---

"You said you'd always be there for me, but you're not. And it's because of me, it's my fault."

---

After a long day of practically doing nothing, Anthony had made his way into the forest of Storybrooke. It had been a while since he had hunted for an animal. Jim and Rodd were vegetarians, so they were always out getting vegetables and whatnot. Anthony clearly wasn't a vegetarian himself. He was used to eating meat since he was a little boy. He ate everything that his father brought home at that time, and did it with a large smile on his face. 

Sometimes, when Jim and Rodd weren't looking, Anthony would hunt for meat with his spear that he made with a stick a sharpened rock. This, of course had occurred in the Enchanted Forest, when he was a young teen. Nothing against Jim and Rodd, of course. But young boys really needed their dose of meat, and not just empty vegetables. 

With a sigh, Anthony carried his old spear. 
Rumplestiltskin had found out who he really was, and that bothered him. People would find out what kind of man he had become. Simba, the runaway King of the Pridelands. No, Simba, the murderer of Mufasa. Yeah, that sound about right. 

Jim and Rodd had done their job raising him, their motto Hakuna Matata had been so easy to follow when he was young. But now that he was in Storybrooke, and he found the Dark One was also there; the memories just.. knocked you breathless. 

Anthony stopped when he noticed a deer that was peacefully grazing out in the open. 
The male took aim with his spear. It had been a while since he had done this, so his aim was kinda off. 
Getting a clear shot, Anthony threw the weapon. But sadly, the spear landed right in front of the deer and his prey ran off. 

"Fuck!" He swore, slamming his fist into the nearest tree he could find. He wasn't just swearing because he missed the deer, it was everything. The fact that he lost his father, the fact that he failed his kingdom. It was everything. 

---

Mufasa

Mufasa came to the woods to get away from it all. It reminded him a lot of his home, his Kingdom, in its tranquility. He just needed quiet, sometimes, to clear his head.

After finding that whistle in Mr. Gold's shop, he had needed a breath of fresh air. It did not seem to be enough, though, as he was not feeling very peaceful even with the quiet setting and clean air. It was not something he had even considered: a trinket from his home land that had somehow managed to follow him to this place. It wasn't like he brought it with him: the last time he saw that whistle, it was with his young son. Simba loved that little gift, and Mufasa himself had made it carefully for his son to play with.
 
It was special, and it was private. Somehow, the little imp of Storybrooke had managed to get it in his possession, and Mufasa was unhappy with that fact. There was no reason for the Dark One to know Simba, to have crossed paths with him. But was it a good thing? Did it mean that Simba had survived the war, or that he had somehow made his way to this land? Had he been here all the while, right under Mufasa's nose, and he just never knew?

He wouldn't know how to recognize his son, if he saw him. The idea broke his heart.

Hearing rustling nearby, he turned his head and spotted in the bushes the would be hunter, the head of his spear poking up from the leaves of his cover. Mufasa had been watching the deer quietly, unseen and still, but if he had heard Simba's approach, it was likely the deer had, too. The spear missed its mark, and the deer ran off, leaving Mufasa shaking his head at the poor hunting display. Hunting for food had been a very important task in his Kingdom, and everyone learned how to do it.

"You need to be more patient, son," he said absently, without realizing just who he was talking to. He simply saw a younger man in need of a lesson in hunting, and he walked over to him almost leisurely. "hold your spear closer: your weapon is an extension of your body, and should be treated with the same finesse and control as your own arms."

He picked up the spear and held it out to Simba, watching the other passively.

Anthony had no idea that he was being watched, the forest was pretty large, so the chance of running into someone else was rather small. The voice had startled him, and he refused to look at the person that was talking to him, but still snatched the spear when it was offered.
"You sound like my father." He said, rather bitterly, oblivious to the person he was talking to. People that talked like that were old fashioned, he wasn't a kid anymore. He was a man, and he would be treated as such.
Anthony turned to face the man that had bothered him. At first glance, he didn't recognize who stood there. Just an old man that tried to lecture him, but, there was something familiar about the man; and as Anthony inspected him closer, he dropped the spear.

His mouth opened to speak, but it appeared that he had swallowed his tongue. Anthony stared wide eyed at the man, at his father.
He couldn't move, and he took a step back.
"No, no you're a ghost." He said, his voice filled with disbelief. Then, a flare of anger rose in his chest. "Have you come to MOCK me?" He spat, picking up the spear and looking rather bewildered.
His father had aged, that was certain, but he didn't change. He still had that same, brave stance, the same look.

---

Mufasa

Mufasa felt his heart ache when he was told he sounded like a father. Even if this young man meant it a little rudely, clearly not inclined to listen to the older man's direction, it made him think of his own lost son and the time they had spent apart. He had never gotten a chance to see him grow, after all.

After his encounter at the pawn shop, learning that his son had been taken from his homeland and brought to the enchanted forest, Mufasa had been left shaken. He carried a lot of guilt for that loss, and now it felt doubled at least. If he had been able to find Simba, tell him he was okay, stop him from leaving... instead, they both spent years thinking the other lost.

The young man's reaction was startling, and he was drawn from his sadness as he looked curiously at the spear that was once again on the ground. Simba's words rocked him, and he shook his head slowly.

"I have no intention of mocking you, boy: I was offering you advice," he explained, as gently as he could, though he could never fully shake the powerful tone in his voice. He stopped short, though, staring at the younger man's face. Those eyes. There was something wild in them, something strong and royal: something all too familiar.

A father would always recognize his son. Particularly now that he understood there was a chance his son was still alive to be recognized.

"Simba...?"

The name almost sounded foreign in his ears, and his chest tightened as he spoke it. It carried so much pain and loss with it for so long, he could hardly shake those feelings now. Yet hope was rising in his chest, chasing away the pain. It was terrifying to think, to believe, what he was hearing and seeing, but he could not help but want it to be true with all his heart.

"My boy... my son. You're alive!"

Anthony couldn’t believe his eyes, his father was here; right in front of him. More alive than he ever remembered. How was this possible?
It wasn’t like he was unhappy to see his father, but it just felt like he had spent years feeling miserable because he was blaming himself for it.
“You’re.. not dead?” He whispered, spear still in hand; his grip on it was tight. Like perhaps if he squeezed any harder, his father would disappear.

When Mufasa spoke his name, Anthony cringed. He hadn’t wished to hear that name, but he went by Simba for a great portion of his life.
But that brought a question to his mind, what was he supposed to call Mufasa now? Papa? Father? That was something he should be thinking about for a while
“Yes..” He responded eventually, unsure whether this was an illusion or not. His hand released the spear, and he just stood there dumbfound. So many feelings were going through him, rendering him paralyzed.
He thought of the moment he thought he lost his father. Mufasa and Scar were fighting, and he saw all of it.
“I.. I can’t believe it..” His eyes brimmed with tears, tears of relief, of loss. He knew he was supposed to be a grown man; but he was still that lost young boy on the inside, the boy that missed his father and cried himself to sleep for years knowing he was the murderer.

---

Mufasa

"No... and neither are you," Mufasa said, hardly able to process it. His son was alive, after so long. An adult now, and hardly recognizable. So much had changed over the years, and they had spent Simba's entire life apart. He missed so much of his son's growing up, and it hurt to know it. But that hurt was nothing compared to how it felt thinking Simba was dead and gone. By comparison, as Mufasa saw it, there was nothing but joy to be felt now.

His eyes stinging with tears, breath hitching in his chest, he moved to his boy and caught him in a mighty hug, tugging Simba to him and clinging to him as if he were afraid something might take the prince away from him again. It almost felt too perfect, after all, and this could easily be some cruel trick of magic.

But he felt too real.

"My boy! You've grown so strong! Look at you!" he drew back, holding Simba proudly at arm's length, looking him over with all the pride in the world in his eyes. He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that could barely hold how happy he truly was in that simple moment. "I told myself that little imp was lying, and yet here you are. In this place, of all things. How did you come to be here? I thought for sure that Scar had taken you during the battles. I searched for you!"

Rumplestiltskin had said something about making a deal with Simba to bring him here, though Mufasa had not really been listening, considering how angry he was at the time.

Taking a short step back, though not wanting to stray too far, he produced the whistle he had taken from Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop.

"I saw this not long ago, in the imp's store," it seemed Rumple had inherited a new name, "he told me you had gotten out of our lands, but I could hardly think to believe..."

It wasn't until Mufasa literally yanked him into a hug, that Anthony's feelings came rushing back like he was hit by a horde of elephants.
Oh how he had missed his father!
Arms wrapping around Mufasa tightly, he couldn't help but smile; the smile that he lost so many years ago.

When his father pulled back, Anthony, or rather; Simba, smirked in a rather playful way.
"You have gotten rather old, father." He joked, his eyes twinkling with joy because of the laughter his father had emitted. It felt so relieving. It felt like home.
But.. that twinkle soon died away at the train of questions he was receiving.

Right now, there were quite some feelings going through the man. They all showed up in order. First it was confusion.
".. I thought I.. killed you.." He whispered, his voice sounding rather small. Saying it had made it so real, that he was a murderer. But he wasn't a killer; his father was alive.

Then there was sadness. "I ran away after.." He couldn't finish his sentence, because at that point, there was anger. "Scar.." It was more of a low throaty growl. Scar had chased him off, he had told him to run.
If his father was here, and he was here.. that could only lead one thing.
"Scar is king of the Pridelands now?" It wasn't really a question, more like a realization that their people were in more torment than ever.

When his father took that step back, Simba did the same. There was a need to stay close, like his father would disappear; but that was forgotten as Mufasa took out an object.
Simba stared down at the whistle, frowning at it. How did his father get that?
"I... you talked with Rumplestiltskin?"

---

Mufasa

"You were just a boy, Simba," Mufasa said seriously, seeing the guilt and sadness on his son's face, and wanting immediately to restore his confidence. The King of the Pridelands was nothing but proud of his son, after all, and did not blame him for what happened on the battlefield that day. Scar would take advantage of anyone he could, to get to what he wanted. Simba was Mufasa's greatest weakness, after all, and it only made sense for the villain to wrap the little boy up in the war.

One of the many things Mufasa had to make sure Scar paid for, in due time.

"Scar took control of our Kingdom, and many like it, with the aid of that terrible magic. That stranger, I imagine, rules over everything, and Scar got his land as payment for his wicked service. He is a traitor to all of us, and I will return to our home to reclaim it. For you, Simba, to rule in peace one day. I swear to you that: I will not let Scar take your future from you."

After all, he was the crowned prince, and the successor to the throne. Mufasa wanted to see his son take the role of King, and wanted to give him back a home worthy of his rule. That was his duty: the Kingdom fell under his rule, after all, so it was only right that he reclaim it and fix it before he passed it on.

So Simba could make it better than it ever was before. The hope of any King, who was also a father.

"Rumple... yes. The Imp. Mr. Gold. Whatever one is meant to call that infuriating, tiny man. He told me he took you from the Pridelands, though you were but a scared boy at the time. If I did not need his aid to return us to our home, I would wring his little neck."

Simba agreed to that, he was a boy back then. A boy that thought he had killed his father for more than 20 years. A boy that tried to forget his troubles by running away and calling upon black magic.
He lived with the pain that he was being a murderer, but seeing his father here; it made all his problems wash away.
"How did you live?" He asked, knowing his father only tried to make him feel better for his actions. Simba remembered hearing of the stranger, but he had been too young to understand. Not to mention the fact that, Simba felt a bit overwhelmed hearing his father beam about him being a king one day.
"Father.. I.." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't sure how to say that he was not fit to be a king, but that was harder than the man thought.
Sure, when he was just a mere boy he loved the idea of ruling over the Pridelands. But he wasn't sure if his homeland would take him back. Perhaps that was a conversation that could be postponed until the moment arrived.

Hearing such bitter words about the man that saved him made him tense. "No." He said, with a stern voice. "Scar was hunting me down, Rumplestiltskin saved me. He took me away because I wanted to, father. He deserves honor."
Simba remembered the the talk he had with the crocodile man back at the diner, he seemed to be tormented by regret.

---

Mufasa

Mufasa frowned at Simba, surprised to hear that the miserable little Imp had actually taken Simba away from the pridelands by the boy's own choice. But the King could not really blame his son for that: he had been young and confused, and clearly thought that his father died on the battlefield that day. Surely Scar had not made that an easy idea for Simba to bear, either, and likely aided in chasing him off and into the arms of the Dark One. Still, why was Rumplestiltskin their land that day, when Mufasa went out on his quest to find the very same Dark One to save his land not long after? For all that trouble, the damn sorcerer had already been there!

If Mufasa had been able to meet with him then, instead of coming to the Enchanted Forest to find him, then he never would have been taken from his home in the curse. He never would have wasted so much time... lost so much...

Mufasa drew a slow breath, reminding himself passively that he would not help himself, or anyone else, by holding on to grudges.

"If you believe that, then perhaps I owe him an apology. I will speak to the Im... Mr. Gold again, when I can. Perhaps offer to fix the display I broke, taking this whistle back from him."

Whoops.

So the King had a little bit of a temper. Didn't they all? He had long ago learned how to control it... mostly. It just tended to flare to life when his family was concerned. He would defend them no matter what. And sometimes he was a bit quick to get to defense mode... as Rumplestiltskin's shop had learned.

He frowned when his father did not respond to his question, but Simba really didn't mind that. He was just happy to have his father back; which reminded him.
"Where's mother?" He asked, expecting that his mother was here as well; there was no way his father would leave her behind with Scar. "Is she here too?"

Simba nodded when his father said that he would apologize to Rumplestiltskin, but he was sure he would encourage his father to fix the display too. Perhaps he'd help his father do that.
He picked up his spear that he dropped, having a tight grip on it. "Maybe.. you can teach me how to hunt.. I mean that is why you started talking to me in the first place." He said with a grin, he couldn't believe the one time he went to hunt in the forest, he'd run into his father. The man that had seemingly died in front of him, but.. apparently did not?
Simba didn't really want to linger on that, he just wanted to catch up on lost time with his father. Of course, if his mother were here, he'd definitely would have wanted to see her. Now that Simba knew he was not the murderer of his father; he would be able to face his family again, his friends..
Nala..
His smile dropped at the thought of her.
Was she here too?

---

Mufasa