In Denmark, during the 6th century, Danish king Hrothgar and his warriors kill a troll whose son, Grendel, vows revenge.

Beowulf: Has this thing, this troll, killed any children?
King Hrothgar: No.
Beowulf: Women?
[Hrothgar shakes his head]
Beowulf: Old men?
King Hrothgar: What are you saying? That he fights with a clean heart? He kills the strongest first. He shows us he can kill the strongest. Who cares if he spares the children? They'll die anyway without fathers.
Beowulf: My wits still war with how this all began.
King Hrothgar: Hate for the mead hall. I can only guess. The night we finished it the foul creep came.
Beowulf: So, nothing was done to the troll itself?
King Hrothgar: Oh, Beowulf, it's a fucking troll! Maybe someone looked at it the wrong way.
Beowulf: Some Dane?
King Hrothgar: ...I never begged anyone to come here. Take on our fight. I don't hold you here.
Beowulf: I know you don't.
King Hrothgar: Then don't sour my heart with talk about why a troll does what a fucking troll does!
Brendan the Celt: Wise king, you must know of the name of Clovis.
King Hrothgar: The Frank?
Brendan the Celt: The Frank. Yes, yes, the Frank. The Christian sword of a land ten times what the Danes hold dear.
Beowulf: He's dead.
Brendan the Celt: Yes, ten years now. But not before he saw God's grace. The Visigoths of Aquitaine, the Romans under Syagrius, the Burgundians, Alamannians all fell before him, and all because he had God's ear.
King Hrothgar: As I recall, he also had a thousand swords, neighbors soft on wine and pork, and no ice on his rivers...
Beowulf: And no fucking trolls.
King Hrothgar: And no fucking trolls!
Brendan the Celt: I'm told you're the Danes' king.
King Hrothgar: Celt, you're a ways from home.
Brendan the Celt: I am. But safe with the sword of Christ.
King Hrothgar: Christ, eh? Heard of him. You ever have much luck with trolls?
Brendan the Celt: I'm of the thought they never cross paths. But if you're willing to bow before Christ you shall feel the blessing of his great strength.
King Hrothgar: My gods don't ask me to bow.
Brendan the Celt: And nor should they dare if they won't protect you. To face God's foes is an honor. I've come to drive this evil out.
King Hrothgar: [laughts] With a stick?
Brendan the Celt: With the fire of Heaven!
King Hrothgar: Well, if your heaven's on fire you'd better look to that.
Brendan the Celt: You leave me on a dish for the troll then. Leave me! And if I don't see man's dawn, I shall see God's! I shall see God!
[drools and collapses]
King Hygelac: Find Hondscioh a wife, my sheep have had enough!
Beowulf: And what did he do to you?
King Hrothgar: [shrugs] Crossed our path. Took a fish.
Beowulf: Leave here troll, or stay and meet your doom!
Beowulf: [kneels] Sleep, Grendel.
Beowulf: I'm Beowulf.
Beowulf: [on arriving] I'm sorry, we didn't mean to wake you
King Hrothgar: Wake me? I'm a grief-crippled king half drunk in the middle of the afternoon, what is there to wake?
Thorkel: The Celt says that Jesus Christ never sleeps, that he walks amongst us.
Beowulf: Oh, that's all we need, a god gone mad from lack of sleep.
King Hrothgar: You ever worry about that? Heaven?
Beowulf: I'm thinking I'll likely go where I'm sent.
Fisherman: A hero, eh?
[indicates his meal, an eel that was sucking blood out of Beowulf's leg]
Fisherman: A hero for supper.
[laughs]
Fisherman: Well don't my shit shine.

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