Disclaimer:Since I'm definitely not more than a thousand years old, I do not own Beowulf.
A/N: I wrote this for a school assignment four years ago, when I was in tenth grade, and rediscovered it on my computer. Found there was a section for Beowulf on here, and decided I might as well post it. Enjoy! (Or not)
Unferth's Story
"Did you hear? A mighty warrior has come! He is to save us from Grendel!" a woman said excitedly to her friend. Unferth did a double take at her, wondering if he had heard right. The woman took no notice of him, but continued gossiping with her friend.
"Is he really? What is his name?" the friend asked, her eyes wide.
"Beowulf is what I have heard. My son's friend's father said that he looked very noble, and he has come to fight the monster and save us all," the woman said, looking highly self-important. Unferth glared at them slightly. What was this? Beowulf had come? The Beowulf?
Unferth continued through the hall, heading towards his uncle's throne. Now that he was aware of it, words and gossip of this Beowulf were flying through the air in the hall, passing from person to person. His brow furrowed deeper and deeper as tidbits of conversations reached him. He swept up to his uncle, who was sitting in his throne.
"Uncle," he said quickly, bowing in the proper manner. Hrothgar inclined his head to indicate that Unferth could approach, which he quickly did.
"Is this true, what everyone's saying? Beowulf, from the Geats, has come to battle the monster?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice sounding respectful.
"Yes, it is. He has come of his own volition and wishes to have a chance against the terrible Grendel. I have welcomed him, as he shows great courage in volunteering to face this evil that plagues us, and also because his father owed me a debt, which his son will now settle, if he fulfills his purpose here," Hrothgar said. Unferth kept his face bland as he replied.
"I see. And what shall he receive if he succeeds in spite of near impossible odds?" he asked. It was Hrothgar's turn to furrow his brow as he studied his nephew.
"Be careful of your tone, Unferth. I will not abide ill words said against this warrior, particularly when he is not present to defend himself. If Beowulf succeeds in ridding my hall of this terrible evil, I have promised him whatever he may desire, if it is within my power to bestow," Hrothgar spoke sharply. Unferth's temper rose, but he kept his voice and face expressionless, knowing that his relation to the king would not protect him entirely against punishment for disrespect.
"I see. A worthy gift for one who takes on such a noble quest," he said, his tone kept without emotion, done perfectly from years of practice. "I must go now, my Lord, I must attend to some personal matters. If I may be dismissed from your presence?"
Hrothgar nodded, his worries mostly quenched by his nephew's words. He resolved to watch him though. There was no telling what Unferth might do if he felt threatened enough by Beowulf's presence. He had always been a different boy, always hungry for power, but not strong nor brave nor particularly talented at any kind of fighting. He was, however, quite intelligent, but that had never gotten him very much attention from his parents, especially because all three of his older brothers were good warriors, which was considered much more important.
Unferth stalked away from his uncle's throne, heading for his quarters. As he walked, a spool of memories came, unbidden, into his mind.
"Give it back!" an eight-year-old Unferth screamed. His face was red from rage and effort as he jumped, trying to reach the small wooden sword his brother, Ecgwald held above his head.
"Come, Unferth, jump higher. You cannot be a good warrior if you cannot jump well," Ecgwald teased, pulling the practice sword out of reach each time Unferth jumped. He let Unferth's fingers brush the hilt of the sword, then pulled it higher before he could get a grip on it.
"Ecgwald, that is enough. Let your brother alone," Unferth's mother commanded. Ecgwald grinned cheerfully and gave his little brother the wooden sword.
"I am just helping him to become a better warrior. Tiw knows he needs all the help he can get," Ecgwald smirked. Unferth glared furiously, but knew that he could not retaliate in any way. His brother was taller, heavier, and stronger than him, and Unferth knew from experience that if he started a fight, he would not win.
Unferth chewed on his lip absently as he concentrated on his target. Dimly, he could hear his brothers talking and joking, but he tried to shut them out of his mind. He aimed carefully and let his arrow fly. As hard as he had tried, the arrow still landed near the edge of the target, missing the red circle in the middle completely.
"How many times have you missed now, little brother?" Garmund called. His question was asked innocently enough, but it made Ecgwald laugh in a condescending way. Unferth flushed angrily and went to retrieve his arrow.
"Come on, Unferth, it cannot be that difficult. You just aim and let go," Osbearn said. Still, Unferth did not reply. He pulled his arrow from the target and went back to his spot.
"You know, the polite thing would be to respond to us, O Great One. Or are we too lowly to capture your attention?" Ecgwald asked, smirking.
Unferth growled slightly and shot without concentrating. His arrow went flying past the target and buried itself in the ground fifteen feet past. All three brothers began laughing as Unferth, simmering with anger, went to recover it.
"Move your legs more! Make sure to cover your left; you are straying too far to the right! Now—alright, stop, stop," Ealdulf, the sword-master sighed. Osbearn sighed also, lowering his sword. Garmund and Ecgwald, standing a bit away, also stopped their swordplay, looking over at the other three. Unferth flushed as he rubbed his leg, stinging from the blow Osbearn had just landed on him.
"Unferth, perhaps you should come back in a bit, perhaps after supper, and receive extra instruction from me," Ealdulf suggested gently. Unferth nodded, his eyes determinedly on the ground.
"Good. You boys can leave now. I will see you other three tomorrow, same time," the sword-master said, nodding at Osbearn, Ecgwald, and Garmund. They all headed towards their house, Unferth trailing behind.
"Unferth, how hard is it to keep your left side covered? That is the third time this week you have strayed from that side," Garmund called back. Unferth merely shrugged, staring at the ground as he followed his brothers back into the house.
"Back so soon?" their mother asked.
"Yes, Unferth ended lessons early. And he has to go back in later, after dinner," Ecgwald announced.
"Again, my little one? Perhaps we should look into a new instructor, if you are not learning well from Ealdulf," their mother said, frowning slightly.
"It is not Ealdulf's doing that our little Unferth cannot handle a sword. Nothing Ealdulf says seems to make it through his thick skull," Osbearn teased. Unferth glared as he stalked past his brothers to the room he shared with them. He could hear his mother rebuking Osbearn behind him, but that did not dim the anger that was burning within his heart.
"Unferth!" a yell startled Unferth from his memories. He felt a small wave of relief and slight gratitude to the person. Or at least he did, until he turned to see that it was a young boy running towards him, one of his cousins.
"Did you hear? Beowulf has come—"
Later that night, Unferth sat in the banquet hall, eating food and drinking with all the others who had shown up at the hall to celebrate the arrival of Beowulf and his men. Everyone around him was cheerful and laughing, talking and joking together. Beowulf was center of attention, as he spoke and told great stories of himself. People oohed and ahhed, gasping and wincing in all the right places. No one seemed to notice that one of their number did not seem entirely pleased at the arrival of this great warrior.
Unferth scowled as he ate and drank. A few people had tried to speak to him, but he had extended to them only the barest amount of courtesy, and they had quickly gotten the message and turned to other, more friendly people.
Partway through the meal, Unferth had had enough.
"Are you the Beowulf who took on Breca in a swimming match on the open sea, risking the water just to prove that you could win?" he challenged, his voice rising to ring through the halls. Heads swung towards him as people sought to find the source of this voice that dared to challenge their potential savior. Unferth, glowing in the attention, continued to tell the crowd his version of the sea-swimming match, insulting Beowulf as he spoke. Let him boast his way out of this, he thought in satisfaction.
But that was exactly what Beowulf did, telling another great story of how he defied death nine times, killing monstrous sea-creatures, only losing because he rid the seas of the terrors that threatened ships.
Nearly growling aloud in frustration and anger, Unferth left the banquet as early as courtesy allowed. He stomped through the hall to his room, slamming his door and dressing for bed, jerking his clothes on and off in his anger. He flopped down on his pallet and stared up at the ceiling, remembering the last time he had been overshadowed like this.
"There, to the left! Follow the hounds!"
"No, over there! Look!"
"There are two of them! Split up!" came the final, commanding yell. It came from Hunwald, the leader of the group of hunters. He, Unferth, Ecgwald, and two other men followed one deer, while another group, including Osbearn and Garmund, shot off after the other. Unferth and his brothers were taking part in their first hunt, brought along so they could see what they had been taught in motion
Unferth rode at the back of the group, keeping one eye on the others and one eye on the deer. His horse moved lithely underneath him, jumping small branches and stones effortlessly as they chased the deer through the forest.
"Grimbeald, Heremod, stand back! Let the boy earn his honor!" Hunwald called. Unferth's heart gave a hopeful leap at these words, but quickly sank as he watched Ecgwald take the lead. He balanced easily on his horse, letting go of the reins and lifting his bow. He sighted, then released the arrow. In the split second that followed, Unferth prayed to all the gods and goddesses that he would miss. No one would be disappointed if he did, not on his first hunt. But apparently the gods and goddesses weren't listening at the moment.
The deer pitched headfirst to the ground, not even staggering in death throes. The arrow had killed it cleanly, causing no unnecessary pain for the animal. The men shot past it, then circled and came back to the deer, the three older men cheering and praising Ecgwald. Ecgwald basked in the attention, not even making a snide comment to Unferth.
Two weeks later, the group was out again, this time on foot. They were tracking a large herd of deer, hoping to get in a good haul, storing food for the winter. There was a bigger group this time, 20 men, counting Unferth and his brothers. Once they opened fire on the herd, there was confusion as the deer tried to escape and the men tried to kill them before they made it away.
In all that confusion, no one thought about it much when Ecgwald was shot through the throat with a wayward arrow.
Unferth sighed and rolled over. That had only been the beginning. No one had suspected him yet. But later, people started to get doubts. That was when the rumors and stories started. And now they had even made their way across the sea, to the lands of the Geats.
Thoughts tumbling around in his mind, Unferth eventually drifted off to sleep, completely forgetting about Grendel's inevitable attack.
Later that night, he was woken by bangs and screams. He jumped from his bed and crept into the hall cautiously, holding his knife up. It took a second before he remembered about Grendel and how Beowulf was to fight him. He longed to go watch the great warrior get what was his due, but he knew it would be foolish to do so. Once Grendel was done dining on Beowulf, he might decide he was still hungry.
So, he waited, quivering with anticipation. He could hear roars and grunts and growls and crashes coming from the main hall and it served only to aggravate his impatience. Finally, after what seemed to be ages, Unferth heard an unearthly scream, which tore and clawed at his ears. Flinching, he bent over, dropping his dagger to cover his ringing ears.
The screams disappeared off into the distance, becoming quieter and quieter, until at last, Unferth could stand straight again. He recovered his dagger and hesitated before creeping down the hallway and into the main hall. He stayed in the shadows, so as to remain unnoticed as he scrutinized the hall. He could see no huge monstrous shape, only the shadows of men, one of them holding something large above his head. Unferth felt despair as he realized that he had been wrong, and the great warrior had prevailed over the monster.
He returned to his room, feeling helpless and seething with rage. This victory of Beowulf's would only serve to make him more famous and more loved than he had been before. Now no one would look twice upon Unferth, not with Beowulf around.
Unferth sat down on his bed again as his mind whirled. Thinking unclearly and wildly, he thought of random ways to kill the warrior, to get rid of this new threat to Unferth's dignity and pride. The thing to do was something that would bring down Beowulf's status as he died, to ensure that those who remained alive would always remember him as a coward, weak and unworthy of respect. As he tossed around ideas, he found two that he had used before, not so many years before.
In the months following Ecgwald's death, Osbearn became more helpful than ever to their mother. He did chores for her, without being asked, without complaining. He trained hard, desperate to keep up the family name. He became his mother's stone, letting her lean upon him when she was overcome with grief for the tragic death of her oldest son.
He became a favorite in the eyes of their father and the eyes of the warriors and lords around them. They admired his skill, courage, and good manners. Again and again, Unferth was cast aside as first, people grieved over his oldest brother's death, then later, fawned over his next oldest brother. His hate grew again, swelling as days went by and Osbearn became more and more admired.
Nearly a year after the death of Ecgwald, Osbearn choked over his evening meal. When his father pushed him back to look into his face, Osbearn's eyes stared blankly from his face. A servant was made to test Osbearn's dinner, and the poor lad met the same fate as the second brother of Unferth.
Now there was only Garmund and Unferth left. In the two years following Osbearn's death, Unferth's mother became so grief-stricken, she took ill and died. His father soon followed, heartbroken. He left instruction that Unferth and Garmund were to be sent to their uncle's hall, Hrothgar of Heorot. Even the fact that Grendel was terrorizing the hall would not shake him from his decision. Hrothgar was the only family his sons had left.
The two brothers were escorted to the hall by soldiers. They reached the hall close to nightfall and were quickly ushered in. They were taken to the back of the hall and put in a chamber next to the nursery of Hrothgar's two sons.
That night, the two brothers became almost friends, as they clung to one another in fear of the monster that terrorized the hall outside their room. But they survived this attack, the first of many that they would experience in the days to come.
As Unferth had half-expected, Garmund became a favorite of the few people who still dared to gather in the halls. He was particularly admired by the few young ladies that came to the hall once in awhile.
Their fathers came to the brothers, wishing to seek a respectable husband for their daughters. Indeed, none of them looked more than once at Unferth, preferring, much like their daughters, to instead pay their attentions to Garmund.
And why shouldn't they? Unferth thought sourly, as two more men came to talk to Garmund. After all, he was handsome, courteous, and skilled in all manners of combat. It was certain that he could give their daughters a secure life, protecting and supporting them and the children they would bear for him.
Still, even as the anger began to simmer, then boil again, Unferth bided his time. He could not kill again so soon, or he would be suspected and brought to trial. Indeed, there were already whispered rumors, people suspecting connections between the murders of Ecgwald and Osbearn. He could not afford to look too guilty, although having his last brother murdered would certainly make many people look to him.
Therefore, he decided, this last must look more like an accident than the first two. He must be careful, keep as much evidence from pointing to him as he could. He waited, biding his time, feeding his anger and jealousy, until at last, he could wait no longer.
He stayed as normal as he could to his brother all day, not wishing him to suspect anything. Garmund had been most nervous for so long after Osbearn's death, understandably. It had taken a long time for him to rest at ease in the presence of his little brother.
In the late afternoon, Unferth drew Garmund's attention into the one activity Unferth knew would distract his brother enough to keep him from noticing the growing dusk- archery. It was Garmund's favorite sport, one he practiced every day, no matter what.
"Come, brother. Let us go outside, it is a lovely day. We can practice our shooting. I know I could use it," Unferth said, hoping his voice was not too pleasant. Garmund didn't seem to suspect anything, though, and he agreed good-naturedly. The two brother collected their gear and walked outside to a small field outside the hall. They used tree trunks as their targets, since any that were set up would be destroyed by Grendel in his night-time rages.
Unferth kept his brother's attention diverted for the next few hours, asking him for advice how to better his aim and stance. Garmund, his mind already distracted by thoughts of a particular pretty lady, who had come to visit with her father the day before, noticed nothing unusual. Unferth had even brought out a small supper of meat and bread, hoping his brother would still be distracted enough to not complain about not eating back in the hall.
Just as dusk was beginning to fall, Unferth snapped his bowstring on purpose. He waved off Garmund's offers to fetch a new one.
"No, no. I will fetch it myself. It is my own fault for not being more careful," he said. He began jogging back to the hall, praying that Garmund would remain concentrated on shooting long enough. He reached the hall doors and slipped inside, escaping notice of the guards.
He waited, hidden in the shadows, as he watched the sun set below the horizon and the guards interrupted their conversation to bar the door. He smiled grimly; the plan was working. Now, the trickiest bit of the plan would begin, the bit that he had no control over. If Garmund realized his danger in time, before Grendel was too close, he would reach the hall in time and the guards would let him in. But if he was too late, the guards wouldn't let him in for fear of being attacked by the monster themselves.
The plan worked.
Unferth smiled, as the screams outside began and guards looked at each other in horror. But they wouldn't open the door as the growls and snarls of Grendel got closer and closer. The screams ended as quickly as they began.
Unferth did not go back to sleep that night. Instead, he waited for morning, his thoughts and memories chasing each other in circles. When he entered the hall a few hours after dawn, it was already stuffed full of people. He quietly took a seat as he listened to Beowulf recount, once again, what had happened under cover of the night's darkness.
As he listened, he looked around the hall. His eyes fell onto people, young and old, male and female, rich and poor, who were all filled with joy and relief, glad that the terror that had long stalked them was finally gone, defeated, chased away. And it was this man, this warrior who had alleviated their fears, protected them from that terror.
A thought, different from the others, began to poke at the edges of his mind. But it was pushed away again when the hall rang out in sudden applause and cheers for Beowulf, as he finished his stories. Unferth's anger grew again, but not as deep or hot as it had before, when Hrothgar began to bestow upon Beowulf great gifts.
He sat quietly through the performances and singing that followed, watching without seeing the performers, listening without hearing their words.
Unferth went to bed quietly that night, having hardly spoken a word to anyone all day. He had tried to get back his anger at Beowulf, at his greater fame and strength and skill, but the anger would not simmer and stew and boil like it used to. It merely came in a flash, then left again.
Sighing, shoving away his confused thoughts, Unferth retired to sleep. The next morning, he was waken by a horrible scream. He leapt from his bed and threw on his clothes, grabbing his dagger. He hurried out to the hall to find his uncle, sitting on his throne, the worries and care that had disappeared from his face the day before, back again, stronger than before.
"Aeschere has been mauled, crushed and devoured, not by the monster, but the monster's dam. She has come in the night, seeking vengeance for the death of her son," Hrothgar announced, his voice thick with sorrow. Unferth frowned; he had known Aeschere. He had been one of the few who had seemed to like Unferth as much as his brother, even if it was only manners that brought his attitude about.
Unferth remained quietly to the side as Beowulf was informed of this new threat, and he showed no reaction when Beowulf declared that he would fight the she-dam. Instead, he left silently to equip himself to ride with the group who would track the she-devil to her lair.
His uncle, the noble King Hrothgar, watched his nephew leave. There was something different about the young man, something that had not been there two nights before. That night, Unferth's jealousy and anger had been nearly palpable, but now, he showed no more jealousy than a grain of wheat. The king worried, unsure of this change and its implications.
Unferth remained silent, all the way to the she-dam's lair. He didn't speak up until Beowulf was dressing himself for battle, preparing to dive into the lake and fight the monster. Finally, he stepped forward. Beowulf turned to look at him, waiting for Unferth to speak. The small crowd of men around them all waited, their eyes fixed upon the two men.
"Here. You have more use of this than I do, or will," Unferth said at last, speaking quietly, his eyes lowered respectfully. He held out his sword, Hrunting, to the great warrior.
There was a moment where no one spoke, and everyone remained suspended in a second of surprise. Then Beowulf nodded and quietly accepted the sword.
"May it bite better in your hands than in mine," Unferth added. Beowulf nodded again.
"Thank you, my friend," he said, clapping a hand on Unferth's shoulder. There was another pause, then Beowulf was wading into the lake.
The group of men remained quiet for a long while, then Hrothgar turned to his nephew.
"Why?" He didn't specify what he was asking, but Unferth knew, anyway.
"He is a great warrior. We must protect our hall, and our people from the terrors that have ruled us for too long. If this man can get rid of this last evil, then I must help him as much as I can," he said. He gave no more explanation, but Hrothgar knew the rest without asking. Unferth had finally realized what was truly important in life, more important than fame or jealousy. Perhaps he had learned it a bit late, but late was better than never.