And so it goes. A sigh escaped my lips as the all so mighty Beowulf jabbered about, something or another. I suppose to most his words were eloquent and musical, almost impossible to ignore as you felt yourself grow enamored with the sound of his voice. However, one like me would never consider themselves among “most”. He was awful company. At least, I tell myself that. Here he goes, oh the mighty Beowulf, pretending he can do anything.
The feast that night exhausted me. The roar of voices like waves crashing against the land-barrier that drove some of us wild with exhaustion. That some being me. I hated, despised, loud noises. It was quite a unique trait among us, I suppose. I wasn’t exactly one for adventure, never have been. I always saw it as far too dangerous.
So, here I was, sitting among the men I deemed my peers as they discussed with a self-proclaimed God-like man the plan, of sorts, on how they plotted to kill, or capture, severely maim (all the same words to me) Grendel. I could only suppose a hell-beast like him deserved only the worst, suppose being the keyword here.
My eyes couldn’t bother to focus on any particular man, it was a flurry of harsh faces, carved out by years of battle and death, and I couldn’t focus on all of it. So instead my eyes dropped upon a rather innocuous flame that danced along the heat-sullen crown of a candle. It allowed my tired gaze to appear to pay attention, however, any eye keener than my own would spot my gaze was quite distant even in that case, and so I let my eyes focus just beyond the flame to the man speaking behind it. Beowulf. I felt, once more, my stomach twist in knots of hatred. I knew not what for, but, I’m sure it was nothing short of utter abhorrence. I couldn’t exactly hear whatever he was boasting about, if he was the one boasting. The men closer to me spoke in voices louder than he did, however, I rest sure I could spot his mouth moving in such a way that he was speaking. Perhaps I may have gone mad, though. Yet, a mad man never thinks he is to be mad, so perhaps not.
And so it goes. Like always, the voices among the others grew into a hell-fire, eating away at anything it could grasp, jolly yet wicked as it burnt away at my sanity, leaving me with not many options. I began to fear for Beowulf’s life, a spring of blood and fire eating away at the man in my eyes. If I were not one to stop him then who would? Who would save a man destined for better than dying here? And so I challenged him. My lips cracked open and a spew of words emerged like salmon in the fish-mouth of a river.
“Aren’t you the man who took on Breca?” I asked. “In that foolish match to test the strength of yourself out in the open sea?” I knew I was to regret my words, I’d be the one to be knocked down a peg or two. Perhaps I’d be one to be knocked down in general. Men never took kindly to challenges so greatly undermining them. For me to call this man foolish was a near-death sentence. Yet, I didn’t regret my words for the harm that was laid upon me, but rather for the shock in his eyes as he looked towards me, a gaze that pierced my very soul. I froze before he even began talking as his eyes held a sort of warmth that I had only seen in the eyes of men so desperately infatuated with and enamoured by a woman of some high caliber whether in fortune, fame, or beauty. I knew it was once more my mind tricking me into a cruel joke that I both set and became the punchline to.
Once I looked upon his eyes again, I spied nothing more than a great dismissal of my claims and a sort of malicious yet almost understanding emotion within his eyes, as if I was a small child that had said the wrong thing but had to be told the correction rather than beaten. It shook me deeply, as if I wanted his affection. To say I did would be a fallacy but not in the way an immediate glance would tell. No, I could almost swear I needed it. Yet I saved myself from no issue that arose as he began speaking, addressing my disastrous argument, knowing I’d be set back in place once more. My heart sunk as I once more had to acknowledge that I was to be seen as despising this man. In but a flurry of a moment I had realized my true feelings yet they were to be stripped away in mere seconds. His defenses ate away at my words, casting himself in a better light than I ever could as he saved himself from the depths of mockery with no help of mine.
And so it goes. I sat back down upon the chair, allowing my head to lull tiredly into my hands in such a manner that read of defeat. My eyes continued to stay locked on Beowulf. Oh, how I will forever think of him. Yet I know my love will move on to find a new man, ideally, as we all know, a woman. Maybe I can one day set up a family, and perhaps then I can imagine what could have been, if this moment had lasted forever, and you had not left within moments of my words, as harsh as they were. Perhaps I’ll tell my children stories of your feats that they may pass on in a fashion you may have preferred over the mere gossip exchanged that night. May you be told as the hero we needed until the end of time.