The Last Roar ( Previously "The Whitest Lioness")

13 - The Sound of Heartbreak

The fatal words settled in the evening air like the pungent fumes leaked from the behind of an anxious warthog. It stifled every sound of life; the locusts dared not chirp in the deadly silence, nor did the owls hoot from the barren Jackalberry trees. There were only the screams of the vultures, swirling above the pride of lions, as they sensed the coming of a battle. 

The lions were bristling, low growls rumbling from their throats like contained thunderstrikes from rainstorms. Scar was made of darkness; the mane that tumbled down his skinny shoulders blazing like shards of onyx. The older lion might have been thinner and more bedraggled, but the sheer savageness captured in his warning growl was cautioning his nephew. If he dared take another step towards Zula, he was good as dead. 

"Zula," Simba's voice was a plea for mercy, "You don't really want to be with my uncle. You want to be with me." 

Zula was speechless. Voicelessly, the young lioness could only watch it through wide eyes, as if she was seeing someone else's life - not hers. In the matter of a few days, her life had come completely derailed - her uncles were dead, her childhood home lost to her. If not for Scar, she would have been killed by those rancid hyenas. Zula had gained so much more, though it still pained her to think of her uncles as if they had left an enormous warthog-shaped hole in her heart; Zula had a prospective mate in Scar and even Simba seemed to have forgotten their earlier quarrel. It only seemed that way for about a minute since, as soon as Zula had told him about her and Scar, all emotion drained from his face. His happiness at seeing her was now replaced by a defeated twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her searchingly. 

Scar chuckled, a menacing and sharp noise. "Do not delude yourself, nephew. We have already avowed our love to the King and he has confirmed our engagement." 

Simba whirled on his father with a gasp, "You agreed to this?"

Mufasa growled, "Remember your place!"

"My place." Simba was shaking with anger, "My place is beside Zula. A place that has been taken by a liar - and a thief."

Scar's splintery grin disappeared. Replaced by an expressionless glower of cool, calculated fury. The only sign that he was the least perturbed was his ink-dipped tail, which snapped agitatedly. There was so much hatred in the old lion's eyes that the lion's form seemed to pulsate and change; the dark mane no longer appeared dusty but swept savagely over his tan shoulders like scorch marks, his nose heatedly released wisps of hot breath in the chilled evening air and his dark, charcoal eyes fumed. 

"You have shown your son enough piety, Mufasa," Scar growled, locking eyes with his nephew but refusing to acknowledge him. "If he says so much as another pithy comment, he will force my action." 

Mufasa grimaced. "Come, son. You have already lost your throne to my brother. Do not move the future King of Pride Rock to anger." 

"King?" Simba exclaimed in disgust. "Why would you name him as King?" 

"It is a tradition among the pride that, should ever such an event occurs, the first mated male should become the future king." Mufasa's voice wavered. "Scar will mate Zula before you will mate a lioness, Simba. So, it is only natural that he will have an heir before you do. There is always at least one male heir born for a lioness' first litter of cubs. The title will be passed down to the next generation." Mufasa winced as if in pain. "The paternal lineage will be altered." 

Simba was weak. The heart in his chest had crumbled to ash, where now there only existed a constant but hollow ache. Pleadingly, his eyes found Zula in the darkness. The lioness was pale and quiet, watching the proceedings with a distraught expression on her small face. Simba felt a flare of hope inside of himself - it wasn't too late!

"You won't let him do this to me, will you?" Simba implored. "You can't let my uncle take everything from me, Zula. I know you better than what he does. You won't let him take away my title, my throne," His voice broke, a jagged and raw sound. "You. You can't let him take you away from me." 

Zula's eyes were wet, "Oh, Simba."

"What kind of lion are you to make such pitiful remarks?" Scar roared in outrage, his snout flaring. "As my first declaration as the future King of Pride Rock, I will sentence you to death if you look at her again!" 

From somewhere in the distance, where a sprawl of agonized and anguished lionesses had gathered, the sharp cry of a lioness shattered the silence. All the earth made a cacophony at the shriek: owls screamed from their perches, locusts warbled eerily, the lions roared in horror. 

Sarabi was sobbing, "Not my cub! Please! Have mercy, Scar!"

Simba felt the gravity of the choice he would have to make. There were only two options, one written in blood and one written in the tears of those who loved him: Fight his uncle to reclaim the throne of his birthright, in which case he could defeat him or even face Death, or he could surrender to his punishment - banishment. His sad, panicked face glanced at the crying lionesses rallying around the hysterical figure of his mother - he spotted Nala crying, too, her face drenched in tears. 

"What is your choice?" Scar demanded, a wretched satisfaction in his tone. "Banishment or a fight to the death?" 

"There is only once choice I have to make. Both for the good of my pride and myself." Simba exhaled sharply. "I must get married." 

Scar started, his long face contorted in rage. "You will what?" 

The entire party had stilled.

"In three days' time, with the confirmation of my father, I will be mating," Simba announced defiantly. "That way, the crown will once again be my birthright." 

Scar snarled, "And who is this fabled lioness that will wed you?"

Simba sighed shakily, "Nala."