Chapter 1: Introduction
The Icelandic legendary sagas, also known as fornaldarsögur (“sagas of ancient times”), are thrilling tales set in a mythical past before the settlement of Iceland. These sagas are often termed heroic sagas because they revolve around legendary heroes, mighty deeds, and encounters with the fantastical. Unlike the more realistic Sagas of Icelanders (which depict everyday farmers and chieftains in early Iceland), the legendary sagas transport readers to a heroic age of dragons, sorcerers, and warrior-kings. They frequently feature characters of noble or supernatural lineage—many protagonists claim descent from gods like Odin—and the action ranges across the Scandinavian world and beyond. Giants, elves, dwarves, and magic abound in these stories, giving them a flavor of myth and fairy tale alongside the heroic narrative.
Despite their fantastical elements, legendary sagas have historical and cultural importance. For centuries, Scandinavian scholars treated some of these sagas as records of an ancient heroic era. Kings and noble families traced lineages back to saga heroes, and tales like those of Sigurd the dragonslayer or Ragnar Lodbrok were regarded as part of national history. By the 19th century, however, historians recognized that these sagas are not factual chronicles but imaginative literature. The events they describe—slaying of dragons, journeys to magical islands, heroic last stands against trolls—are not literal history. Nonetheless, within these fictions there are kernels of older tradition. Some legendary sagas preserve fragments of pre-Christian myth, early medieval poetry, and ancient oral legends that might otherwise be lost. For example, Völsunga saga captures the essence of a much older Germanic legend (the story of Sigurd/Siegfried and the fall of the Burgundians) also reflected in the Poetic Edda and the German epic Nibelungenlied. Thus, while we read legendary sagas primarily as imaginative epics, they offer a window into the medieval Scandinavian mindset and into folklore of the Viking Age and earlier.
Culturally, these sagas were a form of entertainment and a means of connecting with a storied past. Medieval Icelanders took pride in their pagan forebears and their daring exploits. The legendary sagas allowed storytellers and audiences to explore a pre-Christian world of heroes and monsters, a world that felt both alien and ancestral to them. Many of the tales address themes that are universal yet presented in dramatic fashion: feuds and revenge, love and betrayal, the testing of loyalty, and the inexorability of fate. Because they are set in a mythical time, the legendary sagas could also tackle taboos or extreme situations with a degree of freedom—incest, sorcery, shape-shifting, and other “out of the ordinary” elements appear in these stories. Such plot elements would have been out of place in the grounded family sagas, but in the legendary sagas they serve to heighten the stakes and moral complexity. For instance, one saga (Hrólfs saga kraka) includes both a were-bear warrior and poignant family betrayals; another (Hervarar saga) features a warrior-maiden who dares to retrieve a cursed sword from her father’s tomb. Through these fantastical narratives, listeners in medieval halls could vicariously experience wonders and terrors, and perhaps find meaning or cautionary lessons applicable to real life.
From a literary perspective, the legendary sagas are an indispensable part of Iceland’s medieval literary heritage. They were generally written down in the 13th and 14th centuries, after the classic sagas of Icelanders, and show influences from oral storytelling as well as European romance literature. While some medieval critics and modern scholars have viewed them as less artistically refined than the realistic sagas (noting their often episodic structure and sometimes stereotyped characters), the legendary sagas have their own style of artistry. They often incorporate old poems, using verses (usually in the Eddaic meter) to enhance the drama at key moments. The prose, though straightforward, moves briskly through adventures, giving these sagas a page-turning quality. Many plot motifs in legendary sagas—such as magic swords, riddling contests, dragon slayings, and heroic last stands—resonate with folklore and have parallels in other medieval works. In fact, the fornaldarsögur have been a treasure trove for comparative folk narrative research, preserving legends not recorded elsewhere.
The influence of the legendary sagas extends far beyond medieval Iceland. In the 19th century, as interest in Norse mythology and legend grew, these sagas inspired writers and artists across Europe. The Volsung story, for example, helped inspire Richard Wagner’s famous Ring cycle operas; William Morris and other Victorian writers produced translations and adaptations of saga material. Even modern fantasy literature owes a debt to these sagas—elements like cursed rings, dragon hoards, valiant warrior-women, and tragic heroes can be seen echoed in novels and films today. For Icelanders, the legendary sagas, along with the eddas, have remained a valued part of their cultural legacy, keeping alive the memory of a heroic age of the imagination.
In summary, the legendary and heroic sagas serve a dual purpose: they entertain with high adventure and larger-than-life characters, and they offer insight into the values and dreams of medieval Icelandic society. They celebrate courage, resourcefulness, and honor, while also often warning of the destructive consequences of greed, oath-breaking, and revenge. As we turn to the next chapters, we will see these themes vividly illustrated in one of the greatest legendary sagas, Völsunga saga. But first, we will contrast these mythical tales with another genre of saga literature: the histories of kings and the accounts of bold explorers, which ground the saga tradition more firmly in real-world events.
Chapter 2: Völsunga saga – The Saga of the Volsungs
Völsunga saga (The Saga of the Volsungs) is one of the greatest legendary sagas, weaving together themes of heroism, revenge, love, and fate in a sprawling epic that spans multiple generations. It is a tale of a cursed lineage, descended from Odin himself, whose members perform mighty deeds but also suffer grievous tragedies. The story is the closest thing in Norse tradition to the legends of King Arthur or the Greek epics – full of larger-than-life characters and dramatic twists of destiny. In this chapter, we will recount the saga’s narrative, staying true to its original structure and characters, followed by an exploration of its deeper themes and significance.
The Origin of the Volsungs: The saga begins in a misty past with a man named Sigi, said to be a son of the god Odin. Sigi is strong and proud – so proud that when he is outperformed by a thrall (slave) during a hunt, he kills the man in anger. For this murder, Sigi is outlawed and must leave his homeland. Odin, however, does not abandon his son; he helps Sigi start anew by guiding him to a fleet of warships. Sigi becomes a pirate chieftain and eventually a king, establishing a lineage favored by Odin. Sigi’s son Rerir inherits his kingdom and, after a long childless marriage, prays for a child. Odin’s wife Frigg hears the plea and sends a wish-maiden with a magical apple to Rerir’s queen. By eating this apple, the queen finally conceives. She carries the child for an extraordinary time – six years – which hints that this will be no ordinary baby. Knowing she will not survive the birth, the queen orders the child cut from her womb. Thus is born Völsung, who is delivered by this grim Caesarean and miraculously survives. Völsung grows to be a powerful king, the progenitor of the Volsung clan.
King Völsung builds a great hall, and at its center stands a mighty oak tree called Barnstokkr. Völsung has ten sons and one daughter. His eldest son is Sigmund, a brave and fierce warrior, and Sigmund’s twin sister is Signy, a woman of equal spirit and resolve. Signy becomes a key figure in the saga’s early chapters.
The Sword in the Tree and King Siggeir’s Treachery: When Signy comes of age, a suitor arrives – King Siggeir of Gautland (modern Sweden). King Völsung agrees to give Signy’s hand to Siggeir, despite Signy’s misgivings (she senses something cruel in Siggeir). During the wedding feast at Völsung’s hall, a mysterious guest appears. An old one-eyed man, clad in a dark cloak, strides into the hall. This, though none recognize him at first, is Odin in disguise. He approaches the central tree Barnstokkr, draws a gleaming sword, and thrusts it deep into the trunk, up to the hilt. In a ringing voice, the stranger declares, “Whosoever can pull this sword from the oak shall have it as a gift from me. I give this weapon to the one whom fate has destined to wield it.” Without further word, the tall stranger departs as suddenly as he came.
The wedding guests are astonished but eager to claim the prize. One after another, the warriors in attendance try their hand at pulling out the sword. Not even King Siggeir can budge it. At last Sigmund, prince of the Volsungs, steps forward. He wraps his hand around the hilt and effortlessly draws the sword free, as though it were set in loose soil, not hardwood. The blade shines; clearly it is a weapon of exceptional quality. Siggeir immediately covets it and offers to buy the sword from Sigmund for a great weight of gold. But Sigmund, sensing the sword’s destiny, refuses: “If it were meant to be yours, King, you would have drawn it forth. But the weapon did not choose you.” Siggeir’s pride is wounded, and a dark anger kindles in his heart. Though he conceals it for the moment, Siggeir swears to himself that he will have revenge on Sigmund and the Volsung family for this slight.
The next day, King Siggeir invites King Völsung and all his sons to visit Gautland in a few months’ time, ostensibly for a friendly gathering. Signy’s instincts remain uneasy, and she begs her father not to go or at least to muster a larger force. But King Völsung, a fearless man, refuses to show distrust toward his new son-in-law. When the time comes, Völsung and his ten sons sail to Gautland to accept Siggeir’s hospitality—walking knowingly into what will be a trap.
Upon landing, Signy meets them secretly to warn that Siggeir intends treachery: he plans an ambush that very night. She implores her father to turn back and gather an army. Völsung, however, feels honor-bound to proceed (“It shall never be said that King Völsung fled in fear from his own son-in-law”). That evening, as the Volsungs take repose, Siggeir springs his trap. His men fall upon King Völsung and his followers. A fierce battle ensues in the dark halls of Gautland. King Völsung fights boldly but is overwhelmed and slain, along with all his retainers. Only his ten sons survive the battle, taken captive by Siggeir’s forces.
Signy is horrified by her husband’s betrayal but determined to save what remains of her family. She pleads with Siggeir to spare her brothers from immediate execution. Siggeir, cruel but cunning, agrees to a delaying cruelty: he has the brothers taken out into the forest and bound to a large log—an oak trunk fashioned into a stock for their feet. There the ten brothers are left helpless, chained to the fallen tree. Siggeir means for them to die slowly. And indeed, each night a monstrous creature comes out of the woods—a giant she-wolf—who devours one of the brothers. One by one, each night, another son of Völsung is torn from the stock and killed, while the others must listen in despair. Sigmund, the youngest and strongest, watches nine of his brothers perish in this nightmare.
Signy manages to send a trusted servant to secretly check on her brothers. To her grief, she learns of the horrible fate befalling them. By the time only Sigmund remains alive, she concocts a desperate plan to save him. Signy has the servant smear honey all over Sigmund’s face and hands, and especially put some in his mouth, before the next nightfall. That night, the wolf comes as usual, ready to kill the last Volsung son. She finds Sigmund bound but senses the sweet smell of honey. The beast begins licking the honey from Sigmund’s face. She lolls her great tongue into his mouth to lap up more – and Sigmund seizes the moment. With a savage bite, he clamps down on the wolf’s tongue with his teeth. The wolf howls and pulls back, struggling violently. In her frenzy to get free, the wolf pulls so hard that she actually rips apart the wooden stocks that hold Sigmund. The bonds snap, and the oak trunk splits. Sigmund, holding tight, tears the wolf’s tongue out by the roots. The she-wolf, fatally wounded, slinks away (in some versions of the tale, this wolf was said to be Siggeir’s own shape-shifting mother, thus meeting a fitting end). Sigmund Volsungsson, last of his brothers, is free.
Vengeance Brewing: Sigmund goes into hiding in the forest, sheltering in an underground dugout. Signy, still living as Queen to the treacherous Siggeir, keeps his survival secret and brings him food and aid through a loyal servant. Over the next few years, Sigmund bides his time, a lone outlaw with nothing but his wits and Odin’s sword for company, while Signy plots covertly within Siggeir’s hall. Both siblings are utterly focused on one goal: vengeance for their father and brothers.
Signy bears King Siggeir two sons during these years, but she worries that her offspring, being also Siggeir’s, may not be loyal to her cause of vengeance. When her eldest son turns ten, Signy secretly sends the boy out to the forest to meet Sigmund, to see if the child has the courage and Volsung spirit necessary to help avenge the family. As a test, Sigmund asks the boy to knead flour into bread for him, but unknown to the child, Sigmund has hidden a venomous snake in the meal. When the boy feels something wriggling in the flour, fear overcomes him and he refuses to continue. Sigmund reports the boy’s cowardice to Signy. Determined and pitiless in her quest, Signy concludes the boy cannot be allowed to live (fearing he might betray them). She coldly instructs Sigmund to kill her own son—and he, grimly resigned, does so.
A year later, Signy’s second son undergoes the same ordeal. Sigmund performs the same test, and sadly, this boy also falters and screams at the sight of the hidden snake. Signy, as heartbroken as she is resolute, orders Sigmund to kill her remaining child as well. She will sacrifice everything to see Siggeir destroyed.
Realizing that no son of Siggeir will ever truly possess the Volsung heart, Signy undertakes a drastic plan. She seeks out a sorceress skilled in shape-changing. Using dark magic, Signy swaps shapes with the sorceress for a time. Disguised as an old witch, Signy slips away to the forest hut of Sigmund. Pretending to be a lost traveler, she spends three nights with her brother. Sigmund does not recognize her (the witch’s shape deceives him) and, being a man alone for long, he ends up sharing his bed with this mysterious woman. After the third night, Signy leaves and takes back her true shape, sending the sorceress home with rich reward. The result of this eerie encounter is that Signy becomes pregnant – with Sigmund’s child. This incestuous union, abhorrent though it is, was something Signy was willing to do in order to produce a new Volsung blood offspring, one strong enough to aid their revenge. In time, Signy gives birth to a son, whom she names Sinfjötli. The boy is raised secretly, ostensibly as one of Siggeir’s sons, until he is old enough to be of use.
When Sinfjötli is perhaps ten or eleven, Signy sends him out to the forest to meet Sigmund, revealing to Sigmund that the boy is his own son (and nephew) and of pure Volsung blood. To test Sinfjötli’s mettle, Sigmund puts him through the same trial of courage—sewing his clothes to his flesh and hiding a snake in his bread dough. Unlike his half-brothers, Sinfjötli shows no fear or pain. He endures the cruel tests silently and proves both brave and fierce. Sigmund now knows he has found the right companion to exact vengeance.
Father and son (though Sigmund initially thinks Sinfjötli is merely his sister’s son) spend years together in the wilderness, hardening themselves. In one adventure, they stumble upon enchanted wolf-skins that transform them into wolves for a time, and they roam the forest as fearsome beasts. (They even fight each other in wolf form during a quarrel, and Sigmund nearly kills Sinfjötli, but Odin sends a healing raven with a magical leaf to save the youth – a small sign that the Allfather still watches over his Volsung descendants.) Eventually, the period of enchantment ends and they burn the wolf-skins, returning to human shape. This strange episode aside, Sigmund and Sinfjötli become a formidable team, renowned as bandits and avengers who strike at Siggeir’s men and properties from the shadows.
Fire and Blood – Vengeance Achieved: At last, the time is ripe. Sigmund and Sinfjötli infiltrate King Siggeir’s hall one night, hiding in an outbuilding. Signy discovers them and smuggles them inside, intent on finally carrying out their revenge. But as fate would have it, one of Siggeir’s young sons (one of those born after the death of Signy’s first two) spots Sigmund and Sinfjötli lurking. The child naively reports to his father that two strange men were glimpsed in the hall. Siggeir, alarmed, tries to seize them, but Signy acts fast. She brings her two young sons (the ones she had with Siggeir after Sinfjötli’s birth) to Sigmund and frankly says these children cannot be trusted now. With a mother’s grim resolve, she hands the boys over to be killed to protect the plan. Sigmund balks at killing children of his own sister, but Sinfjötli has no such hesitation—these boys are, after all, Siggeir’s spawn and potential threats. Sinfjötli swiftly slays the two youths. The ruthless deed eliminates any element of surprise; now Sigmund and Sinfjötli have no option but to strike immediately.
They fall upon King Siggeir’s household, swords in hand, and a fierce fight erupts. Sigmund wields his father’s sword (the one Odin had given) with deadly skill, and Sinfjötli matches him in ferocity. Still, Siggeir’s guards are many, and the two Volsungs are captured after heavy resistance. Siggeir, enraged and grieving (for he has now lost sons to this vengeance), devises a torment for Sigmund and Sinfjötli. He has them confined in a burial mound—essentially sealing them alive in a tomb of stones—so they will suffocate and die slowly, just as he once intended for them on the tree trunk.
As the last stones are being placed over the barrow, Signy makes her final move. She secretly slips a bundle of straw into the mound. Hidden inside this bundle is Sigmund’s sword. In the dark, suffocating space, Sigmund finds the straw and the hilt of his sword within it. With Odin’s gift in hand, he is unstoppable. He saws furiously at the stones and timber of the mound. The sword cuts through, and an opening is made. Sigmund and Sinfjötli break out of their own tomb, alive and thirsting for blood. They set fire to Siggeir’s hall from multiple sides. The building goes up in flames, trapping King Siggeir and his remaining men. As the fire rages, Sigmund stands before the blaze and at last reveals himself to his enemy. When Siggeir cries out, “Who dares do this?”, Sigmund announces, “It is I, Sigmund Völsungsson, and with me is Sinfjötli, my sister’s son – we have come to repay you in full!” King Siggeir, seeing his doom, rushes to escape or at least to die fighting, but the flames and smoke overpower his retinue. He is burnt alive, along with everything he cherished.
As the inferno burns, Signy emerges and comes to speak to Sigmund one last time. She has achieved what she set out to do – her father and brothers are avenged. But she has paid a terrible personal price, sacrificing her children and herself in the process. Signy tells Sigmund the truth about Sinfjötli’s parentage: that he is not only Sigmund’s nephew but also his son, born of their unlikely union. She says, “I did it for our vengeance. I have worked to bring about Siggeir’s end, even at the cost of all my children – and my own life.” Now that her task is done, Signy declares she cannot continue living. In a tragic yet resolute moment, she walks back into the burning hall, choosing to die beside King Siggeir, the husband she always despised but to whom she was bound by fate. Sigmund calls out in anguish, but Signy perishes in the flames, satisfied that her loyalty to her Volsung blood was upheld to the very end.
Thus ends the first movement of Völsunga saga – a tale of betrayal and vengeance that could almost stand on its own. But the saga is far from over; it now shifts focus to Sigmund’s later life and, eventually, to the rise of the greatest Volsung hero, Sigurd.
Sigmund’s Later Years and the Birth of Sigurd: After Signy’s death, Sigmund returns to his homeland (often identified as “Hunland” in the saga, not to be confused with the land of Attila’s Huns – in saga context it likely means a part of the Frankish realm or simply a far-off kingdom). He becomes king over his people, restoring the Volsung line to glory. Under Sigmund’s rule, the kingdom prospers. Sigmund marries a woman named Borghild, and they have children, including a son named Helgi who becomes a famed warrior-king in his own right (the saga briefly tells of Helgi’s adventures, which are a story within a story, filled with battles and a tragic love; some poetic lays about Helgi are included. However, Helgi’s tale does not impact the main Volsung storyline and is often treated as a separate legend). Eventually Helgi dies young in battle, and Queen Borghild also passes away under sorrowful circumstances (one saga episode relates how Borghild killed Sinfjötli with poison after Sinfjötli slew her brother in a quarrel – thus Sigmund loses his beloved son/nephew Sinfjötli as well, adding another layer of tragedy to his life).
In his old age, Sigmund finds love again with a young princess named Hjördis. As fate would have it, just when Sigmund expects a final period of peace, war comes to his land. An enemy tribe led by the sons of King Hunding (an old foe of Sigmund’s family) invades. Though Sigmund is past his prime, he refuses to yield the fight. He goes into battle once more, wielding the same sword drawn from Barnstokkr, which has served him so well. In the midst of combat, an enigmatic one-eyed warrior (Odin in disguise yet again) appears before Sigmund. Odin raises his spear and, with a single stroke, strikes Sigmund’s sword. The sword – Odin’s own gift – shatters into pieces. In that moment, Sigmund’s luck turns. Mortally wounded by enemy spears, the venerable hero falls. The enemy withdraws after the battle, content to have left Sigmund for dead. As Sigmund lies dying on the battlefield, his pregnant wife Hjördis finds him. She wants to try to save him, but Sigmund knows his time has come. He tells Hjördis that Odin himself broke the sword, a sign that the Allfather is reclaiming his favor – perhaps reserving it for Sigmund’s unborn child. Sigmund entrusts Hjördis with the fragments of his sword, instructing her to keep them safe for their son, who shall be the greatest of the Volsungs. With these last words, Sigmund dies. The Volsung line now hangs by a thread – the life of Hjördis’s unborn baby.
Hjördis is taken under the protection of a friendly king, and there she gives birth to Sigurd, the posthumous son of Sigmund. Sigurd is raised in the court of King Alf, Hjördis’s new husband, but even more importantly under the mentorship of the wise dwarf-smith Regin. Regin is a figure of great significance: skilled in craftsmanship, learned in lore, and also harboring a dark secret and grudge. Regin becomes Sigurd’s tutor, teaching him many languages, sports, and the arts of war. From a young age, Sigurd exhibits the hallmark traits of his lineage – extraordinary courage, strength, and a warm heart. Everyone who meets him feels that he is destined for great deeds.
As Sigurd grows to manhood, Regin reveals to him a tale of a dragon named Fafnir that guards a hoard of gold. This is no ordinary treasure: it once belonged to the gods, then to a dwarf king, and through a wicked twist ended up in Fafnir’s possession. Unbeknownst to Sigurd initially, Regin himself is the brother of Fafnir. The story is that their father, Hreidmar, had received a ransom of cursed gold from the god Loki (a payment for the killing of Hreidmar’s son, Ótr). This treasure included a ring named Andvaranaut, which carried a curse that it would destroy whoever possessed it. Fafnir, consumed by greed, murdered his own father Hreidmar to take the gold. He then fled with it into the wilderness, eventually transforming (through the power of the treasure’s curse and his own greed) into a serpentine dragon. Now Fafnir jealously guards the hoard in his lair, a desolate heath. Regin, who was left with nothing, naturally desires the treasure and also seeks to avenge his father’s murder by his brother. Too weak to face Fafnir himself, Regin hopes to use his brilliant pupil Sigurd as the instrument of his revenge.
First, Sigurd needs a worthy weapon. Hjördis presents him with the fragments of his father Sigmund’s sword. At Regin’s smithy, Sigurd asks that this heirloom be reforged. Regin works his craft, and the broken pieces are smelted, welded, and hammered anew into a blade. The resulting sword, which Sigurd names Gram (“Wrath”), is so sharp and strong that when Sigurd tests it, it cleaves an anvil in two with a single strike. With the sword Gram in hand and his fearless heart, Sigurd agrees to undertake the quest to slay Fafnir the dragon.
Sigurd the Dragon Slayer: Sigurd and Regin travel to Gnita-Heath, the haunt of Fafnir. Using his wits, Sigurd digs a pit in the path that the dragon takes to a watering hole. He lies in wait within the trench. As the massive serpent crawls over the pit, Sigurd thrusts upward with Gram. The blade bites deep into Fafnir’s belly, mortally wounding the beast. With an earth-shaking roar, Fafnir dies, and the dragon’s blood flows into the trench. Regin, who had stayed at a safe distance, approaches. He is pleased but also schemes his next move. Pretending weariness, Regin asks Sigurd to gather some of the dragon’s blood and roast Fafnir’s heart for him (Regin wants to eat the heart, thinking it will grant him the dragon’s wisdom and power). Sigurd sets about cooking the heart on a spit. As it sizzles, he tests its doneness by touching it and burning his finger. Instinctively, Sigurd puts his finger in his mouth, tasting the dragon’s blood. In that instant, a miraculous change comes over him: the blood of Fafnir grants Sigurd the ability to understand the speech of birds.
Nearby, Sigurd hears the voices of birds in the trees. To his amazement, they are discussing him. The birds warn each other that Regin is planning treachery: Regin intends to kill Sigurd once the heart is eaten, so that he alone can possess the gold. They advise Sigurd to act first. Sigurd heeds the warning. When Regin returns (having been drenched by dragon blood while carving out the heart and perhaps feigning exhaustion), Sigurd swiftly cuts off Regin’s head with a single stroke. Thus, the last of that dwarf family falls, and only Sigurd is left to claim the treasure.
Sigurd goes to Fafnir’s lair and beholds the immense hoard – piles of gold, gemstones, and wondrous artifacts. Among them he finds the cursed ring Andvaranaut, which he takes (unaware of its curse, or perhaps not caring, as heroes often do). He loads as much treasure as he can onto the dragon’s skin (which he uses as an improvised sack) and onto his horse Grani. (Grani, by the way, is no ordinary horse; he is of the line of Odin’s own steed, Sleipnir, and Regin had directed Sigurd to choose this particular young grey horse from King Alf’s stable. With Odin’s covert help, Sigurd tamed Grani, who now faithfully bears the weight of Fafnir’s hoard with ease.)
At this point, Sigurd is triumphant – he has slain a dragon and won a king’s ransom in gold. His legend could end here, but Völsunga saga entwines his fate with a tragic love story that elevates him from dragonslayer to legendary hero. As Sigurd rides away from Gnita-Heath, the blood of the dragon still coursing through him, he comes to a mountain surrounded by flames. Atop the heights is a wall of shields. Sigurd recalls a tale Regin told him of a valkyrie (a warrior-maiden of Odin) who was punished by Odin and made to sleep on a remote peak until a hero would awaken and claim her. Intrigued, Sigurd boldly rides through the ring of fire—Gram in hand and Grani beneath him, he passes through the magical flames unharmed (the fire that circles the valkyrie’s hall, often called Hindarfjall or Hindarbrún).
On the summit, Sigurd finds a figure lying in full armor, seemingly lifeless. He removes the helmet to reveal a beautiful woman with closed eyes. The armor is so tight it appears to be part of her skin, so Sigurd uses his sword to gently cut it away. At last, the woman stirs and awakens. She is Brynhildr (often called Brynhild in English), the valkyrie daughter of Odin. Long ago, Brynhild disobeyed Odin by choosing the wrong man to die in battle, and as a punishment, Odin condemned her to this enchanted sleep. Now Sigurd has broken the spell.
Brynhild is no ordinary maiden. She is as wise as she is skilled in war, having the knowledge of the gods and runes. Upon awakening, she initially greets Sigurd as a stranger, but quickly a deep connection forms between them. Sigurd and Brynhild spend time together on that mountaintop; she shares wisdom with him, teaching him about runes, the ways to invoke victory, and the secrets of healing – fragments of old poetic lore which the saga references. In return, Sigurd tells her of his deeds and lineage. They fall deeply in love. Sigurd swears that he will marry Brynhild and no other. Brynhild reciprocates, making him promise to come back for her after he has done a few more deeds in the world. As a token, Sigurd gives Brynhild a gold ring – none other than Andvaranaut, the ring from Fafnir’s hoard (the cursed ring that once belonged to a dwarf named Andvari). Brynhild, in turn, gives Sigurd a rich boundless love and some practical counsel, warning him not to forget his vows. With their troth plighted, Sigurd departs, certain that he will soon make Brynhild his bride.
Tragedy Unfolds – Sigurd at the Court of the Gjukungs: Fate now takes a hand in separating the lovers. Riding on, Sigurd eventually arrives at the kingdom of the Gjukungs (also known as the Niflungs, or the family of King Gjuki). King Gjuki rules over the land with Queen Grimhild. They have three sons – Gunnar, Högni, and young Guttorm – and one daughter, Gudrún. This royal family welcomes the famed dragon-slayer to their court, marveling at his exploits. Sigurd is received with honor and friendship. He decides to linger there, forging bonds of brotherhood with the princes. Queen Grimhild, however, has her own plans. Seeing in Sigurd the greatest hero of the age, she desires to bind him to her family permanently. Grimhild brews a potent mead of forgetfulness – a magic draught that, once drunk, will make Sigurd forget Brynhild and his previous promises.
One fateful evening, Sigurd drinks Grimhild’s enchanted wine. The potion works: the memories of Brynhild fade from his mind, as though covered by a thick mist. In this state, Sigurd becomes receptive to new love. Grimhild suggests that Sigurd marry her daughter Gudrún. Gudrún is a lovely and gentle princess, and after the potion, Sigurd finds himself drawn to her. Before long, Sigurd and Gudrún are wed with much celebration. Sigurd swears oaths of foster-brotherhood with Gunnar and Högni, promising to aid them as if they were his own brothers. It seems a time of joy – yet it is built on a cruel deception, for Sigurd has unknowingly broken his vow to Brynhild.
Meanwhile, Brynhild herself eventually leaves her isolated mountain (in some versions, she dwells with a foster-father, or simply travels to human lands). She comes to live in the court of Brynhild’s brother (or maybe just a friendly king), where many suitors seek her hand – but she refuses all, for she remembers Sigurd and their promise. Eventually, news of Brynhild’s unparalleled beauty and wisdom spreads, and it reaches the ears of King Gjuki’s sons. Gunnar, the eldest, is now king after Gjuki’s death, and Grimhild his mother urges him to find a noble bride. When Gunnar hears of Brynhild, he decides to ride out and ask for her hand. Of course, Brynhild has set a condition that she will only marry the man who can pass through the ring of fire and prove himself her destined husband. Gunnar, brave but not the equal of Sigurd, attempts the fiery barrier. He rides his horse at it, but the beast shies away. He simply cannot penetrate the wall of flame.
Puzzled and frustrated, Gunnar turns to Sigurd for help. Through the bonds of brotherhood and at the urging of their mother, Sigurd agrees to help Gunnar win Brynhild – tragically unaware that she is the very woman he once loved. They decide to use sorcery (some sagas say Grimhild taught them a spell) to swap shapes. Sigurd and Gunnar exchange forms (and in some tellings even exchange names) for a short time. In the guise of Gunnar, Sigurd mounts Grani (for no horse but Sigurd’s Grani can brave the fire) and leaps through the flames at Brynhild’s hall. Thus, Brynhild is deceived: she believes Gunnar is the hero who has come to claim her, since it looks like Gunnar and he gives his name as Gunnar, but it is actually Sigurd’s soul and skill that accomplished the feat. According to custom, the man who wins her is to spend three nights with her before bringing her home. During those nights, Sigurd (still appearing as Gunnar) is careful to keep a sword between himself and Brynhild in bed, to signify that he will not violate Gunnar’s bride. However, he does take from Brynhild a token – a ring from her finger (the very ring he had given her, Andvaranaut, which ironically he now unknowingly reclaims). In exchange, he leaves another ring of gold from Fafnir’s hoard on her hand. This he does probably to maintain appearances (since she would expect her new husband to give her a ring, not knowing that ring was originally from him as Sigurd). The three nights thus pass with Brynhild still a maiden, and then Sigurd (still looking like Gunnar) escorts her out through the fire and down to the land of the Gjukungs.
Once safe, Sigurd and Gunnar revert to their true shapes. Brynhild is formally introduced to the real Gunnar and wedded to him. Sigurd stands by with Gudrún, his own wife, and no one speaks of the deception. For a time, things seem stable: Brynhild is now Gunnar’s queen, Gudrún is Sigurd’s, and the families are united. But Brynhild’s happiness is short-lived. Though Sigurd’s face did not wear the disguise, something about him – perhaps the ring he took back? – begins to stir Brynhild’s memory and suspicions. Moreover, Brynhild notices the ring now on Gudrún’s hand (for Sigurd had given the ring Andvaranaut to his wife, and Gudrún innocently wears it). This ring Brynhild recognizes as the very one she once received from Sigurd. Doubt and realization dawn painfully in Brynhild’s mind. Still, she keeps her counsel for a while, her heart heavy with a sense of betrayal and longing.
The Quarrel of Queens and the Fall of Sigurd: The hidden tensions eventually explode in a famous scene by a river, where Brynhild and Gudrún bathe. Brynhild wades farther upstream, claiming precedence as befits the wife of the bravest hero alive. Gudrún, stung by Brynhild’s haughtiness, asserts that her own husband Sigurd is actually the greater hero – after all, he slew the dragon Fafnir. Brynhild retorts that Gunnar accomplished a more difficult deed by riding through the flames to win her. This quarrel escalates until Gudrún, in a flash of anger, blurts out the truth: it was Sigurd, not Gunnar, who passed through the fire and that Brynhild was tricked. To prove it, Gudrún points to the ring on her hand, telling Brynhild that it was Sigurd who had originally given that to Brynhild and then taken it back. Brynhild realizes with horror that she has been deceived into marrying a man she deemed second to Sigurd. Worse, the man she truly loved, Sigurd, not only married another but was part of the plot that handed her to another man (though Sigurd himself was under spells and oaths, this matters little to Brynhild’s sense of betrayal).
Enraged and humiliated, Brynhild withdraws to her chambers, refusing to speak to anyone, not even Gunnar. Her love for Sigurd turns to fury. Feeling deeply wronged by all, she decides that one of them must die – either herself or Sigurd. Eventually, after days of silence, Brynhild demands that Gunnar kill Sigurd, saying she cannot endure to see them both alive. Gunnar is tormented: he loves Sigurd as a brother and owes Sigurd everything, yet his wife’s anguish and his own honor (twisted by Brynhild’s accusations that he is a pawn and less of a man than Sigurd) compel him to consider foul play. Bound by their oaths of brotherhood, neither Gunnar nor Högni can themselves shed Sigurd’s blood without terrible guilt. So they conspire to have their younger brother, Guttorm, do the deed, since Guttorm did not swear the oath to Sigurd.
They feed Guttorm a magical broth of snake and wolf flesh to enrage and embolden him. In the early dawn, Guttorm sneaks into Sigurd’s bedchamber where Sigurd lies sleeping, unsuspecting, with Gudrún by his side. Guttorm thrusts a sword into Sigurd, mortally wounding him. The great hero, with one last burst of strength, rises as Guttorm attempts to flee, and flings his own sword at the assassin, cutting Guttorm in two. So dies Guttorm, and Sigurd too collapses, dying from the treacherous blow. According to some versions, Sigurd’s small son (only three years old) was also killed in this attack, adding even more sorrow.
Gudrún wakes to a nightmare: her beloved husband slain by her own brothers. She weeps and cries out, but it is too late. A dying Sigurd comforts her with gentle words and does not blame her. He even calls out Brynhild’s name as he expires, showing that his love for the valkyrie, though clouded by spells in life, was true in death. Gudrún’s grief is immeasurable – she is described as silent, unable to even shed a tear at first, her shock so great that she seems turned to stone.
Brynhild’s vengeance is fulfilled, but it gives her no joy. Seeing Sigurd’s corpse, she is overcome with remorse and sorrow. All the fire of her anger dies, and she is left with only emptiness. She tells Gunnar that she desired Sigurd’s death only because life had become unbearable otherwise, but now that he is gone, she has no will to live. Brynhild delivers a series of prophecies and final counsels – she foretells doom for Gunnar and Högni, and speaks of Gudrún’s future, how Gudrún will marry again and bring ruin to her next husband as well (thus setting the stage for the latter part of the saga). Having said all she wishes, Brynhild prepares to die. She stabs herself with a sword and, as she slowly perishes, she requests to be burned on a grand funeral pyre beside Sigurd. She wants their ashes to mingle, since in life they were kept apart. Gunnar honors her request. A noble funeral is arranged: Sigurd’s body is laid on a great pyre, and Brynhild, in her finery, lies down beside him. The flames consume them together, a tragic end to the greatest of heroes and the proud valkyrie maiden.
Thus ends the second great movement of the saga – the rise and fall of Sigurd and Brynhild. Yet the saga is not quite done; it follows the ripples of these events into one more generation to complete the grim saga of the Volsungs.
Gudrún’s Fate – the Aftermath with Atli and the Fall of the Niflungs: Gudrún, bereft of Sigurd, is a widow in the house of the very brothers who murdered her husband. For a time she is inconsolable, and relations in the family are strained. Seeking to alleviate her daughter’s grief and perhaps to secure new alliances, Queen Grimhild eventually gives Gudrún a potion to make her forget some of her sorrow (just as she once did to Sigurd, showing a rather morally dubious pattern). Gudrún, with memory of Sigurd softened, is married off to a powerful foreign king: Atli, king of the Huns. (Atli is clearly meant to be Attila the Hun, though transplanted into saga chronology and context).
Reluctantly, Gudrún goes east to the land of the Huns to be Atli’s queen. Years pass, and King Atli grows greedy for the wealth that Sigurd had left behind – the treasure of Fafnir, now largely in the hands of Gunnar and Högni (often collectively called the Niflungs). Atli invites his two brothers-in-law to visit his court in Hunland, ostensibly for a friendly gathering. Gudrún, suspecting foul intentions, tries to warn her brothers. She sends them a secret message carved in runes, advising them not to come, and to make sure they bring many men if they do. But the messenger carrying the runestick is bribed and alters the message, so Gunnar and Högni interpret it as an innocent invitation. Despite premonitions and Gudrún’s earlier words, the brothers decide to go to Atli’s court with only a small retinue – they are formidable warriors, after all, and Gunnar is eager to display no fear.
Upon arriving in Hunland, Gunnar and Högni realize too late that they are walking into another betrayal, much like their father once did into Siggeir’s trap. Atli springs his ambush: he demands they surrender Sigurd’s treasure. The Niflung brothers, proud and unyielding, refuse to give up the hoard (which, in truth, they have hidden – some versions say they sunk it in the Rhine river – so even if they wanted, they could not hand it over). Battle erupts in Atli’s hall between the Hun warriors and the vastly outnumbered visitors. Gunnar and Högni fight like cornered lions, slaughtering many of Atli’s champions in a fierce melee described vividly in the saga. In the end, sheer numbers overwhelm them. They are captured and thrown in chains.
Atli is furious about the treasure and interrogates the brothers separately to discover its whereabouts. Gunnar, knowing the secret, refuses to tell. Atli tries a cruel trick: he has Högni’s heart cut out, and the still-beating heart is brought to Gunnar. (In some renditions, they first try to trick Gunnar by presenting a coward’s heart claiming it is Högni’s, but Gunnar sees through it; then they do kill Högni for real and show his heart, confirming to Gunnar that his beloved brother is dead.) Once Gunnar knows Högni is gone, he smiles grimly and tells Atli that now the secret of the treasure’s hiding place is safe forever – only Gunnar himself knows it, and he will never reveal it, as the one person he would have shared it with (Högni) is dead. Frustrated and enraged, Atli decides to kill Gunnar. He has Gunnar thrown into a pit full of serpents. Even in this dire situation, the saga shows Gunnar’s heroism: bound and thrown among snakes, Gunnar uses his mighty voice to sing. Some stories add that Gudrún, pitying her brother, secretly sends him a harp which he plays with his toes (as his hands are tied) to soothe the serpents. The music calms all but one adder – which eventually strikes and bites Gunnar, bringing about his death.
Now Gunnar and Högni are dead, and King Atli thinks himself victorious, albeit without the gold he coveted. But Queen Gudrún, daughter of Gjuki, has seen her brothers treacherously slain and her first husband Sigurd long dead by her brothers’ doing. She is filled with complex grief and fury. Gudrún’s character, quiet and sorrowful for much of the saga, now hardens into icy resolve. She plots a revenge as horrifying as any in the tale. Concealing her wrath, Gudrún pretends to make peace with Atli after the funeral feasts for her brothers. She even tells Atli she has a special banquet prepared to mend their bond. During this feast, Atli is served meat and wine in abundance. Only after he has eaten heartily does Gudrún reveal the terrible truth: the meat was the flesh of their two young sons, whom Gudrún has slain, and the wine was mixed with their blood. She had killed her own children with Atli to complete the blood-price for her brothers. Atli is aghast – overcome with sorrow and rage at Gudrún’s unthinkable deed. Before he can react, Gudrún takes advantage of his shock. That night, as Atli lies in a drunken, grief-stricken stupor, Gudrún sneaks into his chambers with a sword (in some accounts, she has an accomplice, Hogni’s son, to help). She stabs King Atli to the heart, achieving her vengeance.
With flames and chaos echoing the saga’s earlier scenes (some versions have Gudrún setting the hall on fire after killing Atli), Gudrún ends the cycle of violence by wiping out Atli’s line – and effectively, much of her own. She stands alone amidst ruin: a husband she never loved now dead by her hand, her innocent children slain by her own unimaginable resolve, her beloved brothers gone, and her first true love Sigurd long in his grave. Overwhelmed by the weight of these tragedies, Gudrún finds life unbearable. She tries to drown herself by walking into the sea. Yet even here, the saga’s dark fate isn’t done with her: the waves do not claim Gudrún. She floats across the sea and is carried far away, eventually washing ashore in another land, alive.
Incredibly, Gudrún lives on to start anew in a distant kingdom. She becomes the wife of King Jonakr, and by him has three more sons. Gudrún’s daughter by Sigurd, Svanhild, also survives and grows up to be a woman of legendary beauty. But the shadow of tragedy still looms. Svanhild attracts the attention of Jörmunrek (Ermanaric), a mighty Gothic king. He sends for her hand. Gudrún, ever unlucky in marriages, consents and sends Svanhild off with her brothers (the sons of Jonakr) as escorts. However, fate strikes Svanhild cruelly: accused of infidelity (in some accounts, an evil counselor lies that she and Jörmunrek’s son were lovers), Svanhild is executed under Jörmunrek’s orders – trampled to death by horses as she is tied to the ground. When Gudrún hears this, her old fury reignites. She incites her three sons, Svanhild’s half-brothers Sorli, Hamdir, and Erp, to go and avenge their sister at all costs. The sons obey their mother, though it will mean certain death. They confront King Jörmunrek, managing to cut off his hands and feet in a fierce attack. But because of a prior quarrel, they had killed their brother Erp on the journey (not understanding his cryptic offer of help, they thought him useless – an ill-timed act that leaves them shorthanded). Thus, when Jörmunrek’s guards rally, the two surviving brothers, Sorli and Hamdir, are overwhelmed by sheer numbers. In a final stand, they are stoned to death by the Goths (fulfilling an earlier prophecy that “stones would conquer them, since steel could not” – indeed, they fought imperviously against swords until someone suggested pelting them with rocks).
With this final act of violence, the tale comes to an end. Gudrún’s sons are dead; the Volsung line and Gudrún’s line alike have been extinguished through endless revenge. The saga concludes on this somber note, with the curtain falling on a stage littered by the casualties of fate and fury.
Themes and Legacy of Völsunga saga
The sweeping story of Völsunga saga is rich in themes and motifs that have resonated through the ages. One of the most prominent themes is the destructive cycle of vengeance. Generations of the Volsung family are caught in feuds that demand blood for blood. From Signy and Sigmund’s revenge against Siggeir, to Brynhild’s lethal retaliation for her perceived betrayal, to Gudrún’s horrific vengeance on Atli, the saga shows how the duty to avenge kin can override all other values and lead to ever-escalating tragedy. At times, vengeance in the saga is heroic (as when Sigmund and Signy uphold family honor), but at other times it is portrayed as futile and ruinous, wiping out the very families it was meant to defend. This reflects a deep tension in Norse heroic ethics between honor (which demands vengeance) and doom (the often tragic outcome of fulfilling that demand).
Another key theme is fate (ørlog) and the idea that one’s destiny is hard to escape. Many characters in Völsunga saga seem driven by fate or prophetic knowledge: Signy knows from the start her marriage is ill-fated; Brynhild’s punishment and her foreknowledge of the future suggest that even her passionate decisions are part of a larger destiny; Odin himself appears at crucial moments (the sword in the tree, the breaking of Sigmund’s sword) to steer events, implying that the gods—or fate acting through them—have decreed certain outcomes. Yet, interestingly, the saga’s heroes and heroines are not passive – they struggle mightily against their fates or strive to shape them. This combination of relentless fate and fierce individual will gives the story its dramatic tension. We both anticipate the tragic end (if we know the old prophecies) and hope against hope that the characters’ courage might avert it.
The saga also explores family and loyalty in complex ways. There is intense loyalty within the Volsung clan – Signy’s loyalty to her natal family over her husband is absolute, Gudrún’s enduring love for her brothers leads her to monstrous acts of retribution on their behalf, Sigmund and his offspring stick together through thick and thin. But the saga doesn’t shy away from depicting how loyalty can conflict with other bonds like marriage or oaths of friendship. Sigurd’s predicament—torn between his oath to his blood-brothers (Gunnar and Högni) and his love for Brynhild—is a heart-rending example of clashing loyalties. No matter what he does, he must betray someone. Similarly, Gudrún’s loyalties shift: at first to her husband Sigurd, then to her brothers (for she doesn’t actively oppose them after Sigurd’s death), then back to her birth family’s memory (when she avenges Gunnar and Högni on Atli, killing even her own children from that second marriage). These conflicts illustrate the saga’s moral complexity. There are no easy choices; doing right by one bond often means doing terrible wrong by another.
The presence of supernatural elements – Odin’s interventions, valkyries, dragons, curses – firmly places Völsunga saga in a mythic context, yet the saga’s characters are portrayed with very human emotions. Love, jealousy, pride, wrath, and grief drive the story as much as any curse or prophecy. Sigurd and Brynhild’s love, in particular, stands out as a poignant element. They are often seen as the Norse equivalents of tragic lovers like Lancelot and Guinevere or Tristan and Isolde. Brynhild’s pride and sense of honor are as strong as her love, which leads to her drastic actions; Sigurd’s virtue and heroism make him almost a perfect hero, yet he’s undone by forces (magic and obligation) beyond his control. The saga invites readers to sympathize with almost every major character at different points, even when they become adversaries, because each is given understandable motivations and great dignity in how they face their downfall.
Motifs in the saga have become iconic. The cursed ring Andvaranaut, for instance, is often compared to the ring in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings – indeed, Tolkien, a scholar of Norse myth, took inspiration from the Volsung legend (though in Lord of the Rings he crafted a very different story around a cursed ring). The episode of Sigmund pulling the sword from the tree likely inspired later Arthurian imagery of the sword in the stone – although Arthur’s legend took shape separately, 19th-century romantics certainly drew parallels. The dragon-slayer Sigurd eating the heart and understanding birds is an ancient motif that appears in slightly different form in other Germanic tales (the German poem Nibelungenlied has Siegfried bathe in dragon’s blood to become invulnerable, for example). Wagner’s operas (the Ring cycle) drew heavily from Völsunga saga and the Poetic Edda: Wagner’s Siegfried opera includes scenes like the reforging of the sword and the awakening of Brünnhilde (Brynhild) almost exactly as in the saga. Through Wagner and other adaptations, these images have permeated Western culture’s imagination of what a mythic hero’s journey looks like.
Scholars have long studied Völsunga saga for its amalgamation of various source materials. The saga was written down in 13th-century Iceland, but it clearly compiles much older legends from different places. Parts of the saga correspond to the heroic poems of the Poetic Edda (for example, the lays of Sigurd and Gudrún). Other parts mirror the medieval German Nibelungenlied (though with notable differences in emphasis and endings – the Nibelungenlied focuses more on the human tragedy at Burgundian court and omits the Norse mythical elements like Fafnir or Brynhild’s valkyrie identity). There is evidence that the saga author stitched together oral tales and poems to create a single continuous prose narrative. The result sometimes has small inconsistencies or redundancies – much like if you combined several folk ballads into one storyline. Yet the saga’s editor (perhaps a single unknown Icelander) did an admirable job giving it unity and maintaining a clear, gripping narrative voice.
In terms of structure, Völsunga saga is episodic but unified by the concept of family fate. It moves from one generation to the next smoothly: the saga of Sigmund naturally transitions into the saga of Sigurd, which then transitions to Gudrún’s saga. In doing so, it covers an expansive timeline but always feels like one saga, the saga of the Volsung family and those connected to it. The early chapters with Sigmund and Signy set up the notion that this family is extraordinary (descended from Odin) and cursed to endure great trials. By the time we reach Sigurd, we have a sense of the lineage he carries. And after Sigurd’s fall, Gudrún’s lonely tale carries the weight of all that has happened. The saga ends almost like a Greek tragedy, with a once-mighty house utterly fallen. This is not the kind of story where good triumphs over evil—instead it’s one where greatness and pride both soar and lead to ruin, leaving behind a cautionary echo.
Throughout the saga, certain themes recur as motifs: the sword that is broken and reforged symbolizes legacy and the transfer of power (from Sigmund to Sigurd). The dragon’s gold symbolizes greed and the curse of avarice (whoever holds it meets a bad end, suggesting the folly of fighting over wealth). The image of the volsung (a particular breed of hero) stands for fearless pursuit of honor at any cost. Women in the saga, notably Signy, Brynhild, and Gudrún, are depicted with as much complexity and agency as the men, if not more in some cases. They don’t swing swords in battle (with the exception of Brynhild who was a valkyrie) but they are the moral and emotional centers of their episodes: Signy drives the revenge plot, Brynhild’s emotions drive the central conflict of Sigurd’s story, and Gudrún’s actions conclude the saga. In that sense, the saga also thematically explores the plight of women in a warrior society – they are often the ones left to suffer and yet they find ways to exact influence, whether through schemes, spells, or sheer force of will. For example, Signy’s choices direct the fate of her family’s vengeance, Brynhild’s honor-bound rage triggers the downfall of heroes, and Gudrún’s sorrow-fueled wrath reshapes kingdoms. The saga is surprisingly empathetic to their tragedies: it doesn’t frame them as mere villains or side characters, but as pivotal actors shaped by cruel circumstances.
The legacy of Völsunga saga in literature and art has been profound. Not only did it preserve for us a wealth of ancient Germanic myth (like stories of Sigurd, the only surviving full account of that cycle in Norse) but it continues to inspire modern storytellers. From high fantasy novels to operas to visual art, the images of Sigurd slaying the dragon or Brynhild on the funeral pyre resonate as archetypes of heroism and tragedy.
For a general reader today, Völsunga saga offers an engrossing journey into a world where mortals and myth intertwine. It is at once a classic hero’s saga—full of adventure and marvels—and a somber meditation on the cost of vengeance and the capriciousness of fate. The saga invites us to marvel at the courage of its heroes, even as we mourn their downfall. In the grand tapestry of Icelandic sagas, Völsunga saga stands out as a bridge between myth and legend, a tale that roars like a dragon’s breath and yet can still prick our hearts like a finely honed sword.
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