without risk. Scar himself could be hurt, even killed if he didn't act quickly enough. As for Simba… Simba…

Now that it came down to it, Scar couldn't deny it anymore, not even to himself. It would be a miracle if Simba wasn't killed. In fact, it would be a miracle if Simba wasn't killed before he and Mufasa even got there. The boy might be able to resist for a few moments, he might even be able to run and hide for a bit, but the hyenas would hunt him down and drag him out of whatever hole he shivered in. And then, it would be curtains for him.

A child. An innocent little boy. Scar's favorite nephew. Scar's only nephew.

It was then that Scar became aware of an insistent tapping at his legs. Simba, it seemed, had taken to prodding at his uncle, addressing him repeatedly. Perhaps it had initially been to ask him where the hyenas were, but now it was a game. And now Simba was on his back, striking at his uncle with sheathed claws. Playing with his uncle.

Scar looked around, discomforted by the idea of someone watching them, but in seconds Simba had him playfighting back. Never too roughly, but none too gently either, always for fun, always with good humor.

When they finished, Scar was in a heap and Simba was splayed on top of him as if in victory. He tugged at the dark lion's year, never too roughly, but none too gently either, and Scar concealed a stray tear with laughter. He would never roughhouse with Simba again after that day. No one would ever roughhouse with Simba again after that day.

"Hey Uncle Scar," Simba said, a long time later. "We're pals, right?"

Scar grinned, biting back sadness. "Right."

"So then… just tell me where you saw the hyenas, okay? It's really important for us to deal with them, so that we can protect the pride, the family. Mom, Dad, Sarafina, and Nala, and Zira… everyone. Even you and me. Because that's what being the King is about, right?" he said. "It's about protecting everyone."

The child. The innocent precious child. All he wanted to do was to protect everyone; he couldn't help that he was being brainwashed into thinking that killing hyenas was the same as protecting everyone. And that was why what had to be done would be done. Simba was just… just collateral damage. An unavoidable sacrifice.

"It was just a joke," Scar heard himself say. Then, consciously, he smiled at his nephew. "A joke in bad taste, I admit it, but a joke nonetheless. Now come here, you."

And then he pounced on his squealing nephew and played with him until they were both exhausted. And to himself he swore then and there that no matter what happened, no matter what had to happen to Mufasa, nothing and no one would ever harm a hair on Simba's head.