In the last part of the poem there is another great fight.  Beowulf is now an old man; he has reigned for fifty years, beloved by all his people.  He has overcome every enemy but one, a fire dragon keeping watch over an enormous treasure hidden among the mountains.  One day a wanderer stumbles upon the enchanted cave and, entering, takes a jeweled cup while the firedrake sleeps heavily.  That same night the dragon, in a frightful rage, belching forth fire and smoke, rushes down upon the nearest villages, leaving a trail of death and terror behind him.

Again Beowulf goes forth to champion his people.  As he approaches the dragon’s cave, he has a presentiment that death lurks within: 

    Sat on the headland there the warrior king;
    Farewell he said to hearth-companions true,
    The gold-friend of the Geats; his mind was sad,
    Death-ready, restless.  And Wyrd was drawing nigh,
    Who now must meet and touch the aged man,
    To seek the treasure that his soul had saved
    And separate his body from his life.[10]

There is a flash of illumination, like that which comes to a dying man, in which his mind runs back over his long life and sees something of profound meaning in the elemental sorrow moving side by side with magnificent courage.  Then follows the fight with the firedrake, in which Beowulf, wrapped in fire and smoke, is helped by the heroism of Wiglaf, one of his companions.  The dragon is slain, but the fire has entered Beowulf’s lungs and he knows that Wyrd is at hand.  This is his thought, while Wiglaf removes his battered armor: 

    “One deep regret I have:  that to a son
    I may not give the armor I have worn,
    To bear it after me.  For fifty years
    I ruled these people well, and not a king
    Of those who dwell around me, dared oppress
    Or meet me with his hosts.  At home I waited
    For the time that Wyrd controls.  Mine own I kept,
    Nor quarrels sought, nor ever falsely swore. 
    Now, wounded sore, I wait for joy to come."[11]

He sends Wiglaf into the firedrake’s cave, who finds it filled with rare treasures and, most wonderful of all, a golden banner from which light proceeds and illumines all the darkness.  But Wiglaf cares little for the treasures; his mind is full of his dying chief.  He fills his hands with costly ornaments and hurries to throw them at his hero’s feet.  The old man looks with sorrow at the gold, thanks the “Lord of all” that by death he has gained more riches for his people, and tells his faithful thane how his body shall be burned on the Whale ness, or headland: 

    “My life is well paid for this hoard; and now
    Care for the people’s needs.  I may no more
    Be with them.  Bid the warriors raise a barrow
    After the burning, on the ness by the sea,
    On Hronesness, which shall rise high and be
    For a remembrance to my people.