A/N: Hello everyone!

If you were active in this section of starting from the end of August to early/mid November 2011, you may remember a story very similar to this one. In fact, this is the same story, only with much, much more depth, emotion and length. I will refrain from giving a long-winded explanation as to why I am doing this (for that, please see the final chapter of my story "Reprisal") For now, I will just return to my former chapter-starting quip: Onward!

CAPTIVE

Prologue

"Simba, what have you done?"

The dark lion watched as the weeping child before him tried, and failed, to articulate his words into an understandable sentence. How could he? His dead father lay mere inches behind him. Any other being, with heart and soul and everything else, would have been filled with sadness and pity at the sight before them, but not Scar. These qualities had been stripped from him long ago, leaving this empty shell behind. Not that he cared, really. This was the way he had grown to like it.

"I… I – I – I didn't… I couldn't… I tried to... he… he…Oh please!"

Simba collapsed into fresh tears once more, overwhelmed by grief and panic. He fell forward and clung to his Uncle's leg, sobbing into the wiry fur that covered it.

"Help me," he choked, "I… don't… know… what… to…do."

The effort of forcing out a coherent phrase took its toll, and visibly so. The agonising howls emitting from the cub only intensified. The adult lion placed a paw on his back, in mock sympathy. As he rhythmically stroked up and down his nephew's back, he cast his gaze towards his fallen brother. It was no wonder the cub was so traumatised: the fallen king was completely battered from his forced-descent from the cliff face. His whiskers crumpled, his eyes shut, blood slowly seeping from all manner of wounds, he was almost unrecognisable. His grandiose golden fur was dusty and unkempt looking, as well as streaked with scarlet. His sleek auburn mane seemed dull in comparison to its former condition. The huge paws on the end of limbs of rippling muscle were sprawled in all directions, a result of the impact. Looking at him, it gave Scar grotesque satisfaction. He had gotten exactly what he wanted, and then some. The sight of Mufasa so destroyed-looking was a bonus.

Now, all that was left was to finish what he had started.

"Well, Simba," Scar said, quietly, "You daren't return to Pride Rock."

The cub quickly looked up, confused, scared-looking, his giant amber eyes bulging from their sockets.

"But… I-"

"Surely you didn't think you could go back?" the dark lion continued, taking inward glee from this, "You thought the rest of the Pride would welcome you back with open arms? The one responsible for the death of their king?"

The final sentence seemed to descend upon Simba like a boulder dropped from a ledge. His tiny eyes only grew wider with fear, tears still tumbling. He shrank away from his Uncle's touch, turning to stare at his fallen father. He began to shake violently, his breathing becoming much more shallow and rapid.

"Obviously not as smart as we all thought," Scar said, icily, "your father seemed to be doing such a good job…"

He supressed a laugh. Oh, how he was enjoying this. Drawing out the suffering of his nephew, a source of infinite problems for him, was almost therapeutic. He only wanted to continue, unable to stop himself.

"What will your mother think when she finds out? Oh, the shock may just kill her. My, who knows what she would do if she actually saw you."

Simba flattened himself to the floor of the gorge, his eyes shut, yet still streaming with tears.

"It was an accident!" he wailed again, "I didn't mean for it to happen! I didn't mean for anything to happen…"

"Oh of course, of course you didn't," Scar said, pulling Simba into an embrace once more, "of course you didn't set out to kill your own father."

He subtly accentuated the final four words, if only to hammer his point home more.

"And yet, here we are… the King is dead."

The cub in his paws fell silent, perhaps turning these thoughts over and over in his head. His nephew in his grasp seemed so impossibly small: one clench or swipe of his claws and it would all be over. His bony neck could be snapped in an instant… a quick slash of the throat and he would breathe no more… but this was not an option. It couldn't be. Simba was to be payment to Scar's loyal servants, yet a simple carcass would not be enough. The satisfaction of the chase and the killing was a big part of it, one he didn't want to deprive them of. He had already had his fair share through his brother, and oh how satiating that had been. Years of resentment and bitterness instantly quenched…

He let the silence linger a while longer. He let his paw travel the length of Simba's back before he spoke again.

"Don't worry, Simba," he whispered, "Uncle will help you."

The cub looked up, still drenched in his grief.

"What do I do?" he breathed, his tone-of-voice almost begging for solace.

Scar quickly glanced into the distance. He could very faintly just about see the outline of the three hyenas slowly approaching, growing impatient.

"Run away, Simba," he whispered.

His nephew continued to stare up at him.

"Wh-what?"

"Run. Don't look back. Get as far away from here as you can. Never return."

The cub didn't move.

"Go!"

Simba was stunned beyond speech. His eyes still wide, still staring, first to Scar and then to his father's corpse, he stumbled away, running down the gorge, around the corner and out of sight, without a word to anyone.

Scar watched him go, not turning around. He sensed the hyenas behind him not to soon after, not needing to turn around and look. He already knew what they wanted.

"…kill him."

That was all the prompt they needed. The three of them shot off in pursuit of the cub, saliva flying from their jaws in all directions, howling and cackling as they went. As much as Scar would have liked to follow, and sadistically watch his nephew's final moments, he knew there wasn't time. He had to return to Pride Rock, practice his fake sympathy, prepare a eulogy that could make even the most stony-hearted lion weep through the night… looking at the dead lion before him for a final time, he turned around and began the journey home.

He had travelled merely a few meters away when something made him stop in his tracks, and his blood run cold. A cough.

A cough.

Whipping around, he hurriedly backed away into the shadows and out of sight, and watched, disbelieving, as Mufasa raised his head where he lay, looking around.

By the gods… NO.

The impossible was unfolding right in front of him. His brother, who moments before had Scar so convinced that he was dead, was now most definitely alive. The dark lion watched as Mufasa regrouped his splayed limbs and slowly, yet surely, stood up.

Every single one of Scar's instincts told him to attack, tear out his weakened opponent's throat, seal the deal… but he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot in complete shock…

"Simba?" Mufasa croaked, looking around again, searching through the mist for any sign of his son.

Wincing in pain, he took a step forward, and then another, searching for any sight or smell of Simba, but it was impossible. The stench of dust, wildebeest and his own blood made any trace of the cub completely hidden. Staying completely silent, he turned (Scar shrank back further) and slowly made to leave the gorge, headed in the direction of Pride Rock.

Scar watched him go, latching onto a low platform jutting out from the wall of the gorge and clumsily clambering over it. Any chance of Scar's success left with him.

Seething, yet unable to express it without giving away his position, Scar swatted at the air, screwing his eyes shut and digging his claws into the earth. He was completely doomed. Whether or not Mufasa would kill him, or just leave him to rot in the desert, was unclear, but of what he did know, he knew his seemingly flawless plan was now completely ruined.

Amidst the chaos of his thoughts, a sudden idea came flashing to the forefront of his mind. He had to stop for a moment to process it, before his heart began to beat faster and faster, the excitement within him growing. A grin slowly spread across his face: this was his last chance to regain control of the situation. Were he to succeed, he would be completely unstoppable. He let his gaze slowly travel down the gorge, following the path his nephew had taken only minutes before…

With that, he began to run in that same direction. He only hoped he wasn't too late, that he could beat the hyenas before his plan was ruined again.

And as he ran, a bizarre mantra drummed in his head, along to the rhythm of his strides.

Use the cub.

…So? Hope you liked it. Stay tuned!

I can't wait to get this story up off the ground.

See you in the next chapter!