From the Pages of Unferth's Diary...

I am humiliated and embarrassed.  My whole life I wanted to be the one to lead  my people to victory, to give them hope and bring nationalism.  I wanted future warriors to look up to me, be proud of me, and know my name.  After my encounters with Grendel and Beowulf, however, I fear that I may never have this satisfaction.

The day that I first heard of the infamous Grendel, I thought that luck had finally struck me and that I had a chance.  A chance to become a hero and bring honor to my people.  Upon actually meeting him, I was crushed.  I tried to belittle him and make him feel weak, but being the monster that he was, he turned it all back on me and made me feel like an idiot.  He told me that everything that I knew about being a hero was a sham, a mere power play for my own personal self-superiority.  That day was one of the lowest in my existence, as I have an image and a reputation to maintain.  The Danes look to me as being a hero, or so I thought, and instead of coming anywhere close to defeating the beast, I broke down and started crying.  Humiliating.  Later on, when I sought out the creature in his cave, I was not looking to kill him necessarily, but merely to talk some sense into him and show him the importance of heroism.  His opinion on the matter was completely foreign to me, and he thought that being a hero was meaningless.  Was he right?  Is there even a point to being a hero?  Clearly I don’t have what it takes, so is there even a reason to keep trying?  I was at my lowest of low when I asked him to kill me.  I had realized that he was right, and I no longer had a reason to live.  To my dismay, however, he chose not to kill me which made me question his character.  Though I hated him for it, maybe he  wasn’t a monster after all.

When Beowulf showed up, that basically sealed my fate.  I wasn’t good enough to kill the monster myself, and it was decided that I needed outside help to ensure the kingdom would not be destroyed.  Honor is very important to the Danes, and having the Geats come save us was utterly humiliating.  When Beowulf spoke of his adventures, I could see the look of admiration in people’s eyes. They knew that he was a true hero, and that I was a mere wannabe.  Is there even a point to my existence?