john the nightwatchman

You hadn’t planned on living your life fighting monsters. Sure, your father and your own local town shaper had once regaled you as a child with tales of heroes slaying beasts. Sure, you’d fought with Hrothgar’s army for many a season, so it’s not like you were unacquainted with the smell of blood or the stench of battle. But this? This was utter nonsense: an enemy that refused to die? Refused to parley? Gave no quarter? (For gods’ sakes, he ate your friends). In all your years of fighting, you had never seen nor ever imagined yourself facing such viciousness, such a monstrosity. You sigh. You could still see the beast, clutching the body of some poor wretch, coming through the open doors during one of the shaper’s performances. Sick beast, it held the body up, using it as a shield against your blows. It was sickening, trying to pierce his hideous hide with your ash spear, only to have your hits absorbed by his ugly guard. You managed to nick him, scaring him off, but not before he tore through more of your comrades. You shiver at the memory. You were no stranger to funeral pyres, witnessing others’ and contemplating your own, but it was a shame all the same for your friends to die (in front of their wives and children, no less). You stamp your feet a little against the night’s cold. Admittedly, it didn’t bother you too much, what with your warm fur coat. You just needed something to remind yourself where you were. That’s all these night watches are good for, getting lost in your thoughts. You hated that. You were a warrior, plain and simple. Leave the thinking to the kings and schemers. Too much thinking and not enough action was always a bad thing, you knew. A snore erupts from your comrade on the opposite side of the door. He’d fallen asleep an hour or two ago. You blink, suppressing your own yawn. Midnight watches were actually good for two things: thinking too much and sleeping. A twig snaps. You glance over. It was probably nothing. Twigs snap all the time actually. Not many people knew that. New guards especially were prone to worrying over snapping twigs. You stifle a chuckle. Unferth, in particular you recall, had worried over many a snapped twig in his day.  Unferth, the “hero” as he likes to think of himself, strutting about the ranks, isn’t a bad person per se. He is one of Hrothgar’s finest thanes after all. He’s simply irritating, when you think about it. When that beast broke into the hall, the first thing he did after proper funeral rites was promise to kill the beast, gain glory, elevate himself. You scoff. Unferth, the “hero.” What does he know of family? What does he know of true responsibility? A crash falls in the woods. You perk up again. You squint your eyes, but see nothing. An owl or lonely wolf might snap a twig, but rarely make a noise like that. You’re tempted to wake your fellow, but decide against it. Moments later, you hardly even notice when the beast lowers his arms and snaps your neck.