Authors: Gwynn Jones
What now?
Their time together was brief. A day, a night, one, or a few?
—
long enough for all but Beowulf's most faithful companions to leave the lakeside, he would find, having given him up for dead. Long enough for Sigrun to tell him the true tale of Grendel's attacks and Hrothgar's sacrificial brides. Horrified, Beowulf promised that he would not interfere again, whatever political chaos might envelop Heorot in the future. Besides, he had his own realm to return to, his own loyalties to maintain.
He helped her tend to Grendel's corpse. It was painful, but she allowed him to take the head. It would provide definitive proof of the monster's death, and though Sigrun did not fear for herself, wasn't even sure that she would remain at this place, it would increase the chances of her being left in peace. It would also increase the potential for Grendel himself to rest in peace: the undead rise in mysterious ways, and one can never be too careful in putting monsters down for good. Sigrun did not like the thought of Grendel rising again, more horrifying than ever and even harder to control. They decided to deliver the rest of his body into the hearth, as it seemed the only reasonably available funeral pyre.
Weeping, Sigrun embraced Grendel's cold chest one last time before cutting off his head with the giant sword, slicing clean through with a single swipe. Beowulf helped her lift the body onto the hearth, and then they rolled it into the flames. Tears poured down her cheeks, blurring her vision, but she caught her breath and was startled out of her grief at the sight that was briefly revealed when they consigned him to the fire. The flames were momentarily parted, dampened by the body, finally affording her a clear view to the back of the hearth.
There was no back wall.
Or rather, there was a gaping opening
—
a passageway. The great carved hearth had always seemed like a gateway because it
was
a gateway! But a gateway to where? To what? Was this entire hall in fact a gatehouse to something beyond? And was this what Grendel had felt he needed to protect?
Sigrun's questions did not prevent her from taking comfort in Beowulf's embraces. They enjoyed each other again, and again, slowly and carefully. She explored the immense delights of his magnificent cock and all the ways in which she could take it, giving and receiving pleasure. She used her mouth and hands on him in every way she could imagine, thrilling at the responses she provoked. Beowulf submitted to her caresses, gave himself to her, and then returned the attentions in kind. They explored every inch of each other's bodies. Beowulf mapped and mastered her, as she did to him. His touch was skilled, precise, attentive in no way she had ever felt before, and she learned from her time with him how to read a body, how to play it to perfection.
How this bear of a man, so huge, so powerful, could be simultaneously so sensitive, so careful, amazed her. He made her body sing. And the lightning flashes, the pulses of energy that she had felt before with Grendel and with the sea dragons, became shaper and more focused under his focused attentions. They marveled together at the sparks that flickered from Sigrun's fingertips as she became aroused, and she played at sending them snapping and crackling across Beowulf's bare chest. But for all these pleasures and discoveries, they both knew that their time together was short, and this precious interlude needed to end.
"Can't you come with me?" he groaned, wrapping her in his arms.
"Can't you stay with me?" She chuckled, a bit sadly, knowing what his response had to be. "Of course you can't. You are a hero. You have responsibilities. You have men waiting for you above."
"I do. And though you tempt me to forget them all, I cannot abandon them. And it's not just my men. My king and my country are under constant threat from our enemies, and I am needed to help maintain the peace."
"Your enemies ought to fear you greatly after this amazing feat."
"Yes. It is why I came, to make my name for myself. And now I curse my foolish pride, that I sought this glory. Can you never forgive me? Is that why you will not come with me? And now I must pine for you for the rest of my days?"
"I have forgiven you already. I cannot come with you because my business here is not yet finished."
"Heorot? But I thought you meant to let it fall on its own?"
"Not Heorot. This hall. And that passage." She gestured toward the fire. "And this." She nodded at the blue flame that she'd just conjured in her hand. "I don't know who I am, what I am. But I know that I have become this way since coming here. I think maybe my answers lie through there. I have to go see."
"But you told me the fire never dies. Do you plan to just walk through the flames? It's too much, too great a blaze."
"I have a thought about that."
Sigrun remembered the strange effect that her blade had on the fire when she thrust it into the flames in order to cauterize Grendel's wound. She picked up the sword now and carried it to the hearth, thrusting it up to the hilt into the fire. The heat on her hand was intense, but she noticed a blue glow wrapping around her hand and creeping up her wrist. The flames around the blade burst into a ball of white and blue and then parted, creating an opening in the wall of fire. She smiled, withdrawing the sword and letting the flames close in on themselves again. This blade had hung beside the hearth for a reason. It was both a weapon and a key!
Turning back to Beowulf, she felt a pang in her chest. The man was extraordinary
—
perhaps in ways similar to her? They had a special connection, she felt it crackling through her, and yet she knew that for now, at least, they had to part. He may have killed her dear Grendel, but he had also freed her in the process, pushed her further on her own path. Her encounter with Beowulf, this gorgeous, powerful man, had been revelatory
—
but now she needed to find out what these revelations meant.
"Promise me that you will come find me, once you have found the answers you seek." The look in his eyes almost made her falter in her resolve.
"I do. I will." Her throat constricted. "Thank you, Beowulf. Thank you for what you have given me. Now bring them Grendel's head, and tell them that you killed me, too. It would be best for both of us if that is what they believe."
He swept her into his arms for a last embrace, his skin glowing gold against her silver-white sheen, and she allowed herself to sink into him, to be held for a moment completely enveloped in his strong, steady presence. She would like to have this, to keep this. But that gateway beckoned.
"Wait for me," she whispered into his chest, "wait for me, and I will find you again." She said it for herself, the words too soft for his ear to catch. She could not ask this of him, but she could hope it for herself.
Sigrun helped Beowulf swim back to the surface with Grendel's head, enlisting her favorite sea dragons to help speed him up from the depths with his burden. She did not follow. She was sure that he would be received with great acclaim. She trusted that he would gracefully extricate himself from any further commitments to Hrothgar and Heorot and would return to his home on the other side of the sea. And she had no desire to lay eyes on Heorot ever again, herself. She was done with that place.
She looked around the hall. By rights, she supposed, this place and everything within it belonged to her now. She considered her initial plan of flight, how that tiny fraction of the hall's wealth that she'd taken would have enabled her to go anywhere, do anything. She thought again of Beowulf. But then she turned to the hearth, the gateway with its barrier of flames. She knew where she needed to go. There was only one true choice for her. This one. Through those flames and onward to whatever lay beyond.
Sigrun smiled to herself. She wondered what adventures awaited her.
Continue to follow the further adventures of Sigrun Frostdaughter
in
Viking Lore Erotic Tales
!
by Gwynn Jones