Fiction logo

Beowulf, The Dragon, and The Secret

by Barb Dukeman about a year ago in Script
Report Story

Exit, Pursued by a Bear


Characters: NARRATOR 1









Setting: Geatland. BEOWULF’s mead hall, close to the DRAGON’s lair

NARRATOR 1: After defeating Grendel and Grendel’s mom, BEOWULF goes home to Geatland where he becomes king. Fifty years pass, and then the shit hits the fan.

NARRATOR 2: BEOWULF and his WARRIORS are sitting in the mead hall, getting toasted as usual.

WARRIOR #1: I need more mead!

WARRIOR #2: Bring me another turkey leg!

WARRIOR #3: Why does BEOWULF look so old?

NARRATOR 2: All the other WARRIORS glare at him.

WARRIOR #1: This mead tastes funny. Did someone spike it? Anyway, pour me another round.

NARRATOR 1: One day, however, a fire-breathing DRAGON threatens the land.

WARRIOR #1: (Looking over at the other WARRIORS.) People just shouldn’t be mean.

WARRIOR #2: It might get us into trouble. Pour me some more mead.

WARRIOR #3: Mylanta would help.

NARRATOR 2: All the other WARRIORS glare at him.

NARRATOR 1: The DRAGON begins to terrorize the Geats, and BEOWULF, now an old man, takes on the challenge of fighting him.

NARRATOR 2: BEOWULF gets up in front of his WARRIORS and addresses them.

BEOWULF: I've never known fear as a youth; look at the severe butt-kicking I gave to the Grendel family.


BEOWULF: I am old now, but I will fight again. Are you with me?

NARRATOR 2: Uncomfortable silence. The WARRIORS look at each other.

BEOWULF: Blast it. Zeus warned me there’d be days like this.

NARRATOR 1: Hold up - what did he just say?

BEOWULF: I mean Odin! I could use some help guys. With swords?

WARRIOR #3: I thought Excalibur melted when you were in the lake.

NARRATOR 2: All the other WARRIORS glare at him.

BEOWULF: Um…I bought another set of weapons at SwordsRUs. Does it really matter at this point? (BEOWULF perks up and continues.) When the DRAGON comes to me, I will stand and not run. Probably because my arthritis is flaring up.

WARRIOR #3: Virgin’s blood. It works wonders.

NARRATOR 2: All the other WARRIORS glare at him.

NARRATOR 1: Then BEOWULF rises, still brave, still strong, with his shield at his side and a mail shirt on his breast. His black leather vest hadn’t come in yet.

NARRATOR 2: BEOWULF gets up and heads outside, wobbling because of his old age.

BEOWULF: I am calm, I am calm, calmcalmcalm – WHAT AM I DOING? I’m 80 and I still have to fight. This is absolutely nuts. I’m sick of it.

NARRATOR 1: The WARRIORS can still see their king from the front door of the mead hall. BEOWULF smiles and waves, then strides calmly toward the tower under the rocky cliffs. Then the men no longer see their king.

NARRATOR 2: Whut? That’s not how this goes.

NARRATOR 1: Dude, I know. He just doesn’t quite go IN to the cave. He went around it.

BEOWULF: This secret I’ve been carrying for so long, it’s a burden on my shoulders. Maybe it’s not arthritis after all.

NARRATOR 1: What the hell?

NARRATOR 2: SHHH. I’m trying to listen.


NARRATOR 1: This can’t be good.

BEOWULF: I’ve never believed in Odin! Or Thor! Or any of them! I follow Zeus!

NARRATOR 2: I am NOT believing this.

DRAGON: (looking out his back door) Dude, you’re tiny. Not at all what I though a king would be. What are you blabbing on about?

BEOWULF: I’ve betrayed my people for years. They all thought I was “a true Viking.” SURPRISE! Hephaestus got me into it. And then I made this One Ring.


DRAGON: (Looking uncomfortable.) Let me guess. You got it from Mount Doom.

BEOWULF: (Getting closer to the dragon.) You’ve heard of it though?

DRAGON: Well, duh - everyone has. Queen Daenerys, me mum, knew about it.

BEOWULF: I just don’t know what to do. I made this freakin’ Ring, and Hera hatched a plan to fill it with evil-

DRAGON: Hold up. THE Ring. Cursed by Hera. What else is there?

BEOWULF: Apopis forged it. Evil god from Egypt.

NARRATOR 2: I’m leaving.

NARRATOR 1: This is cray.

BEOWULF: All these years, and then my worthless men want me to fight, well, you. It’s not worth it anymore.

DRAGON: Sheeesh! You’re right. Treasure isn’t worth all this trouble.

BEOWULF: Drag, what would you do?

NARRATOR 1: Yes, what would he do?

DRAGON: I’d get the heck out of Dodge. If you don’t come back with my head on a stick, they’re going to know you’re not the hero they think you are.

BEOWULF: Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. (Sighs)

DRAGON: Oh, well since we’re confessing stuff…

BEOWULF: (Looking up at the dragon) Yes? What secret do YOU have? What could possibly be worse?

DRAGON: My real name is Alduin and I’m supposed to destroy the world (rolls his eyes).


BEOWULF: The whole world? Sucks to be you.

DRAGON: Tell me about it. I got a bunch of Stormcloaks and an Imperial Legion after me.

BEOWULF: Maybe I could ask Cronus if he could help.

DRAGON: Even Akatosh can’t help me. Or won’t. So I’m stuck destroying the world. (Looking at BEOWULF). You wanna help me?

BEOWULF: I’m old. I’m tired. I follow the wrong religion, evidently.

DRAGON: Don’t we all? Help me destroy the world, and I’ll set aside a nice girl for you. There’s Waif, Arya, Cersei (she’s a little weird, though). I can set you up in Erebor. Nice place, not a lot of sunlight.

NARRATOR 2: I can’t even.

NARRATOR 1: BEOWULF is seriously messed up. This WHOLE STORY is messed up.

NARRATOR 2: Why are we even here?

NARRATOR 1: We’re waiting for Godot.

NARRATOR 2: Oh, yeah, right. Godot.

WIGLAF: Hey, where did BEOWULF go?


WARRIOR #1: (Looking ashamed.) WIGLAF, it’s up to you, man.

WARRIOR #2: I’m 75.

WARRIOR #3: (Singing) I feel happy! I feel happy!

NARRATOR 2: One of the WARRIORS flicks his ear.

WARRIOR #3: I mean, I’m in no shape to fight a flippin’ DRAGON.

NARRATOR 2: Oh, guys, you have NO idea.

WIGLAF: BEOWULF! Hey, BEO! I’m here! Let me help you!

NARRATOR 1: Aaaaaand WIGLAF is never seen again.

NARRATOR 2: Alduin destroys the world as promised. BEOWULF is in Erebor.

NARRATOR 3: You forgot about Rey.

NARRATOR 1 & 2: WHO the HELL are YOU?

NARRATOR 3: Wait until I tell Castiel about this.



About the author

Barb Dukeman

Ready for a new direction after 32 years of teaching high school English. I wrote my first poem about green socks in 1977; I hope I've improved since then.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights


There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.