English 11-1
Beowulf Rewrite
Perspective of Grendel's Mother
The waves crashed against the sea dwelling, spraying a cool, salty mist into the air. She gazed around her cave, its dripping wet walls and gloomy light. There was a bitter, vile taste on her lips, the taste of old, rotted, human flesh.
She turned as pebbles trickled across the cavern opening. The stench of blood lingered in the salty sea air. A dark figure collapsed onto the flooded rock, large and deformed. Two defeated, red eyes pierced through the dim light like two small flames.
"Grendel, darling Grendel, what fate has come to you?" the sea witch questioned as the feared demon of the Danes slid across the cavern floor.
"Mother…" Grendel panted as his left hand released the hole where his arm had been. Through the storm's flashing streaks, she could see the crimson blood oozing from the deep wond, splattering against the rocks as rain would a raging fire. He collapsed into her sheltering arms, feeling the maternal bond they shared.
"Grendel-rendel-endel," she chimed sliding her gray fingers across her spawn's scalp. "Grendel-rendel-endel." Her voice dimmed down to a mere, gentle whisper. "Who has harmed my Grendel?"
Grendel beamed up at his mother, the embers leaving his red-hot eyes, as he spoke, "His name… Beowulf." With his dying breath, the two embers vanished.
Grendel's mother placed her child's lifeless corpse on the slippery floor. "Beowulf," she hissed. One foot before the other, she paced her dwelling. Sea spit dripped from her long, black hair and onto her cheek, taking form of her tears. She continued to curse her son's murderer until the light of the next day darkened.
A waxing crescent hung in the starry sky, basking the land of the Danes in a bright, yellow glare. The dam of Grendel crawled up the slippery slope above her cave, her hands stained with the blood of her son. Her darkened stare, as dark as the shadows themselves, gazed upon the carnage her son had left in the infamous mead-hall.
Closer and closer she crept, toward the shadow-cast hall reeking with stale blood. Beowulf… Beowulf, he inner voice cursed as her hand rested upon the sealed door. Inside, she could hear snores rumbling from the depths of the Danes' throats.
And open the door she did. The slumbering Danes jumped from their rest, among them King Hrothgar himself. His men rose to their feet, grabbing their swords. The sea witch scanned the hall, eyeing the claw of her spawn which dangled over head. She took hold of a slumbering spearman, slaying him in his sleep and spilling his luscious, scarlet blood onto the grand floor.
In haste, she tore Grendel's mangled claw from its perch and vanished before the Dane's haunted eyes. Back to her cave she went, cradling the claw in her arms like a babe as she cursed the murderer's name, the only one not present in the king's mead-hall.
On top of the cliff towering over the sea, the grieving dam placed the severed head of the spearman, the second prize she stole from the mead-hall, upon a jagged tree limb. Down the slope she went, the ocean crashing upon her back. Her bare feet pressed against her cavern floor.
The maimed corpse of her son lay still, dripping and glazed in water. "Grendel-rendel-endel, I've brought your claw," she cooed crossing the hollow cave to kneel beside him. The arm she cradled was rested in its place.
With a crooked needle and thread from her very tattered clothing, the mother began to mend the wound. Pulling the thread, she was deep in though. Beowulf, Beowulf, Beowulf, she thought. Where is Beowulf? The thread snapped as she tugged the needle through Grendel's cold flesh.
Angered, the needle collapsed into the sea. Through the morning and day, she cradled his head in her arms, humming, "Grendel-rendel-endel."
It wasn't until twilight did the mother stumble from her place. Stones bounced along the cliff, plummeting into the ocean's depths. There was a metallic clang against the cavern floor as a shadowed figured entered the sea witch's dwellings. Armor, brilliantly crafted mail, glistened in the dying sun, revealing the human intruder.
She rose to her feet, eyeing the man. 'Why have you come?" she sneered. "I had searched for you, you monstrous fiend, but there you were not. Grendel-rendel-endel, say 'good-night' to Beowulf." Swiftly, she grappled and grasped the great warrior, the son of Ecgtheow, with a horrid, trembling hand.
Waves swarmed into the cavern, sweeping Beowulf and the dam to sea where her grasp gave no harm; the steel mail, strong and steady, would not tear at her razor, savage nails. Her crooked teeth flashed as she struggling to pierce through his heavy armor.
The rising moon tossed the duo into her cave with a thrust from its waters. Suddenly, the mother's hands slipped away from the wretched mail. The hero of the Dane's drew his war-sword, the metal screeching its hymn of hate as it swung through the air.
It bit her not and failed to sing her death.
Her savage nails tore across his faces as he turned for the jeweled sword mantled by Grendel's corpse. She ran to her spawn, dripping in salt water. Her teeth were clench as her fury and hatred bubbled within her like magma. "Grendel-rendel-end…" she drifted off.
A sharp edge dug into her throat. There was a firm had against her shoulder. Her thick blood trickled down her chest, swimming along her gray skin like tiny rivers until it pooled by her feet. The breath in her lungs grew heavy and her eyes fell upon Beowulf, his shielded body and his thirsty eyes.
The mother's knees buckled and she collapsed to the rock floor, into the pool of her own, toxic blood. Silver dribbled onto her shoulder, the silver from the ancient blade that the warrior grabbed from its mantle. Her last sight was of her son and his beheading. "Grendel…rendel…endel…" she hissed as she collapsed onto her side. Then, everything went dark and the crashing of the waves faded away, into silence, along with her final, grieving words.