So Is It Time?

The grin that had spread further over the Prince’s face with the contact of his father slackened. Kion? Where was this going? Had Mufasa noticed something lacking in the second-born? Or...a small fear that never quite showed itself fully tried to pounce into Simba’s mind’s eye. The shape of it was skinnny, scarred, and also second in line for the throne of the Pridelands. As hard as it was to reconcile that shadowy silhouette with the bright young reality of his middle child, Simba couldn’t quite help wondering if his father was about to offer insight on the topic. Did waiting for a throne that would never be yours twist a lion to evil? Was it too big of a temptation? He didn’t know from personal experience—he’d never had a sibling. But maybe his dad had noticed traits cropping up in Kion that reminded him of...

Simba didn’t even have to shake himself out of that crazy line of thinking. Mufasa did it for him with his next words.

His amber eyes popped open, and every red hair swung like a bushful of baboons to catch up with the rest of him as he faced Mufasa more fully. Actually, it was all the future King could do not to leap to his paws.

”What?” Burst the golden male, scattering a few sleepy sparrows from the trees below. A hiss of air, not quite an incredulous laugh, huffed from between the younger lion’s open mouth along with a grin that tried to form and vanished. ”You’re...you’re kidding.”

Simba’s head was a group of startled galagos scrambling for footing. No, he knew what Mufasa sounded like when he was kidding. It usually started with a deep throated chuckle which led into a growl which usually led to roughhousing. Simba would much rather be doing that than trying to wrap his brain around this. He shut his eyes and gathered his composure. He’d just have to talk this out—grown lion to lion. Explain what his father was somehow missing...maybe it was the war. The fight must be making Mufasa, weighed down with leadership, think about new assets they could use against the Thorns. And the Guard Simba had grown up hearing about would be a good one to have.

But not with Kion at it’s head. Not yet.

”Dad, there’s...there’s not even a Pridelands to protect right now.” He tried to make his voice gentle. It hurt him to say out loud. He could see the same ragged hole where their homeland had been in his father’s heart. It was larger than his own; at least Simba only had cubhood memories of the savanna without thorns. Mufasa had lived in and loved the ancestral territory his entire life. ”And Kion,” Simba pulled his eyes away from the wise face of the older lion and gazed down in the direction of his own burrow. No doubt his son, with the fiery hair and sturdy build of his grandfather, was still sleeping peacefully.

”He’s still a cub.” Simba knew he didn’t need to remind his father of that...but that was the simplest way to argue everything storming around between his ears. A cub who laughed and played with deer and had never known a moment of real danger in his short life. A cub who’s days had been so carefully sheltered against the war that roiled right outside. A cub who was already so much more levelheaded and mature than Simba had been at his age...but that could only be because Kion was growing up under the constant threat his parents fought against and worried over.

Simba wasn’t ready to put any of the heaviness of Uncle Scar and Zira’s menace on his son’s shoulders.

A lion should normally look regal, imposing, and confident. The respectable keg of the animal kingdom. But the younger of the two on the Great Prince’s cliff seemed a bit more like a frustrated kitten next to his father.

The golden jaws kept starting to part, then tightening in frowning black lips. His eyes slanted sideways, as if to shut out Mufasa’s words. Simba knew they were wise as ever. He just didn’t want to believe it.

Besides, like upset gazelle, arguments bounced into his mind and then back out again because he daren’t interrupt the monarch.

The forest was their home, but didn’t it already have a Great Prince, and a Young Prince, to uphold the responsibility of protection? Nobody was asking little Geno to form and lead a team that would defend against dangers. Dangers that may never come! ...So he supposed it wouldn’t be too risky, after all. Hadn’t he just been resolving not to let it?

But Kiara! Princess was a lot different than leader of the Lion Guard. So far it just meant joining him for sunrise lessons and learning to lead hunts. Certainly not charging into battle with a legendary roar. And Kiara was older, and she’d already started thinking about ways to help in the war. ...not that Kion wasn’t reserved and pretty mature for his age, too, especially when compared to Kopa. Simba flicked his tail and shifted his eyes to the side again.

Responsibility! That was the word that rang, an elephant’s echo, in Simba’s mind even after Mufasa’s deep, calming voice had soothed most of his worries as usual. He just couldn’t put ‘responsibility’ and the mental picture of his laughing son together.

Exactly,” he began, and though his voice was subdued, the headstrong Prince was far from done with this discussion. Golden bulk shifted again to face the King, sliding his shoulder unconsciously from under the heavy paw. ”Leading the lion guard is a...big responsibility. I think...”

Nala’s mate tried to decide what was troubling him, the thorn between his pads even after Mufasa’s very good points. Realizing that Kion was, after all, of age, made him realize how quickly his son was growing up. It was true, somewhere, in the back of the future Pridelands ruler’s mind that he couldn’t protect his trio forever. But to already be preparing Kion for an adult role, a role that had to do directly with threats...it felt too fast.

”I think we should wait a while longer” Settled Simba with a huff. He spread one paw, gesturing to the side, and nodded up at the clouds. ”He hasn’t even used the Roar of the Elders, yet, anyway. How do we know he’s ready without that? I need more time to prepare him.”

Simba was no longer in his comfort zone, arguing with his role model. But the other biggest part of him, the desire to protect his future kingdom in the form of his children, was rising up just as powerfully.

Simba breathed a sigh of relief that was also part resignation. He couldn’t help having the semi-guilty feeling that he sometimes had as a cub, pestering Zazu but knowing that if he hid quickly afterwards it would buy him time before the punishment. He’d bought a little more time with Kion. A few more sunsets without having to add his son to the list of Suns he worried about in this war.

Red eyes and a rueful smile flashed at Mufasa. His father was always right. ”I hope you’re right.” I don’t know if I’ll ever be prepared.

What did lie ahead? Not just for Kion, but for his potential Guard? For the animals of the Pridelands? For the Enchanted Suns in general? Simba didn’t want to prowl through the undergrowth of apprehension that choked his mind to find out. For now, the Kingly course of action was to focus on what he could control: Kion’s training. Simba tried to throw his shoulders back mentally and face the truth like a ruler of Pride Rock. I can’t keep them protected forever.

Well. He could try.

And the first step was to talk to his son. Simba’s gaze drifted and his tail tip flicked like a springing gazelle with a new line of thought. So they were doing this...and what would Kion think? Would he be excited? Simba hoped so. Because the alternative wasn’t fear; Kion was a lot like Simba remembered himself, standing between the tusks of a fallen elephant. Fearless. No, the alternative might be something darker. As Simba tried briefly to place himself in the smaller paws of the second-born, he thought of Scar again. Would Kion feel like this was a consolation prize for the crown Kiara was set to inherit?

The father lion shook his head, red mane ruffled. No. He’d make sure his son understood the risks, but also how important the Guard was. Of course... Simba didn’t have much experience with that himself. He knew someone who did. ”So...” Mufasa’s son grinned sheepishly over at his dad. ”How should I...describe the Guard’s duties to him? I could take him to the Lair. If we can get past the thorns.”