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Baldurs Death
Baldur, son of Odin and the benevolent sorceress Frigg, was deeply troubled. For some time now his sleep had been violated by the most ominous dreams of some terrible misfortune befalling him. None that he told of these omens could believe such a thing would possibly come to pass, for he was one of the most beloved of all the gods - generous, joyful, and courageous - he brought nought but happiness in his wake wherever he roamed... Read saga
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Baldur, son of Odin and the benevolent sorceress Frigg, was deeply troubled. For some time now his sleep had been violated by the most ominous dreams of some terrible misfortune befalling him. None that he told of these omens could believe such a thing would possibly come to pass, for he was one of the most beloved of all the gods - generous, joyful, and courageous - he brought nought but happiness in his wake wherever he roamed.
His father, Odin, determined to discover if there was any truth to the omen, rode into the underworld to consult the most learned sorceress in such matters.
What he learned there shook him to his core.
Disguised so the sorceress could not know who he was, he found the halls of the underworld bedecked in majestic splendour as if ready to honour the arrival of a person of the greatest glory. When he questioned the sorceress as to who the guest of honour was to be, her reply stunned the god to a shocked silence.
“Why sire, ‘tis none less than the mighty Baldur” (or perhaps just “Baldur”)
His downcast and sorrowful return to Asgard stirred the sense of deepest unease among his fellows, his wife Frigg, mother to Baldur, most especially.
“This simply cannot come to pass” thought the ever benevolent Frigg to herself, and using every ounce of her skill as a sorceress she swore every single thing, living and nonliving, in every corner, nook and cranny of the cosmos to a binding oath. That no harm may ever come to Baldur.
A peace fell upon Asgard with the last of these oaths being sworn, and secure in the strength of such an oath, the gods made sport of the omen.
They made a game of Baldur’s now fully-assured invincibility. Standing before them, they threw whatever came to hand at him - sticks, stones, rocks, spears, swords, axes. And every last one of these things - things that would surely have killed any other being - merely bounced harmlessly off the laughing, shining, god, coming to rest in a growing pile around him.
Well, perhaps not all the gods merely made sport. There was one, false-hearted, wily, and forever untrue, Loki sensed an opportunity for mischief.
Carefully disguised he approached Frigg, who was smiling at the sport unfolding before them, and enquired, seemingly in all innocence, “the oath to spare Baldur from harm, this was sworn by all things in the cosmos?”
“Yes indeed”, replied the sorceress, “all but the small and innocent mistletoe. That sweet and gentle thing could never do harm to any anyway, there was no need to ask it to swear the oath”. Satisfied with this knowledge, Loki slunk silently away from the laughing and merry-making gods and immediately sought out the mistletoe.
Grubbing the mistletoe up, he sharpened one end of the sinewed stem to a sharp point and strode back to the group of gods now indulging in what was fast becoming their favourite game.
To one side he saw the blind god Hoder (Old Norse Höðr, “Slayer”), largely being ignored and taking no part in the games.
“Hoder, it’s such a shame that you’ve not been able to join in with proving Baldur’s magnificent invincibility” intoned the faithless Loki, “here, take this spear, and I will guide your hand in the right direction so that you may throw this branch at him”.
Smiling, Hoder agreed, and with all his might, heaved the sharpened stick towards Baldur.
It struck the god square in the chest, and unlike everything else that had been cast in his direction, ran him through completely, piercing his heart, and striking him dead on the spot.
The shocked silence that immediately fell upon the gathered gods like the harshest, coldest and most bitter midwinter night was total. It was complete. It was suffocating. It was as if every breath of air had been sucked from the chests of every god gathered there.
As Baldur lay lifeless before them, the anguish and raw fear within them began to boil. Because this one death, this terrible loss of light, laughter and love was not just the death of Baldur.
It was the first true omen of the devastation, destruction and horrors to come.
It was the first sign of Ragnarok.
His father, Odin, determined to discover if there was any truth to the omen, rode into the underworld to consult the most learned sorceress in such matters.
What he learned there shook him to his core.
Disguised so the sorceress could not know who he was, he found the halls of the underworld bedecked in majestic splendour as if ready to honour the arrival of a person of the greatest glory. When he questioned the sorceress as to who the guest of honour was to be, her reply stunned the god to a shocked silence.
“Why sire, ‘tis none less than the mighty Baldur” (or perhaps just “Baldur”)
His downcast and sorrowful return to Asgard stirred the sense of deepest unease among his fellows, his wife Frigg, mother to Baldur, most especially.
“This simply cannot come to pass” thought the ever benevolent Frigg to herself, and using every ounce of her skill as a sorceress she swore every single thing, living and nonliving, in every corner, nook and cranny of the cosmos to a binding oath. That no harm may ever come to Baldur.
A peace fell upon Asgard with the last of these oaths being sworn, and secure in the strength of such an oath, the gods made sport of the omen.
They made a game of Baldur’s now fully-assured invincibility. Standing before them, they threw whatever came to hand at him - sticks, stones, rocks, spears, swords, axes. And every last one of these things - things that would surely have killed any other being - merely bounced harmlessly off the laughing, shining, god, coming to rest in a growing pile around him.
Well, perhaps not all the gods merely made sport. There was one, false-hearted, wily, and forever untrue, Loki sensed an opportunity for mischief.
Carefully disguised he approached Frigg, who was smiling at the sport unfolding before them, and enquired, seemingly in all innocence, “the oath to spare Baldur from harm, this was sworn by all things in the cosmos?”
“Yes indeed”, replied the sorceress, “all but the small and innocent mistletoe. That sweet and gentle thing could never do harm to any anyway, there was no need to ask it to swear the oath”. Satisfied with this knowledge, Loki slunk silently away from the laughing and merry-making gods and immediately sought out the mistletoe.
Grubbing the mistletoe up, he sharpened one end of the sinewed stem to a sharp point and strode back to the group of gods now indulging in what was fast becoming their favourite game.
To one side he saw the blind god Hoder (Old Norse Höðr, “Slayer”), largely being ignored and taking no part in the games.
“Hoder, it’s such a shame that you’ve not been able to join in with proving Baldur’s magnificent invincibility” intoned the faithless Loki, “here, take this spear, and I will guide your hand in the right direction so that you may throw this branch at him”.
Smiling, Hoder agreed, and with all his might, heaved the sharpened stick towards Baldur.
It struck the god square in the chest, and unlike everything else that had been cast in his direction, ran him through completely, piercing his heart, and striking him dead on the spot.
The shocked silence that immediately fell upon the gathered gods like the harshest, coldest and most bitter midwinter night was total. It was complete. It was suffocating. It was as if every breath of air had been sucked from the chests of every god gathered there.
As Baldur lay lifeless before them, the anguish and raw fear within them began to boil. Because this one death, this terrible loss of light, laughter and love was not just the death of Baldur.
It was the first true omen of the devastation, destruction and horrors to come.
It was the first sign of Ragnarok.
