At dawn, as day broke, Grendel’s deeds were laid bare. After their feasting, wailing filled the morning air, a great cry of sorrow. The renowned ruler, long good and noble, sat joyless, the strong one suffering for his thanes as they beheld the loathsome foe’s track, the accursed spirit’s trail. That struggle was too strong, too long-lasting and loathsome.

After a single night, Grendel wrought more slaughter, not shrinking from his evil, firmly set in his ways. It was easy to find one who sought rest elsewhere, a bed among the hall-bowers, when the hellish fiend’s hate was clearly shown by a sign. Thereafter, those who escaped kept a safer distance. Against right, one against all, Grendel ruled and fought until the best of houses stood empty. Twelve long winters the Scyldings’ friend suffered, enduring immense sorrows. Through sad songs, it became known to all that Grendel long warred with Hrothgar, his violence, enmity, and ceaseless strife spanning many half-years. He wanted no peace, nor would he withdraw his life-bale or accept tribute. No wise counselor could expect bright compensation from the slayer’s hands. The dark death-shadow pursued both old and young, lurking, waiting, ruling the misty moors by night. Men know not where such hellish demons wander on their errands. Thus, the foe of mankind, the awful lone roamer, often committed many crimes and harsh humiliations. He dwelt in Heorot on the dark nights, yet could not approach the gift-throne, feeling no warmth of kinship.

A great misery, a heart-breaking sorrow for the Scyldings’ friend. Mighty men oft sat in council, deliberating the best course for stouthearted men against the sudden attacks. They vowed sacrifices at their shrines, praying aloud for the gods’ aid against their affliction. Such was their custom.

The son of Healfdene brooded endlessly over the time of troubles, the wise hero unable to deflect the woe. The strife, loathsome and long-lasting, had come upon the people, a dire affliction, the greatest of night-evils.

In his homeland, Hygelac’s thane, a brave Geat, heard of Grendel’s deeds. Mightiest among men in the day of this life, noble and stalwart, he bade a good ship be made ready, declaring he would seek the war-king over the swan’s road, the renowned prince in need of men. Sage men little begrudged the adventure, though he was dear to them. They urged on the stout-hearted man, examining the omens.

The worthy man chose the boldest champions of the Geatish people. With fourteen others, he sought the sea-wood. A crafty warrior in lakes pointed out the landmarks.

Time passed; the boat was on the waves, the craft under the cliffs. Eager warriors climbed the prow as currents swirled, sea against sand. Into the ship’s bosom, they bore bright trappings, splendid war-gear. The brave men shoved out the well-braced craft on their willing venture.

Over watery waves they went, the wind driving the foam-necked floater, much like a bird. About the same time the next day, the curved prow had journeyed far, and the seafarers saw land, shining sea-cliffs, steep headlands, broad sea-nesses. The sea-crossing was done at the ocean’s edge. Swiftly, the Geats went ashore, anchoring the sea-wood, their mail shirts and battle-sarks rattling. They thanked the gods for their easy sea-paths.

From the rampart, the Scyldings’ guard beheld them carrying bright shields and ready war-gear across the gangway. Curious thoughts urged his mind as to who these men were. Hrothgar’s thane rode to the shore, powerfully brandishing a mighty spear, speaking formal words: “Who are you, armored men, protected by mail-coats, who come hither over the sea-lane in your high ship? As the far-frontier guard, I have watched that no enemies with a ship-army might harm the land of the Danes. Never have shield-bearers more openly attempted to land here without the password of our warriors. Moreover, I have never seen a mightier noble on earth than one of your band, a hero in armor. No mere retainer he, dignified by weapons, unless his peerless form, his appearance, belies him. Now, before you venture further as false scouts into the land of the Danes, I must know your lineage. Hear my plain thought, you far-dwellers, seafarers: make known promptly whence you have come.”

The leader answered, unlocking his word-hoard: “We are of the Geatish nation, Hygelac’s hearth-companions. My father, a noble commander well-known among the people, was called Ecgtheow. He lived through many winters before passing away, old, from the courts, remembered readily by nearly every wise man throughout the world. With friendly hearts, we seek your lord, the son of Healfdene, protector of the people. Be good counsel to us! We have a great errand to the renowned lord of the Danes, nothing hidden there. You know if it is true, as we have heard, that among the Scyldings some unknown ravager causes foulest injuries, humiliation, and slaughter by terror in the dark nights. Through greatness of mind, I may give Hrothgar sincere counsel on how he, wise and good, may overcome the fiend - if relief, a reversal of afflictions, should ever befall him, and the seethings of care turn cooler; else he shall suffer dire distress for as long as the best of houses remains in its lofty place.”

The watchman, undaunted, spoke from his steed: “A sharp shield-warrior who thinks well should know the difference between words and deeds. I hear this band is friendly to the Scyldings’ lord. Go forth bearing weapons and equipment; I shall guide you. I will command my kinsmen thanes to guard your ship honorably against every foe, until the curved-prowed craft bears you back over the sea-streams to Geatland, to those fate spares from the rush of battle.”

They set out, the wide-bosomed ship resting on its mooring, fastened by its anchor chain. Boar images shone over the cheek-guards, gleaming, hardened by fire, the farrow keeping watch in warlike mood. The men hurried together until they discerned the timbered hall, splendid, gold-adorned. To earthdwellers, it was the most famous of buildings under the heavens, its radiance shining over many lands. The battle-brave man showed them the bright court of the bold ones; one warrior turned his horse, saying: “It is time for me to go. May the All-Father keep you safe in your undertakings. I will return to the sea, to watch against hostile bands.”

The stone-paved street guided the men forward, a path to the hall. War-gear gleamed, hard and hand-linked; bright iron rings sang in their armor as they came walking to the hall in terrible war-gear. Seaweary, they set their broad shields against the wall, then sat on benches. Mail-shirts and war-garb rattled; spears stood in a row, the seamen’s ashen-shafted weapons assembled. The iron-clad troop was well-equipped.

A proud warrior asked the heroes of their origin: “Whence have you carried your gold-plated shields, grey war-shirts and visored helmets, this pile of battle-shafts? I am Hrothgar’s messenger and officer. I have never seen so impressive or courageous-looking a force of foreigners. I expect you have sought out Hrothgar more from prowess than exile, but out of daring.”

The renowned leader, hard under his helmet, answered with formal words: “We are Hygelac’s table-companions; Beowulf is my name. I will tell my errand to the son of Healfdene, the renowned prince, your lord, if he will allow us to greet him who is so good to men.”

Wulfgar, a prince of the Wendels, his courage and wisdom proven to many, spoke: “I will ask the king of the Danes, the renowned ruler, the giver of rings, as you request, about your journey, and swiftly make known what answer the good one thinks fitting to give me.”

He turned quickly to where Hrothgar sat, old and extremely grey-haired, with his company of thanes, the valiant man knowing well the custom of nobility. Wulfgar spoke to his beloved lord: “Here have arrived men of the Geats from afar over the sea’s expanse. Their leader is named Beowulf. They make this petition, my lord, to exchange speech with you. Do not give them a hasty refusal, gracious Hrothgar! From their war-gear, they seem worthy of the esteem of earls; indeed, the chief who has led these battle-warriors here is powerful.”

Hrothgar, protector of the Scyldings, spoke: “I knew him as a child. His old father was named Ecgtheow, to whom Hrethel the Geat gave his only daughter in marriage. Now his bold son has come here, seeking a loyal friend. Seafarers who carried gifts from the Geats in thanks have said he has thirty men’s strength in his hand-grip, a mighty campaigner. The gods have sent him to us, to the West-Danes, as I hope, against the terror of Grendel. I shall offer the good man treasures for his daring. Make haste, summon them inside to see the band of kinsmen together; tell them they are welcome to the Danish people.”

Wulfgar went to the door and announced: “My victorious lord, the prince of the East-Danes, bids me tell you he knows your lineage, and you brave men from over the sea-surges are welcome to him here. Now you may go in your war-gear, under your helmets, to see Hrothgar; let your battle-shields and wooden shafts await here the outcome of your speech.”

The mighty one arose with many a warrior, a powerful troop of thanes around him; some remained to guard the war-gear as the brave one commanded. Together, led by him, they hastened under Heorot’s roof, the man courageous under his helmet, until he stood within the hall. Beowulf spoke, his corselet glinting, the war-shirt linked by the smith’s skill: “May you be well, Hrothgar! I am Hygelac’s kinsman and young retainer. In my youth, I have undertaken many glorious deeds. This matter of Grendel was made known to me plainly in my homeland. Seafarers say this hall, the best of buildings, stands empty and useless to all when evening light hides under heaven’s brightness. My people, the wisest men, the most excellent counselors, advised me to seek you out, King Hrothgar, knowing the strength of my might; they had seen me themselves, bloodstained from foes, when I bound five, destroyed the giants’ kin, and slew sea-monsters in the waves by night, breaking through peril, avenging the Weders’ afflictions, the wretched people’s woes, grinding down the foul foe. And now, alone, I shall settle the affair with Grendel, the giant. I ask of you, prince of the Bright-Danes, one sole request - protector of the Scyldings, defender of warriors, friend of the people - that you do not refuse me, now that I have come so far: to cleanse Heorot with my band of earls, this hardy company. I have also learned that the monster in his recklessness cares not for weapons; I then, so that Hygelac my liege-lord may be glad of mind towards me, scorn to bear sword or broad shield, the yellow linden-wood, into battle; but with my grip I shall grapple with the fiend and fight for life, foe against foe. He whom death takes must trust in fate. I expect if he can prevail in the war-hall, he will eat the Geats fearlessly as he has often done with the Hrethmen’s might. You will have no need to bury my head, for he will have me bloodstained if death bears me away; the lone roamer will eat imperturbably, marking the moor-fen. You need not then heed my life’s sustenance for long. If battle takes me, send to Hygelac the best of war-garments that guards my breast, the finest of mail-coats; it is an heirloom of Hrethel’s, the work of Weland. Fate always goes as it must!”

Hrothgar, protector of the Scyldings, spoke: “You have sought us, my friend Beowulf, and come for defense and out of generosity. Your father fought the greatest feud, killing Heatholaf of the Wylfings; the Geats dared not keep him for dread of war. Thence he sought the South-Danes’ folk over the rolling waves, the Honor-Scyldings, when I first ruled the Danish folk and held in my youth the treasure-burg of heroes. My elder brother Heregar was dead then, a better man than I! Afterward, I settled that feud with fees, sending ancient treasures to the Wylfings over the waters’ ridge; your father swore oaths to me.

Sorrow it is to tell any man what humiliation Grendel has wrought me in Heorot with his malice, his sudden attacks. My hall-troop, my warrior-band, is melted away, swept by fate into Grendel’s terror. The gods may easily hinder the mad ravager’s deeds. Warriors have often boasted over their cups, flushed with beer, that they would await Grendel’s attack in the beer-hall with the terror of blades. Then, when daylight shone, this mead-hall was stained with gore, the bench-timber drenched in blood, the hall gory with sword-blood. I had all the fewer loyal men, dear retainers, for death had taken them.

Sit now at the feast and unbind your thoughts, your hopes, to the thanes as your heart tells you.”