But if it had to perish twice,

He wasn’t fighting to defend himself, he was fighting to enrage the wolf he fought. His blows, aimed at the side of Art’s head, to smack the boy around well his rage built higher and higher. He told his godson what he had, to his mother, to his daughter. How he had failed to protect those he loved. Failure he would die a failure, but they would be safe. Asla would lead the Armada, and one day Art would lead the Hallows. He was strong enough to do anything he needed to to protect those under him.

He would be with Zee again. He hadn’t walked into this fight wishing death. He had intended it to be a heart-to-heart between men. Hit it out, and be good. The rage and fear and sorrow inside of both of them had different plans. Given an outlet, they couldn’t stop. He had just enough left in him to keep himself from doing irreparable harm to his Godson, but there was not enough sanity for anything else.

At first, he felt each stab like a hot white fire in his skin, but as they continued on he became numb to the pain. Perhaps it was the bloodloss, he was leaking from so many places, he had lost count. Soaking the courtyard with his blood, as he lumbered after Artorias. His heavy steps and the adrenaline coursing through him only causing him to bleed out faster.

Oh, but he felt the stab through his pad. He roared, vision blurring from anger and pain. Oh, it had been a long, long time since someone had caused him such physical pain.

He had pushed Art over the edge. The next strike was true. The Warlord smiled. Sirius, with a smile on his maw, closed his eyes at the final, devastating blow from the knife struck deep into his neck. He couldn’t breath, there was only the smallest amount left now in his lungs. He used it in a hoarse whisper, blood on his lips “Thank you” he gasped to Art, and then tumbled head first into the snow
Dead

He blacked out, and when he came to, the world had shifted. But it was only a slight change, telling him it must have been only seconds. Tamsyn was leaning on him, the weight of pushing blood from his numerous wounds. Her paw hitting his cheek. Staining her dark coat. He could barely breathe, but there was just a whisper of it getting past the knife that pinched his skin and narrowed his airflow. He couldn’t feel his body, was he dying?

Tamsyn’s tear soaked words seemed to think not. She wasn’t going to let him go. He was delirious. He tried to bring a paw around to touch her cheek. He wanted to say he was sorry, sorry that he was too weak to hold on. Instead, what came out in the nearest, briefest whisper was “I love you too” and then his head sagged, hitting the ground.


"Speech"