Baldr’s Dream (Story form)
The gods of Asgard gathered in fear, for Baldr, the most beloved among them, had begun to dream strange and terrible dreams. Night after night he saw visions of his own death - shadows of fire, blood, and weeping. No one could explain them, but all felt the dread they carried. Baldr was the shining one, fair and gentle, the light of the gods. His laughter brightened the halls of Asgard, and his kindness brought peace to gods and men alike. To think of him dying was unthinkable. Yet his dreams spoke of darkness, and the gods, troubled, held council to seek their meaning.
Odin, the All-Father, sat in silence as the others spoke. He knew that dreams were not mere fancies - they were the language of fate. And so, burdened by worry and the need for truth, Odin made his choice. He would ride to the realm of the dead to learn what destiny had already written. He went alone. Odin saddled Sleipnir, his mighty eight legged horse, and rode down through cold mist and shadow, across rivers and dark valleys, far from the warmth of Asgard. As he came to the borders of Hel, he met a monstrous hound whose chest was wet with blood. The beast howled at him from afar, warning and greeting all at once. Still, Odin rode on, the earth echoing beneath Sleipnir’s hooves, until he reached the great hall of Hel herself.
Before him stood an ancient grave, the resting place of a völva - a seeress of great wisdom who had long since passed into silence. There, in the shadow of the underworld’s eastern gate, Odin spoke his spells and carved his runes, calling the dead to rise. The earth trembled. From the grave came a whisper, then a voice. The völva awoke, bound by Odin’s magic. “Who has disturbed my rest?” she said. “I have been covered with snow, beaten by rain, and drenched with dew. Long have I lain in the dark. Who calls me back to this world?” “I am Vegtam,” Odin replied, giving a false name. “The son of Valtam. I come seeking knowledge of the underworld. Tell me - for whom is the hall prepared, the benches bright with rings, the platforms decked with gold?” The völva’s voice grew heavy. “The mead is brewed for Baldr,” she said. “The shining drink waits for him, and a shield lies over it. Hope has already left the hearts of the gods. I have spoken unwillingly, and now I would be silent again.”
But Odin would not stop. “Wise woman,” he said, “do not cease speaking. Tell me all that I ask. Who will be Baldr’s doom? Who will bring death to Odin’s son?” “Blind Höðr will carry the fatal branch,” she replied. “He will be the one to strike Baldr down and steal his life. I have spoken unwillingly, and now I would be still.” Again Odin pressed her. “Tell me this - who will avenge Baldr’s death? Who will cast his slayer into the flames?” The völva sighed. “Rind shall bear Vali in the western halls. When he is only one night old, he will fight for Baldr. He will not wash his hands nor comb his hair until he has avenged his brother and burned the killer. I have spoken unwillingly, and now I would rest.”
Still Odin did not turn away. “Tell me, wise woman, what maidens will weep when this comes to pass? Who will lift their sails to the sky in mourning?” Then the völva grew silent for a long while. When she spoke again, her tone had changed. “You are not Vegtam,” she said. “You are Odin - the old master of magic. Why do you seek what you already know?” Odin replied, “You are no true seeress. You are the mother of three giants.”
And the völva’s voice rose one last time, cold and final. “Ride home, Odin, and be proud while you can. For no man shall wake me again - not until Loki breaks free from his chains, and the world ends in fire and ruin.” With that, she sank back into the earth, and silence returned to the hall of the dead.
Odin turned Sleipnir and rode home toward Asgard, the echo of her words heavy in his mind. He had learned what he sought (the truth of Baldr’s doom) but it brought him no peace. The light of the gods would soon fade, and in its place, the long shadow of Ragnarök would begin to grow. And above the nine worlds, the winds whispered of sorrow yet to come.