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The Troll-Wife's Revenge

Grendel, my son
Called a monster by those people.
No more a monster, he, than they
Larger, stronger, and of a different place, yes
But that was not the reason they called him a monster.
No! It was only that he took his nourishment
Where they did not like.
Because these children of the Almighty,
Their Eternal Glory Father,
The Seed of Hope in battle,
Were the food for my son,
They called him a monster
And tore asunder his arm and body.
What makes Grendel a monster and they not?
Those people who took the limb of my son
Do just as he did. They feed of the animals
Whose strength is less.
Does not that make them equal to my son?
Now, those God-beloved,
Blessed of their Creator,
Will make restitution at my hand!
The life of my son will be avenged,
For I am a Mother, and I will not tolerate this,
The senseless death of my only issue!
To the lair of Beowulf I creep
Quietly and undetected.
My eyes scan the mead hall,
The drunken men strewed about.
Only one do I need this night
As I am not here for to nourish myself.
Quickly I grasp one of the men and turn to dart away,
Making sure the fearless leader sees my retreat,
With man still clutched in my claws.
Across the verdant landscape I speed
Back to my home of caverns beneath the water.
A place that the dauntless Beowulf will have to play by my rules,
If he can even venture there.
Like my son, the steel that Beowulf bears will not harm me-
Too strong and ancient am I.

Yes, into the old caverns beneath
The life-giving waters I flee –
The man-hero close behind me.
The man I held still tightly grasped in my unforgiving claws.
Ah, the battle is at hand!
Fool! Do you not comprehend that your pitiful steel does nothing?
I laugh at the fruitless attempts Beowulf makes at slaughter
Each time his sword clangs off of me, and I unharmed.
And on goes this battle, Beowulf making not a bit of progress.
Your Eternally Glorious One is not helping you here, Beowulf!
My dagger appears, my instrument of revenge!
What is this? Damnation! Beowulf wears armor to thwart me
What is it now that Beowulf's eyes alight upon?
No! The sword of giants upon the wall!
Ancient magic, strong and powerful
And possibly more so than I-
Woes betide if it is so!
Ah! The horrid blade descends!
My blood, red and venomous spills out before me!
The steel melting from the hilt at the power of my life,
But yet, the man hero has won!
I see him in triumph as my spirit wings from this place,
My head severed and intended to be his trophy,
Alongside the arm of Grendel.
My vengeance, unfilled with my death,
But now I go to join my son.
Immortal in the legends of time,
If not forever in the Paradise of the All-Father of the men.

This was my first "essay" for Survey of British Literature class. I love having a professor who is also the Creative Writing instructor.

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