Beowulf Beowulf Beowulf

The land of Geat was famous for the many heroes that came from it. The most powerful was Beowulf, the mighty giant of a man who a year ago had slain Grandel from Denmark and Grandel’s mother. With that, monsters were appearing less and less in Scandinavia. It was a time of peace in the land of Geat, and Prince Beowulf now, for the first time ever, relaxed. 

How lucky he was that he had returned to his land again. to see the smiling faces of the people who praised him wildy for his slaying of  Grandel and his mother. It was time to enjoy the things men do in peacetime to relax, and not to worry of the dangers of battle and war. It was a time that many of his men had dreamed of for so long, a time for once to take things easy and be merry. 

Beowulf, never happy to fail, swore if he was to be at rest tending his duties, then he would be the best at it.  He had attended every meeting, and talked with every councilor  to learn what it took to run a nation, which is how he found himself in talks with the small man by the name of Frode, who had been talking to him about an issue that Beowulf had yet to understand. 

“The farmers have been complaining about the levies we are imposing on them. They claim they cannot afford the slight increase in taxes, that it has imade the price of grain too high...”  Frode stopped talking as Beowulf held his lips together with his fingers. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I have no idea how I would fix this problem. Tell me in plain speak how to fix it.” 

“The new tax has made farmers short on grain because they are growing less due to the high cost of seed.  We have a massive shortage of food; people will die, and then Sweden will take this chance to conquer us,” said Frode. It was after he finished talking that Beowulf let his lips go. 

“Right, I see how bad the situation is. So it’s easy; we do away with the tax,”  said Beowulf. 

“Well, um, you see, the reason for the tax increase on grain was to pay for the new wall to protect us from Sweden,” said Frode.

“I wish to make something very clear. I have slain sea monsters. I have killed the son of Cain, Grandel. I have even taken on the monster’s mother. I have the strength of eighty men,” Beowulf said. 

“That is clear, “ said Frode.

“I do not know what to do,” said Beowulf. 

“I’m not sure either,” said Frode. 

“I need to see the men,” said Beowul. 

Most times Beowulf would relish the thrill of battle, but this now did not sit well with him, and he knew why. Normally he would journey with men he had hand-picked, but now trapped here at home, well, he had an issue. 

Geat was famed for its heroes. Legend had them as so popular that other kingdoms would compete to hire them as mercenaries. A Geat man has been in every battle in Europe. In this way Geat was safe from conquest by Sweden. This had left Geat in a strange spot in Europe,  known by reputation as a land of great and mighty warriors. To be known far and wide as a land with great warriors, the best warriors had been sent far and wide. The ones left at home were useless moron sons of minor nobles.

He opened the break halls, and looked at the men. The ones that were not passed out drunk were busy right now playing a poor game of hnefatafl. Their marshal, a man by the name of Gestumblindi, was laying on his stomach having a rack of lamb. He would extend his stomach whenever he was hungry for a snack. Seeing Beowulf, he jumped up to greet him. 

“Prince Beowulf,” he said. 

Beowulf slammed the break hall door on him. There was no future for these men, no hope. The only reason any of them were here is that they were children of nobles that needed to be moved out of the way. That was the point of this army. Beowulf was unsure of what he was to do, an alien feeling to him. He swallowed his pride, and went to talk to his uncle in hopes of figuring out something. King Hygelac had been spending his day roaming the grand halls and his gardens. The year of Beowulf’s adventure with the Danes, King Hygelac had been taken with the idea of doing nothing. He would sit outside, watching the comings and goings of the people in his court. He would find an out of the way corner, and make mental notes of the people in the court, not  talking to people at all. This had been one of the reasons that Beowulf felt compelled to take it upon himself to run the kingdom. Still, when it came to most pressing issues, Beowulf still felt compelled to seek out his guidance. 

He had found his uncle  studying a small red bug out in the garden. He would watch the red bugs, and take endless notes of their adventures. 

“Uncle.” 

“Beowulf, my boy, how good to see you again. Have you met Rathgar the Brave?” said Hygelac, who was trying to introduce Beowulf to Rathgar the Brave.

“I have not yet, my uncle,” said Beowulf. 

“He is a young and bold red bug of noble blood and temperament,” said Hygelac. as Rarthgar flew off and was  eaten by a passing bird. 

“His father will be crushed,” said Hygelac. 

“Uncle, I must ask you for your advice,“ said Beowulf.

“ I am busy right now. I must compose an epic poem so that Rathgar the Brave’s name will be known for all of history,“ said Hygelac as he wandered off to compose the poem. 

“Thank the heavens he is on red bugs, as a week ago he had been composing epics for the trees,” said a voice behind Beowulf. 

He turned around  to see Queen Hygd, the Geat wife of Hygelac. A stern , well rounded ruler, Beowulf had thought what a pity she had  been born a woman, as she would have made a fine king for the Geats. 

“Poor, poor Beowulf. You struggle so hard for us,” she said. 

“I am Beowulf, slayer of Grandel, slayer of his…,”  cut off by her as she put her hand on his cheek. 

“Believe me, I'm quite aware of that,” she said. 

“Oh yes,” he said. 

“Please come and sit with me,” she said, sitting down by the tree. He sat down beside her. 

“Frode has told me of a coming crisis,” said Beowulf. 

“I am aware. He told me of it first,” said Hygd. 

“That’s foolish. I am such an expert in these matters,” said Beowulf with a bemused grin at that thought.

“Oh dear Beowulf, you are not as dim as you think yourself to be,” she said. 

“I do not know how to fix this,” he said. 

“May I talk freely to you?” she said. 

“Always.” 

“We cannot recall our men without breaking our contracts, and even if we could, they could not get here in time, and it would take too long to train new men. There is no hope for us. We will be a vassal of Sweden soon,” she said. 

He grabbed his knees, and thought this over as she walked about. 

“Olaf has returned from his mission. The future will come later,” Hygd said, leaving Beowulf to brood.  

It was meant to be a small feast of no great importance, as his cousin Olaf had only returned from his first monster hunt, and in the old days it would have not warranted much of a celebration. Yet it had become more and more rare for a Geat to be called  to slay a monster, so these celebrations had become much more elaborate, and the joyes of the hunt were now a righteous time, each time. Beowulf did not let this worry him, as the night called for joyous celebration. The fears of the world outside this party were trifles,

and nothing to worry his mind. It was the night he had been waiting for, passing time in the grand dining hall, waiting for the night of revellers. He did not want to think about the outside world, or focus on Olaf and his time in the wilderness. He was very good at pushing back all the affairs of the world, and only thing of the task at hand. It was a thing that every great warrior must learn how to do, to focus only on fighting. It is what saved one more than anything in battle, what got one through any moment of protracted violence.

Still, today was weighing on him. There seemed to be no way to figure this out. He knew that he was out of his depth. He knew that, as he sat on his throne and waited patiently for the younger man to arrive, for the festivities to start. There was a loud knock at the door. He grabbed his sword, but no, this was wrong. It was Olaf and his men. 

One of the attendants ran  to open the door. 

“No!” Beowulf stood up, clutching his sword. 

The attendant opened the door anyway, revealing the portly figure of Olaf. 

“My country, I have returned,” Olaf said . The party fell into a full scale bachenah, and Beowulf’s outburst was  forgotten by all. It was a night filled with singing and headbutting. 

Beowulf quietly left and walked along the beach to plot what his life would become. It resolved nothing; it caused him to feel the freezing weight of the world on his shoulders. He had always thought of how he would die in battle, in the final battle with Sweden. It had seemed that that was where his life was destined, but by now he did not know if that would ever happen. 

“My god Beowulf, you have let yourself fall to such a low, have you not?” said a voice. 

He turned around to see a small raven looking at him. 

“The mighty Beowulf, the powerful Beowulf, what has happened to you?” said the raven, although not with spoken words. It was more of a new voice that spoke in his mind. 

“Who are you, raven?” said Beowulf. 

“You know me.I have walked by your side for a long time,” said the raven. 

Beowulf swung out his sword, touching the tip right to the raven’s little neck. The storm broke. Another raven landed by him, then another,  and another, until a whole murder surrounded him. Then as a whole they spoke with the voice of thousands in his head. 

“I have a job for you. A great beast has risen an old laveanthin in a land called Alba,  your destiny,” said the ravens. 

“No, my duty is here with my people,”  said Beowulf.

“Fool, you are a riper, a slayer. You are Beowulf. You are so powerful that in two days you could swim to this place that is full of big strong men such as yourself. Go now,” the ravens said in loud thunderous voices, over and over again in his head. The word now kept repeating itself in louder and louder voices as he went closer and to the water’s edge. As he walked into the ocean he felt his head burn. He stripped off his clothes, and to stop hearing the screaming of the crows he dived into the ocean.  

Hygd, a few days later, was wandering the beach with her companion, a newly arrived, Cwenhild, an Anglo-Saxon woman. For the past week they had been searching for Beowulf. They recognized his clothes laying on the beach.

“My lady, is that his sword?” said Cwenhild.

“Yes, he must have had to slay a dragon,” said Hygd.

Cwenhild looked at her, unblinking. 

“You do not know the story of King Beowulf and his heroics?“ said Hygd.

“No,” said Cwenhild.

“Lo! the Spear-Danes’ glory through splendid achievements”...