It was a dark and stormy night at the shores. Bjorn came to, in the darkness. Roused by a single crack of lightning across the sky, illuminating the clouds in a purple haze before dying out and leaving the night in its wake.  

Waves crashing in torrent about the rendered remains of his ship as clouds spun in maelstrom above his head. Sheilds and weapons lined the coast, splintered. Scattered between the planks of their vessel. And the bodies of his fellow warriors. Bjorn could see no movement for miles, even the roaring ocean appeared to be silent to him as he bashed the side of his ear.  

The tide began to withdraw, leaving behind a scarlet foam. Bjorn rose to his feet, stumbling for a moment, gripping his side tight. His feet sinking into the wet sand. His leather boots and leg bindings soaked through now dragging him down with each step. As was his tunic. He grumbled and moaned as he removed the weighted woolen weight from his person, freeing his body to the cold nights air, causing him to wince and pause as he looked for something to wrap over his wound. 

He began to wander along the shore, calling out, as his feet left a trail in the sand. Looking for anyone else who may have survived the Jormund elver...  

“Ari!’ Ivar!” he cried. “Leif...Rollo!” There was no reply. “Anyone...” he continued his search. Walking up to the carved dragon head that was the figure head of his ship, defiantly sticking up from the beach. Unbroken.  

“Here!” a weak voice said. Coughing and wheezing as Bjorn dragged himself to the other side of what was left of the ship's bow. 

“Rollo!” Bjorn said, throwing his arms out in joy. “It is good to see you my brother, I feared I was going to be left alone here on this storm ridden shore.” 

“Ha, you may yet brother.” Rollo replied. Moving a broken shield from his side, revealing a large wound to his ribs. “I can barely stand...” He looks away from his brother standing over him. “It would seem there was no glory for us here after all. So many dead.” He looked back up to his brother. “So many who won't see the golden hall...” the rain fell from his face. 

Bjorn fell to his knees, sinking slightly into the sand, moving over to his brother's side. Looking at the wound, as he talked. 

“Such was their fate Rollo, who are we to question the Norns,” he looked up to his brother's face, firmly grasping his soaked shoulder. “Many may come to an end, yet we are here. Defeated, yet unbroken.” 

“Tell that to my ribs” Rollo said, chuckling at his own wit before coughing and spluttering blood over his once rich green tunic. “That wyrm really did a number on me,” he said, trying to sit upright. Wincing as he moved. “And that was only a baby compared to the big one.” 

“Just be thankful it wasn't the world serpent Rollo; we’d probably be somewhere inside its bowl instead of this lovely shore.” Bjorn gestured up towards the moon lit clouds in jest. What more could he do but jest. His brother lay dying, their friends dead. And no way to return home or know where they were. 

“And a wonderful beach it is brother, bit warm for my tastes... to think Thor must fight one of those things as big as the world, he surely is a mad man.” Rollo's voice grunted as he finished, trying to adjust himself to where he sat. The pulsing pain at the bottom of his spine was a constant irritant. “My feet are starting to feel funny brother, think it's all this sea water?” 

Bjorn stood up and looked around as he tried to keep his brother's attention away from his pain, talking about the days of their youth. Of better times. As he looked around, he found a large two-handed axe Ivar had brought with him on their journey. He was a mighty man who always insisted on wearing his chainmail, such was his bravado in life.” 

“Poor Ivar,” Bjorn shook his head. “The fool was probably dragged down to the ocean floor before the boat even splintered.” He lifted the axe from the sand, brushing off seaweed stuck to the head. “I guess this will have to do for now.” Bjorn got into a low stance to practice a few swings with the great axe, only to stop soon after and use it as a walking stick. Moving back over to his brother. 

“Why? Where is grand-fathers sword?” Rollo asked.  

“It's lodged in the back of the beast... or its belly, or its side. Who knows with these wyrms.” He said sitting back down over by his brother. “I tried to fight the beast as it slithered around the mast, embedding my blade into its heart. But I guess such a monster has no heart, and it took us down and kept the blade.” He looked out to see the ocean, the storm subsiding as dawn began to break. “It belongs to Njord now, may he do with it as he wishes.” 

“I guess...say, remember that old, gilded tale of a wyrm laying upon his hoard of gold. I bet this would have rivaled such a story back home.” 

“Ha, such dreams you have Rollo. No skald would sing a joyous tale of the fools who sailed to their dooms. No, ours would be a tale of woe. Like those used to stop children going off into woods or causing mischief.” I turned to admire the dragon carving above my head, the only thing to survive unscathed. “Though I wish I could defy, to pierce the wyrms eye, though such a beast can never die.” 

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Not bad brother, you could be a skald yet.” Rollo smirked, his chest raising and falling quickly as he spoke. “Who said we would live happily lied; they too were bold. As I fail, I find myself high, on the hoard of gold.” Rollo looked towards his brother with a smug face before closing his eyes briefly. 

“We’ll have to tell the bard back home and have him put it to song.” Bjorn stood up, proudly gesturing. “We should have everyone's names remembered!’ we, who challenged a child of the gods!” Bjorn shouted towards the sea, in declaration.  

“Child of a child of a god...” Rollo interjected. 

“Yes. Well, that doesn't sound as heroic does it, Rollo.” 

“Make sure you add my name to the list brother.” Rollo said. His throat was barking now. Course like jagged tacks sticking out from the many shields that lay ownerless now. 

“Come brother, we will tell them together. Let us rest and gather our strength. The sun rises and parts the clouds. The storm, and our nightmare along with it, are over.” Bjorn crouched Infront of his brother, holding onto his shoulders. “let's get you somewhere dry,” he said, grasping Rollo tight and lifting him, only for his brother to slip from his hands. 

Rollo fell onto his side, his ear submerged in a small pool of brine and sand. 

“Sorry Bjorn...I can’t feel my legs.” He said, trying to push himself back up with one arm. “I can't feel much at all.” Bjorn lifted his brother back upright against the wooden prow, facing out towards the water. Now calmly running up and down the smooth sand. By all accounts it was a tranquil morning now. 

“What can I do?” Bjorn said, looking around franticly. Hoping to spy smoke from a settlement or a passerby to help. 

“Nothing my friend. It's as you said, these are our fates.” Rollo said, shifting in the sand to get more comfortable again, to no avail. “I only wish I wasn't leaving you here alone.” 

x 

The brothers sat lightly for a time as the sun rose into the sky. Drifting alone, but together, for the last time upon the remains of the dragon ship. No winds tear or whip as silence deafens the shore. The sea is calm now. 

Blood running from Rollo's side into a small pool at the base of the wooden prow as a small crab wanders out. 

The horizon crumbles under the lit sky as Bjorn braces himself. With no escape in sight, he draws up memories from their shared past. A final chance to remember. To be there for his brother. 

“Do you recall the time I told you I saw a dragon Rollo? Out in the sea, sweeping down and roaring as it shook the ocean,” Bjorn said. “It tore up waves of blood and gore, breaking longships. It passed over my head you know!” 

Rollo sat there quietly and listened. 

“It smelt of death, putrid. If it does smell in Hel then that is what I reckon it smells of, ha!” Bjorn heard Rollo chuckle softly. “With fear and rage I fled; I could not watch them die. But more than that I did not wish to share their fate.” Bjorn pauses as he looks down at his hands, the rough calluses glaring back at him as they throbbed. “Out in that bloody sea there was no prophecy. No escape. And now we are here...” 

Bjorn looked over to his brother who had fallen onto his shoulder. His final breath had left him. Passing into legend in the midday's illumination. 

“Farewell...my fathers' son.”  

He turned his gaze back out towards the sea. His brother's head was still resting on his shoulder for a time. Until in the late afternoon something caught his eye. A large bridge like curve could be seen out at sea. Moving out of and back into the water, before falling from sight. Bjorn stood up and walked towards the water, as he did it appeared again. A crashing wave out of nowhere into the air, then back into the sea. Curving in and out like Bjorn's wife sewing his clothes back together. And then he saw it. An unmistakable glint caught his eye. The silhouette of his sword. 

“that's the same wyrm!” Bjorn said under his breath, before exploding with rage. “Give me back my bloody sword Jormund!’ or I swear, I will take your head!” He picked up Ivars great axe and walked back to the water's edge, striding purposely into the shallows by the shore. “You took my ship!’ You took my crew!’ You took my sword, and you took my brother!” He gained as much momentum as he could, lifting his knees up as waves crashed into his charge. 

The figure in the distance noticed Bjorn, feeling the disturbance in the waves, and changed course. The winding viper rising with a lust for blood. Curling beneath the surface and windlessly flying like a storm towards Bjorn. Eyes red, and fangs born. 

With a heart and mind of steel Bjorn rushed headlong to his doom. His fate was set. He would either cleave the beast's head with a mighty blow and the reptile devour him. 

The serpent winded its body upwards into the sky as it came before Bjorn, an intimidation of God like magnitude, which failed. Bjorn grasped the end of the shaft tight with both hands and began to swing the mighty weapon over his head. His eyes drawn to his grand-fathers sword lodged in the serpent's neck. With a force that pulled his feet off the floor he swung for the beast, cleaving a chunk of flesh from its side as it turned and faded like shadow in the shallow waves. 

As Bjorn looked around for any sign of his foe. The young wyrms tail griped his legs together and pulled him into the sea. Drowning his mortal flesh.  

“No wonder Thor struggles with the big fella.” He thought to himself as he struggled in the salty bay. Swinging his axe as best he could, the water taking any power from his blows he could muster. 

His eyes became heavy and his arms weak. He dropped Ivars's axe in the dark as light faded from his view.  

“This is why mother told me to beware the sea, she feared me to swim.” his thoughts turning to home as he prepared to join his crew in death. “At least I have gone down in glory...yet no spectators. No one to watch my end, to immortalize me in verse for ages yet to come...” 

He closed his eyes as the serpent tightened its grasp around his body. His last breath ready to give out, the final moments of Bjorn, serpent felled.