News spread quickly: Beowulf, King of the Geats, had died; slain in battle as he laid low his foe. Word eventually reached the son of Halfdane who was saddened to hear of his friend's death. That night the halls of Heorot were filled with food and drink and song on Hrothgar's Orders; a great feast, in honour of their mighty ally, Slayer of Grendel, King of the Geats. But words are the swiftest of things; faster than any man or strong-keeled ship.
Just as word reached the son of Halfdane, so too did it reach the ears of Ohthere, son of Ongentheow. The Swedes and the Geats had been sworn enemies since the moment of Haethcyn's death, and longer before. It was Hygelac's man, Eofor, that slew Ongentheow and now, with Beowulf dead, the blood of the Geats would pay the price of his father's death.
Six weeks. That was how long the peace lasted. Six weeks of rebuilding following the dragon's attack. Six weeks of preparation before the Sweeds began their assault.
When his comrades had shown themselves to be lesser men, Weohstan's son proven his mettle. In the face of near-certain death, he remained beside his lord and landed a blow in defense of his prince's life. The Geats had chosen Wigaf to lead them in Beowulf's absence.
A scout reported the arrival of Swede forces in Geatland. On Wiglaf's orders an envoy was sent out to treat with the enemy. Three young men were chosen, men who had not been called to fight the dragon for one reason or another. Men who's honor was still intact.
Garrick had not been one of the fighters during the dragon's attacks. He was young and talented, barely into manhood, his strength with a sword not yet the level needed to fight in battle. Wiglaf had chosen him for this task, not for his skill with a blade but for his even temper and sharp mind. Oswyn and Alric had been away at the time of the dragon's attack. When they heard rumors of Beowulf's death they had hastened back to their homes desperate for news only to find that the rumors were in fact true.
The company of four rode hard towards the invading force with only their weapons food and armor. They spent most of their journey traveling through forest until eventually, the landscape gave way to a clearing ringed by trees and bathed in sunlight. Tents and gear and horses and men filled much of the space. All eyes had turned to their unexpected visitor. Men reached for their swords and stood, ready to defend themselves if more men were to fall out from the trees. Their numbers were impressive. Perhaps a thousand men or more had made their way on this long campaign. Bringing himself to a stop and dismounting, Garrick stood scanning the enemy camp and called out:
"I am called Garrick and I am here as a messenger for my people. We know your purpose here and we have been sent ahead in a gesture of good will. Is there someone who will come forward and treat with me?" Silence reigned over the clearing for a moment and the tension rose in the air. Garrick would not be the man to move first. He would wait, they would come to him.
After a moment, Oswyn spotted a group moving towards them; six men in total. Dressed in their war gear, they cut an imposing figure against the mid-day sky. As the other group drew nearer, Oswyn noticed one man who stood out from the other five. His bearing and stature were greater, his armor more finely crafted. When the Swede party halted their advance he stepped forward and spoke in a loud, clear voice, so that all the men behind could hear, strong, cutting words:
"You claim to know our purpose here and say that you are hear to treat with me yet I know nothing of you. World reached my halls announcing that Beowulf is dead. That in his final hour he stood alone against a dragon, the mightiest of foes, his men had deserted him and left him to his well deserved fate. " Alric and Oswyn each shifted. Their hands moving to grasp their sword-hilts, ready to defend the honor of their lord even in death. Garrick was quick to calm their rising spirits.
Wiglaf spoke: "My father's name was Weoshtan He served Hygleac in his time as I have served Beowulf in his. When the dragon burned our hall my lord Beowulf rode out against it. I stood beside him as the dragon drew blood. A deep wound, thought the poison is what proved fatal. Only he could have slain such a foe and only an enemy so great could have slain mighty Beowulf. "
"What purpose do you hope to serve with your words? Stories of a dead man, an heirless King who grew arrogant with age, will not alter my course. I am Ohthere and i decree that our people will fight, Geats and Swedes will die in glorious battle and I shall not be swayed. My vengeance will be absolute, the blood price paid. No man shall be left to fight another day or continue the line of your people. The Geats will be ended in this feud, I will be satisfied by nothing else. However, I am not a fool.
You are weak after the dragon's attack and I am not ungenerous. I and my army shall rest here. We will not leave this clearing save to hunt and gather water for the passing of a fortnight. Use that time to prepare. We will fight on even footing and the once mighty Geats will follow their lord to death. Take that message back to your people." A the closing of his speech, the son of Ongentheow turned his back to the envoy and marched back to his camp.
Alric and Oswyn stood silently fuming. Their grip white-knuckled where they fought not to draw their weapons. Only the promise of future battle stayed their hands. At the same time, a sense of dread overcame Garrick and Wiglaf. The outcome was better than could have been expected, but not what they had hoped.
Messengers were sent to all the allies of the Geats. Calling for men to rise up in arms against their sure destruction. For a week before the battle, men poured in from out-reaching villages. Repairs were rushed and all was done to prepare for the oncoming storm.
On the morning of battle the Geat forces numbered roughly almost five hindered men. Stood in ranks waiting for their enemies to attcak, the army proved a miserable sight. Wiglaf stood before them all and as he gazed out at the sea of faces before him he felt, deep in his bones, what he had known since Beowulf's death. This battle was inevitable and would be the last stand of the Waegmundings.
The atmosphere was dark and tense. It was no secret among the men what would undoubtedly occur tomorrow. Garrick spoke softly to Wiglaf, his voice filled with both fear and determination:
"I know little of the ways of war but the men are not fools. They know that death tomorrow is all but guaranteed; but perhaps you can speak to them. Rouse their fighting-spirits?" A wise decision. His voice ringing loud and clear to all the fighters Wiglaf called for their attention.
"Listen well, for there are words I must say to you all. I see the despair on your faces. Tomorrow the fighting begins and all that you hold dear will likely perish. We are outnumbered, but not out matched. The Swedes fight for duty, for their lord who seeks vengeance for the death of his father. We have a much greater cause to fight. A warrior is defined by his actions, and when a man has turned to dust and bone what is left? Only what is kept alive in the minds and hearts of others. We will fight tomorrow not for our lives or for our land, but for our memory. Will we be the cowards who rolled over like dogs in the face of our enemies? "
Murmurs of denial and refusal rose up from the men. Wiglaf, encouraged by the response, continued, "Will we be the people who abandoned their homes and their land to flee the battle we know is to come? No. We fight for our future beyond death, for the mark we will leave in the hearts of our enemies and the stories they will tell their children about this battle; About the army who stood and fought against a foe much greater than them; about the bravery and courage that each Geat showed as he looked death in the eyes without fear."
By now the men had lost their worry and thought only of the glorious battle ahead. The cheers and war cries rang out through the air as the Swede army came into view in the distance.
The battle was fierce. The outcome was never uncertain but that didn't prevent the men from fighting. Wiglaf's words had inspired in them a will of fire, a determination to be stronger, faster, to swing harder, to bring down as many enemies as possible before they themselves were cut down.
Garrick alone slew three men before he met his end. The first man, he had stuck with his sword through his stomach. Tearing flesh and muscle and leaving a gaping hole where his innards had once been. He paid the man no mind before moving on to the next and the next. Eventually, inexperience and the strain of fighting off several opponents took their tole and the swede warriors seized an opening. A single slash to the throat was all it took to bring the youth down.
Oswyn and Alric fought bravely together on the battle field and slew seven men between them, they lasted well through the day before they too were brought down.
Wiglaf had been engaged in his own battles. He slashed and hacked his way through the enemy force, killing more men than he had need to count, forcing his way to Ohthere.
The sun was hot and high when the two began their duel. And it lasted well into the evening. Victory for the Swedes had been practically guaranteed yet the two did not break from their combat. No other man interfered. The two were evenly matched in sword-skill. The battle seemed to stale mate, neither fighter gaining an advantage and neither relenting in their attacks. But over time, while Wiglaf maintained a calm and calculating demeanour, Ohthere grew incensed and frustrated when his enemy refused to fall for his taunts. He was blinded by his anger and his revenge. Wiglaf, patiently waited, matching blow for blow until he perceived an opening. Fate rewarded his patience. It was a slight chance, but it was there. Wiglaf stuck quick and true, slashing his enemy across the stomach. The wound was deep, Ohthere would not survive.
Shocked and desperate, the son of Ongentheow redoubled his efforts and reigned down a flurry of blows on Wiglaf until one connected. He would not be the only one to go down in this fight. Blood poured from the gash on his shoulder; It cut deep through the tendons and reached the bone. And Wiglaf knew that he would not survive.
He stumbled back and looked around the battle field. The last few Geat survivors were being rounded up and slaughtered. His vision blurred, the feeling of hot blood rushing down his side was making him light headed, he wouldn't remain awake much longer. He could only hope that their stand here had not been in vain; that stories of their bravery on this day would be told alongside stories of Beowulf the Dragon Slayer and of the splendour of Heorot.
Once death claimed him, the time would be soon, his vision was already going dark, those stories would be all that remained of the Geat people. And Wiglaf prayed that they would last.