The Death of Baldur

Of all the gods of Asgard, none was more loved than Baldur. He was the son of Odin, the All-Father, and of Frigg, his queen. He was so good and bright that light seemed to shine from him.

Then Baldur began to have frightening dreams that warned his life was in danger. When he told the other gods about them, they gathered to talk it over, and they agreed that Baldur must be kept safe from every kind of harm.

So his mother, Frigg, went out into the world and asked everything in it to swear an oath. She asked fire and water, iron and every other metal, stones and earth, trees, sicknesses, beasts, birds and every creeping thing. And each of them promised that it would never hurt Baldur.

After that, the gods found a new game. Whenever they met together, Baldur would stand up in the middle of them, and the others would shoot arrows at him, swing their swords at him or hurl stones at him. Nothing they did could hurt him at all, and the gods thought this did Baldur great honor.

But Loki, the son of Laufey, was watching, and it made him furious that Baldur could not be harmed. So Loki changed his shape and made himself look like an old woman. In that disguise he went to Fensal, Frigg’s hall.

Frigg asked the old woman whether she knew what the gods were doing at their meeting.

“They are all shooting at Baldur,” the woman answered, “but nothing hurts him.”

“No weapon and no tree can hurt Baldur,” Frigg said. “I have taken an oath from all of them.”

“Has every single thing promised to spare Baldur?” asked the woman.

“West of Valhalla there grows a little bush called the mistletoe,” said Frigg. “It seemed too young to ask for an oath.”

At that, the old woman vanished. Loki hurried off, pulled up the mistletoe, and carried it to the place where the gods were gathered.

Now, there was one god standing far out at the edge of the ring, because he was blind. His name was Hod, and he was Baldur’s brother. Loki went up to him.

“Why aren’t you shooting at Baldur?” Loki asked.

“Because I can’t see where he is,” said Hod. “Besides, I have nothing to throw.”

“You should do as the others do and honor Baldur,” said Loki. “I’ll show you where he’s standing. Throw this twig at him.”

Hod took the mistletoe, and Loki guided his aim. The twig flew like a dart and struck Baldur, and it went right through him. Baldur fell to the ground, dead.

It was the worst misfortune that ever befell gods or people. When Baldur fell, the gods were too stunned to speak, and their hands were too weak even to lift him. Every one of them knew who was really to blame, but the place where they stood was a sacred place of peace, and no one could punish anyone there. When at last they tried to speak, they could only weep. Odin grieved most of all, because he understood better than anyone how terrible a loss this was for the gods.

When the gods had gathered their wits, Frigg spoke up. “Which of you,” she asked, “will win all my love and thanks by riding down the road to Hel? Find Baldur there, and offer Hel a ransom if she will let him come home to Asgard.”

The one who offered to go was Hermod the Nimble, Odin’s son. He leapt onto Odin’s own horse, Sleipnir, and galloped away.

Meanwhile, the gods carried Baldur’s body down to the shore. Baldur’s ship was called Hringhorni, and it was the largest ship in the world. The gods meant to build Baldur’s funeral fire on its deck, but they could not push it into the water.

So they sent to Jotunheim, the land of the giants, for a giantess called Hyrrokkin. She came riding on a huge wolf, steering it with reins made of twisting snakes. It took four of Odin’s strongest warriors to hold that wolf, and even they had to wrestle it to the ground.

Hyrrokkin strode to the front of the ship and launched it with a single shove. She pushed so hard that sparks flew from the logs it rolled on, and the whole earth trembled. Thor was so angry that he seized his hammer, but all the other gods begged him to leave her in peace, and he lowered it.

Then Baldur’s body was carried out onto the ship. When his wife, Nanna, saw it, her heart broke with grief, and she died. She was laid beside him on the funeral pile. Thor stood by and blessed the fire with his hammer, Mjollnir. A dwarf named Lit came running past right under Thor’s feet just then, and in the bustle he tumbled into the fire as well.

All kinds of folk came to Baldur’s funeral. First came Odin, with Frigg, the Valkyries and his two ravens. Frey rode in his chariot, pulled by the golden-bristled boar Gullinbursti. Heimdall rode his horse Gulltopp, and Freyja drove her chariot pulled by cats. Even crowds of giants came.

Odin laid his gold ring, Draupnir, on the fire. It was a magic ring, and every ninth night eight more rings just as heavy dripped from it. Baldur’s horse, in its finest harness, was led to the pile to go with its master.

As for Hermod, he rode for nine nights through valleys so deep and dark that he could see nothing at all, until he came to the river Gjoll and rode out onto the Gjallar Bridge, whose roof was covered in shining gold. Modgud, the maiden who guarded it, asked him his name and family.

“Only yesterday,” she said, “five whole armies of dead men rode across this bridge, and yet it shakes just as much under you alone. You don’t have the color of the dead, either. Why are you riding the road to Hel?”

“I’m riding to Hel to look for Baldur,” Hermod answered. “Have you seen him pass this way?”

“Baldur has crossed the Gjallar Bridge,” said Modgud. “The road to Hel lies downward and to the north.”

Hermod rode on until he reached the gates of Hel. There he jumped down, pulled his saddle straps tighter, mounted, and urged Sleipnir on. The horse sprang over the gate so high that he did not even touch it. Inside the great hall, in the seat of honor, sat his brother Baldur.

Hermod stayed there that night. In the morning he begged Hel to let Baldur ride home with him, telling her how bitterly the gods were weeping.

“We shall find out,” said Hel, “whether Baldur is really as well loved as people say. If everything in the world, living and dead, will weep for him, he may go home to the gods. But if even one thing refuses to cry for him, he stays here with me.”

Hermod stood up, and Baldur walked with him out of the hall. Baldur gave him the ring Draupnir to take to Odin as a keepsake. Nanna sent Frigg a linen veil and other gifts, and she sent a ring to Frigg’s maid, Fulla. Then Hermod rode all the way home to Asgard and told the gods everything he had seen and heard.

Straight away the gods sent messengers all over the world, asking everything to weep Baldur out of Hel. And everything did. People and animals wept, and so did the earth, the stones, the trees and every kind of metal. The myth pictures the drops that form on cold objects brought into warmth as their tears for Baldur.

On their way home, the messengers came upon a cave. Inside it sat a giantess named Thokk. They asked her to weep Baldur out of Hel too, but this is what she said:

“Thokk will weep
with dry eyes
for Baldur’s funeral.
Alive or dead,
he gave me no joy.
Let Hel keep what she has!”

Because of her, Baldur stayed in Hel’s hall. And most people believe that the giantess Thokk was really Loki, the son of Laufey, in yet another disguise. No one in Asgard did more harm than he.

About this story

The death of Baldur is one of the most famous Norse myths. It is told in the Prose Edda, written in Iceland around 1220 by Snorri Sturluson. In the part called “The Fooling of Gylfi,” a king in disguise asks questions about the gods, and this story is part of the answer he gets. It is retold here from Rasmus B. Anderson’s English translation, The Younger Edda, where the names are spelled Balder, Hoder, Hyrrokken and Thok.

This adaptation changes one act of violence but still includes several deaths and a funeral fire. In Snorri’s version, Thor angrily kicks the dwarf Lit into the fire; here Lit simply tumbles in. Snorri then tells how the gods caught and punished Loki, which is a story of its own. Many Norse myths say that after Ragnarok, the end of the world, Baldur will rise up and live among the gods once more.

Read the original: Rasmus B. Anderson, trans., The Younger Edda (Project Gutenberg #18947)

Suggested for ages 9–12 with an adult available to discuss the deaths, funeral fire and failed attempt to bring Baldur back.

Two tests that require everyone

Frigg’s protection and Hel’s bargain both seem almost complete: nearly everything promises safety, and nearly everything weeps. One exception defeats each arrangement. Loki turns the first gap into a weapon and, according to the story’s final suspicion, creates the second himself. The repeated structure makes his deliberate interference more important than the size of the overlooked plant.

Hod trusts guidance from someone who has concealed his purpose. His blindness is not a moral failing. Nor should Hel’s demand become a test of real mourners: people express grief differently, and tears do not measure love. Nanna’s death belongs to the myth’s heightened account of loss.

Trace the two exceptions

Make two columns headed “promise” and “weeping.” Name who seeks agreement, what the agreement would achieve and who remains outside it. Then distinguish what the narrator directly shows Loki doing from the suspicion about Thokk at the end.

Talk about it

• Why do you think Frigg didn’t ask the mistletoe for a promise?
• How did Loki trick both Frigg and Hod?
• Hel said Baldur could leave only if everything wept for him. Was that a fair test?

Related stories

• Odin’s Quest for Wisdom — Odin gives up something precious to learn the future
• The Theft of Thor’s Hammer (Thrymskvida) — a much funnier day in Asgard, with Loki on the gods’ side
• Freya’s Necklace: The Brisingamen — another goddess who weeps for someone she has lost