The Price of Silence

Tired, haggard, and heavy eyes lifted, recognition slowly dawning in them in the waning evening light.

Swallowing hard, Wiglaf's trembling hand gripped upon the hilt of his sword. He tugged on it but found it stuck fast to its sheathe. Licking his lips, he pulled it up to his face, grabbed hold of both sheathe and grip, and with a sharp grunt, ripped it free. The former brilliant blade gleamed at him in spots and spatters where rust hadn't taken hold. 'Is it fitting or irony, that the first place my sword sees, is also the last place I used it?' He pondered.

A small, surprised smile crept on his face. How long had it been since he'd been able to hear his own thoughts? But no sooner had that thought entered his mind, it was quickly drowned out by the same sweet high-pitched song that had plagued his mind for almost 9 years. Shutting his eyes, and gritting his teeth, he pressed on the thick bandages wrapped around his head and ears, the song now deafening so close to its source, in a desperate attempt to block it out.

Standing upon the jagged rocks at the cave's mouth, the sea sprayed lightly across his grimacing face. His expression then turned to either grim determination or resignation, as he understood that one way or another, the infernal siren song would finally fall silent. Seeing a small forest in the distance, and the sun's last rays dipping under the horizon, he quickly found an appropriate stick. Taking the bandages from his head, he fashioned from them a crude but effective torch.

In the encroaching darkness, he stared into the deep cavern, muttered a prayer to the Allfather, with torch and rusty sword in hand, took what could be the last steps of his life.

Enveloped in a cocoon of soft flickering yellow, shadows seemed to jump out at him with every step. Pebbles and sand crunched and shifted under his feet as he walked. In the corners of his eyes, he could see clearly where his friends had fallen. Their bodies were mangled and broken. Their faces, contorted in pain, or if they were lucky, stunned surprised as they were killed too quickly. The air in the cave was damp and heavy, and so cold that he could see every breath. His brow was soaked in sweat and water, pasting his hair to his face, and dripping off his beard, echoing loudly as they fell into shallow puddles.

A few more steps. A loud swallow. A glance around showed him a familiar boulder. It was there where he was pinned down by the monster. His sword arm hacking and flailing uselessly at its leg, while the monster stomped on his shield, shattering it against the ground, it's triumphant bellows making the entire cavern shake. Its foot was raised, to do the same to his head, when the combined might of his other 3 surviving warriors managed to push it off him.

Wiglaf shook his head and readjusted his grip on his sword, the sweat and damp making it slippery in his hand. This wouldn't be just for him. It would be revenge for them as well.

Seeing that boulder meant that he was close to where the monster fell. Where this torment started. Steeling his resolve, he pushed on into the depths of the cave.