Simba had reached the outskirts of the castle walls. He had a long ride home alone to dissect his father's plan, and he had begun to counteract with a plan of his own once he began to understand the details. He knew that arriving alone on horseback was suspicious when he had possessed a squadron of his father's elite and trusted servants. He should have been more cautious. His father was a clever man, backed by the cunning mind of his grandfather. The history of his family told him his father and grandfather were part of a long line of smart rulers; smart enough to leave an eighteen year old in the dust.
But Simba was of this line too. He needed to think of how he would justify being alone with no princess and no entourage, and to do so he had to uncover the plot against him. Even now in hindsight, he grappled at the issue of his father putting a target on his own son's back. He was always the crown jewel of his family. He was a conqueror. He was more invested in the family line than anyone. He was a shining example of all his family wished to achieve. To actively try to end his own legacy by afflicting his child with the curse he vowed to end... it made no sense. But he supposed that even the hardest diamond can crack under so much pressure. That was when it all started piecing together.
It occurred on his journey home that the guards probably came along to make sure something happened. He remembered that the guards knew that Hari was afflicted even before he did. Despite the gloves, that wasn't enough to determine Hari's infection- Simba wore gloves himself and that didn't mean he carried the curse. Many people wore gloves to avoid contracting the disease in the first place, not because they have it. It's often unreliable, but he believed it himself when put on the spot- a naive mistake he winced at in hindsight. Someone under duress doesn't make well informed decisions. He wondered how they knew Hari was cursed when nothing at the moment suggested he was.
It was then when he pieced together that the guards had to know that he was afflicted before they reached the forest- most likely told by his father, sourced from someplace he couldn't say. The guards' instructions given by the King, as disclosed by Hari unknowingly, was to keep them both alive until they reached the castle. There was no use to keep Hari alive unless they needed him to fulfill his own role. Simba's only idea of what that would be is proof of his affliction, allowing the concession his father would inevitably have gathered together to witness it for themselves, to believe the curse was sourced from outside the royal family. The guards, loyal to his father, would say Simba was afflicted by the forest dweller who disguised himself as a princess with magic. Then, with the world believing he contracted the curse, he would be sentenced to death, having his father remain as King in his fall from good graces.
This was only a working theory of course. Simba was pressed with the business end of two plot holes: the first of how or why Kasim found Hari to begin with, as well as why he would go through so much trouble to frame him as afflicted, using Hari specifically in his plan. The latter was easier to answer than the former, as handing over power presented itself as an obvious trigger to a man who liked being King. However, his father never once showed disdain for his reign to end. He put so much time and energy preparing his son for the throne- to put all that work to waste seemed unlike him. But his father did seem increasingly distant as his coronation grew closer. And his father was cunning, and to underestimate him would be a mistake on Simba's part. Simba was one of the sharpest tools in the shed, hand crafted by the man himself. He wasn't willing to risk being passive in fear that his brain had played tricks on himself. It could easily lead him to his grave. As for Hari's importance, Simba couldn't say. As far as he knew, Hari was nothing but a cursed boy who lived his life alone. Simba guessed he was just a convenient pawn, but the back of his mind knew better.
His plan on telling his father the truth that he encountered someone instead of the princess was no longer an option, as he would have to answer to why his guards were killed. Simba now needed a plan to back his father in a corner, letting him know that he had uncovered his plan without the people in attendance knowing. Such an accusation would cause scandal in which the whole family would never live through. It would be a verbal stalemate, locked against the truth and the public to gain an opportunity to unravel his plan to make him bow down to his own. Lies beget more lies it seemed- but his lies would have to be better.
For now, he had to live through the concession inevitably waiting to congratulate him on his successful mission, that wouldn't have failed miserably if it weren't fixed against him from the beginning. Now he had to find a way to tell that to a crowd of people, and avoid falling into his father's trap to expose his son as an afflicted blight to his kingdom- which was entirely untrue. But without his fathers guards to back the King's plans, his father's lie was in shambles and had no validity. All Simba needed to know to best his father was that everything that had transpired up until this point was under his direction. His escape was not expected, so he had an edge over him. He would have to do a dance of words to stay in the people's favor, as the concession was premeditated too. He wanted to make a spectacle to dehumanize him and let the people's words spread through the city as gossip. It is the fastest way to spread information these days. The best way to counter this was to make up a heroic story of bravery that was a more interesting tale to tell.
He recounted his mercy on the cursed beast that called himself "Hari". He cringed, flaring his teeth in regret. He should have killed him, but his honor and his mom's insistence on mercy got the best of him. He was often disgusted by how he saw the decency in other's despite logical reason to see anything but the truth. His spark of compassion blinded him. He could never shake it though, no matter how much he trained, how much he fought it. His mom told him to always look deep down for the love, honor, and humanity in everyone. She told him that well into his youth and was the only part of her he had left. Despite its uselessness now, her words were still something he couldn't let go of. She was long gone, but she lived in his mind still, in his heart. Deep down, he loved that his mother was still with him, but it caused problems to his judgment when he needed to act. When that afflicted wretch saved him from Nathair's sword, he didn't see anything but a man risking his own life to save his. He knew that was an illusion, and when he snapped out of his appreciation for the deed, he countered it with rage and disgust. It was part of the magical curse to disguise the afflicted as a human beings. Its how they get close to you to pass on their evil seed.
Legend has it that witches long ago cast a spell on the land, and that whoever contracted this spell in the form of human disease were bound to lose their humanity. Their minds would deteriorate. Their judgment would fall from their brains. They would go mad. But worst of all -the real threat of the curse- was how the afflicted would lose their ability to give birth. Of course, no one knew why. It was hard to understand and correct, but it seemed inevitable from all the information he knew of. Research collected suggested that the affliction was somehow a trigger made by a corrupted mind, causing a cursed body to simultaneously lose its ability to create offspring. Such a state of madness would be impossible to understand from a healthy man, but it made the curse a definitive threat towards humanity. It was confusing and its logic was loose in itself, but the affects are devastating nonetheless.
If it continued to spread, it would eventually spell the end of human life as a whole. The reason it had lasted so long, aside from the Columbine's failure to keep it under control, was how it hid beneath it's magic. The spell made the afflicted appear human, as though they were one of the healthy. That's when they strike. For a moment, he had let his guard down and he was almost afflicted by the forest dweller. He felt foolish to be so trusting. But the most puzzling thing he had encountered was how Hari didn't seem interested in touching him. He was only interested in talking, and despite his better judgment, he sincerely believed that. What a strange creature Hari was. But he was gone now.
At the center gate to the inner city, the lone guard saw Simba and welcomed him with a standard salute before approaching. The gates were to ensure the kingdom's protection, one of the many hurdles his father had to overcome to defeat the Columbines during the war. The wall still showed wounds and scars from the invasion, nicks and burns flecked the surface of the solid wall that stretched around the castle and inner city, reminding him what was at stake if he failed his encounter with his father and his assembled crowd. His kingdom's banner fell on either side of the gate, roaring at his return home. Flowers littered the meadow flowing up to the gate, flowers of red and blue wafted so gracefully about as he passed them. He took a calming breath in. Simba didn't know if he was in on his father's scheme, so he positioned himself as if nothing was amiss.
"Hello, guard," Simba's voice boomed. "I am Prince Simba, returning from my mission assigned at my coronation."
Simba knew the majority of people knew his name, but not his face. He had spent his time in the castle training and unable to enter the city due to the possibility he could be afflicted. He was told he was too important to run the risk of being afflicted by mingling with his citizens. The young guard's droopy eyes opened wide, immediately arching his back to stand tall in his presence.
"Greetings, Prince Simba." He spoke in a voice that trembled. Simba could tell he wasn't used to a royal presence. He was a useless cog in his kingdom's infantry, not to be trusted with anything vaguely important. He seemed green, young and new to the position. Simba's shoulders relaxed.
"I require attendance with the King. I need through the gate immediately."
"O-of course, my Prince!" He excitedly cranked the lever that opened the heavy gates blocking his path, the creaking of the hinges lurching at every heave. The guard was so enthralled by his presence that he didn't even notice Simba's dirty clothes and his wounds he had gathered while he was away. He scurried over when he was done.
"I believe the King has assembled a court to welcome you home from your quest. He awaits in the throne room. If you speak to the guard at the inner doors, you should be personally escorted to the chamber."
Simba nodded in appreciation, but also in satisfaction of his prediction of the concession. He had anticipated his father to show a spectacle. It was all part of his plan. The cursed Hari, of all people, opened his eyes to his father's treachery. Despite how much he hated Hari, Simba had to be grateful for repeating what he had heard like a mindless parrot. He would have otherwise brought Hari home to his father's wishes under the supervision of those metaled goons, and would have been publicly executed in the throne room.
Being presented as an afflicted royal heir unfit to lead the effort to extinguish the curse, no one would argue against his death. It was his father's plan to send him to the home of a cursed boy, present his son as sick, murder him, and then be praised as a hero while keeping his throne to himself. Hari was significant to keep alive as proof the curse was contracted outside the family. Without Hari, there could be gossip of the curse being harboured within the family like the former royal family. His father's intelligence and preparedness was matched only by his deviousness. His father's demeanor has changed after his mother's death, but he didn't think it would drive him to such extremes. In any case, now wasn't the time to worry about the semantics of why his father did this. It was time to put on a show.
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