He gazed upon the fuming flames, burning bright into the infinite night. The son of Weohstan bowed his head, attempting to salvage any last memories of his great lord. Two men, having bloomed from feuding bloodlines, were brought together by the valor and might of this great man. How ironic, how easily the soul flees the body—had his hands held the power of a thousand men, his fate would have been the same, his entity reduced to mere dust. The moment kept replaying in Wiglaf’s mind: the mighty serpent had snuck up on our hero, securing the blow that would evoke tears out of nations. The young warrior, a surge of adrenaline and fear flowing through his veins, ran forward, knowing there was little he could do. The final struggle, although lasting only five minutes, seemed to stretch on forever. Their fast-beating hearts marked a period of uncertainty. Finally, the lingering moment dropped to a halt as Beowulf ended the dragon’s existence with a mere blow. Just as a feeling of victory began to fill the air, the triumphant hero fell to his knees, dark red blood oozing down his back, wrapping the man in a rosy cape. The next few moments would be the most excruciatingly long and painful in young Wiglaf’s life; Beowulf lay next to the dragon, the spark of life dwindling in his flickering eyes. Tears rushed down the young Scylfing’s face, hopelessness and sorrow overwhelming him. The sound of footsteps awakened Wiglaf from his trance and the cackling of flames resumed in front of him. Beowulf’s armed guard, the shameful cowards who fled during their lord’s moment of need, had scurried forward abashedly to enter the funeral procession. All of the sudden, sorrow and mourning was replaced by seething anger and rebuke; the warrior spat in the cackling flames as he stood up furiously.
Useless men! Useless cowards! Every one of you will be dispossessed, once princes from beyond get tidings of how you turned and fled, disgracing yourselves. A warrior will sooner die than live in shame. Look at the man that lies there. He put every fiber of his being into fighting alongside such undeserving men. His trusted guard!! His finest men, put him out to die while they resided in comfort of their own safety. (He spat once more into the flames).
His words were like arrows, cutting deep into their sense of guilt. He sat back down. They were worth no more of his time. Looking deep into the fire, lost in memories, young Wiglaf drifted into a deep slumber.
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