The Lion King Live Action Novelization

by Elizabeth Rudnick

  “Don’t turn your back on me, Scar!”

  At the sound of Mufasa’s voice, Scar reeled back around. He had had enough. “Oh, no, Mufasa,” he snarled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t turn your back on me.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Mufasa roared. Lifting his head, he puffed out his chest and squared off against Scar. For a long, tense moment, the two lions stood there, eyes locked, until finally, Scar lowered his head and began to back away.

  He was small, but he was not foolish. There was no point in fighting. “I wouldn’t dream of challenging you.” He stopped, and then added, “Again.”

  Mufasa’s hackles rose and a growl began at the back of his throat. But before he could snap, Zazu flew in between them. “A wise decision!” he said to Scar. “You are no match for His Royalness!”

  Scar shrugged. “Well, as far as brains go, I’ve got the lion’s share. But when it comes to brute strength, I’m afraid my big brother will always rule.”

  “Not always,” Mufasa said, correcting him. “One day it will be my son who rules. Simba will be your king.”

  “Then long live the king,” Scar said. Turning back toward his den, he slunk away, disappearing into the darkness.

  Watching him go, Mufasa let out a sigh. That was not how he had wanted things to go. True, he had been angry that Scar had skipped the ceremony, but a piece of him—however small—had hoped that maybe there had been a good reason. That perhaps with a new generation born, they could put aside their past. But clearly that was not going to happen.

  “What am I going to do with him?” Mufasa said as he and Zazu began to make their way back to the top of Pride Rock.

  “Well, here’s a thought,” Zazu said, not hesitating to offer up his dream solution. “Why not drag him away with your massive teeth and claws?”

  Mufasa tried not to laugh. It was no secret that the hornbill despised Scar. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Zazu’s loyalty to his king or the fact that Scar was so messy. Zazu despised disorder.

  “What?” Zazu said. “We both know he should have been expelled from the Pride Lands long ago.”

  Mufasa’s smile faded. “He’s my brother, Zazu,” he said, shaking his head. “This is his home. As long as I’m king, that will never change.” No matter how difficult Scar makes it for me, he added silently.

  Time passed as it does on the savannah: the Circle of Life continued to spin as dry weather gave way to wet. Lake beds evaporated and then filled. Herds thinned out and then grew bigger. Sunshine baked the ground and then rain drowned it. And through it all, the lions of Pride Rock watched as their young prince grew bigger and bolder.

  The long days of napping in his mother’s paws were over for Simba. His fur had darkened from days playing in the sun, and his belly had lost its chubbiness and become lean from constant activity. His eyes, bright and inquisitive, never stopped moving and he rarely stopped talking. Only when sleep overcame him did he finally stop, but even in slumber his paws moved as he dreamed of chasing antelope across the savannah.

  Waking from a particularly great dream involving helping his father save a family of topis from a flood, Simba stretched out his paws and arched his back. Then, lifting his head, he let out a loud yawn. Nearby, one of the other cubs stirred in his sleep but then settled, nestling back into his mother’s side. Simba waited for one more second, hoping to perhaps rouse a playmate, but after another yawn—intentionally louder this time—he realized he was going to have to find someone else to keep him company. Then his eyes widened. He didn’t need someone to play with. He had totally forgotten what today was! Today he was supposed to spend time with his dad, just like in his dream!

  Getting to his feet, he began to bounce and leap over the sleeping lionesses and their cubs until he reached the front of the den, where his mother and father slept. Grabbing hold of Mufasa’s tail, Simba pulled himself up and then began to crawl over the sleeping lion’s massive back. While Simba had grown substantially since his introduction ceremony, atop his father he still looked tiny. Reaching Mufasa’s head, he flopped down on it and began to bat at the large lion’s ear. “Dad—you awake?” he said. “Dad…”

  In answer, Mufasa let out a loud snore.

  So, you think pretending to snore will fool me? Simba thought. His eyes narrowed and filled with mischief. Well, we’ll see about that. Leaning farther over so his mouth was now directly in front of Mufasa’s ear, he began to shout. “Dad! WAKE UP, DAD! DAD! DADADADADAD!”

  Sarabi opened one eye and looked at her son. Seeing that he wasn’t bleeding, hurt, or in need of anything pressing, she closed the eye once more. “Your son is awake,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.

  Beside her, Mufasa shook his head, giving Simba a ride in the process. “Before sunrise he’s your son!” he said, not even bothering to open his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he had awoken to the shouts—or teeth—of his precocious son.

  “Come on, Dad,” Simba whined. “Let’s go! You said I could patrol with you today! And today has started. You promised!” Charging down his father’s mane, Simba threw himself to the end and hung there, clinging to the tough hair with his small claws. “You up?” he asked, only this time he was not whining—he was smiling. Because he could see that while his dad might not have liked it, he was well and truly awake.

  Slowly, the king rose to his feet. Then he, too, let out a yawn. But unlike Simba’s tiny one, this yawn bounced off the walls of the den and startled more than a dozen sleeping lions awake. “Let’s do this,” he said, shaking off the last of the sleep and giving Sarabi a quick nuzzle. Then, together, he and Simba walked out of the den and into the early morning sunshine. Behind them, Sarabi watched, a smile on her lips. She knew Mufasa’s hesitation was just an act. There was nothing he loved more than spending time with Simba. And if that gave her a few more moments of peace and quiet, it just made it all the sweeter.

  “So, what’s first?” Simba said, looking out at the savannah stretched before them. “Give orders for the hunt? Chase away evil intruders?”

  Rather than answer, Mufasa began to walk ahead. But instead of going down the rocks toward the ground below, he began to walk up to the very top of Pride Rock. Simba raced to catch up, leaping and falling as he struggled over the steep rock face. “Dad!” he shouted. “You’re going the wrong way!”

  Still Mufasa did not answer. Slowly and steadily he climbed. A few moments later, Simba arrived, out of breath and very confused. Looking over, he saw his father sitting with his back to the rock, his eyes focused on the horizon and the sun as it climbed ever higher. Simba walked over and sat down on the plateau next to him. He waited for a minute—which in Simba time felt like hours—and then, finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “What are we doing? There’s nothing up here!” he said.

  Mufasa shook his head. “Look, Simba,” he said, his deep voice serious. “Everything the light touches is our kingdom.”

  Following his father’s gaze, Simba took in the horizon and all the land that lay in front of it. His eyes grew wide. “Wow,” he said softly. “You rule all of that?”

  “Yes,” Mufasa said with a nod. “But a king’s time as ruler rises and falls like the sun. One day, Simba, the sun will set on my time here—and will rise with you as the new king.”

  Simba nodded, hearing what his father was saying but not quite processing it. There was something so serious, so sad, in his father’s tone and it made him shiver unexpectedly. They had never talked like this before. And while he couldn’t explain it, it made him sad, too, to hear Mufasa speak of his own time ending. But then, as quickly as the flash of sadness came, it went, replaced by a sudden realization. “Wait,” Simba said, perking up. “You’re saying all of this will belong to me?”

  “It belongs to no one,” Mufasa corrected, with a shake of his large head. “But it will be yours to protect. A great responsibility.” He turned his gaze from the horizon and looked down at Simba. The young cub knew nothing of responsibility, but he would all
too soon. Lions grew up fast in the Pride Lands and he needed his son to understand what was at stake.

  For a moment, Simba just stared out at the savannah, his mouth open in awe. “No way,” he finally said. “Are you sure? Everything the light touches? Those trees and the watering hole and that mountain and”—he paused, scanning the horizon for still more—“beyond those shadows?”

  Mufasa followed his son’s gaze to the farthest point on the horizon, where the sun barely touched and the land seemed cast in permanent shadow. He shook his head. “For now, you must not go there, Simba,” he warned.

  “But I thought a king can do whatever he wants,” Simba said, looking confused. “Take any territory.”

  Mufasa sighed. “While others search for what they can take, a true king searches for what he can give.”

  Turning, Mufasa began to make his way back down Pride Rock. Simba paused, watching as his father easily maneuvered over the sharp rocks. Someday I’m going to be just like him, Simba thought. And then I’ll be able to go anywhere I want and nothing will scare me. Not even the shadowlands.

  With a determined nod, Simba began to follow Mufasa. For a while, father and son walked in companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. As they made their way through the Pride Lands, Mufasa pointed out the small, almost secret sights of the kingdom: the caverns carved out of ancient rock that were home to long-horned bulls; the grove of trees that supplied food to one herd of elephants. Simba took it all in, his eyes wide. Watching a pair of bulls fight, the sound of their clashing horns bouncing off the cavern walls, he pressed himself closer to his father. He was going to be brave and nothing was going to scare him—someday. For now, he still liked having his father by his side.

  As they moved onto one of the longer parts of the flat savannah, Simba saw a herd of antelope leaping and bounding toward them. His heart began to pound and he looked up at his father, hopeful for a fun chase. But Mufasa shook his head.

  “Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance,” he said. “As king, you need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures—from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope.”

  Simba cocked his head. “But Dad—don’t we eat the antelope?”

  “Yes, Simba,” Mufasa said. Simba started to nod proudly but stopped when he saw his father wasn’t done. “Let me explain. When we die, our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. And so, we are all connected to the great Circle of Life.”

  “Sire!”

  Hearing the unmistakable voice of Zazu, father and son turned and looked back in the direction of Pride Rock. Zazu was flying toward them, his colorful beak seeming even brighter in the sun.

  “Morning, Zazu,” Mufasa said when the hornbill had landed in front of them. “Do you have the morning report?”

  Zazu gave a curt nod. “Yes, sire!” he said. Then, puffing out his chest, he began: “Ten flamingos are taking a stand. Two giraffes were caught necking.…”

  As Zazu continued his report, he turned away from Mufasa. Catching Simba’s eye, Mufasa crouched down and signaled for Simba to do the same. “Ready for some fun?” he whispered, motioning with his eyes in Zazu’s direction. “Stay low to the ground.”

  His belly just brushing the tips of the grass, Simba nodded excitedly. He eyed his target. “I got this,” he said softly.

  “Check the wind,” Mufasa went on, helping his son. But the cub was a natural. Even as Mufasa offered advice, Simba was one step ahead. He lifted his nose and checked his shadow to make sure it wouldn’t give him away, all the while not moving a muscle as he readied to pounce.

  Zazu, completely oblivious to his part in the hunt, rambled on. “The buzz from the bees is that the leopards are in a bit of a spot. The tick birds have been tweeting again in the middle of the night—they can’t stop.” As Zazu went on, Simba inched a little closer. His tail swished ever so slightly and his nose twitched. The wind was on his side. Still, he waited, letting Zazu finish. “The cheetah stole the baboon’s dinner—and now the baboons are going ape. Of course, I always say, cheetahs never prosper!” The bird started to laugh at his own pun but stopped as he was tackled from behind.

  Rolling over, he looked up to find himself beak to nose with Simba.

  Mufasa let out a loud laugh as Simba proudly stood on his “catch.” Hemming and hawing, Zazu took to the air, shaking off his feathers. He looked utterly put out—and was about to point out that he was the king’s aide, not the prince’s plaything, when he spotted something in the distance. He squinted, wanting to be sure of what he saw before he sounded the alarm. But there was no doubt what it was. “Sire!” he shouted. “Hyenas in the Pride Lands! They’re on the hunt!”

  Instantly, Mufasa was on alert. The laughter died, and his expression grew fierce. Watching the transformation, Simba took a nervous step back.

  “Can you see Sarabi?” Mufasa asked Zazu.

  The hornbill nodded. “She and the lionesses are chasing them down.”

  Pleased with the answer, Mufasa began to run. Sarabi and the other lionesses would keep the hyenas away long enough for him to get there. Then it would be up to him to remind the hyenas—in a not-so-gentle way—that they were not to set foot in the Pride Lands, per their agreement. He had run just a few feet when he came to a sudden stop. Turning, he called back to Zazu. “Take Simba home!” he ordered.

  “Dad!” Simba protested. “Let me come! I can help!”

  Mufasa shook his head. “No, Son,” he said. “You stay with the other cubs, where it’s safe.” His message delivered, he turned and began to race over the savannah. In moments, he was a mere speck in the distance.

  Watching him go, Simba hit the ground with his paw. His father was wrong. He was not a cub. He was almost a grown-up lion and he should be helping his father save the Pride Lands. That was his duty. But no. Now he had to go back to Pride Rock and hang out with the babies—and Zazu. It just wasn’t fair.

  Simba sat at a distance, watching as several lion cubs laughed and chased each other around the area in front of the den. He scowled as one cub tackled another and then playfully bit the other cub’s ear. A part of him wanted to join in their fun, but another part of him was still fuming from being left behind. Maybe, he thought, if I show Dad what a good hunter I’m becoming, he’ll take me with him next time.

  With a determined nod, Simba scanned the area. He needed something to hunt. He saw Zazu perched on one of the higher rocks. Possible…but not great. He wanted a different challenge, and since he had already tackled Zazu that morning, he kept looking. The other cubs were a possibility…but then he would have to tell them what he was doing, and they would probably want to join him. Finally, his eyes landed on a beetle moving over the rocks. Its black back glistened in the sun and it was moving at just the right pace.

  Slipping away from the rock, he crouched low, just like his father had taught him. Then he began to inch forward. He was so focused on tracking the beetle that he didn’t even realize he was moving down the rocks, away from the den and toward the bottom of Pride Rock. He had just decided to make his move and pounce when a voice from behind startled him.

  “If you wish to kill something, you might want to stay downwind.”

  Whirling around, Simba saw his uncle slowly amble out from the darkness of his cave. He paused in the entrance, half his body still in shadow.

  “I know how to hunt, Uncle Scar,” Simba said. To prove himself, he turned and pounced—completely missing the beetle and instead slamming headfirst into a rock.

  Behind him, Scar raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hope we’re never attacked by a beetle,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he nodded up toward the top of Pride Rock. “Go back to your den, Simba. I don’t babysit.” With a swish of his tale, he headed back into the cave.

  Watching him go, Simba cocked his head. “Babysit?” he repeated, following his uncle inside. He didn’t need a babysitter. “I’m going to be king of Pride Rock. My dad showed me the wh
ole kingdom—said I’m going to rule it all.”

  “Is that so?” Scar said, sounding unimpressed.

  Simba nodded. Moving closer to his uncle, he glanced around the cave. He had never been inside his uncle’s den before. He wrinkled his nose. It was dirty and smelled…funny. It was cold, too. Down at the bottom of Pride Rock, it didn’t get the warmth of the sun the way Simba’s own den did. He shivered, suddenly wishing he hadn’t strayed quite so far. But then he remembered that morning. He wasn’t a little cub anymore. He didn’t need to go running home. “Think about it,” he said, focusing his attention back on his uncle. “When I’m king, I’ll have to give you orders. Tell you what to do, where to go. How weird is that?”

  “You have no idea,” Scar said. Coming closer, he looked down at Simba. “So…your dad showed you the whole kingdom?” he asked. Simba nodded. “Did he show you the shadows beyond the northern borders?”

  Simba stopped nodding and looked up at his uncle in surprise. How had Scar known that he’d asked his dad about that very spot? Simba frowned. Had Zazu told him? Had Zazu told everyone that his dad didn’t trust him? His frown deepened. “He said I can’t go there. Ever.”

  To his surprise, Scar nodded. “And he’s absolutely right! An elephant graveyard is no place for a young prince—” Scar stopped suddenly, looking guilty. “Oops.”

  “Elephant graveyard?” Simba repeated, his eyes wide. “Whoa!” No wonder his father wanted him to stay away—it was probably the coolest place ever. Full of big bones and all sorts of stuff he had never seen. Then he cocked his head. But how could a place like that really be all that dangerous? Who would want to hang out with a bunch of bones? Still…it would be pretty amazing to see it.

  “Oh, dear,” Scar said, clearly reading the excitement on his nephew’s face. “I’ve said too much. Well, I suppose you’d have found out sooner or later. You being king and all.”

  Simba looked up at his uncle with awe. “You’ve been there?” he said. Scar nodded, and Simba’s eyes grew even wider. His father had always told him to leave Scar alone. But now that he was there, talking to him, Scar didn’t seem all that bad. In fact, he was the only one who seemed to realize Simba would be king someday and maybe deserved to know some things. But just as Simba started to feel like he and Scar could be friends, his uncle shook his head.