Beowulf vs. the Dragon

In Geatland, Beowulf’s Mead Bar and Grill was rather close to a sleeping dragon’s lair. Loud music and laughter constantly filled the boisterous bar. Geatland had nearly fifty years of peace once King Beowulf came back home from killing the Lizard-Monster and its mommy. By helping out King Hrothgar, Beowulf came home with tons of extra money, heaps of gold, and plenty of cryptocurrency.

Beowulf and his buddies loved drinking at the bar and boasting about their exploits on the field and in beds with various wenches. Instead of swords, they now played darts and threw axes at a large backboard target. Three of the men were getting rowdy and spoke above the rest.

Guthlaf roared, “I need more mead!”

Breca called out, “Bring me another turkey leg!”

Uncouth Unferth said, “Why does Beowulf look so old?”

At Unferth’s statement, all the men in the bar turned and glared at him. Unferth had a knack for saying the worst things at the worst times; he was a terrible drunk.

“This mead tastes funny,” Guthlaf said. “Did someone spike it? Anyway, pour me another round.” Since Beowulf was the owner of the bar, drinks flowed freely to his friends, the ones that had always been by his side. It was an unending feast.

One day, however, the fire-breathing dragon that had been guarding a treasure for hundreds of years was disturbed by a petty thief who entered the lair and stole a cup. It was most likely Unferth who would steal just a plain old cup.

Looking at the others, Guthlaf stated, “People just shouldn’t steal. It’s not right.”

Breca piped up. “That might get us into trouble.” He eyed a buxom wench nearby. “Pour me some more mead. Um, please?”

Unkempt Unferth added, “It was only a replica.”

The other warriors threw bread at Unferth to shut him up.

This dragon, known around town as the durrr-agon, started to terrorize the villagers in retaliation for the theft. The local police said the dragon was not in their jurisdiction. Since it was Beowulf’s county, it was up to him to take care of the scaly pest. However, Beowulf was as old as dirt and often used a cane to get around. The dragon presented a new menace to society, but he was also ten feet tall and pissed off.

Beowulf believed he could encourage his friends to band together and dispatch of the durrr-agon. He hobbled over to the front of the hall and addressed the men. Tapping on the microphone, he said, “I've never known fear as a youth; I fought in endless battles. I’m in books, comics, and manga. Look at the severe butt-kicking I gave to the Grendel clan.”

The warriors shouted liquor-laden compliments at the same time, “Agreed!”

“Yea!”

“Go, Beowulf!”

“Bruh! WOOOOO!”

Beowulf continued. “Anyhoo, I’m old now, but I gotta fight again and seek more fame if the dumb dragon hiding in his tower dares to face me. Are you all with me?”

Uncomfortable silence befell the room. The hurdy-gurdy stopped playing. Crickets chirped. The warriors looked at each other uneasily. Beowulf had a hunch his men would back down. It was his job to rally them. He threw back the last of his mead and began his farewell speech.

“I’d use no weapon, no sword if this Godzilla-shaped beast could be killed without it. I would crush its little head with my hands and tear him limb off. I’ve done that before.” He got louder. “But his breath will be burning hot, poisonous halitosis pouring from his tongue. I feel no shame using a weapon against this thing.”

Unferth asked in confusion, “I thought Hrunting melted when you were in the lake.”

This time all the warriors threw forks at him.

Beowulf stuttered, “Um…I bought another set of weapons at SwordsRUs. Does it really matter at this point?” Beowulf continued. “When the dragon comes to me, I will stand and not run. My heart is firm, my hands calm, my Parkinson’s in check. I need no hot words. Wait for me close by, my friends. I will survive - as long as I know how to love I know I’ll stay alive. I know none of ya’ll wanna try. Only I could kill this monster. This dragon’s finances and stock portfolios and everything he has hidden will be ours.”

Unferth was confused as usual. “It was ours to begin with. It’s not really his treasure. He stole it.”

This time the men at the bar threw turkey legs at Unferth.

“What? You know it’s true,” he cried.

Then Beowulf rose, shaking his head at Unferth. With his shield at his side and a metal T-shirt on his chest, Beowulf headed outside, wobbling because of his old age. “I am calm,” he started repeating to himself, “I am calm calmcalmcalm – What am I doing? I’m 80 and I’m still fighting? This is absolutely nuts.”

The cowardly warriors, a group of oxymorons, could still see their king from the bar. Beowulf strode calmly toward the tower under the rocky cliffs. Under the huge stone arches, he felt the heat of the dragon's oily breath coming down through the entrance, too hot for anyone to withstand. He kept moving.

“Is that a huge stone arch or am I having a hot flash? I – I can’t see anything from all the smoke. Someone vaping? Is this a barbecue of some kind?” he said, trying to wave away the smoke. Beowulf, now angry, lowered his sword and roared out a battle cry:

“AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!” Beowulf coughed out.

I hate the sound of that alarm, thought the dragon. He slowly rose, angry, now knowing a man had come to his home. Its breath came first, a steaming cloud pouring from the stone. The earth shook.

The dragon yelled, “Fee – Fi – Fo- Fum, I smell the blood of a Viking…Mum? Who’s coming to bother me now? I do NOT like solicitors. I will toast him and smother him in jam.” He spotted Beowulf, amused that such a small man had come to his castle. “Dude, you’re tiny. Not at all what I though a king would be.”

Beowulf held his shield in place in front of him. “It’s you and me, dragon. Face to….ugly face.”

The creature coiled and uncoiled, much like a broken slinky. “Like my new warmup? Coil up, coil down. It gets my heart ready for battle. Even against you, Tiny Man, and your itty-bitty sword.

Beowulf wasn’t scared at all. That was just a puddle he splashed into. Like a bully in the playground, he said, “My sword is waiting. I’m still pretty dang strong and I got a cool shield. I’m not afraid of the likes of you.”

“Well, you should be,” the dragon laughed. “Queen Daenerys, me mum, trained me to destroy people like you.”

“I don’t know who that is. Sounds like a TV show to me.”

“I get no reception down here, sorry.” He crept closer to the king, pouring out fire and smoke. “Take this!” he screamed as fire rushed forth like a flame thrower.

Flames beat Beowulf’s iron shield, and for a time it held. Then the shield began to melt, and for the first time in his life, Beowulf realized how important having a vital steel union was. He dropped the shield. “Ow! Ow! Ow! That’s hot!”

The durrr-agon replied, “So’s your mom.”

Staring at the dragon, Beowulf saw his death. He knew he was a goner, but he still had a mortgage on the bar. He raised his sword anyway and tried to stab the dragon’s scaly hide. “Take THIS, you nasty dragon!”

The giant gila monster mumbled, “Sheeesh! Treasure isn’t worth all this trouble.”

As Beowulf struck, the old blade broke, cutting into the monster’s skin and drawing a drop of blood.

Clank. Beowulf looked down at his broken sword. “My bad.”

Meanwhile, the drama-queen dragon leapt in pain, spouting flames. “Ow!” he screeched as he put his claw over his soon-to-be-mortal injury. Quickly the dragon attacked, encouraged as Beowulf fell back. It looked like curtains for the Big B.

The men, watching the battle on pay-per-view, were concerned.

Guthlaf said, “Um, it looks like Beowulf needs some help. I have…a bad back.”

Breca followed suit. “I’ve got weak ankles.”

Unfortunate Unferth sighed. “Acne.”

The other warriors threw empty mugs at him.

“And hemorrhoids,” he added.

The men glared at him in disgust.

Guthlaf wrinkled his face up. “Dude, TMI.” Then Guthlaf and the others fully chickened out and scrambled toward the door. “Run away! Run away! Into the woods! Look! It’s got pointy teeth!”

Only one warrior, the one with good health insurance, remained. Wiglaf couldn’t bear to watch his king suffer. He remembered all that Beowulf had given them, armor, gold, nice houses in the suburbs. Wiglaf raised his shield and drew his Swiss-Army sword. With a heavy heart, Wiglaf faced the human chickens and addressed them.

He shouted, “I remember how we sat in this bar boasting of how brave we'd be if Beowulf ever needed us. He gave us all the shiny things, and we all swore to repay him, if the time came, with our lives if needed. He recruited us, and he meant to decimate this dragon himself.” Pointing at the castle, he continued, “Our mighty king is no longer young; he should be in a nice retirement community. Beowulf must lean on us for help. We gotta help him, man. I'd rather burn myself than see Beowulf hurt. Nothing Beowulf ever did deserves an end like this, dying miserably and alone. Are you with me?”

Uncomfortable silence swallowed the bar. The men looked at each other.

Guthlaf, looking ashamed, said, “May Odin be with you. We are just too old to help.”

Breca admitted he was 75.

Unreal Unferth sang, “I feel happy! I feel happy!”

Guthlaf flicked his ear.

Unferth said, “I mean, I’m in no shape to fight a flippin’ dragon.”

Wiglaf turned away and raced toward the castle. Running to his king, crying encouragement, he dove through the dragon’s deadly fire.

“Beowulf! Hey, BEO! I’m here! Let me help you! Let’s drink this Monster.”

Together Wiglaf and Beowulf fiercely battled the dragon; however, Beowulf was mortally wounded by the dying dragon during the battle.

Beowulf stammered, “I’m hurt, son. Darned dragon bit me! I’m a goner. Please help me home. I don’t want to die in this gods-forsaken place.” Wiglaf carried Beowulf home, and as Beowulf lay dying, he sheepishly asked Wiglaf to go get the treasure back from the dragon. “Hey, you know what might help me feel better? Go get the treasure that rightly belongs to us.”

Wiglaf traveled wearily back into the dragon’s lair. “I wish he had told me BEFORE we went back. I gotta hit the gym more.” Groping his way under the arches, he found the main room. Piles of gold, deeds to platinum mines, diamond rings, even a ’54 Chevy and yachts were there. “Look at all the shiny things in here! I feel like Aladdin. I’m sure there’s enough to take care of me for the rest of my l---”

His conscience kicked in, and he thought about how rich people are miserable in their mansions. “I’ve got to stay focused. What’s that?” He spotted a golden banner and took that and all the treasures that he could carry: plates, and cups, and a wallet or two. He loaded his arms with the loot including Beowulf’s broken sword. “I know he won’t be needing this, but I’ll bring it anyway.” Wiglaf stuck his tongue out at dead dragon one last time.

Wiglaf returned to Beowulf, anxiously hoping he was still alive to bring him the booty they'd won together. He lugged it all in and found Beowulf, bloody, gasping for breath.

Beowulf gasped for air. Wiglaf said, “Yo. Here’s some water. I’m back.” He dropped all stuff down at Beowulf’s feet. He kneeled down beside his king with compassion, and both his knees popped. “What last words of wisdom do you have for me?”

Beowulf looked at all the shiny things. “For this, this pile of shiny things, [loud gasp] I am grateful to bring these spoils to my people while I’m still breathing. Somewhat [loud gasp]. I sold my life for this treasure, but it’s Ok. I have great life insurance. Take what I leave, Wiglaf, and help my peeps, even Unferth. My number is up [loud gasp]. Have the Geats build me a giant tower, and when the funeral flames have burned me, build it there at the water’s edge high on this piece of land so sailors can see this tower and remember my name.

“So, like a lighthouse?” Wiglaf asked.

“Yes, like a lighthouse, dingbat. Call it Beowulf’s tower, and it will be seen by ships in the darkness [loud gasp].”

Beowulf took the gold bling from his neck and gave it to Wiglaf, along with his gold-plated helmet, his rings, and Air Jordans, and told him to be cool about it. “Wiglaf, you are the last of our family. Good luck. I now follow our ancestors into death [loud gasp].” Head turned, his eyes closed, and he gave up the ghost. His soul left his flesh in a flash and flew with glory to Valhalla or the Villages in Florida, whichever had better mead.

Wiglaf carefully covered Beowulf with a nice comforter his mom knitted. He turned around and glared at the lily-livered “warriors” who finally showed up. “I can’t believe you deserted him. He did so much for you, and this is how you repay him? Your warrior cards have been revoked.”

Guthlaf sadly spoke. “He was the best king. Ever.”

Breca said, “I feel ashamed.”

Unfortunate Unferth added, “Are those jewels real?”

Wiglaf finally smacked Unferth upside his head.

Unferth shouted, “I mean, all hail Beowulf!” to which the others echoed, “All hail Beowulf! King of the wild frontier!”

Wiglaf redirected them. “There’s still a lot to do, guys. There’s a fire to be made, stonemasons to find, bricks to make, crying to do. Chop chop!”

The Geats burned their king’s body on the funeral bonfire. They built the tower as Beowulf requested so sailors could find it. After working for ten days, they sealed his ashes in the walls and raised the tower as high as they could.

Wiglaf commanded, “I need 11 more men – how about you guys over there? We have one last thing to do. Saddle up.”

Then twelve of the bravest Geats rode their horses around the tower, retelling stories of Beowulf, capturing his greatness and glory on Tik Tok for posterity. Beowulf’s followers continued to ride, mourning their dear beloved leader, crying that no cooler king ever lived.

Except for Unferth. He was trying to make s’mores in the cold embers of the funeral pyre.