Fitt XXXVII — The Fatal Struggle — Beowulf's Last Moments

Wiglaf strikes in the moment of the third dragon-charge. His sword goes upward from below, driving into the creature's body; the blow is noted as landing lower than the full force of the belly. But it weakens the dragon enough for the next move. Beowulf, burning and bitten, draws the short war-knife he carries strapped to his armor — every warrior's last tool, the thing you use when the sword is gone — and cuts the dragon through the middle. Both foes fall together.

The venom is already working. Beowulf's neck-wound begins to burn and swell from inside. He makes his way, prudent of spirit, to a seat along the barrow wall. He sees the stone arches, the eternal earth-hall strengthened with pillars, standing above him. Wiglaf brings water, washes his face, unbinds his helmet. The care given to a dying king by the one man who stayed is quiet and particular.

Beowulf speaks. He gives his accounting of the fifty years: no neighboring folk-king dared to meet him with weapons in war. He held his native ground and kept faith — never swore false oaths, never killed a beloved kinsman in carousing. He says the Ruler of Earth-men need not charge him with the killing of kinsmen. He is satisfied with what he did with the time. He asks Wiglaf to go quickly into the barrow and bring out the hoard, so he can see what he won before he dies.