A Matter of Pride
by Christine Morgan
A Matter of Pride
Christine Morgan (vecna@eskimo.com)
comments welcome
Author's Note: this story is based on The Lion King. All characters herein
are the property of Disney and used without their knowledge or permission.
Author's Note, additional: this story contains scenes of sex and violence.
Mature readers only, please! You've been warned!
The hyenas descended from the rocks, first a few, then a dozen,
then more than the lionesses had ever seen. Scar smiled grimly as their
expressions of grief turned to shock and horror.
Sarabi looked at him with such outrage that he nearly flinched, but
he did not. Was he not now the king? She was nothing now, a former queen,
a widow. All she had ever done for the pridelands was to produce a son, and
that son was now dead. Her only value was as the leader of the hunting
party. She no longer had the authority to defy or disobey him. If he
commanded it, she would have to surrender herself to him.
He opened his mouth with just that intention in mind, but fear
stopped his words before they were more than half formed. Sarabi met his
gaze evenly, as if she knew what he was thinking, knew that he was
remembering the secret they had kept for many years.
* * *
He had been known as Taka then. Taka the weak, Taka the coward,
Taka the lesser prince. He had been cheated of his destiny by only a matter
of minutes, by the pure coincidence that their mother had squeezed Mufasa
first from her laboring womb.
Mufasa had been first in everything. First in their father's favor,
first in the eyes of the rest of the pride. First to hunt, first to roar, first in line
for the throne. Taka, darker and possessing more cunning than strength, had
also been cursed with bad luck. Mufasa's daring exploits as a cub had won
him glory and approval from their father. Taka's own attempts had always
ended in disaster.
Worst of all, Mufasa had been promised Sarabi, the loveliest
lioness in the pride. Did Ahadi, their father, know that Taka had been
secretly fascinated with her since cubhood? Would he have cared if he had
known? It didn't matter. All Taka knew was that his heart filled with
bitterness when the betrothal was announced.
A few days after the announcement, Taka saw Sarabi alone, by a
secluded water hole. He crept closer, spying, coveting the prize that would
soon be Mufasa's. When he caught her scent, he froze. Her mating time, her
heat, was upon her.
Here, at last, was something at which he could be first! He would
have Sarabi!
Taka approached. She kept her head down, her tail swishing
provocatively, as he rustled through the tall grass. He could see her red and
swollen opening, and felt himself growing ready.
He sniffed and nuzzled her under her tail. His excitement built until
he was about to mount her. He rose up, forepaws over her back.
Sarabi looked coyly back over her shoulder, then her eyes widened.
She twisted out from under him, spilling him awkwardly to the ground.
"Taka! I thought you were Mufasa!"
He righted himself, burning with rage at the mention of his
brother's name. "He's off with Father, chasing hyenas." He rubbed his body
alongside hers and nipped at the back of her neck, but again she jerked
away. "He's neglecting you. You're in heat, Sarabi. You need it. You want
it."
"Not from you!"
"Mufasa doesn't have to know. Nobody has to know." He paced
around her, sniffing, panting. "I may not be a warrior, but at some things I
am as much the lion as he."
"No! Go away!"
"Curse you and your defiance, female! I will have you!" He sprang
upon her, snarling. His teeth sank into the loose folds of skin at the nape of
her neck. He thrust, but the angle was wrong and instead of entering her he
collided painfully with her flank.
"I said no!" She whirled. Her paw flashed out, quick as a striking
snake, but somehow slow enough for him to see the sun shining in a crescent
on each smooth claw. It struck him high on the face. One claw ripped across
his eye.
There was an immediate gush of blood. Taka recoiled. Sarabi
gasped and looked at her paw, then in horror at Taka.
He gingerly opened his eye. He could see nothing through it but a
red haze. The sizzling pain had dulled to a throb. "You she-hyena! You've
blinded me!"
"Taka ... I'm sorry," she stammered, backing away.
The flow from the wound was slowing. Blinking several times, he
realized with relief that his eye was still intact, only filled with his own
blood. The skin above and below the eye was split. It would soon heal, but
he would carry that scar, and a new name, for the rest of his days.
* * *
Scar shook the memory away, still feeling the shame and
embarrassment now as keenly as he'd felt it then.
The law said that whoever spilled royal blood was punished with
death. Though only the younger son, he was still a prince. Sarabi, betrothed
of Mufasa or not, should have been executed. She knew this as well as he
did, and must have waited many days in terror for him to accuse her.
He could not. Had he done so, everyone in the pride and indeed
everyone in the kingdom would learn how and why she hit him. He would
become even more of a laughingstock. It was intolerable. He made up a
story about driving off a vicious cheetah that had been intruding on the
pride's hunting grounds. While nobody ever fully believed him, it at least
kept them from guessing the truth.
As for Sarabi, he knew that she would be none too eager to confess
her crime, or the circumstances leading up to it. So they had gone along as if
nothing had happened. She married Mufasa, and when in the course of time
Ahadi died, she became Mufasa's queen.
The secret had burned between them over the years. He had come
to hate her with as much passion as he had ever desired her, while still
desiring her. The birth of Simba had been the final blow. The mate, the
queen, and the cub that should have been his were all Mufasa's, just as
everything had always been Mufasa's.
Now Mufasa was dead. He, Scar, had attained his rightful place as
king of the pridelands. All that had been Mufasa's should now be his. Sarabi
should be his.
She returned his gaze with unflinching golden eyes. In those eyes
he could read her thoughts, asking him if he wanted to lose the other eye or
even his life. She had lost her mate and her son; she had nothing more to
fear. He looked away first.
The rest of the lionesses were still staring at the hyenas, who were
making themselves comfortable on the rocks or devouring the remains of the
lionesses' most recent kill. Cowering among them, her encounter in the
elephant graveyard doubtless still fresh in her mind, was young Nala.
He let an evil grin spread across his face. There was an old custom
that it was time to invoke. He padded down the slope to Sarafina.
"No," Sarafina pleaded, shielding her cub with her forepaws.
"Please, Scar, no."
"It is custom," he said in a tone of sorrow. "When a new male takes
charge of the pride, all the cubs must be slain. It grieves me to do so, but
alas, I must."
All of them were looking at him now, in renewed horror. They
knew his words to be true. Some of the older lionesses had lost their cubs
when Ahadi's father seized the throne from an aged and infirm king.
"Scar, no," Sarabi said. Had she begged, he might have relented,
but she dared speak to him in a tone of command.
"I am king!" he growled. "It must be done."
"She is all that remains of Mufasa," Sarafina said. "Your brother's
own cub! Your own niece! Please, spare her!"
He cuffed her aside and stood over the she-cub. Nala cringed
against the ground, shivering, her blue-green eyes turned up pathetically to
him.
"Poor child," he said. He rested one paw heavily on her ribcage,
feeling it give slightly beneath his weight. "You've lost a father, a king, a
brother, a playmate, and your future mate. All in one day. And now you
must lose your life. A tragedy."
Zazu, that damned bird, flapped down. "Sire, I encourage you to
reconsider," he said. "There has been too much death."
Scar showed Zazu his teeth. "When I want you to perform your
duties, advisor, I will inform you. Until then, be silent or I'll eat you."
Zazu gulped. "Yes, sire."
Nala was mewling and whimpering. She licked his paw. He could
hear her mother's sobs, and Sarabi's low murmur as she urged the other
lioness not to watch.
He looked down at Nala, prepared to snap her little neck, when he
saw her as if for the first time. Always before, she had been a little nuisance,
nothing more than Simba's friend, not a male and no threat to his succession,
just an irritating little thorn in his paw. Now, he saw how truly pretty she
was. Her pelt was a light shade of cream and gold, her eyes large and
innocent. Most of all, she was little and helpless. She feared him.
The rest of the lionesses would obey him because he was their king
and the law bid them do so. But they accepted him only because he was the
last of the line. They did not respect him, they would never fear him.
Sarabi would never yeild her body to him, and he doubted that he
would be able to perform even if she did. The other lionesses might, but
their confidence and assurance unnerved him. If he failed to perform, they
would never openly ridicule him, but he would know. They would know. In
time, all the savannah would know that Scar might be king, but he was no
true lion.
Nala, on the other paw, was young enough to know fear. Pretty,
helpless, and afraid. That was what Scar liked best in a female. Her life was
in his claws. She was waiting to die, not fighting as Sarabi would have done.
He released her. She blinked up at him, confused.
"Custom or not, I cannot abide by it," he said, letting his voice
break as if burdened by terrible grief. "When so much death has been served
today, I cannot be a party to any more. I will not harm you, little Nala. In
fact, I shall make you a promise. I cannot bring back Mufasa or Simba, but I
can still give you your destiny. When you are of age, you shall be my mate,
and queen of all the pridelands!"
"No!" Sarafina breathed.
Scar glowered at her. "You should be grateful. Now, go and hunt!
My hyenas are hungry!"
* * *
Nala awoke shivering. She did not shiver from the cold, for indeed
she was too warm from the heat of Scar's body next to hers. His forepaw
was draped possessively over her.
She shivered from her nightmare. In it, she had been hunting a
zebra that grazed unconcernedly at the edge of the herd. Strangely, she had
been two places at once, in herself and watching herself, seeing the
adolescent lioness crouched in the tall grass. The watching Nala had cried
out to the stalking Nala, wanting to warn her, but the stalking Nala hadn't
heard. She had pounced, made the kill. Her first unassisted kill. In the eyes
of the pride, she would be adult.
Becoming an adult was supposed to be a time of joy, but Nala
dreaded it more than anything else in the world. Once she became an adult,
she would be Scar's queen. Scar's mate. She would be expected to produce
an heir to the pridelands.
She shivered again, and Scar stirred. She held still, not even daring
to breathe, until he subsided into sleep again. His muzzle twitched. He
snorted, mumbled.
"Mufasa ... long live the king ... run away and never return ... it's to
die for."
Whenever he spoke that way, in the grip of whatever dreams filled
that black-maned head, Nala felt her skin tighten. There was something
malevolent about Scar, something evil. The other lionesses sensed it, but
they did not spend as much time with him as she did. They did not know the
depth or intensity of his malice.
"Long live the king!" he snapped, thrashing and rolling onto his
back. Nala, released, reacted for an instant like a frightened gazelle and
froze, then scrambled away from him.
Scar's cave was dark and quiet. The large, homey place where the
pride had dwelt belonged to the hyenas now. The lionesses slept awkwardly
in trees, not trusting their scavenger allies enough to stay near them. Scar
himself disdained their scent and squalor, staying in the cave that had been
his since Mufasa's reign began so many years ago.
Against the back wall was a cage of wildebeast ribs. Within, Zazu
huddled in a pathetic ball of blue feathers. His beak was tucked beneath one
wing. He did not look up, lost in his own restless dreams.
Nala sat on the cold rocky floor, head down. She licked idly at her
pelt. It had not darkened much since cubhood, staying the same pale gold.
She was almost the size of her mother, physically mature. Only her lack of a
successful kill had kept her from attaining adulthood.
She looked at Scar. How vulnerable he was as he slept! His throat
was revealed, his belly exposed. She was young and strong. She could leap
upon him, bite and gouge and tear until Scar was dead and she was free!
She would be free, but the pridelands would be without a king. She
sighed. If only there were other lions about! But the few times rogue males
had come about, the packs of hyenas had mustered to drive them off. Her
first responsibility was to the pride. Stars knew she had failed them enough
already.
The herds, hunted to depletion by the demands of the hyenas, had
moved on. The dry season was the worst in years, leaving the riverbed
empty and the grasslands barren. It took all the skill and cunning of the
lionesses to keep themselves fed, let alone their king and the others. Nala
was the worst hunter of them all.
She knew it to be true, no matter how Sarabi reassured her. She
was a terrible hunter. A terrible fighter. It shamed her, but she purposefully
had neglected her training. The sooner she became a hunter, the sooner she
would have to submit to Scar.
In all ways but one, she was already his mate. He had forced her to
share his cave since that dark day he had claimed the throne. He ignored all
of the other lionesses, not that they minded. Nala was the one that brought
Scar his food. Nala spent long hours grooming Scar's luxuriant black mane.
Nala cleared away the gnawed bones. Nala slept beside him. And someday
soon, Nala would be mounted, mated, and made to bear his cub.
Silent tears rolled down her face. Most soaked into her fur, but
some splashed on the stones at her paws.
"Simba," she mouthed, remembering her brother/playmate. He had
been so brave, so fun. She thought of the day they had gone to the elephant
graveyard. Zazu had told them of their betrothal. They had reacted as
children, thinking it icky. Strange. Unwelcome. Oh, how she wished for a
second chance! Simba would have grown to be a mighty king.
Scar twisted again, muttering. His coarse tongue slid over his
whiskers. "Sarabi ..."
Nala's eyes widened. Why was Scar calling for Sarabi in that tone?
It mixed longing and hatred. His claws flexed. His tail lashed across the
stone.
"Sarabi," he breathed. He rose and began moving toward her,
sniffing.
"Scar?"
"Taka. Call me Taka. You're in heat, Sarabi. You need it."
"Scar!" He was sleepwalking, she realized. He did not know who
she was, where he was, what was happening. She backed away from him.
"You'll find me more than a match for my brother," he snarled. He
lunged, snapping at her neck.
Nala yipped and ducked away. He cuffed her, sending her rolling
to the floor. As she righted herself, she saw that Scar was aroused, his angry
red organ jutting stiffly from its furred pouch. Her heart seemed to stop.
Scar stalked her. She retreated, until she was cornered. She pressed
against the wall of the cave. Zazu had awakened, and was blinking
confusedly at her.
"Zazu! Help me!" she pleaded.
The hornbill looked at Scar, and knew his intent. He forced his
beak between the bony bars of his cage, but it stuck. Nala inched along the
wall. Scar rubbed his side against hers. His pelt was shaggy and loathesome.
He nipped lightly at her neck.
"Do not defy me, Sarabi," he said.
Panicked, Nala flung herself past him. He grappled her, climbing
onto her back. She tucked her tail between her back legs. He bit her ear.
Scar was trying to mount her now. Thrusting, biting. His front
claws dug painfully into her back. She squirmed and struggled, hunching
low to the ground. Her muscles were all clenched. She prayed to all the
kings of the past to make him stop, to not let him enter her.
Zazu covered his eyes with one wing.
Nala suddenly knew that nobody was going to help her. The kings
of the past were not with her. The lionesses could do nothing. Zazu was
trapped. She was the only one who could save herself. If she did not, she
would be pierced, raped.
Terror and hate gave her new strength. She wrenched herself from
under Scar just as he rammed forward. His erection jabbed her in the hip.
His eyes flew open, shocked, pained, and wide awake.
For an instant, lion and lioness stared at each other. Scar's lip began
to curl. His eyes narrowed in rage.
Nala moved faster than she had ever moved in her life. Her paw
rose and fell, claws out. She struck him full in the face.
Her claw snagged just over his eye, where the scar that gave him
his name marred his pelt. She yanked it back, ripping flesh, drawing blood.
He roared. "You will die for that!" He sprang.
Nala threw herself to the side. Scar missed, landed awkwardly.
Before he could right himself, Nala attacked him again. All of her young
strength went into the blow. She hit him on the side of the head, knocking it
into the cave wall.
Scar crumpled. His eyes rolled back, then closed.
She stood in place, shaking with reaction. He lay motionless.
"Nala?" Zazu whispered. "Nala, what have you done?"
"He's dead! Zazu! I've killed the king!"
"No." Zazu pointed, and she saw that Scar's thin chest was rising
and falling in shallow but steady breaths. "He's alive."
She padded softly over to him, tense, ready to leap away if he
moved into sudden deadly life. She prodded him with a paw, then nosed
him. "He's unconscious." She raised her paw over his neck and slowly
extended her claws. "I have to! He'll kill me if I don't! What else can I do?"
"Run away, Nala," Zazu pleaded. "Run away and never come
back."
"Yes. Run away. I'll run away. Oh, but Zazu! Run away? Leave my
home? Leave everyone? My mother, what will she think?"
"Maybe you can find help," Zazu suggested. "If something doesn't
change soon, we'll all die."
Scar groaned.
"Go, now! Hurry!" Zazu urged.
Nala fled the cave. She sped swift and silent through heaps of
sleeping hyenas, under the tree where her mother dozed, and out into the
plains. Nobody saw her leave except one very old and wise monkey.
Rafiki nodded. The wind was changing. Nala was going to meet
her destiny.
"It is time," he said.
* * *
She was panting. Her feet felt cracked and blistered. The sands had
seemed to go on forever, a golden blur domed by the unforgiving blue sky.
Many times, she had been tempted to lie down and let the desert finish what
Scar had begun.
But now, at last, grass. Trees. Where living things grew was the
promise of water, and possibly food.
She found a small stream and drank from it thankfully. For the first
time in days, she felt hope. All she needed now was a bit of ...
A scent. Her nose wrinkled. A warthog, a particularly gassy one.
But meat was meat, and she could always hold her breath while she ate.
She saw him now, fat and juicy, waddling along without a care in
the world. Good. He was slow, and not particularly fierce. Even a poor
hunter like Nala should be able to bring him down alone.
She crept through the grass, freezing a time or two when he seemed
to hear something. Closer, closer.
He saw her, panicked. The chase was on!
Nala plunged headlong after her prey. Between trees, over logs,
under bushes, at one point a wild looping pursuit along the trunk of a
massive giant. And then, conclusion as the warthog wedged tight under a
root.
She could almost taste the hot blood! A tiny creature was springing
hysterically around. No matter. She would snap it up in one bite and get on
to business. Her jaws stretched wide.
From out of nowhere, the lion came. She skidded, recoiled. Her
shock was so great that she could barely think. He crashed into her.
The first male of her kind except for Scar, and he was trying to kill
her. Young, strong, deeply chested, fully-maned, handsome. She was
battling for her life, expecting to die any moment, but his hunting and
fighting skills were on a level with her own.
Slash! Snap! Bite! Cuff! Claw! Snarl!
He jumped. She gave at first, rocking, then slammed him to the
ground. She stood on his chest, growling into his face. She should have torn
out his throat as he lay stunned, but she could not bring herself to do it. She
had come seeking help, and what other help was there for the pridelands
than a male to challenge Scar? He was a chance, a hope.
And then he spoke her name.
* * *
Simba. After all these, years, Simba. Alive.
She had told him that he didn't know what this would mean to
everyone, what it would mean to her. How could she tell him about Scar?
About what had almost happened?
She almost couldn't believe it. Part of her mind insisted that she
was lying in the desert, dying, hallucinating her fondest wish.
Simba lapped at the pool. She glanced at him, caught him looking
at her. She raised her head slightly, water dripping from her muzzle. He was
hiding something, holding back. What? Why? She was the one with the
secrets, with the shame.
Looking at him was like looking at a memory of Mufasa. But she
could see glimpses of the cub she had onnce known still lingering in his
face. When he swung past her on a vine and splashed into the pool, she
knew it was all true. He was Simba. Her brother. Her friend.
Her betrothed.
She had told him he was the king, and that was true. He was also
her rightful betrothed! Scar's claim to her was now as meaningless as his
claim to the throne. She felt a great weight falling from her soul. She was
free, free!
Simba erupted from the pool, grabbed, her dragged her in. The
water was cold and deep, driving any last doubts that this might be a dream
from her mind. She scrambled out, gasping. When he came after her, soaked
and grinning, she playfully shoved him back in.
The chase was on again. This time, she was the prey and he the
hunter, laughing, charging through the grass, scaring up flocks of birds and
startled animals. Together, they brought down a plump bird and shared it,
blood and feathers and warm pale meat, then groomed each other, rough
tongues and soft fur.
In the cool shade, they played some more, cub games, stalking and
hiding and pouncing, and all the while she was increasingly aware of how
much they had both changed. As cubs, they had found the idea of marriage
repulsive, but now, adults ...
He pounced again, but this time she turned and rose on back legs to
meet him. They swayed, lost their balance, and tumbled heads over tails
down a grassy incline. He landed atop her and lifted his head, chuckling.
She couldn't resist. She held his face with one gentle paw and
licked his cheek, not a grooming lick but a passionate one.
Simba blinked, startled. He looked down at her.
Nala lay back in the grass, her eyes filled with promise and
invitation. She watched as Simba's expression underwent a change, as
understanding dawned. In that brief span of time, he took the last step
between cub and lion.
She rose, rubbing her head against his, both of them purring. His
mouth reached the nape of her neck and he hesitated. She could feel his hot
breath. She arched her neck, pushing it against the hardness of his teeth.
He nipped. She sighed. How could it be so different? When Scar
bit her like that, all she felt was fear and shame. But with Simba, she felt
vibrant and alive.
"Nala," he said. "Nala, this is ..."
"This is right, Simba. This is meant to be. Don't you want me?"
"I do," he said.
She moved a few paces away, swishing her tail, presenting her
sleek flanks. "Simba ..."
He braced his forelegs on her back, uncertain and excited. "Nala,
are you sure?"
"I love you, Simba. Mate me. Make me yours."
He nodded and she felt his stiffness nudging her sensitive opening.
She pressed back and he pressed forward, and he slid smoothly into her.
"Oh!" he said.
Nala couldn't stop purring. Simba thrust rapidly, eagerly. She
moved with him. It would be quick, this their first time, but she knew with a
wisdom beyond her years that there would be many more times, all sweet
and wonderful.
His back claws dug up tufts of grass and earth. Nala crouched low,
bracing herself against the ground. Her haunches quivered. Simba was
panting in her ear. Faster now, faster, and waves of intense feeling were
washing over Nala.
It happened like a sunrise. First a growing light, a spreading
warmth. Then the first dazzling rays shooting skyward, one after another,
more and more, until the rim of the glowing ball of the sun rose over the
horizon and burst forth in blazing, blinding flash.
Simba roared and drove against her in one hard, final push. His
claws raked her back but even that brief pain was good. Nala echoed his
roar with her own.
He sank to the grass. Nala twisted and licked his face again. His
golden eyes were wide and awed.
"I never knew what was missing from my life until now," he said.
She draped her paw over his neck. "I am so glad I found you, my
king."
His smile faded. "I'm not the king," he said.
"Simba ..."
He jumped up and stalked away. "I don't want to talk about it,
Nala."
* * *
The End
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A Matter of Pride / Copyright 1996 - Tim Morgan / vecna@eskimo.com