A/N:

Yes, I'm back... and yes, it's with another random Scar-centric one-shot. This one was actually written for the Writing Challenge on the My Lion King forum (a great site for you TLK fans, by the way (:). Enjoy.

Sixty-two feet.

That was the height of Pride Rock. I knew so firsthand, through all the times I had walked across the promontory and studied the hulking mass that was its dazzling peak. The listless bouts of staring and studying the hub of my former kingdom—the key word being, of course, former. For now, at this time, I was falling. Brutally experiencing gravity as it pulled me downwards… through all sixty-two of the feet which had separated me from the cold, rocky ground below.

My nephew, Simba, spared me but a passing glance over the ledge. This supposed prince, perceived as the epitome of righteousness and salvation, hardly batted an eye. The usurper didn't offer me help. Oh no. He was beyond that point, notwithstanding the fact that he was the one who had thrown me roughly off my throne in the first place. Of course, it was easy to watch, and easy to be a spectator of an uncle's downfall. But it was significantly less amusing to experience it firsthand.

I couldn't see very well. Everything was twirling around, mixing and blending dizzily as I plummeted hopelessly. Nothing had clarity. There were only intangible blurs of dazzling colors—and then the flame. Bright flickers of red and orange accented every other shade and hue, overwhelming me with the sheer confusion and disastrousness of the situation. Shots of fiery pain rolled through my shoulder as I collided with the sharp edge of a rock, and then bounced… only to land on another harsh, jagged edge. And then a third. I hadn't even reached the ground yet, but could still feel the flesh-piercing tips of the boulders as they coated me with bruises and gashes.

I had but moments to ponder all of this, to think about the strange set of circumstances that had led me to this point. For I was absolutely, irrevocably sure of one thing: I would die once I hit the ground. One way or another, I would. The only question was how life would choose to extirpate me. Perhaps I would be shown mercy—maybe my very spirit would leave my body from the brute force of the collision, and that would be the end of the story. I would die by falling. But on the other hand, life had never struck me as being merciful. Cruel and bloodthirsty, yes, but merciful… no. Chances were higher that I would scrape by the impact with my life, too battered and bruised to stand, and then would succumb to the heat of the flames. Like a piece of unwanted meat, I would end up being roasted alive. But no, that didn't seem… right… either. It wasn't severe enough. Maybe somehow the flames would be extinguished instead, and I would be left to die alone, left to suffer and writhe in pain through my final moments…

Crack!

As predicted, the first option was momentarily disproven. I lay on the ground, a sudden and acute pain forming in my chest—certainly a causation of the jarring impact I had just experienced. I had shattered a rib: I knew it. It was absolutely irrefutable. Blood began to seep from my wounds, and I tensed up in fear of my own vulnerability. I was defeated and left for dead, broken and injured. But the rib was not the sole source of my newfound despair… and neither were the painful scratches peppered across my sprawling form. For something else was crushed inside. Something… more. Deeper…

I looked up. Pride Rock seemed so far away—indeed, at this point, it was merely an irretrievable star in the distance. Something that had been cast away, forever out of my reach. The one who had so callously overthrown me was gone. He had slithered off the rock face, just like the two-faced serpent he was. Now I was on my own, abandoned to my fate… whatever it was. But then I received a prick of hope. A small, faint light of ambition trickling into my spirit. Maybe my allies, the hyenas, would find him and finish the job. Maybe they'd slaughter him for his strike against me. Maybe, just maybe, they'd…

My thoughts trailed off, unfinished. What? What would they do to him? Most of them were dead, having been killed by the lionesses. The others had run away like the cowards they were. I had not a single supporter, and there was no one behind me to back me up: I had been betrayed by my own loyalists.

That was when I heard the roar. First one, then others. An earth-shattering chorus which seemed to be ripping open the still, flame-infested air around me. I shuddered, understanding what this meant. He was the king now. Yes, he was. That very thought only deepened my sorrow, practically rending me in two. For every previous grain of ambition, there was now only hopelessness. And for every victor in battle, there was the pathetic loser. Me. It was my turn. The time for my own crown to be taken. Prince Simba had ascended to my righteous throne, and was now proceeding to dirty it with his paws. He was mocking me. The worst part was the fact that the others accepted him. They accepted his roar, which was, in my eyes, little more than a brusque and hateful jeer towards me. He deserved nothing. He was taking what was mine, and the guilty thief was escaping unpunished. I would not, could not let this happen. Not while I was still alive, which I was—my heart continued to beat resolutely, and my lungs were still respiring... even if each breath caused a sharp and jagged pain to surge through my battered, damaged chest. There must have been a reason for this, for my remainder in the mortal realm… unless, of course, life was joining in the joking as well; unless… unless this was merely another taunt. Another razing torture to be endured. Which, really, was only in character with the slew of torments I had been pitted against. It wasn't fair, and I was quickly growing… weary. Oh, so weary… my body felt heavy as I lay there, slumped weakly and helplessly across the ground. It seeped into my very core, weighing me steadfast to the dark rocks below me. I took a staggering breath, vision swimming as I lifted my head to face the flames which would surely take me…

They were receding, parting themselves and making way for no one. The deadly brilliance of the fire was suddenly submitting to an unseen force. Something was attempting to rescue me, and my salvation was near at hand…

Drip.

A single raindrop greeted me, the wetness of it gently touching my nose… and then silently rolling down, down, down. The singular droplet gathered on the ends of my goatee, before commencing its brief trip to the ground.

My eyes narrowed, and I could feel my pulse quickening behind my temple. Rain. It was there, clear as day. For a single moment, that one drop reflected all the burning light of the dissipating inferno, and shone with a blinding fury. A blinding fury which pitifully matched my own emotions.

It was here. The water I had needed. The water my subjects had needed. The water, which was now trickling down in rivulets from the thunder-split sky—the same sky which was dotted with hundreds of twinkling stars… no, it couldn't be. No.

My brother, Mufasa. It was him—there was no doubt. He had been lying in ambush, just as a predator waits on its prey. The very one whose throne I had taken, the owner of the blood which coated my paws, was anticipating my downfall… for this was surely it. My final chapter. And with the closing of my life, my brother would likewise end the drought I had suffered through for nothing. In the end, I was completely, utterly insignificant, and my valiant efforts had been abated. I could not endure this—it was the death blow… my final obstacle. I knew it was. Every piercing shred of logic suggested it, and every ounce of pragmatism austerely stated that it must be so. But there was something else. An emotion which was much more visceral… and much more stubborn.

I screamed my heart out. The result was a cacophonous, blood-curdling personification of my innermost anguish, yet I was hardly aware of it. All I was acutely conscious of was the warmth trickling and flowing slowly down my face… tears. For the first time since I was a cub, I was weeping. I again drew a shaky sigh, horribly ashamed, as my entreaties did nothing to ease the hurt. The rain still fell, and I still jerked with pain from every uneven breath. Torrents of cold drops saturated my fur, chilling my insides as I shivered uselessly. More and more… the life-giving rains fell, heedless of me. The silvery slivers of wetness themselves were absolutely cavalier and aloof to the pain they were causing. But my brother was not. He seemed to be tickling my pelt maliciously with the droplets, a brutal reminder of all I had done to him.

Something had to change. I would not let my red-head big brother get the best of me this time. Indeed, there was a reason he was dead—or, to put it more aptly, a reason I had killed him. He was not going to dominate me in death as he had in life. This time… this one time, I would beat him. Namely, I would destroy all that he held dear: his son. Just like I had intended to do; nothing had changed. Nothing except the fact that I was now known as a murderer, and that I had suffered possibly grievous injuries. I would not live to see the invigorating light of dawn, as the lionesses would surely be upon me the moment I begat my revenge. My final act would be regicide, and my death would be caused whilst ensuring his.

I ceased to wallow in my self-pity—crying out did nothing. It was only my pitiful and vain entreaty towards the world to cease inflicting pain upon me, which was never hearkened to. There was but one way that Simba would die, and that was if I killed him myself. Just like every other situation I had been in, the only solution was for me to do something on my own. Surely enough, no one was here; no one intended to come to my aid. Slowly and with utmost caution—lest I harm myself more—I rolled onto my stomach, and then proceeded to reach out one of my limbs and plant it on the ground, testing it…

Staggering to my feet there was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. As an object at rest remains at rest, so it would have been easier to stop there and give up. But, with effort, my jarred limbs were able to support my frail and beaten figure. Blood, rain, and sweat mingled and mixed, dripping off my sides and matting my sopping fur. Each breath felt like a sharp stab inside my chest, and it was sheer luck that kept me from toppling to the cold, hardened ground…

I took a single step, watching vapidly as the last of the lapping flames surrendered to the pouring precipitation. Gathering my resolve, I gritted my teeth… prepared to do whatever was necessary…

Wait, what was that? That… shadow?

It was late. The atmosphere was darkening, and the fire was receding quickly. All of this must have been playing tricks on my vision. I glanced at the rock wall—the same one I had fallen down—and watched in plain confusion as my own shadow twisted, mingled, and morphed into another shape… The shape of a lion: larger than myself, with blotches of flame-lit rock accenting the color of the mane; the familiar, red mane…

"No, please…"

To my surprise, I uttered the words aloud, staggering out the syllables under my raspy and uneven breath. I attempted to back up a step, but tripped over an unseen obstacle and fell to my knees in the process. Please… please don't be Mufasa.

I looked up, half-expecting to find my brother twisted with rage and vengeance. Alas, I remembered his murder—I remembered it with more clarity and vividness than I would have liked. For years I had been entirely convinced that he wanted nothing more than to see my blood spilled in retribution, but this was not the case. There, in that shadow, I could barely see his face… and on that face was a countenance of austere sadness, and… pain. Regret.

Mufasa, regretful? No, this had to be some kind of trick…

"Brother."

A faint, surreal voice tickled the inside of my ear, and I stiffened up. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. Indeed, there were surely a myriad of other possible explanations. It had to have been the fire, the loss of blood, the injuries, the fall, the adrenaline—something, anything else…

"What do you want from me?" I staggered backwards as well as I could, my breath catching in my throat as I remained sprawled out and seemingly on the verge of a hallucination… I cringed in fear, not wanting to see that shadow… that calm, brotherly shadow.

"Taka, please… don't be afraid… I don't mean to hurt you."

"Then what do you want to do to me?" I snapped, the long-buried tendrils of anger and animus rising up within me and briefly surpassing the overwhelming fear I was experiencing. "You've made me suffer for long enough, brother… and you're sending the rain…" my eyes narrowed dangerously, body sopping as the water continued to pelt me mercilessly. "You're sending the rain… Why? WHY?"

I knew this was insane; I was probably talking to myself. But that didn't matter. No one else cared, and I was as alone as I always was…

"Brother, I can do many things, but controlling the weather is not within my capabilities. The drought may well continue… But that's not of importance."

"Not of importance? H-How could you say that?"—I gasped for breath—"how could this not be of importance? My kingdom suffered and died under my rule, and they've blamed it on me! Not to mention your son has overtaken Pride Rock…" Staggering to my feet, I growled, not liking to reminisce on past events. But how could I not? Right in front of me—whether a figment of my imagination or an actual apparition—was my brother, the one I had murdered. This was a trick. Another torment. It had to be. How… why… else would he be here? Why?

"I cannot stay for long, Taka. Please… remember. You have received what you have always desired most, by stealing it from me… But I implore you: do not harm my son. I paid all that I could—my life—in being king, but I do not want my son to pay the same price at my own brother's paws."

"No. No, I won't, and I didn't! I didn't get what I wanted, Mufasa. I failed. You always had everything I didn't. What was I supposed to do?" I growled in fury, kneading my claws deep into the rock floor I was standing on. I didn't want to remember—oh no. Not those memories again…

"I apologize, brother, if you felt that way—it was not my intention. But alas, you must learn to appreciate what you already possess."

"Which is what?" I spat the words out in contempt, obviously wondering what response he could conjure up to that… the kingdom? Ruined. The throne? It wasn't mine, anymore… A family? Never would I pride myself in my relatives… especially not him.

"A mate. A mate who truly loves you, and would follow you to the ends of the earth. Indeed, I had Sarabi… but our relationship was not as calm and tranquil as it seemed."

"A-a what?" I momentarily froze. Zira. Yes, I had Zira… But he was still wrong. It was ridiculous—he had to be wrong, somehow… "If she loves me as much as you say, then why isn't she here?"

"Oh, but she will be. She was away on the hunt when my son returned. Right now she searches for you worriedly… and soon she will find you."

I shook my head confusedly, trying to clear of it of the questions that were brimming in my mind. How could he know this? It wasn't possible. No one missed me. No one. … Did they? The shadowy image which had depicted Mufasa slowly began to dissipate, the edges becoming less clear, and more like those of my own proper shadow…

"W-w-wait…" I panted, somehow thinking that my request would slow or halt his departure: it didn't. Slowly, and like a mist, he was disappearing.

"My time here is short, brother. I know you do not want to leave Pride Rock for the sake of your pride… but I entreat you to do so. There is still a chance for you to have a new life, a new life with Zira. Perhaps you will have a family—perhaps you will even be king of your own pride. But you must learn that there are other ways to gain than by taking what others already have. The lionesses and Simba think you dead: there is no shame in leaving this place behind…"

That was it. He was gone. I rubbed one of my temples with a paw, pondering this over… I had to be seeing things. It was ridiculous: I was contemplating taking advice from a shadow. The shadow of my brother, who would surely never forgive me and never think of coming to my aid. Whatever he—or, to be more apt, it—was, it was clearly wrong. I couldn't just leave—

Pitter-patter, pat-pat-pat.

"TAKA!"

I jumped back, barely registering the wet slapping of Zira's paws across the muddy bottom of the nearby promontory: until, of course, she had called my old name so loudly. For a moment, I was surprised… but then I remembered: my brother had said she had been looking for me. And apparently she was. She had found me in the most unlikely of places…

"What happened to you? I thought you were dead! Are you hurt anywhere?"

The question was clearly rhetorical: a mere moment later, she had bridged the gap between us and was already studying me intently, mouth slightly agape as she beheld all of my battle wounds. Then it was back to the original query.

"What happened to you? Why, we've got to take you to the shaman!"

She reached up a paw, but I firmly batted it away, shaking my head in the negative as she prepared herself for the journey across the savanna.

"No! No… they think me dead, Zira. This…" I rasped unevenly again, "… this is our chance." I approached her, making sure that her blood-red eyes caught my gaze as I looked at her gratefully.

"Our chance to what?"

I sighed, glancing at Pride Rock… a land of broken dreams, where the occasional, randomly-instigated victory roar still accentuated the still air. Where everyone knew of my past, and where everyone surely hated me. A place stained by blood and vengeance, to which I could never properly return.

Then my vision found its way back to Zira, and to the vast, picturesque savanna far, far behind her. To a land of unknowns, of new beginnings, and of… companionship. I had made my choice.

"Our chance to leave, Zira."

"And go where?" She asked me quietly, not disinclined to the idea—only curious. I knew she would follow me, that she would go wherever I would go, and that she would make her home in the same place I made mine.

"I don't know…" I gritted my teeth, knowing this was final…

"Somewhere, anywhere, but here…"

In case you wondering, this got in third place out of six submissions, with a whopping one vote. First got three, if I remember... (it's a big site, but a small writer's section x.x) There's also a lot of Simba fans out there, so yeah... there's that. XD Plus I had to submit it early. But I decided to repost it here, hopefully to a better response. :D I know all you guys who've now read through this tend to appreciate my Scar-centric tendencies a lot more, and some of you actually *like* it! (Wow!) XD

The prompt was "What If Scar survived?" Unfortunately, you cannot submit stuff you've already written, even though I've done that about three times now... x.x [ As a side note, another prompt was "What if Ed wasn't a total idiot?", and one of this month's is "What if Simba died in the stampede?" Trampled, anyone? e.o ]

Speaking of which, expect an update as soon as my scatterbrain can sit down and actually write it.

Adiós!

Twin (: