Arthur, Gawain's liege lord, seemed to grasp the problem but even he couldn't sake Gawain's need for forgiveness. Author had tried to show that no knight was free of the failure that had lead to Gawain's downfall by declaring that each knight would wear a sash of green. But now knights were using this sash as a badge of honor among themselves, and this drove Gawain to even lower depths. Gawain fixated on his need for forgiveness.
But forgiveness by who? The Green Knight has already given his forgiveness for his trespass, and the other Knights of the Round Table didn't seem to think that anything needed to be forgiven. But Gawain knew that there was a dark stain upon his soul that must be blanched free, or he would go mad at its presence.
So Gawain made his way to the Castle's private church and kneeled to ask for guidance. Gawain prayed for many hours looking for some measure of guidance, but only exhaustion found him there. Gawain dejectedly limped off to his room and fell asleep in the comfort of his bed.
Gawain was jarred awake by a most curtious shove. He looked up from his pillow and found that the familiar surroundings of his room had being replaced by what appeared to be a large hall with tables haphazardly arranged around a central fire pit. Groups of large and well armed warriors in strange dress wandered about the hall. One particularly large warrior stood above Gawain nudging him.
Gawain leaped up and reached for his sword, but found only the fabric of his bed clothes. The warrior took a step back in surprise; at seeing Gawain's frantic grasping at his side he threw his head back and emitted a deep, frame-shaking laugh.
Gawain stuttered for a while, and finally managed "What are you doing in my... What are you doing here? And what am I doing here? Who sent you? Is this Morgan le Faye's doing? Have I not been tormented enough?"
The looming figure's face twisted in confusion. "I know not of this, strangely dressed one. I have heard not of this 'Morgan le Faye', either. I had thought you here to help celebrate the greatness of Beowulf, in his conquest of the creature's dark mother. It seems that you have no knowledge of your place, so we shall consult the ringgiver to explore your position better."
Before Gawain had a chance to consider the matter any further, the warrior grabbed his arm and dragged him toward a elevated seat near center of the room. The seat contained a greying man of great frame and stature with sharp eyes and a sad face.
The warrior explained, "Lord, this one doesn't know where he is, and he has yet to drink his share of the battlewine. He is dressed of a foreign land, has no knowledge of Beowulf, or his accomplishments. He believes himself here through trickery"
The seated man ran his eyes up and down Gawain, returning again and again to the green sash that he wore over his bed clothes. The greybeard started, "You are indeed dressed of a foreign land, good sir. I am Hrothgar, son of Healfdane. I am the lord of this hall, which we named Heorot. Whose thane are you, that you can come and go from this place at will?"
Gawain looked around in confusion. "Honestly, good lord, I know not of what you speak. I just recently returned to my home of Camelot, the keep of Arthur, king of all the Britons. I had gone to sleep in my chamber, but awoke to this..."
"Ahh, then you have come as a visitor to listen to the tale of Beowulf, and rejoice in the defeat of the devilspawn and the death of its mother. Beowulf! Beowulf! Come mighty son of Ecgtheow!" Shouted Hrothgar.
His gaze seemed directed toward a large group, whose center seemed empty, save for the presence of a giant of a man who seemed engrossed in the telling of a story. The teller was waving his arms in grand movements of combat, and the people surrounding him seemed less than engrossed. They were casting nervous glances around the room, as if trapped in some sort of diabolic trap that could be undone if only the correct exit was found.
"BEOWULF!" Shouted Hrothgar again. "There's someone here who hasn't heard of your glorious combat yet!"
That got an immediate response. Beowulf stopped his arms in mid wave, and looked back toward the throne. He excused himself and sauntered to the throne. The men who had just been grouped around Beowulf scattered and regrouped again in the shadowy recesses of the room.
"Yes, dear Hrothgar?" bellowed Beowulf, despite being only a few feet from the king.
"This is Gawain, a thane from the court of Arthur, in the Britons. He has not yet heard your courageous tale of conquest and combat." said Hrothgar, gesturing toward Gawain.
Beowulf looked toward Gawain as a predator looks toward its prey. "A great tale it is, I assure you Gawain! You have never heard its equal!"
Gawain parried, "Ahhh, I have a tale of my own, Beowulf. Perhaps we can have a contest! We can tell each other, our tales... Whoever has the better tale will have a free meal out of it!"
Beowulf's eyes clouded over, and his face was contorted with confusion. "But... why don't we just eat the food that's here right now?"
Gawain recanted. "You're right... That was indeed a bad idea. We aren't even on a journey to a holy shrine. The entire dynamic is completely wrong. Instead, let us compare our tales by constantly interrupting each other, so that we can demonstrate how the underlying value systems enjoyed by our two times are different!"
Beowulf's eyes again clouded over. "Uhhh... I'm not sure that I understand"
"That's fine Beowulf. Just tell your tale."
"Well... All right. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...", started Beowulf.
Hrothgar interrupted. "That would be the wrong tale, Beowulf. Start off talking about the history of my family."
"Oh yes... sorry." Beowulf paused. Beowulf went on to describe the family history of the Danes. He progressed to the near past, where Grendel attacked Heorot initially.
"So... what did this fearsome beast look like?", interrupted Gawain.
"He was huge! And he was the spawn of Cain! And he roved the boarders looking for mean and nasty things to do... Until he came here and started making Son of Healfdane's great dining hall a buffet, if you know what I mean..." sputtered Beowulf.
"Well, yes, but what did he look like?" responded Gawain.
Beowulf's face slowly changed to a shade of crimson, and he shouted "It's not important what he looked like! He was big, and he was mean! That's all you need to know!"
"Well, my evil doer was green!", countered Gawain. "He rode in to Camelot one day for no particular reason and challenged us to a contest!"
"That's nice. I'm not done yet." said Beowulf. "As I was saying... I got here, and I went and found Heorot. Hrothgar was terribly happy to have anyone to stop the great beast, because all the people here were wimps and weren't up to the challenge."
The entire hall fell silent, and Hrothgar's thanes started fingering their swords and eyeing Beowulf menacingly. Beowulf nervously looked about the room and casually said "I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course." Everyone nodded knowingly, smiled and went back to their individual conversations.
Gawain took this opportunity to break in again. "So, you went and sought out Heorot because you thought that you could help out by getting rid of a scourge of the earth."
Beowulf looked annoyed at the additional interruption, but answered anyway. "Yes. And I wanted to be well known, so that I would be remembered when... I leave."
"Your leaving?", said Gawain, confused.
"Don't we all?" replied Beowulf, igmaticly.
"... Do you mean 'die'?", questioned Gawain.
"Well, yes, that is what I mean. Do you expect to live forever?"
"Well, now that you mention it, this stylish green sash isn't just for looks... But's that's neither here nor there. What do you think will happen when you die?"
"I think that I can gain imortality by existing in as many people's minds as possible. When I die, I will continue to live on in their memmories. By distinguishing myself in life and in death, I will live on. If I do really well, someone might make up a story about me, and I'll continue to live on as long as the story does. I was also thinking about getting a barrow after I die."
"A what?"
"A barrow. It's a great mound that is errected in my honor. My remains are entombed there, as are things that depict my greatness."
"So it's a big pile of dirt where they burry you and everything that reminds them of you? That doesn't seem very usefull..."
"Well, how are they going to remember you then? How will you live on?"
"Well... I've been putting a good bit of though into that recently. My soul will live on in heaven if I keep myself pure and do good deads throughout my life. I also am part of the greatest courts in all the world, so I'm sure that I will also be remembered long after I die."
"How so how do you get to heaven again?"
"Well, you have to be accept