As the celebration in the mead hall continued, there was a
certain excitment, or contentment—I couldn’t quite tell which—about the air,
that I could not help my feeling uneasy about. I knew Grendel was coming, but I
was not sure that Beowulf, the Geat, was actually the man he claimed to be. The
stories were all well and good, but I saw no proof of his greatness. So, as the
time grew nearer to midnight, I began to feel more anxious. As Beowulf and
Unferth argued through their petty squabble, no one seemed to pay any mind to
the fact that many fine, strong men’s lives were potentially going to be spent.
Our fine new queen, Wealtheow, poured mead into my good kinsmen’s cups, and the
entire hall carried on in their festivities. I glanced around the room and saw
Unferth, the weak man that he was, struggling to hold back his tears as he stormed
out of the hall. Our king, Hrothgar, speaks to our new stranger about something
that I could not bother to concern myself with. After some time, the merriments,
slowly as it may have been, seemed to die down. Most of the men diffused to
their respective residences, not worrying themselves with the encroaching
horrors the even had the potential to present.
Most of the
men, at this point, were asleep, and I knew the time was growing nye. Then,
taking me almost by surprise, the beast burst through the gargantuan mead-hall
door. It appeared as though the beast was toying with us. I noticed Beowulf
watch Grendel as he took a table cloth, tied it around his impenetrable neck,
and ate one of my kinsmen. The jovial manner in which this colossal carried out
the cold-blooded murder of an innocent man confused and infuriated me. Fortunately
for me, and quite unfortunately for the beast, the next person he tried to prey
upon was Beowulf. I stood in horror, appreciation, and amazement as Beowulf
twisted Grendel’s arm around in its socket. I knew the battle was not yet won,
but I had faith in the man in which our fate was trusted in. Just then, Grendel
fell to the ground, having slipped on a puddle of blood. This gave Beowulf the
upper hand, and my expectations for the outcome of this night, cautiously of
course, grew with each blow the Geat hurled at Grendel. There was some dialogue
between the beast and his conqueror, but I paid no mind; as, battle was no time
for conversation of any sort. Finally, after Beowulf threw his lesser around
the hall in a quite ostentatious manner, he finally tore the hairy, evil arm
from our torturer’s torso. The beast had finally realized his defeat, so, certain
of his death, Grendel sulked out of our mead hall. Our misfortune had finally
been eradicated.
