“Then Regin spake to Sigurd: ‘Of this slaying wilt thou be free?
Then gather thou fire together and roast the heart for me,
That I may eat it and live, and be thy master and more;
For therein was might and wisdom, and the grudged and hoarded lore:—
Or else depart on thy ways afraid from the Glittering Heath.’”
Sigurd, knowing that a true warrior never refused satisfaction of some kind to the kindred of the slain, immediately prepared to act as cook, while Regin dozed until the meat was ready. Feeling of the heart to ascertain whether it were tender, Sigurd burned his fingers so severely that he instinctively thrust them into his mouth to allay the smart. No sooner had Fafnir’s blood touched his lips than he discovered, to his utter surprise, that he could understand the songs of the birds, which were already gathering around the carrion. Listening to them attentively, he found they were advising him to slay Regin, appropriate the gold, eat the heart and drink the blood of the dragon; and as this advice entirely coincided with his own wishes, he lost no time in executing it. A small portion of Fafnir’s heart was reserved for future consumption, ere he wandered off in search of the mighty hoard. Then, after donning the Helmet of Dread, the hauberk of gold, and the ring Andvaranaut, and loading Greyfell with as much ruddy gold as he could carry, Sigurd sprang on his horse, listening eagerly to the birds’ songs to know what he had best undertake next.
The sleeping warrior maiden.
Soon he heard them sing of a warrior maiden fast asleep on a mountain and all surrounded by a glittering barrier of flames; through which only the bravest of men could pass in order to arouse her.
“On the fell I know
A warrior maid to sleep;