The Boy Who Knew No Fear

My Retelling of Siegfried’s Story

When asked to write an imaginative story for my coursework folder (aged 15), I chose to compose an alternative version of the ancient Germanic folklore of Siegfried and his relations. It is an epic tale and took Richard Wagner the duration of four operas to complete his Ring cycle. I chose to begin the following passage as Siegfried begins to embark on his real adventures, but I also felt it necessary to incorporate various events which had already taken their place in his family’s history.

Siegfried collapsed. The boy, who knew no fear, had finally grown up. Gasping for breath, he slowly regained his composure. For once the warrior-boy could rest in safety. At last his exploits had been drawn to a dramatic end and he could now look back behind the protection of hindsight upon the intricate set of circumstances that had been his life. As he lay on the rocky mountainside he ran his bloodstained hands over his breast pocket. He knew that it was still inside; yet he needed reassurance; he was tempted to touch it. Perhaps it was an attempt to find comfort from his success. But the cold gold of the recovered ring granted its latest master no congratulation. He had succeeded after all. He was victorious. Yet death, Siegfried now realised, was no simple victory. An act so full of ambiguity that it was laden with consequences.

Once again, the orphan-boy stood alone. But for the first time cuts had been opened in Siegfried’s skin. Prising holes in armour which he stubbornly wore; that numbness to murder. The recent death of his uncle Fafnir left Siegfried in a state of bewilderment. Feelings of family bereavement were contrasted with a realisation of character. The warrior child felt sorrow yet also a sense of completion as he fulfilled the desperate role of both victim and perpetrator. Siegfried was the mourning nephew. Siegfried was the accomplished murderer.

How was it that he was now in this horrendous position? Where did the problems begin? Surely it could have all been prevented! These harrowing thoughts wandered through his exhausted mind and, as is so often the case when one’s mentality is escaping to that vulnerable existence of slumber, his thoughts turned to his past …

X x X

Siegfried had never felt fond of his uncles; this did not trouble him as much as it might, as neither Regin nor Fafnir were ever particularly fond of him. Alas, affection had been decimated from these brothers’ hearts, long before their nephew was born. Now feelings of greed and antipathy dominated their actions. But it would be with grave ignorance to assume that it had always been this way. The family history was, until recently, a joyous tale.

Hreidmar, Siegfried’s grandfather, was a contented figure. He had retired to a cottage in the countryside of the Black Forest, and there carried on a simple existence farming the surrounding land. The cottage was old and beautiful in its simplicity; lush green ropes of ivy locked the crumbling masonry into place. His wife had died many years back, but the old man took great pleasure in seeing his daughter and two sons who still lived on the farm. And so the years would pass, one and all living in agricultural rhapsody.

But their tranquil yet uneventful life was soon to be interrupted by a series of events. Some for the better, some for the worse. A change could be seen in Regin and Fafnir. Both of them soon become a great source of gossip for the few inhabitants of the hamlet. All agreed that they had always been “such pleasant lads” who “seemed so content with the quiet life”. But the brothers were beginning to be vexed with ambition and restless on the farm eager to seek out certain dominance.

Hreidmar did notice this change, as he was ecstatic at the prospect of becoming a grandfather; his daughter was expecting a baby boy. Nevertheless the great and the evil were not quite balanced and pregnancy took its toll. She soon felt her strength weaken. And in this way Siegfried was born into our world as his mother left it. Thus giving the babe a paranormal circumstance, the weight and privilege of two souls.

So as a child Siegfried had been raised in the tender eyes of his grandfather and under the increasingly devious watch of his two uncles. Regrettably, for Regin and Fafnir there was a very different and desirable focus of affection. A ring in Hreidmar’s possession. Die Nimblung was indeed a charming piece of jewellery -in every way. The charm of its gold finish was in fact what persuaded Hreidmar to buy it those many years back. Not the common metal gold, but the true substance, that marvellous material understood fully only to the dwarf folk who cast and monger it deep underground in cavernous workshops. But charming, or enchanting, also, the ring commanded a luring command. An authority that soon overpowered Regin and Fafnir.

And so die Nimblung had captured two more servants. Two more learned to live devoid of all Godly virtues, and existed for this sole object. Everything the brothers said or did, their every action and emotion could be traced directly to that sphere of gold locked safe in their father‘s bedside cabinet. It is important that you understand the strength of die Nimblung, as it is offered in pitiable defence for the brothers’ next horrific action.

It was dark. It was wet. Brutish winds threw themselves against the ancient walls of the farm cottage. In the stable Regin and Fafnir woke with a start. The ring had aroused them both and now both could sense its call. Regin and Fafnir made their way out of their stable home and into the stormy night. Grown men driven to human extremities by the force of greed. In a hurry Fafnir, still in his bed clothing, made a swift snatch for chopping axe from the side of the wood. He ran with stark determination for the cottage, closely followed by his brother. Charging over the stairs they headed into their father’s room. Fafnir raised the axe, and with a perverse war cry thrust down, through his father’s head. Regin was blinded in a delusion of scarlet. The spirit passed through his body. He fainted.

X x X

His grandfather’s horrific murder had caused Siegfried to flinch. With a quick glance Siegfried surveyed the situation. He was still on the mountainside; he still had blood on his own hands. Siegfried now realised the downfall of his relatives. Now that die Nimblung was his, he was determined that he would never allow it to imprison a soul again. He would destroy the bloody ring for good. But at present, Siegfried needed to rest, after all he was still recovering from the colossal ordeal of murder.

X x X

Regin came round. The vile stench of his father’s rotting carcass hit him. He must have lain unconscious for some time; the bedroom was in brutal chaos. And by the look of things some plunderer had broken in entry and looted the room. The bedside cabinet had been hacked into nothing. Die Nimblung was nowhere to been seen, neither, for that matter, was Fafnir.

Regin cursed loudly and with determination. That bloody night his only care in the world had been robbed from his very hands. Stolen from him by his own flesh and blood. That tempestuous night his brother had played so vile. And as an after thought, he was suddenly teeming with self-pity; he had lost his father. Regin had not wielded the axe himself, but he would have done, if necessary. He swore again, he swore that he would bring vengeance upon Fafnir.

Of course, Fafnir had spent the days when his brother lay unconscious somewhat more actively. As is so often the case when at last men receive the very thing that they have always longed for, Fafnir’s yearning was only increased by die Nimblung. His demands merely exaggerated and his expectations simply inflamed. So the gold-glutton had set off on a mission, he headed for the mountains, in the direction of the dwarfs.

And so it was that during the few days after the death of Hreidmar, Siegfried was the only relation to mourn for his grandfather. In this way the young lad was taught the pains of responsibility from such an early age. He was solely responsible for the service of internment and burial of Hreidmar. Siegfried also had to repair the cottage and nurse his uncle back to health. The latter proved hardest of all as Regin’s mind was infatuated with revenge.

The arrangement was far from ideal and Siegfried grew up with his uncle in the old cottage. It would be wrong to say that Regin ‘brought up’ his nephew. Instead he reared the boy with hateful tales of his other uncle.

The story had the desired effect on Siegfried. He was filled with an urge to, as he innocently saw it, ‘to set right his family’s affairs’. Under Regin’s guidance he prepared for his quest. With nothing but a dagger and bold determination, there stood Siegfried, the boy who knew no fear.

x X x

Siegfried felt ashamed of his ignorant childhood. Looking back, he placed blame on his biased upbringing. His uncle had used him. This angered him. Once more, he passed his hands over the ring; this time the cold gold soothed its new master. Siegfried was losing himself in the apparent never-ending circle of the ring. For the first time Siegfried was weakening to the lure of the ring. For the first time, he put it on.

14 March 2004

1, 527 words