Kopa's Story

(Fan-Official)

by Doverstar

The sun launched into the sky. It turned the gray-tan Pride Rock to reddish-gold in the morning sunlight. Inside the main cave, the Pride of the great King, Simba, slept soundly, knowing they were safe. More than twenty lions were stretched out on the cave floor—mostly lionesses, but a few males were dotted here and there. And, of course, that didn’t include male cubs, which were scattered in between paws and outstretched tails in the mad jumble of sleeping wildcats, along with female cubs.

One cub in particular sat up, looking alarmed. The reddish-brown tuft of hair on his otherwise-gold head was messy with sleep. He blinked red-amber eyes, yawning to reveal thorn-sharp teeth.

He looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes brightened. He bolted forward and scampered, not bothering to watch out for paws and tails that could get stepped on, to the entrance of the cave where a large, proud male lion sat.

“Hey, Dad, you’re up!” the cub cried gleefully.

“What’re you doing awake this early?” the King of the Pride rumbled as a chuckle. He grinned—it looked somewhat young, similar to his son’s in a way.

“You said you’d show me the whole kingdom.” Kopa reminded him, one eyebrow raised.

“Exactly.” Simba, for of course that was him, leaned down to look Kopa in the eyes, smiling. “After breakfast.”

Kopa rolled his eyes and kept them looking down and to the right, mouth tight. “I never get to go anywhere.”

Simba’s mouth opened in a grin, eyes shining with memories.

“I thought I heard you two out here.” Nala, Queen of the Pride and Kopa’s spunky mother, strolled out, early-morning sun turning her tan fur to creamy-colored.

“Your son wants a tour of the Pride Lands,” Simba smiled broadly at her.

“You know the rules,” Nala yawned. “Until the sun is fully raised, he’s your son.” She glanced at her swollen belly. “Besides, a lioness of my condition shouldn’t be tackling such a fierce predator,” she teased her son with a nuzzle.

Kopa hopped onto a boulder. “When’s my baby brother gonna come, anyway?” he asked, flopping onto his belly and putting one large forepaw over the other, resting his head on his paws. His eyebrows were sunk low impatiently.

“Or sister,” Simba corrected.

Kopa snorted. “Da-ad, I don’t wanna girl for a littermate!”

“Oh, really?” Nala pushed him gently off the rock with her nose.

“Like it or not,” Simba yawned—a pretty long yawn, too, “I’ve got business to tend to. I’ll show you the kingdom soon.” Simba leaned down to nudge Kopa with his muzzle.

Kopa narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Crossed.” Simba made an invisible X in the air with his tail-tip. He grinned.

“Well, okay.” Kopa sprang to his paws. “But next time we do it before breakfast. At sunrise—when it first gets light out!”

“Kopa…” Simba began fake-moaning, amused.

“Sunrise!” Kopa demanded.

“Breakfast.”

“Dawn.”

“Deal.” Simba leaned down and touched noses with his son to seal the ‘deal’.

“All right!” If Kopa were human, he would have pumped his fist in boyish delight. The young lion cub bounced around in joy, grinning hysterically.

“Sire,” Zazu, the middle-aged hornbill, landed on the same rock Kopa had been on.

“Morning, Zazu,” Simba dipped his head to the blue bird.

Zazu bowed. “I am once again checking in with the, as you know, morning report.” His British accent grew thick. “As usual, the elephants are constantly complaining of their forgetfulness, and fortunately there have been no sighting of hyen—agh!” Zazu gave a girlish squawk and immediately looked over his shoulder at his tail feather. One was missing.

Nala looked stern. “Kopa…” she drew out the last part of his name threateningly.

Kopa’s ears came up. He had his back to them, in the middle of slinking off. He turned around, mouth closed tightly as if trying to hide a forbidden meal. “Mmm?” he mumbled without opening his mouth.

Simba cleared his throat firmly.  

Kopa shook his head hard. Then he sneezed, coughed, and out of his mouth fluttered a blue feather.

“Aggh!” cried Zazu in disgust.

Kopa spat on the ground to rid the foul taste, choking. “Ugh, awghh! That’s disgusting!”

“Indeed it is!” Zazu snapped, fluttering down and picking up the feather with a wing, gazing at it with remorse.

“You know better,” Nala scolded to Kopa.
 

Kopa turned around with a jump of his paws, a look of protest already on his expression. “I-I tripped! Honest!”

“Run along,” Nala nudged him with her nose. “Try your best to stay out of trouble.”

Kopa twitched an ear. “Aw, man.”

Simba chuckled.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kopa stumbled down the rocks to the long grass. It had been an hour! His father had to be done with all that work by now.

“Hey, dad, guess what?” Kopa skidded to a halt beside his father, who was pacing at the entrance to the sleeping den on Pride Rock.

“Not now, Kopa,” Simba replied distractedly.

Kopa tried to catch his father’s eye, watching him pace. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for Zazu.” Simba answered. He paced left. “Why hasn’t he returned?”

“Uh…well, don’t worry. But, um, Dad?”

Simba didn’t look at him. “Mm?”

“Do you think we could…take a look at the kingdom now?” Kopa’s ears rose hopefully.

“Not today, Kopa,” Simba said again.

“Wh—” Kopa began indignantly, then flattened his ears, disappointed. “Okay.”

Tail drooping, Kopa turned and sulked away, hopping limply from rock to rock back to the grass.

“Say kid, why so blue?” Timon was suddenly at his side, riding Pumbaa, seated on the warthog’s head.

“Actually,” Pumbaa tilted his head, making Timon grip Pumbaa’s black mane, “I think he’s more of an orange-gold.”

“Pumbaa,” Timon leaned his head down to look Pumbaa in the eyes, taking hold of the wild pig’s ears, “we’ve been through this. I mean he’s down.”

“Oh.” Pumbaa glanced at Kopa. “What’s wrong, little guy?” he asked sympathetically.

Kopa’s eyebrows lowered angrily. “I’m not little. And I’m fine.”

“Sure, sure.” Timon hopped down from Pumbaa’s head and landed in the dust.

“I’m serious.” Kopa stuck his much-larger-than-Timon’s nose in the meerkat’s face.

“We believe ya.” Timon elbowed Pumbaa’s leg.

Pumbaa lifted his hoof. “We do?”

“’Course we do!” Timon dusted his hands together, eyes closed matter-of-factly as he strutted in a circle around Kopa. “He’s the future King. He doesn’t have any problems.”

Kopa arched a brow. “Do real Kings have problems?”

“Oh, sure,” Pumbaa grinned. “Lots of ‘em. Responsibility’s a killer.”

“Really?” Kopa became interested. His ears stood straight up again. “Does my Dad have problems?”

“Uh, more than most,” Timon huffed.

“Being a King isn’t easy,” Pumbaa began.

“But we don’t wanna hear about that!” Timon leaned casually against Pumbaa’s right front leg, gazing up at Kopa.
 

The lion cub cocked his head. “Why not?”

“So he has problems!” Timon snorted. “Big deal! So the kingdom’d be in chaos without ‘im! So what, eh, Pumbaa?”

Pumbaa jolted. “Uh?” Then he caught Timon’s eye. “Oh, sure. Right! Who cares?”

Kopa stared at them. “Chaos? You mean he has to have problems?”

“Well, yeah, but who needs ‘em, right?” Timon coughed.

Kopa poked Timon’s chest with a paw. “What d’you mean? A King’s gotta have problems!”

“Does he?” Timon again nudged Pumbaa.

“Yeah!” Kopa raised his head in a know-it-all way. “It makes him stronger. I’m gonna be like that someday. You’ll see!”

And he trotted happily back towards his father.

Pumbaa glanced at Timon. Timon glanced at Pumbaa.

“I think we got through t’him, whaddaya say?” Timon said as he hopped back onto Pumbaa’s head and took hold of the warthog’s ears again.

Pumbaa nodded cheerfully and the two of them clopped off to find grubs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“And where’re you going?” Nala asked.

Kopa was scampering past her. He stopped. “Exploring.”

“Where?”

“Dunno—somewhere I haven’t been, I guess.” Kopa shrugged.

“Is that