I am so beautiful, thought Beowulf as he stared into the mirror. In fact, there just can't be anything more I can do to be more beautiful!
"Sir Beowulf? O great and powerful Beowulf?" a young servant asked humbly, gazing in wonder at the great warrior's trophies of war.
"Yes, what is it?" Beowulf growled irritably. Surely even this young man knew the morning was his Preening Time!
"The King requests your almighty presence--whenever you're ready, naturally."
"What could the old fool want now?" Beowulf sighed, straighting his luxurious blond hair. "A great artifact to be found? An invading army to be held back? Can't you people do anything without my help?"
"Well, sire, I don't know what he has for you to do, but I do know there were Danish messangers here last night."
"Danes?! Do you mean I'll have to travel to Denmark again? No one important will be there--I don't want to--" He stopped suddenly, thinking to himself. But if this task is something worthy of my skills, the women will all fall over themselves for me! Not only will I be devastatingly handsome, but also adventurous and dangerous, too!
"Inform the king that I will grace him with my presence presently," Beowulf told the servant coldly, pretending this was a great inconvenience.
"Oh, yes, sir," the boy responded, bowing franticly in reaction to Beowulf's tone. "I apologize for the interruption."
Beowulf nodded, sending the servant scurrying away, and, sending one last glance at his narcissuses in the window, turned to sit in his own personal court, more elaborate than even the king's own.
"Oh, you poor thing," the large, demonic-looking dragon whispered to the tiny bunny rabbit who sat shivering in the cold Danish rain. Even this quietest tone of Grendel's voice was enough to nearly knock the small animal over, and it started in pain, skittering away into the bushes.
"No, my friend!" Grendel cried, snatching up the creature gently in his strong claws. "Do not leave me--I just want someone to talk to. Please don't fear me."
"Not fear you!?" the delicate bunny squeaked, trembling in fear, but still with enough courage to speak. "Just as the men of Herot should not have feared you?"
"Ye--no--I--" Grendel struggled desperately for the words to explain. "When I heard their music and singing, I crawled from my lair to see if I might be permitted to participate in the celebration. But when I arrived, everyone was already asleep. I crept into the hall, intending to wake one of the men and talk with him, but when I picked up the first slumbering body, I underestimated my own strength. Then, when I stepped back in shock, I accidently crushed a man beneath my feet. After that, the men began attacking me, and I had to defend myself. When it was all done, all of the men of Herot were dead."
"Dead--dead because you killed them!" screamed the rabbit fiercely.
"No--I never meant--" began Grendel, but even as he protested, he realized his mistake. In his anguish, he had clenched his fist, thus crushing the poor animal he had tried to befriend.
"Oh, dear!" cried Grendel, sobbing in his misery. "I've done it again!"
"Enter!" Beowulf commanded, staring down mightily from his high throne. The King Higlac--powerful leader of all the Geats--kneeled as he came in, for no one was more powerful than the warrior Beowulf was... Or, at least, no one wanted to risk hurting his pride and vanity. Even handsome faces had hard knuckles.
"Dear Beowulf, I would ask your assistance in a matter of grave importance," Higlac said quietly, nearly groveling.
"Something involving the Danes, I'm sure," Beowulf commented, gazing absently at his powerful--yet perfectly manicured--hands.
"That is correct!" Higlac exclaimed, feigning surprise. He knew Beowulf, with his love of the social scene, would not be pleased to travel to a dead-end portion of Denmark, so any amount of sweet-talking he could muster would be helpful. "How amazing you are! Surely God himself has blessed you with the ability of far-seeing!"
"Oh, I know I'm amazing," Beowulf sniffed. I must remember that, he thought to himself. Not only handsome, girls, but blessed by God as well!
"But, sir," the servant stupidly interrupted, "I told him that--"
"--I have never seen this boy in my life!" Beowulf cried defensively, not about to give up his new title.
"No, of course not," Higlac said soothingly, almost laughing to himself. "This boy" was Beowulf's personal manservant, who waited on him the better part of each day. But he wasn't about to listen to another one of Beowulf's famous temper tantrums. "I'm sure this boy simply has something loose in his head." Despite the boy's protests, the king quickly shoved him out of the room and slammed the door shut.
"Now, what I was getting at before--thought I'm sure you already know--was that King Hrothgar has requested our help in the matter of a gruesome monster named Grendel. Resembling a dragon in appearance and manner, he ruthlessly murdered many of Hrothgar's finest warrior's in their sleep, leaving Herot's shining hall dreary and barren."
"And you want me to come and rid you of this flying gecko?"
"Yes, sir, but remember--Grendel murdered over thirty warriors in only one night. Even for you, the best of all our fighters, this could be a deadly task."
"Are you doubting my abilities?" Beowulf roared, enraged.
"No, Sir Beowulf, I would never--" Higlac sputtered.
"How dare you!" Beowulf growled. "This demon, even though he may be one hundred feet tall with fierce teeth and claws to tear men's flesh from their bones, will be no match for a man such as me! In fact, this is such a trivial pursuit that I will not only defeat the monster, but I will do it with not so much as a single dagger in hand--I swear, by God! Now, go! Go, before I truly lose my temper!" he shouted to Higlac, who was already hurrying out of the room.
"Now," Beowulf muttered to himselfas Higlac left, "what has my big mouth gotten me into now?"
"Grendel? Grendel!" an old woman's crackling voice called sweetly through the darkness of the marshy cave. "Grendel, my disgusting young son, where are you?"
"Mother?" Grendel asked, glancing up from his oven full of heart-shaped, lavender and pink frosted cookies. "Mother, is that truly you?"
"Yes, Grendel, my poor boy, it is I."
"It is so good to see you, Mother! But--I thought that we weren't speaking to each other anymore..." Grendel said, confused.
"Well, you silly decrepit old thing! That all changed when I heard about it!"
"It?" Grendel asked, even more confounded.
"It! Of course you know what I'm talking about--Herot! I had finally given up on you when you told me you were...well, you know. Good. But then you did that and--oh, I'm so disgusted with you son!" she cried happily.
"Uh, but...Mother--"
"Oh, I know I never told you how much you look like your father--a horrible monster he was, always out committing evil--that's why I fell in hate with him, it was! A direct descendant of Cain, he was, and even caused the very eruption near Pompeii itself." Grendel's mother got misty-eyed as she thought about her "insignificant other."
"But, Mother--I never changed."
"What? Oh!--always a joker, you were, Grendel, you--"
"I mean it, Mother. I really didn't change."
"But--Herot--and those other warriors..."
I was--I didn't mean for the men to die. And after that, I've had to defend myself from the others who try to take revenge for their deaths."
"You mean, then..."
"Yes, Mother. I'm still... I'm still good."
Furious, Grendel's mother glared back at him, her eyes glowering red. "Then I'm still not your mother," she whispered coldly, turning on her heel and leaving.
"I knew I never should have let you live," she called over her shoulder. "I should have just let the humans--Oh, carp!" she cried suddenly, slipping in the slick marsh mud.
"Mother!" Grendel shrieked, leaping to her side and helping her up. "Are you alright?"
"You!" she shouted, twisting away from her son. "Get your clean, wholesome, good hands off of me!"
"Mother..." Grendel sniffed as his only family turned her back on him once more. "I...I'm sorry."
"My dear warriors, now that we have arrived, I will go off on my own to defeat the horrible beast," Beowulf announced to his men, waiting patiently at the shores of Denmark. "You shall await me here. If I do not come back in a week's time, however, return to Higlac with news of my death."
Everyone laughed. The great warrior, Beowulf, not surviving? How preposterous! Some laughs held a bitter tone, however. They should be so lucky!
"Farewell, then, my friends, and I will see you soon," Beowulf finished, still chuckling--albeit more nervously than usual--and stepped onto the fresh sand of the beach, heading for Grendel's lair.
After many minutes of traveling, Beowulf came across a strange sight on the road. A young woman was humming to herself, sitting on a rock by the side of the path.
"Greetings, fair creature!" Beowulf called, coming to a halt before her. "What business might a pretty little one such as yourself have out here, especially when there's a dangerous creature about?"
"Just enjoying the morning," she replied sweetly, but in a voice cracked and aging, just like an old woman's. Beowulf shrugged and supposed it was alright--she was beautiful, and that was all that really mattered, at least to him.
"And what of the monster?"
"Nothing of a threat to anyone who knows the secret of defeating him," she said slyly.
"The secret?" Beowulf asked curiously.
"Yes, the secret to his defeat. Would you like to know the secret?" she asked.
"Ye--well, I mean, not like I'd need to know, but what is it, in case one of my other, less skillful, warriors meets this monster?"
"Of course. The secret is contained in these two items," she said, holding up a golden sword and a silver cup. "The sword is enchanted, so that it will never miss its mark, no matter what."
"And the cup?"
"The cup, when filled with the blood of a ferocious beast, will make the drinker the most famous man in the world."
"How will this help me--er, them--to kill the monster?" Beowulf asked, confused.
"Well, you--they-must first find a way to kill the creature, which should be easy, considering the sword you hold in your hand. Then, fill the cup with Grendel's blood, and people will flock to you and never forget your name..."
"This sword..." Beowulf whispered, remembering his oath not to use weapons. "But wouldn't it be possible to kill the creature without a sword?"
"No. He has a powerful spell on him that will not allow him to be harmed by anything but this sword... Would you like to use it?"
"May I?" asked Beowulf. He took the two items uncomfortably, thanked the woman quietly, and continued on his way.
The woman, watching his distress intently, cackled to herself and changed to her true shape as Grendel's mother.
"This will be perfect!" she cried, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "Not only will this solve the problem with my...ugh, good! son, but Beowulf is sure to take my advice and use the sword. That will anger his god, and that will leave me free to practice my evil in peace!"
Beowulf, now far from the plotting monster, had his own problems to deal with. As he walked down the road, his vision blurred, and his eyes were filled with a bright light. Immediately he knew that one of God's angels stood before him, and he kneeled, humbled.
"Beowulf..." he heard, in a voice that was not really one voice, but many--all--voices. "Beowulf, what do you hold in your hand? A sword? Have you not already sworn by our Lord's name, by his honor, that you will not hold a weapon when you go up against Grendel? Trust us--have faith in God, Beowulf. Do not have fear of this being, otherwise your fate will be cruel."
"My fate?"
"If you take a sword into this battle, fate will work against you, and Grendel will pierce you through the heart. If you trust us, however, you will survive," the voice said, fast fading into the distance.
Well, thought Beowulf to himself, if I know what will happen, I have no need to fear taking my sword. I can avoid my fate...
"This is excellent!" Grendel's mother hissed to herself as Beowulf walked away. "Beowulf is sure to use the sword, and fate will destroy him for his arrogance. But before he dies, he'll be sure to kill that embarrassment of a son of mine!"
She cackled once again to herself at this idea, and Beowulf turned to see what it was, but his vision was still blurry from conversing with the angel, and so all he saw was a faint impression of a skeletal figure hobbling away. He didn't feel like starting another adventure by chasing after it since he was so far into the first, and so he continued on to Grendel's lair, sword and cup in hand.
When he arrived at Grendel's swamp, Beowulf saw the beast's cave immediately, and he silently entered the front door, momentarily confused by the flowery welcome mat, seeing as this was a monster's lair. He didn't stop to think about it, however, and continued searching for Grendel, passing through a kitchen full of the smells of freshly baked bread, and a sewing room, until he found the not-so-dread monster pruning roses by the back door.
"Grendel!" shouted Beowulf, brandishing his sword. "You horrible beast, lay your head down and die now, for you have found your match!"
"Beowulf!" Grendel exclaimed, taking a step back in fear. "Please, have mercy on a poor dragon's soul! I know why you are here, but believe me when I say that I did not intend for those men to die. So, please, I beg you--allow me to live peacefully in this swamp, and do not take my life!"
"Hah!" Beowulf cried, "do you think that it is so easy to deceive me? Everyone knows there's no such thing as a goodly monster! And besides that, even if there was--where would my reputation go if I let you live? People would think I was a coward, and then how would I get the girls?"
Grendel sighed and bowed his head. "I see that I cannot convince you of the truth of my words. Very well--end my life. I am too much danger to you humans alive, and I would rather be dead than to hurt another soul." And with that, he knelt down, and prepared for Beowulf to end his life.
At this moment Beowulf felt the slightest twinge of conscience, and he almost let the creature live. Almost. A vision of his popularity rating came to mind, and so he lifted his blade--the very sword he was commanded not to use--and completely severed the neck of Grendel the misunderstood monster. Immediately he leaped away, belatedly remembering the prophesy, and waited until Grendel's death throes were through. Then, he picked up the cup from where he had dropped it, not thinking that the tiny drops of blood were dragon's blood, and therefore poisonous. He drank eagerly from it, already anticipating the wondrous powers he would acquire, when suddenly his body shook, and the drink dropped from his hand. He fell to the ground, and finally was still, dead from the poison running through his veins.
Meanwhile, back at the lair, Grendel's body vanished, for it was not truly Grendel, but an angel sent to test Beowulf, who had failed because of his own pride. Then Grendel--the real Grendel--came upon Beowulf's body and, not knowing what had happened, was moved with sympathy, and raced to try to help the fallen warrior, although already he knew it was too late. But a curious thing happened when Grendel touched the body--the clouds opened, and a strange voice filled his head.
"Grendel," the voice that has many voices said, "you have shown yourself to be a good person, one filled with both compassion and virtue. For this you will receive the thing you most desire--you will be able to spend the remainder of your life helping the humans, as Beowulf. But the first thing you must do is to rid the world of the woman you called mother. Do not fear, for she is not really your mother--she is your father."
Grendel, who had just then finished changing into Beowulf, stood dumbfounded.
The angel laughed. "Come on--you had to know the big guy had a sense of humor!"
Grendel opened his mouth and a joyous sound came out--a laugh, the first he had been able to produce in many years.
"That's my boy," the angel said. "But seriously, she is only a witch who pretended to be your mother to gain control over you. You must destroy her..."
Grendel nodded, and the clouds again closed, not one second before the witch strode into the swamp.
"Beowulf?" she asked increduously. "But you're supposed to be dead."
"He is," Grendel answered, picked up the silver cup slowly. "It is I, Grendel. Do not fear, Mother, for I have seen the error of my ways, and I know now what it is to live--to be evil. Just think--you and I, in my new form--what havoc we can wreak! Come, Mother--drink to our new fortune!"
Grendel's mother laughed, overjoyed at this apparent new change of events. She took the cup from Grendel and drank deeply, but she had forgotten that it would still be filled with the poison, and so when she was through she collasped and died in much the same way Beowulf did.
Grendel felt pity for the old woman, who did not know the truth of life, but he could not do a thing, and so he returned to Beowulf's men on the ship, and the sailed back to King Higlac, where Grendel lived his life as Beowulf, doing good for all of mankind.
And, although our tale is nearly through, it might be worthy to note that the witch's prophesy did, in fact, come true. Grendel, as Beowulf, did, indeed, have a more successful life, and, in fact, people began to notice that once Beowulf's self-absorption went away, he was a much better man, doing things simply for the sake of others, and went on many other adventures, which are all just as exciting, but will have to wait for next time, for now our tale is told.