CW for this chapter: Violence, description of blood

Chapter Twenty-Three: Epic III

And what has become of the heart of that man, now that the man is king?

"Sirius, you don't have to do this," Remus pleaded, but it was no use. Sirius was determined, unreachable.

"I want to," he said. And he gazed at Remus's endless eyes, his sorrow as deep as the ocean. "I've been training for this for years."

"But Sirius—"

"I need to try." The desperation that broke Sirius's voice was enough. It fractured his bravado, shining like a shadow underneath the mask of recklessness, revealing the bleeding, heartbroken boy underneath. "Remus, I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try."

"But what about me?" Remus asked. "How am I supposed to live with myself? How could I possibly live without you?"

"Don't worry," Sirius said, slipping right back into his affected arrogance, even going so far as to give Remus a playful wink. "I won't die. I promise."

But Sirius had broken promises before. He was a good man, an honorable man. But that didn't mean he could keep every vow he made.

The Fated Ones were clearing a space to fight, shepherding the pack away. Or trying to at least. For the wolves refused to leave. They were awake, alive—and every one of them was terrified for Sirius. There was nothing the Fated Ones could do. They snarled and threatened, but the pack was—at last—strong enough to resist them. They protected each other. And the Fated Ones' terrible powers—their ability to divide, their ability to make a person feel isolated in their shame—became suddenly worthless.

As Sirius prepared to fight, a hundred hands reached out to him. The wolves blessed him like he was something holy, whispering luck into his ear. They didn't believe in the Fated Ones' lies. They didn't believe in the shadows of the Underworld.

They only believed in Sirius.

I, on the other hand, was terrified. Didn't Sirius know he was no match for the king? He was so small, powerful in his hope, but would that be enough? Greyback was twice his size, twice his strength. I desperately did not want Sirius to join me in death.

"Are you ready, Sirius Black?" boomed Greyback.

Sirius turned—and suddenly saw Ylva there, half hidden in shadow, her face ashen and pale. And in a rush, he wished he could take back all the anger he felt toward her—take back all the fear. She didn't ask to be Greyback's child. She didn't ask for the Underworld. Sirius understood now. He looked at the Fated Ones—in their cruelty and their rage—and he understood.

"Sirius," Remus said from behind him. Sirius turned to give him a shaking smile. "Please… be careful."

Sirius kissed him—trying to put everything he didn't have time to say into it. "Don't worry," he said. "I can change things."

"No wands," Greyback said, as Sirius stepped into the ring. "We fight like men."

Sirius had been expecting it, but it didn't make the news any more welcome. Greyback made a big show of passing his wand off to the Fated Ones. Sirius handed his to Remus. "Keep it," he said. "If I—"

"You won't," said Remus.

So Sirius faced the king. Brave and proud and impossibly hopeful, he stepped forward to fight for a better world.

"Are you prepared to die, Sirius Black?"

The Fated ones jeered, but Ylva stood silent—her dark eyes more alert than Sirius had ever seen them. Maybe she had woken up from a spell too.

"No one will be dying today."

And Sirius stepped forward, facing his fate.

For a moment, the two of them stood in a tense suspension, the air electric between them.

And then—Greyback pounced.

Sirius dodged at once. He was no novice—it was clear that agility and surprise would serve him better than brute strength. He could tire Greyback down while planning his best move.

He spun just in time to see the king lunging at him again.

Sirius barely missed his great fist this time—only by a hair's margin.

"What fun is this, Black?" Greyback leered as Sirius backed away. "Are you going to keep hiding forever? Come face your death like a man."

Sirius prowled to the edge of the circle, calculating his chances, deciding his next move.

Greyback lunged again—and this time Sirius transformed. The great black dog leapt up to Greyback's arm and fastened its jaws around it in a deadly bite.

Greyback roared—and flung Sirius across the tunnels. The force of the throw sent the dog skidding, but not before he ripped a chunk of flesh from the king's arm.

"You disgusting mutt—" Pain made Greyback feral, sharpened his rage.

Sirius didn't wait. He jumped onto the king again, biting down on his leg.

Greyback kicked out, instinctively, but Sirius's grip held tight. Blood gushed from Greyback's wounds, seeping through his robes, flowing hot onto Sirius's fur. The taste of iron rushed into Sirius's mouth.

"Let go of me," Greyback growled—and brought his other leg down, stomping as hard as he could.

Pain shot through Sirius.

Something cracked. His ribs by the sound of it. In a haze, Sirius lost his grip, giving Greyback the opening to shake him off.

"You want to play dirty?" Greyback asked—and he began to pace, limping with every other step. "You think you can win, just with your little magic trick?"

Sirius kept a good distance—not pouncing yet, waiting for the right moment to go on the offensive.

He was injured. The dog could not hide it as well as a human could—and I could sense the desperate, pounding pain in the whites of his wild eyes. All Sirius had to do was keep his head—play it smart. He had a chance—injured as he was—but he had to play his next move carefully.

Greyback lunged for the dog—and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Bloodlust glinted in the king's eyes. Sirius scrabbled against him, but Greyback's grip held true.

And—with a mighty blow—Greyback slammed the dog against the wall.

Sirius went limp as pain jolted through him, and he slid to the floor, unmoving.

"No—" Remus tried to run forward, but one of the Fated Ones caught him, dragged him back.

Greyback hovered over the dog, leering. "I look forward to killing you, Sirius Black."

Sirius blinked up at him, trying to clear the cotton haze of pain from his eyes. Trying to muster the strength to keep fighting.

"I'm going to kill you just like I killed your pathetic little brother."

And that was enough. Rage—vengeance—love turned to hate—pushed Sirius to his feet—and he once more tried to attack.

I wish I could have told Sirius to be careful—not to be goaded into a fight he could never win—but Sirius was too proud and too angry.

He went straight for Greyback's throat—all bared fangs and deadly claws. But it wasn't enough. Greyback threw him off easily—and didn't wait before pouncing again.

Now it was Greyback with the advantage, Greyback with teeth bared, Greyback ready to kill. Blood flowed freely against the ground, and it was impossible to tell whose it was. Sirius's fur was thick and matted. A terrible gash opened on his flank.

Sirius was losing.

He would die here.

The realization settled heavy in the air. The pack hardly breathed, clutching each other as they watched their last hope die. Remus sobbed openly, fighting against the grip of the Fated Ones who held him.

And I?

What could I do?

I watched helplessly, hopelessly. My brother was going to die—right before my eyes. He was going to die as I died—at the mercy of a terrible king, alone on the filthy tunnel floors.

But he wasn't alone.

The realization crackled through me like lightning.

He had Remus. He had the pack who believed in him. He had Ylva.

And me.

He had me.

And—empowered, unafraid—I rushed toward him. And just as Greyback rose to deliver the final blow, I materialized in his eyes, disorienting him, blocking his vision—giving Sirius just enough time to scramble away.

I didn't look, but I heard his claws clicking against the stone floor—and then silence. I didn't dare turn to see if he had retreated to safety. I stayed in front of Greyback's eyes, blocking his vision for as long as Sirius needed to get away.

But Sirius wouldn't run. I should have known better. He would never back down from a fight and he would never leave Remus behind—nor the pack, for now they were his just as Remus was his.

"You don't have to be like this Greyback," came Sirius's voice. And I turned to see he'd transformed back into his human form. He looked terrible. Bleeding freely from a gash on his side, his face bruised and grey. "You can be a better king."

"I am powerful," snarled Greyback, trying to claw me away—but we both knew that would not work. He'd already destroyed my body. There was nothing else he could do to hurt me. He had no power over memory. "What more could I need?"

"Your people could love you," Sirius said. "You could help them, lead them—you don't have to keep them asleep like this."

"You don't know the first thing about leading, boy."

"No," Sirius agreed. "But I know you, Fenrir Greyback." He stated to pace, keeping a good distance from the Fated Ones and the king. "I know all about your heart and your fears. I know how far you would go to protect the child you love."

"I'm not afraid," Greyback said. He was limping too as he paced, his wounds deep and bleeding. "I have nothing to be afraid of."

Sirius stopped moving then—and in the dimness of the tunnel, he looked so small, so powerless. I wanted to yell to him to fight—to flee. But Sirius was fighting this battle the best way he knew how. With his open heart and ferocious hope. "That's not true," he said simply. "You're afraid of losing her."

He didn't have to say who he meant. Everyone knew.

And at once, it was as if a spotlight lit Ylva in the darkness. All of our gazes found her, drawn as if by a magnet. Ylva, tough and proud—Ylva with eyes full of mischief and a heart full of shadows. Ylva, who was imprisoned by her father to keep safe, who was miserable, desperate for freedom and fresh air—desperate for the world she'd been kept away from.

Sirius kept on. "You lost everything that night—twenty years ago—your three sons left your protection and wandered right into a trap. They died brutally, painfully, with mouths full of blood. You couldn't let that happen to Ylva."

I didn't know if it was some kind of compulsion that drew Ylva out of the shadows—or if the pack had coaxed her, gently, lovingly, to her father's side. Her people loved her, after all. It was impossible not to.

"She was too young," Greyback said—and he couldn't hide the emotion that shook in his voice.

"She was," Sirius agreed. "And the boys were young too. Just kids They were rebelling like all teenagers do." Sirius paused, studying Greyback's dark eyes, his set jaw. "They shouldn't have died for it."

"It was a trap," Greyback said. "Their mother was working with the Aurors. She betrayed them."

"And they all died. All your boys. The woman you loved. They got wiped out in the blink of an eye."

Silence filled the tunnels. Nobody breathed. The king was cracking, his sorrow and anger pushing against his heart, turning the tide.

"Humans are to blame," he finally said. "All humans."

"You never let your boys go, did you?" Sirius asked. Then, he stole a glance at Remus, who was still held by the Fated Ones—but their grip was lighter—their bodies weaker—gossamer thin. "You held onto them—a thread of their memory. You turned your fear into projections of your nightmare. Your fear became your weapon—and it let you control your people—it gave you the strength to infect them with the same despair you felt, the same numbing rage that has coursed through your veins for decades."

"What are you talking about?" Greyback asked.

"The Fated Ones," Sirius said. "They're not subjects. They're not wolves. They're not even people." He limped up to Remus and pulled him out of their grasp—his hand went through them like fog. Suddenly, they had no power against him. "They're phantoms. Fears. Your three boys were murdered—and all you had was Ylva left She was heartbroken and lonely."

No one in the tunnel breathed. Greyback's eyes were wide, haunted.

Sirius spoke simply. "So you turned your fear into ghosts. Your grief into weapons. You took the memory of those three boys, and turned them into three sisters."

Greyback didn't speak—and neither did Ylva—the two of them stared at the Fated Ones as though seeing them for the first time.

"They're your hopes for a better world and your dread. They control your people by enchanting them with your own numbness. They are terrible." Sirius took a huge risk—a stupid risk. He stepped forward, placed a hand on the bleeding, brutal arm of the king.

Greyback looked down, surprised. And for a moment, I was afraid I saw murderous rage glinting in his eye—but the anger cracked up to reveal was what really underneath.

Grief.

"They're not real, Greyback," Sirius said. "They're just fear. They're your desperate attempts to bridge the distance between you and the child you love. They're the defense mechanisms you built up to keep your daughter safe."

"I can't lose her," Greyback managed.

"Greyback," Sirius said, and there wasn't anger in his voice—only painful, heartfelt compassion. "You already have."

Greyback stumbled away. And now I knew he wasn't going to strike. Sorrow rolled off him like thunder.

"There is still time," Sirius said. "It isn't over yet. You can still protect her. You just have to see her as she is. Love her as she is."

"Dad." Ylva's voice was small—and she sounded like the child who had lost her brothers all those years ago. The child who was afraid and lost—and needed her father's comfort, not his rage. "I only ran away because you never saw me. You created this Underworld to keep me safe—but I never wanted it."

"I need to protect you—"

"I know you do," Ylva said, her voice gentle. "But this isn't protection. This isn't a life." She rushed to him, and—tentatively, wrapped her hand around his. "I don't need a kingdom. I don't need enchanted subjects. I don't need an army of wolves to keep me safe. I just… I just need my dad."

The dam broke. The grief Greyback had been holding back for years burst through—and he cracked. Sobbed. He grabbed Ylva—and pulled her into a tight hug.

She hugged him back—crying, smiling but crying at the same time.

And the pack cheered. There was not a dry eye in the Underworld. The wolves—the victims of Greyback's grief—would be free. They held each other and wept—hopeful for their future, hopeful for the people they could become.

Sirius Black was a dreamer. He spent years fighting for a better world. This boy had lost everything and still he fought. And it wasn't his strength or wit or charm that saved him—that saved the entire world.

It was his open, loving heart.