1101. Sigurd, the Dragon Slayer

A narrative poem based on the myths of Sigurd.

In the mists of ancient Northlands,  

where the mountains loom like giants,  

a saga unfolds,  

woven in the threads of fate,  

the tale of Sigurd, the dragon-slayer,  

born of the blood of gods and men.

His mother, a queen of fire and frost,  

cradled him under the watchful skies,  

while whispered prophecies  

danced in the shadows,  

promising glory,  

and a path paved with peril.

With sword in hand, he ventured forth,  

the gleaming blade, Gram,  

forged in the heart of a dying star,  

a weapon of destiny,  

whispering secrets of conquest  

to the heart of a hero unbound.

Through the forests thick with shadows,  

he found the dragon, Fafnir,  

a beast of greed and scales like night,  

coiled around the gold of ages,  

the earth trembled beneath their clash,  

a symphony of steel and roars.

With each strike,  

Sigurd tasted the fire of courage,  

the flames of vengeance igniting his spirit,  

until the beast lay vanquished,  

its heart a prize,  

its blood a potion,  

granting wisdom,  

a voice of the ancients.

Yet, in victory’s embrace,  

love's cruel tendrils crept in,  

the haunting beauty of Brynhild,  

a warrior ensnared in dreams,  

her fate entwined with his,  

woven with the threads of deceit.

A curse laid bare,  

betrayal’s bitter kiss,  

as loyalty crumbled like ash,  

the echoes of their passion  

lost in the tempest of ambition,  

the flames of desire turned to frost.

And so, the saga twists and turns,  

a tapestry of glory and grief,  

Sigurd, a hero cast in shadows,  

his name etched in the annals of time,  

a reminder that even the boldest heart  

can falter beneath the weight of fate. 

In the end, the dragon’s gold  

sits heavy on his brow,  

the echoes of laughter and tears  

carried by the winds of legend,  

as the North remembers,  

the hero, the myth,  

the tale of Sigurd,  

a dance of light and dark,  

forever intertwined.