A/N: Wrote this for my english class and became more proud of it than it probably warrants, but YOLO amirite.
I hate myself for actually saying that
Disclaimer: I don't own Beowulf. Some Catholic monks do or something. And I don't usually use OC's, but this was part of the requirements and I own her, so...
A Thief and a Hero
I looked down at the golden cup that rested in my hands. The jewels glinted in the sun and were practically blinding. I knew that I could make a fortune out of it.
I could still hear the dragon's enraged roar pounding in my ears and replaying in my mind, like a sickening soundtrack to my thievery.
The cup used to belong to that vicious creature. He had more treasure and I was going back for it. Down the secret entrance I went, descending into his devilish underground cave, my braided long black hair pounding against my back like a rope. I was mentally preparing myself for a quick grab of whatever I could find and getting out with the murderous beast none-the-wiser.
Last time I was here I had planned on taking more than just the cup, but I was not aware of the dragon that lived there. I had picked up the embellished chalice and was inspecting it when the dragon appeared out of nowhere. It startled me so much that I almost dropped the cup. I hadn't seen a monster like that since…
Beowulf.
That beautiful bastard Beowulf. The defeater of both Grendel and his hellish mother. The man who used to be the love of my life.
Beowulf, however, never returned the feelings. It did not matter to him that I had left Denmark, the only home I had ever known, and traveled to Geatland for him.
Beowulf was on one knee in front of the fire-breathing monster. His shield was thrown up to protect himself. The demon's wings were spread to full capacity and I could feel the flames he shot in a continuous stream at the hero from where I was standing.
I hid in the shadows when I heard people coming from the passageway I had just traversed, the acidic smell of dragon's lair stinging my nose and causing my eyes to water.
One of the men coming from the path charged straight at the monster, sword raised high, distracting it. This gave Beowulf time to slip under it, his sword stabbing straight up into its weak spot.
In a last ditch effort, the dragon bit clean into Beowulf's shoulder, and, after letting loose a terrifying screech, fell over dead.
The brave hero collapsed a few feet from the feral beast. He and his warrior began talking to each other.
"Wiglaf," Beowulf said. "Go look for the treasure of this dead beast. I want to make sure I have given my life well."
"Anything for you, my king." The warrior ran off.
Beowulf finally looked up and noticed me. I held his gaze for a few moments, his blue eyes meeting my green ones, and then sprinted from the cave. I twisted my ankle on the way out.. I fell to the ground, my hands scratching on the floor, the cuts filling with rocks. All I could smell was the metallic scent of blood.
Tears streamed down my face as I descended to the rocky shore. I knew that Beowulf would die, and I also knew that he wouldn't if I hadn't taken that godforsaken cup.
I thought about when I first met the heralded hero.
He had come to my home to defeat the beastly Grendel. Beowulf was strong and brave. It would be hard for anyone to not fall in love with him. I was sure that I could make him love me like I loved him. When he traveled back to his home in Geatland, I snuck onto the ship stocked with treasures from Hrothgar. I spent five years trying to gain his attention. I tried a variety of things, from dressing fancy to making him jealous with one of his friends.
All I got in response when I professed my love to him was: "I'm sorry Heahferth. I think of you as my sister. I do not love you like that."
I became bitter and began to steal things. Then one day I saw how futile my chase was. I could never change his mind. I gave up on Beowulf.
I'd left Geatland, planning to never return. I'd also never expected to lay my eyes on that loveless man again. I had wanted nothing more than to pack my bags, leave him behind, and move on with my life.
And yet he was dying inside that dragon's lair. He probably hadn't even recognize me. He probably hadn't been bothered to remember me when I left him behind me in the dust all those years ago.
Heartbroken, I walked through the raging waves, the sand tickling my bare feet. The shells poking me, but I ignored it. I could hardly feel any pain by that point. My head slipped under the water, never to resurface. The last thing I remembered was the overbearing smell of salt as my nose filled with water. I wasn't even sure if the scent of salt was from my tears or the ocean.