A Mother's Fury

A task to rewrite a scene from Beowulf in a different perspective, a different light. Originally published December 2022

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I never could help but feel a tremendous amount of pride and love as I often stood and watched my son sleep. He was always strong and fierce. Jumping over every hurdle that came his way. My baby...

In a hostile and unforgiving world, being a mother was not always simple. Especially since my son was born cursed. His entire life he had been an outcast.

Ostracised by humans and feared by the other swamp creatures, I felt forced to hide him. They could only refer to him as a monster, met with hostility no matter where he went. So we went to live in secrecy, hide in the shadows, on the edges of civilisation, hiding from those who wished us harm. We had developed the ability to adapt and survive in a world that was determined to drive us out.

I never held my son responsible. He was never to blame for being born the way he was. And never in his life did I raise my Grendel to be a monster. I never stopped loving my son. Not even once. I did everything in my power to protect him, keep him safe. Even when he was all grown up, I felt the same intense love and pride for him. I adored him beyond measure.

Now that he has passed, I feel empty. I feel tired and sick. Frustrated. I have had enough of people pushing us around, treating us like excrement of the earth because we are unlike them.

I have heard that a warrior by the name of Beowulf is to blame for my son's death. Only having killed my baby to claim glory and honour, to show off his bravery and strength. Have they no compassion?! Have they no conscience?!

I am torn between my desire to leave and live the rest of my days alone and undisturbed and the determination to stand up for my family. There is a delicate balance to be struck, but a choice must be made.

Beowulf is a strong adversary, I know that much. If I said I did not feel fear and despair at the thought of him, I would be lying. But I also know that I am ferocious and tenacious, that I feel the need for redress, to repay them for what they have done to me and my son.

I refuse to hide any longer. I am not the kind to back down from a fight. Not anymore.

I will wait, hidden away, watching, waiting for the moment to strike. And when that moment comes, the thought of mercy will have left my being.

So be warned Beowulf! Like any good mother, I will not let you harm my family any longer. The Underworld will soon be your new home, but it has no fury like a mother scorned.