King-Sized, Part 2 (Patreon)

Simba embraces a new outlook on being King, and reaps all the rewards that comes with. Simba's story is done, but his appetite isn't, and thank you all for supporting us! Enjoy!

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The Northern Highlands was not so different from the Pridelands, Simba thought. He immediately spotted a large, rocky outcrop looming over a river, shorter than Pride Rock, but thick and crowned with several peaks, not unlike the stout Baobab trees dotting the landscape. The land was, as he had been told, rich and bountiful. The tall grass was healthy and green, trees were rich and flowering, and the rivers teeming with fish and hippos- massive herds of antelope could be spotted in the distance, and the gently rolling plains were gently teased by a pleasant breeze. For a lion, it had everything one could want.

On closer inspection of the rocky outcrop, Simba could see that it was adorned with several carvings, with lionesses prowling the area. Of course- this was King Mafuta's pride. Mafuta, lord of the Northern Highlands, had offered to aid the Pridelands in a time of drought, and Simba was not going to turn down a generous offer out of hand. It was his first time playing diplomat, but as Zazu so often reminded him, the duties of a king were many.

Mwindaji, a fierce lioness, guided Simba to the rock. She had been courteous and respectful, but now that they were in the Northern Highlands, she stood a little straighter and held her head higher- clearly, she took pride in her king. "Mafuta is gracious, but the others in the pride will not take kindly to disrespect towards the king. We do not suffer any insults or jokes at his expense."

Simba and Zazu exchanged looks. "Well, of course not. Mafuta has offered his hand in friendship, we wouldn't be so ungrateful to mock him for it."

Mwindaji narrowed her eyes and nodded curtly. "Very well." They came to a large earthen gate leading further into the King's residence. "You will wait here. I will announce your presence to the King," she said plainly, before disappearing around the gate.

Zazu glanced at Simba. "Sire, if I may be so bold, the Highlanders seem to place a greater emphasis on etiquette than us- with your blessing, I believe I can make the proper introduction to set things off on the right foot."

Simba nodded absently, drawn to one carving. It showed a lion, but with a belly so large it was nearly spherical. He was reminded of the dream he had traveling here, with himself at an eerily similar size. A small cough from his avian majordomo called him back to Zazu. "Sorry. Uhm, Zazu- you mentioned that my father found the Highlanders strange. What exactly did you mean by that?"

Zazu demurred for a moment. "I admit, I myself cannot say. It was before my time at court when they last visited Pride Rock. The King instructed me to always send any correspondence from the Highlands to me immediately- and to never let Scar deal with them."

Simba's brow furrowed. "Why Scar, specifically?"

The bright blue bird spread his hands. "Besides him being a treacherous, murdering tyrant? I can't say Mufasa ever explained why."

Mwindaji reappeared. "King Mafuta is ready for you now, King Simba."

Simba gave Zazu a quick nod, and the majordomo puffed up the feathers of his narrow chest, and strided forward into Mafuta's inner sanctum.

"Gracious King Mafuta of the bountiful Northern Highlands," Zazu began grandly, bowing low. "It is my great honor to present Simba, son of Mufasa and Sarabi, Savior of Pride Rock, and King of the Pridelands. It is our pleasure to-" he finally looked up, and Zazu's beak fell open upon seeing Mafuta for the first time. He desperately tried to recover himself. "T-to be welcomed into the- the belly- bosom! Of such a fat- flab- fabulously prosperous kingdom."

Simba, his mouth slightly askew, took a step forward, eyes wide as he took all of Mafuta in. "Smooth, Zazu, very smooth," he muttered under his breath.

Surrounded by a half dozen lionesses, Mafuta was easily the fattest lion Simba had ever seen. He was sprawled on a raised dais, propped up with pillows and cushions, though his overstuffed, sagging belly and doughy chest greatly resembled them already. His fatty legs laid listlessly to the side, and his flabby arms were pinched by gold bands quickly growing too small for him. He had tawny fur and a great, dark mane that hid, Simba was certain, any manner of double chins- but his eyes were bright and sharp, and he carried himself with an easy grace as he smoothly waved Zazu's misstep off.

"At ease, my Prideland friends, at ease," Mafuta said, his voice deep and smooth as honey. He paused, as one of his lionesses, one hand idly drawing circles around his large belly, fed him a scrap of meat. "You are welcome. We have heard of your victory over your uncle- very well done, Your Highness," he said with a lazy nod to Simba.

"Ah, thank you, good king," Simba replied, trying not to stare too long at Mafuta's boulder of a belly.

Mafuta smirked, dimpling his cheeks. "You both seem distracted, my friends." He slapped his belly firmly, sending ripples across it. "Not what you were expecting? Please- we'll all feel better when you just come out and say it."

Zazu glanced nervously over to Simba, but the Prideland King took a brave step. "Well, yes, King Mafuta, you are… far more prosperous than we could have imagined."

Mafuta laughed, as did some of his lionesses. "Oh, you are much more diplomatic than your father- heaven bless him- I like that." He hefted himself up into a sitting position, his belly spilling over his blubbery lap. "But come now. We can be plain-spoken. I am fat- obese, even. A terribly overfed, porcine, chubby glutton." He finished with a flourish, grabbing another cut of meat and devouring it in seconds. "And frankly, King Simba, you could stand to follow my example."

Zazu balked. "I- I beg your pardon?"

"Mm." Mafuta held up a finger, pausing to belch softly before grabbing another morsel. "It's rather simple. Tell me, King Simba- your father. Big lion, yes? Hearty, hale, stout?"

"My father was a strong and powerful king, yes," Simba said guardedly.

The Highland lion nodded. "Just so. The land flourished under him, for he was a strong king- all the prides are thus. A healthy king, a healthy kingdom. And your uncle, he was… less robust, yes?"

"A regular complaint of his."

Mafuta grinned again. "I have two offers for you, King Simba. We can send you back with some of our food, and your people will eat for a day. Maybe it will be enough until the rains come back to the Pridelands. Or, you can embrace the same ritual we have here. Bind yourself to the land, and you can breathe life back into the land with your own form."

Simba furrowed his brow. "Just so I'm following along… you're saying that you have some ritual, some spell, that ties a king's health- his body- to the land itself?"

Mafuta nodded. "The truth is, every king puts himself into his realm. Your father's Pridelands reflected him, while your uncle was rejected by the land itself. You have yet to leave your mark, and so the land does not know how to respond to you. Our ritual merely enhances a bond that is already there."

"So it's my fault drought has come to the Pridelands?" Simba's heart sank.

Mafuta held up a chubby hand. "No, not exactly. But you are not in sync with it. I can help with that- we will cast the ritual here and help you shape the Pridelands you want for your subjects, and we'll do so by helping you reflect that shape. There are two routes before you- your father trained for years to develop his strength and power, and the results speak for themselves- the Pridelands was hale and hearty under his reign. Or, take a lesson from old Mafuta, young Simba-" Mafuta slapped his belly again, jostling it until every inch wobbled. "Embrace prosperity. Your father chose raw power to protect his lands, but you've seen to it that there are no serious threats to the Pridelands. So, by all means, enjoy the fruits of your labors- if you make yourself prosperous, your land will be prosperous, too."

Zazu scoffed lightly. "Your Highness, we mean no offense, but we have never heard of this ritual- what proof do you have this will work?"

Mwindaji bristled, the lioness gripping a spear before Mafuta calmed her down, placing a thick hand on her shoulder. "At ease. Tell me, King Simba- on your travels here, you had a dream, did you not?"

Simba stiffened. "I- well, everyone dreams, King Mafuta."

Mafuta chuckled deeply. "You dreamt about what it would be like to live like me- to enjoy the prosperity of your lands while also making them prosper- the land gives unto you, and you give unto the land- it's all apart of the Circle of-"

"Life?" Simba supplied, the younger lion stunned.

"Exactly so." Mafuta spread his hands. "We know a fair bit of magic here in the Highlands, so, I wanted to give you a taste of what you can expect. I just happened to find a happy exchange that keeps my subjects happy and well-fed- and me doubly so." He chuckled again, once more slapping his belly. At this point, two of the lionesses had inched closer, gently rubbing at his heavy sides. "So. What do you say?"

Simba furrowed his brow. "What would I need to do, exactly?"

Zazu stared at his king, mouth agape. "Sire! You can't seriously consider this?"

"We don't have a lot of options," Simba countered.

Mafuta smiled broadly. "Just a drop of blood buried in your Prideland soil. I will send Mwindaji back with you, she'll know what to do. Then, your new friends in the Northern Highlands will send you all the food you need."

The majordomo leaned forward, his beak set. "You haven't mentioned how this arrangement benefits the Northern Highlands."

The fat lion smirked. "We don't make this offer for charity alone, no, it's true- I'll admit, Mufasa was a… foreboding king. A warrior king. The type of king that, had he possessed his brother's temperament, might try to take over another lion's pride. And as you can see, magnificent king though I am, I would not be much use in the fight. That is, unless I managed to sit on my opponent!" he laughed uproariously.

Simba and Zazu exchanged a quick look of confusion.

Mafuta furrowed his brow softly. "I thought it would be obvious- we here in the Highlands would feel much more… comfortable if the Pridelands king, especially after Scar, was suitably satisfied with what he had."

"You think I'm a threat," Simba said.

"I worry you're a young king looking to prove himself," Mafuta corrected. "But you see, my way, you'll be fat and happy. Sure, your subjects may poke fun at your lumbering gait, your sagging belly, your, erm-" he glanced over his shoulder at his own ponderous rear, smothering several cushions underneath its flabby weight. "Other assets. But they'll be well-fed, healthy, and safe. If you can suffer the hit to your pride, really, why not?"

Simba twisted his mouth, stepping forward to Mafuta. After a tense pause, he held out his hand. "Alright. I accept your aid."

Mafuta smiled his biggest grin yet, hefting himself up to pull Simba in to a fast embrace, squishing the younger lion against the folds of his belly. "Ah, very wise! You'll feast with me tonight, young Simba, and we'll get you a taste of all that is to come."

The following morning, as Mwindaji and Zazu prepared to travel, Simba was still sprawled out on a bed, nursing his middle that was still groaning from all the food he had stuffed himself with. Mafuta was a generous host, to the point of overbearing- he had eaten and drank with the enormous lion until he passed out. Groaning, and still clutching his middle, he joined his guide to return home. Mafuta must have been pleased with himself- he kept dreaming about himself stuffed fatter than even the Highlands lion, and he swore he heard the old king's deep chuckle when he woke up. Finally, he returned to the Pridelands, and Mafuta's ritual was performed- a small prick of the blood buried under the still dry and dusty soil in the shadow of Pride Rock, a few incantations, and supposedly, it was done. Simba didn't feel any different- though he did, perhaps, feel hungrier for his next meal. If he was going to commit to this, there were two friends that he trusted above anyone else to help…

"Let me get this straight," Timon held up a had, the meerkat massaging his forehead. "You want to get enormously fat? Just spend all day doing nothing but eat?"

Simba offered a crooked grin. "It's going to save the Pridelands from drought," he said lamely.

Pumbaa cocked his head, the thickly built warthog frowning in confusion. "So… it's gonna be like the old days, back in the Oasis?"

The lion chuckled softly. "Yeah… yeah, I suppose you could put it that way."

Timon's eyes brightened, as an idea came to him. "So, uh… if we're gonna help you, we'd need new positions. With all that food, why, you'd need royal tasters. Make sure it's safe for you."

Simba shook his head, expecting something along these lines. "I think we can have that arranged."

Timon clapped his hands together. "Well! What're we waiting for?" He cupped his hands, calling down the halls of Pride Rock. "Let's get the lead out! The King is hungry! Bring up the good stuff- all of it!"

In any other circumstance, Timon and Pumbaa would have been the worst influence a king could have in the middle of a drought. If not for the prophetic dreams of being so enormous, lounging amidst a newly rich and bountiful savannah, Simba would have more doubts. Without his two friends to encourage him to relax and enjoy himself, to always go for one more morsel, he certainly wouldn't manage as much food as he did on a daily basis.

The first week or so was the hardest, certainly. He could hear the grumbling, from the watering hole up to the peak of Pride Rock- the king gorged on fresh meat while the rest of the savannah starved. Maybe he was more like his uncle, after all. As his first few pounds were starting to pile on, his middle gaining its first curve, the other lionesses too, began muttering angrily. It was almost too much to bear- Simba almost quit, but then, after eating himself into a stupor, sprawled out on an open stretch of Pride Rock, he was awoken by a loud noise- the clash of thunder. Moments later, it finally, finally rained. It was like a magic spell had been broken- or, perhaps, one had finally been cast. The rain fell, hard and fast, day after day- the river banks and watering holes swelled as fast as Simba did. When the sun finally broke, and the Pridelands sprung back to life, all was forgiven. The lionesses hunted with new vigor, the herds began to repopulate, and everyone was suddenly far more tolerant of the king's strange new fixation.

With doubt and a good dose of self-consciousness removed from his shoulders, and the constant encouragement from Timon and Pumbaa, Simba embraced Mafuta's lifestyle- the more he ate, the more the trees bloomed, the taller the grass, the richer the earth. The lion's dreams were less about his future size, but now about the sheer pleasure of it all- the tantalizing, mouth-watering morsels he indulged in, the sheer overabundance of food, and the comfort. His body swelled, and so long as he was at rest and not lugging all his excess weight around, he was comfortable. The most jagged, harsh spots in Pride Rock's stone walls were as soft as a feather bed the more his rump filled out and his body was padded in plush, soft, luxurious fat. Just a Mafuta warned, there were constant jokes at his expense, but they were all in good humor. If anything, Simba encouraged it.

"What is the King supposed to hunt at his size, anyways?" one lioness whispered as Simba waddled down from Pride Rock. "What will he do, hope he ends up sitting on an antelope?"

"A good idea," Simba called back, shaking a belly that sloshed like a water gourd. "Put me uphill of them and give me a good push, I'll roll over a dozen and do your job for you, Kuwinda."

The old Simba would think it a strange thing to take pride in his growing belly and unchecked appetite- but all he had to do was look out at a prospering Prideland, and take comfort that he had risked his reputation, possibly his position as king, and it had all paid off. After a glorious feast with every kind of meat imaginable, Simba fell asleep in the grass, too large and heavy for the lionesses to roll him back up to Pride Rock. When a gentle morning woke him, Simba groaned softly with contentment. Nala was nearby, somewhere- perhaps preparing his breakfast. He lazily shifted his head, spotting two small, round boulders in the distant, one dark red and one tawny, and he chuckled- Timon and Pumbaa had tried to keep up with him, but that was foolish- no one beat the king when it came to feasting.

Thickly swaddled, flabby arms reached up to massage the upper crest of his gigantic belly, chubby fingers plying deep into the voluminous expanse of fat. He couldn't see far past the mountain of his own belly, laying huge and heavy atop him. From here, it looked bigger than Pride Rock- Simba chuckled. Now there was a thought. He shifted his enormous rear, feeling so heavy he was surprised he didn't sink into the ground, his tail swallowed between the two globe-like cheeks of his rear. Every part of him had grown enormous, from his legs thick as baobab trees, so round his feet lazily hung off the fat of his calves, suspended in the air, to the immense love handles and folds of fat along his back, deep enough a lesser animal could get lost between them. His chest, round, fluffy, and sagging, fluttered with each deep breath. He smiled, dimpling inflated cheeks, the lower regions of his mane caught between a double chin coiled about his neck like a fattened python. He was actually happy this way- he had found a way to be his own king. And he was already hungry for more.