Tragic Flaw of Grendel

The almighty fire has finally set, and I am hungry for revenge. I am walking towards

Herot, reminiscing on the crimes of the Danes. These Danes know nothing. How could they call

me the absolute evil when they committed the first crime? Years ago, they settled on claimed

land- my land. A field greener than any forest and plentiful with blood-red geraniums that my

thirteen horses galloped and grazed through. They captured my horses, slaughtering half and

using the rest for their selfish human needs. I was not able to save any of my precious ponies -

my most prized possessions. I despise the Danes and their barbaric ways, but I was not going to

fall to the level of my mother - that revengeful witch. I chose to ignore their hateful crimes, but

their next crime was too traumatic to brush aside.

Twelve winters ago, I foraged through the woods in hopes of sustaining my hunger. I

heard a blood-curdling scream, and I knew I had found my next meal. I sprinted through the

woods dodging every boulder and branch in my path. As I got closer, I could hear snarling and

howling from three hungry wolves. The shriek was coming from a woman surrounded by the

wolves. I slapped the wolves away, flinging them against the trees. Preparing my stomach for my

meal, I approached the girl. I grabbed her, and as I pulled her close to my mouth, the only

thoughts crossing my mind were of hunger, hate, and geraniums.

She smelled like geraniums; she smelled like my beloved field. I sat her down, realizing

my mistakes. I was going to kill her just as they killed my horses. As she laid on the grassy

ground, her cries for help were replaced with screams of anger and rage. I was confused why she

was mad at me as I knew that her people saw me as a blood-hungry beast.

She wails, “Why didn’t you finish killing me?”

I say, “Do you not wish to live?”

 “My father is forcing me, against my will, to go and marry Brecca of Brondings’ son. He

is a nasty man, and I refuse, but as princess, I must marry him and continue the royal bloodline.”

“Princess? King Hrothgar’s daughter?”

“Yes, Princess Edla.”

“That false-ruler stole my land! No wonder you smell like geraniums.”

“Geraniums are my favorite flowers.”

As we continued talking we realized that we were more alike than we could imagine. She

hated her father just as much as I hated the world, but she made me realize something. My hatred

was not directed at the world, but rather only for the heinous King Hrothgar.

The sun started to set, and she was too far from home, so I offered to bring her to a

nearby cave to give her shelter for the night. Once she settled in and I began to exit the cave, I

felt the hand of an angel pull me back, softer than the breath of a baby. When I turned around, I

saw Edla, her eyes filled with fear. To my surprise, she begged,

“Please stay with me, Grendel, you have made me feel safer and happier than I have in a

long while.”

I decided to stay, as she made me happier in a few hours than winters with my geranium

fields. Throughout the night, things escalated until we fell asleep at each other's side. We woke

in the first hours of dawn and walked towards Herot, at the forest edge we said goodbye and

planned to meet at the same spot at tomorrow’s dusk. I traveled home, and even though hunger

coursed through every inch of my body, the only thought I could focus on was of my elegant

Edla.

We met again at dusk; she told me how her ship to Brondings departs tomorrow, and she

did not know when she would return. The thought of never seeing her again enraged me; I
begged for her to stay with me, but she insisted that it was her duty as princess. I knew she would

not budge, so I had to let her go. We said our final goodbyes, and I told her that she was the only

human to show me compassion and understanding and that she made me want to believe that

there was good in the world. She ended my thought with a soft, sweet, and sugary kiss, staining

my mouth with her taste. I watched her walk into the moonlit night as her silky azure dress faded

into the abyss like a soft midnight dream. After that night, I promised myself to visit the same

spot on the edge of Herot until we would meet again.

Three seasons later, I embarked on my routine trip to Herot, but this time was different.

When I reached the edge of the wood where we would usually meet, I saw a ghastly sight. Edla

was hanging by a rope from the pillars of Herot, and hanging next to her was a newborn baby

boy. My eyes glowed with rage, a red so bright it lit my path to Herot. I arrived in seconds, and

after confirming that it was my love Edla, I snuck into Herot. I saw the remnants of a party-

golden chalices half-empty with mead, the bones of a roasted pig sitting over a smoldering fire,

and thirty drunken men sprawled on the freezing floor fast asleep. Filled with rage, I slaughtered

all but one of them as I had questions that needed to be answered. As the Danes say, it is only

honorable to seek-out blood vengeance for a crime.

“When did Edla return, and why is she dead?” I interrogated the lone survivor.

“She came back today to give birth to her child, but the child she bore was of demon

blood. She had polluted the royal bloodline and had to pay for her crimes.”

I thought back to the first night we met and realized that the baby boy hanging next to her

was mine, and that was their third and final crime that I would allow them to commit. With my

claws, I slashed the survivor’s stomach open, spilling its’ guts out on the freezing, filthy floor.

My hunger merged with my rage, and I picked up all thirty men. I took them to my lair to have a
feast, celebrating just as they celebrated my forever love’s death. I kept my promise of visiting

Herot every day to see Edla, except I was not coming for my heart’s embrace anymore; I was

coming to seek retribution and to punish these dastardly Danes.

As I got closer and closer to Herot and I could not believe my eyes, these imbecilic Danes

were attempting to defend themselves, even after the past twelve winters of my omnipotent

revenge. How foolish that they expect to win against me! I can't help but let out a bellowing

laugh at their stupidity. I approach the doors of Herot and tighten my grip against the handles.

The door is locked, so I rip the iron hinges out of the wall, revealing the sleeping men on the

floor once again. The scene is all too familiar, reminding me of the night of Edla and my son’s

tragic deaths. I can feel the rage emanating from the depths of my soul, boiling my blood, and

filling my eyes with flames of anger. Entering Herot, I examine all my soon to be victims and let

out an inescapable laugh. Which one shall I devour first? I smell a distinct aroma radiating off of

one of the men; it is of fish and salt, my favorite foods. He deserves to be eaten first, and I will

thoroughly enjoy him. I begin to rip this man apart, limb by limb, slurping his metallic blood

straight from his severed limbs. I chomped on his body until there was nothing but scraps of

bones and flesh. He deserved it for my dear Edla’s death.

My hunger is insatiable, and I reach for my next victim. He has more meat on his bones

than any of my other snacks, making my mouth water at the thought of his savory flesh. As I

reach over to tear this man apart, my claws are confronted by the strongest hand I have ever felt.

A power matching my own deriving from a hand more course and calloused than any boulder I

have come across. He starts to stand up, simultaneously pushing me down and beginning to

crack my fingers. Thoughts of death race through my mind, and I start to think about the

possibility of failure. I need to escape and rethink my plan. How is this man stronger than me? I
need to escape. I can feel the bones in my claws cracking under the pressure of his grip. He

tightens his grip harder and harder until I can no longer hold my pain in. I screech in agony,

shaking the iron walls of Herot with my anguish. That embodiment of righteousness holds me on

my knees while his men draw their swords and begin their attack. They do not realize their

mortal swords do not affect me. How dishonorable for them to join this one-sided battle with

weapons when this is not their place to fight. I can feel death nearing and the grip getting

stronger, the pressure spreading towards my shoulder. I have to escape if I want to live. I can feel

my power dimming, and I now have no hope of winning. There is no option other than self-

sacrifice of my arm. I can feel my tendons and muscles splitting apart at the seams as this god of

a human tears my arm off of my body. I take this chance to run. I bolt to the door and escape. I

am losing blood rapidly and doubt I will even make it back to my den. I stumble into the woods

and wander aimlessly until I find a cave - Edla’s cave. I lie in the same spot my beloved once lay

and think about what’s to come. She showed me that there was good in the world, but I allowed

my selfish rage to overpower the love she gave me. Defeated and hopeless, I think of how I

vowed to not seek vengeance like my mother, but in the end, that vengeance is what ultimately

led to my demise.