Author's Note:
This was an essay I wrote for my English class on the epic Beowulf, the Seamus Heaney translation. I chose the creative part, to write an additional battle for Beowulf to undergo. Since I did so well on it, and my tutor made the suggestion, I decided I'd post the battle here.
Enjoy!
"Pride's Shadowy Curse"
And so Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow,
had seen five winters since his triumphant return from
his battles with the descendants of Cain. Life in the land
of the Geats, under the rule of King Hygelac, had been
luster-lacking. No beasts threatened the ring-giver nor
his subjects; no enemies sat on the brink of war, there
were no formidable foes to fight nor that fought. Peace
existed for the time, causing many a wondrous warrior
to wither.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, was no
exception. The hero of hardships home and abroad felt
as though his skills in war were to be wasted. Acting
upon desires for greatness, and out of sheer pride, he
picked a fight with a man he knew could not best him.
Son of Hygelac, Eantheaow was his name, the lesser
son of the great ring-giver of the Geats. His glory was
yet to grow.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"You, Eantheaow, lesser son of Hygelac, ring-giver of
the glorious Geats. Ages ago you bested the barbarians
of the frozen North, the Freorig-Beorn, crystal-water wizards of the water-crystal roads, with crystalline hides
and their water-magick. You, brave battler to the king,
were quick-footed and lept out of reach of their
water-jewels in time to deftly destroy the dangerous
demons of the nefarious Northern Freorig-Beorn."
Eantheaow, honored but lesser son of Hygelac, spoke:
"Indeed. That was I, seven winters ago. The heavens
surely shone upon me that devious day. There were
many a man, my father included, who wondrously
rejoiced at my rewarding return from such a perilous
endeavour. Many a man has attempted such a feat, but
only I, Eantheaow, has returned soundly, stronger than
ever before.
"But what, pray tell, is the purpose of bringing
up such a feat? Surely your successes for the ring-giver
of the Danes, King Hrothgar, are greater than my
meager yet magnificent conquest of the North?"
Beowulf permitted himself a small wolfish grin,
and announced in a voice that drew a group of men:
"I challenge you, son of Hygelac, to a piece of combat
in which the two of us shall fight for the glory of being
the stronger, the more skilled, and the quickest."
"A pride fight, Beowulf? How immoral!"
Said the lesser son of the former king. "But at least
there is a chance that, with my historic successes, I shall
come out the better warrior, the proud."
And so it was declared by an onlooker
that the two were to fight hand-to-hand the next
afternoon in the midst of the stables. Word spread
quickly of the fight to come, but miraculously it failed to
reach the ears of the brothers of Eantheaow.
When the time for the fight did occur, Beowulf met
Eantheaow in the stark stables, no steeds to be seen.
Heaven's candle glowed, flooding golden light upon the
rain-lacking clay under the feet of the fighters and the
feet of the audience. At least four-and-twenty men of all
ages attended the audacious assembly of attempted
worthiness and proven strength, all over a piece of
pride, a pitiful excuse for a head-bashing, fist-smashing,
foot-catching extravaganza. The two cared not that the
pride they fought over was already inside them, as
proven through their successes in earlier days.
As the light from God's candle glowed and cast
its fiery rays upon the crowd and fighters, Beowulf
stepped into the center of the wooden corral for the
steeds of the late ring-giver Hygelac.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Lesser Eantheaow, gatherers here today to witness this
feat of mastery of the art of combat, I step here before
you to announce my prior victories. We all know my
victories in the land of the Danes. I defeated the
dreaded descendants of the dreaded demon Cain, the
monster Grendel and his cursed mother. With my bare
hands and my surroundings I tore off Grendel's arm,
and with the aid of a legendary sword I beheaded the
beast's mother. Today I shall make true my promise as
I had with my daring battle with the monster Grendel:
To prove my strength I shall decline the use of
protective-wear or the use of anything to increase my
chances of winning, things I am sure my opponent shall
be quick to donn."
As Beowulf the boastful had predicted,
Eantheaow entered the corral with a leather-shirt and
pants, bracers on his forearms and boots on his feet.
"Your words ring true, Beowulf,"
the lesser son of the king said with a shake of his head,
"But I fear you shall make a sore opponent, one I shall
easily defeat."
"Let your strength do the talking,
not your face," Beowulf declared, and soon they began
to fight.
Within the first few ferocious slings of his fierce fists,
Beowulf quickly gained the upper hand. Though the
leather-armor Eantheaow wore dulled the force of the
attacks, the slayer of Grendel still managed to land
strong blows to the son of the late ring-giver, who had
passed weeks before. After hours of fateless swings
and chops, and after countless heaven-let attacks to
both brave battlers, God's hand alone could only have
ended this fierce battle. The heavens' candle struck
Eantheaow square in the face: In his temporary
blindness and while staggering breathlessly to regain
his footing, Beowulf deftly sent the man to the stable
wall, knocking a few onlookers in the process. Instantly
Eantheaow raised his hand in defeat, and the gathered
crowd cheered Beowulf's contemptible victory.
Though mead was served and Eantheaow
given aide, something in the fight did not sit well in
Beowulf's gut. When the victor went to his chamber
and his place of resting, the waking of the dream-world
was not a peaceful process. Pernicious words filled his
tired thoughts, and a woman's voice pierced his soul:
"Beowulf, the boastful, prideful son of
honorable Ecgtheow, your victory today was at a bitter
cost. The curse of pride, a sin against the time-tested
Almighty Father, has a shadowy curse. By dawn
tomorrow your fate rests in the hands of a
battle you alone can undertake. Your wolfen self,
Beoweoan, shadow of the bravest, strongest warrior
of the Geats, awaits your sins in the heart of the Deorc
Terig Forest. If you do not defeat him, your sins shall
only breed and develop, feeding him until his being
possesses your sinning soul and wins you over. You
shall become Beoweoan if you lose your fight. Rest
well, and feed the rightful wolf. I have faith in you,
Beowulf."
The woman's hooded silhouette and
faint white hair faded into the surrounding shadow
of his surreal dreams, until the now-cursed Beowulf
woke at dawn, dressed, and began his journey to
the heart of the Dorc Tegir Forest.
The birth of a shadow was decided by fate.
Whether the sinner fought to survive or was immediately
punished was up to the Righteous One. Though the
power of winning such a fight was determined both
by the fighter and by the Righteous One's plans,
the true outcome was solely upon the shadowed.
Beoweoan was no ordinary shadow, plain as
the naked eye could tell. With wolfish teeth and claws,
and coarse, dark fur decorating his legs, the shadow
was half-man, half-wolf. As long as Beowulf himself
was fed[1] by whoever decided the victory, the good
would win. However, Beowulf's fight made
Beoweoan strong, as pride was a serious offense
against the Lord.
Beoweoan waited for his opponent in the murk
of the dense trees, the clearing long lost to the
footpaths of hunters and nomads, as well as long lost
to the God's-eye. The air filled with murk, a fog so
thick at the feet all travel-sounds were muted and
silenced. Hiding in the murk were wolf-beasts,
creatures meant to weaken, creatures meant to hunt.
Beoweoan, the shadow of the Lupus Daemons[2],
commanded these beasts. As soon as the travel-weary
Beowulf entered the clearing, the order was issued.
Droves of wolf-beasts attacked. With quick motions
Beowulf deflected their teeth and claws until finally they
all ran into the fog.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Beoweoan, what a move of cowardice. Can you not
bear to face me yourself? Does my defeat of Grendel,
no doubt your fellow descendent, frighten you? Does
the knowledge I ripped off his arm, destroyed his
mother, his creator, and took her head as a prize worry
you? Does it not instill fear inside your bones? Or, as a
shadow, do you not have them? Do you not feel hatred,
anger, remorse, vengeance, any emotion at all? Are you
devoid of all feeling, even the feeling of man's greatest
weakness: pain? Do you not know what the taste of
your blood is? Do you not feel strong enough yourself
to fight me, Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, galliant hero of
the Shieldings and mighty warrior of the Geats,
honorary son of the ring-giver Hrothgar, likely bane of
the lesser son of Hygelac, Eantheaow? Do my feats
intimidate you? If so, come forth and say so with
bravery and honor, and let me kill you like any warrior
would. I will even let you die with pride."
A shadow moved in front of the boaster,
and slowly a wolf-man materialized from the shadowy
fog, which was fast-vanishing. This was the cursed
Beoweoan, shadow to Beowulf, sinner of pride.
Beoweoan, shadow of Beowulf, spoke:
"You speak of yourself so well, Beowulf. You give
yourself far too much credit. Do you not see how all
of your battles were won with the aide of God? Do you
not know of my own victories? Ones made while
lacking God's affirming gaze? Did you not hear of my
slaying of the beast Gebeorg, defender of the Northern
Freorig-Beorn? While your opponent of pride may
have defeated the ice-magicians, I opened their gates.
Did you not know I defeated Hrothgar once, the man
you so greatly admire? He and I were younger, yes, but
we fought well, he and I, but I won. Perhaps it was his
pride that makes him forget our battle, or maybe it is
because I am not his, but yours. And perhaps you
heard it was I who killed your ring-giver Hygelac?
Though it may have been natural, and it may have been
glorious, I still took away his life.
"So instead of compiling your feats,
and forcing me to compile mine, let us test the
actions that have led us this far, and end this war on
pride once and for all."
With that the Lupus Daemon attacked,
his claws scratching the shirt of leather Beowulf had
worn. Though the fight was unfair, and Beowulf
eventually wounded, neither gave in, defeated. With
each deft swing of claws or fists, with each swift kick or
bite with sharp fangs, the two remained locked in a
stalemate. Both rested by night, exhausted from their
fight, but woke quickly and resumed fighting without a
second thought. The days dragged on, until the third
night had fallen, and the dawn of the fourth day
had come once and for all.
The two had fought their way throughout the
Dorc Tegir Forest, and the glimpse of a light caught
them off-guard. The fog dissipated, and green moss and
tall blades of grass appeared, trees and flowers
blooming, full of life. A small clearing was living,
standing in defiance to the decay and death drowning
our warriors, and in the center, stood a small home
Such a tender estate with such a sweet woman in front
could not possibly be there, in the murk of the forest,
but it was, and there was no doubt in its reality.
The woman turned and smiled, piercing blue
eyes meeting theirs. Her long blonde hair, platinum
through and through, and her pale, ashen skin,
contrasted the lushness surrounding her. Her sudden
appearance in their time of need was indeed a grace
from God, and in Beowulf's eyes she was an angel sent
for his salvation. Clearly now it was either his time to fall
or to prosper.
The woman spoke with a voice marked by
lacked age: "Have I waited long enough to serve you,
my Lord? For surely you have traveled such a way into
such a place, I doubt you would turn down
refreshment?" Her laughter was the peals of a thousand
silver bells, her smile chimes in the wind. Approaching
Beowulf, who collapsed at her feet, she offered bread
and mead for him to feast upon, which he took
with the proper praises, graces, and thanks.
But when she caught a glimpse of Beoweoan,
the woman grew nervous, as the Lupus Daemon began
to approach her. When he made his move, demanding
to be fed, Beowulf lept like a deer, pouncing like a lion,
and throttling like a man. Beoweoan focused his energy
on him then and there. The two fought like wolves. With
the strength received from his rushed and desperate
meal, provided by such an angel from God, Beowulf
ended Beoweoan with a blow to the chest, neck and
head, the shadow shuddering before vanishing from
sight.
"Beowulf, I wish to convey my thanks,"
said the woman, who soon approached him. "Had you
not put aside pride to rescue me from Beoweoan,
surely he would have destroyed the both of us.
Remember the lessons you have learned on this day,
and remember that just as angels take many different
forms, so do our demons. Dare not lose sight of your
morals. As punishment for your previous immorality,
you were forced to fight a fierce opponent, one
lacking morals and an understanding of fairness. But
with your strength and your morals you destroyed him,
and that is what truly matters.
"I wish to be the second to profess that you
could make a good king, as long as you learned from
this valuable experience, and all of your past ones as
well."
With a gentle smile and a fragile wave, the
woman disappeared into the house. Beowulf found
himself soon in his bed, swaddled in blankets and
leather-clothes. Upon regaining his sleep-blocked
memory, he rushed to Eantheaow and begged for
forgiveness, admitting his pride had won over him. The
two were quick to agree upon things, and left the fight in
the past. As five days had passed since anyone had
seen Beowulf, it was only right they know what
happened. So, in the great hall with chalices of mead,
Eantheaow offered the next speech for Beowulf.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, stood and spoke:
"Though I am a man of moral, there are times I act
upon human tendencies. Out of boredom I struck a
piece of combat with Eantheaow, son of ring-giver King
Hygelac, God rest his soul, and won pride. I felt
something wrong, and struggled to sleep, but found
myself being given an ultimatum with no choices. I left at
dawn for Dorc Tegir Forest, and met my dark side,
Beoweoan, a man of wolf and demons no evils nor God
could have designed. His wolf-beasts attacked me
while slightly weary from travel, but I fended them off
easily. I then fought Beoweoan for three days, but to no
avail. Neither of us could win nor lose. On the fourth
morn, a beautiful clearing - a sign from God above -
with a beautiful woman was my salvation. By trying to
save her after she was kind and gave me food and
drink, I destroyed Beoweoan. Though I may have no
physical proof, as Beoweoan joined the shadows once
again, I have learned from my sins, and wish to fix the
wrongs I have done."
Eantheaow, lesser son of Hygelac, then spoke:
"Every word of his account rings with truth. He had
disappeared for five days, the fifth day having been his
day of rest after a long and strenuous battle against
many forces. The woman you describe clearly is an
angel from God, and is your salvation. For this internal
battle of demons and darkness, no proof is necessary,
but nor is there a physical prize. As you have learned
from your mistakes, that is your sole prize, as well as
what we, my family and I, are to offer you:
"Both my father and King Hrothgar of the
Danes, as well as this angel, have felt you worthy of the
throne. As my siblings and I cannot bear to rule, we ask
that you take up the throne. You possess more than
strength, as strength is not the single piece of a man that
decides whether he is good. You are clever and careful,
always making choices based on desires and intuitions
as well as what one knows is the right course of action. You have proven yourself further through this most
recent battle, and all of us here in this mead-hall would
agree you must become our ring-giver."
And so Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, became
King of the Geats after defeating his shadow Beoweoan
and further proving his worth across
the hearts and homes of the Geats, and all those who
knew him.
[1] In Cherokee legends, there is a constant fight between two wolves inside of oneself, and whichever wolf was fed was said to win.
[2] Lupus is the Latin word for "wolf", and Daemons is the Latin word for "demons", which means Beoweoan (meaning "son of middle", just as Beowulf is "son of wolf") is truly a demon of the wolf, explaining his wolf-like appearance.