"For Balder, light of gods and men," replied the prophetess.
"And who shall dare to strike him down?" cried Odin.
"By the hand of his blind brother Hoder shall he fall. And now let me rest." And the prophetess sank again into her tomb, leaving Odin with a heart more heavy and chill than the darkness which closed round him.
Meanwhile Frigga had busied herself with a plan which her mother love had suggested. First to all the gods in Asgard, then through all the earth did she go, saying, "Promise me—swear to me—that you will never hurt Balder." Every bird, every beast, every creeping thing; all plants, stones and metals; all diseases and poisons known to gods and men; fire, water, earth, air—all things gladly took oath to do Balder no harm.
"For do not we," they cried to Frigga, "love him even as you do? And why then should we harm him?"
Gladly Frigga took her way toward home, feeling certain that she had saved Balder forever. As she was about to enter Odin's palace, Valhalla, she noticed on a branch of an oak that grew there, a tiny, weak-looking shrub. "That mistletoe is too young to promise, and too weak to do any harm," said Frigga; and she passed it by.
All the gods rejoiced with her when she told of her success; even Odin partially shook off his fears, as he told the younger gods and the heroes who dwelt with him in his palace to go and seek enjoyment after their period of gloom. To the great playground of the gods they hastened, and there they invented a new game. Balder, smiling as of old, took his stand in the midst, and all the others hurled at him weapons, stones and sticks, and even hit at him with their battle-axes. They grew very merry over this pastime, for do what they would, none of them could harm Balder; the missiles either fell short, or dropped to his feet harmless.
Loki, passing by, was at first amazed when he saw Balder being used as a target; then, when he saw that Balder remained unhurt through all, he became angry—he could not bear this proof of the fact that all things loved Balder. Hastening away, he disguised himself as an old woman and hobbled off to Fensalir, the mansion of Frigga.
"Do you know," said this old woman, entering the room where Frigga sat spinning, "that the gods and heroes are playing a very dangerous game? They are hurling all sorts of things at your son Balder, who stands in their midst."
"That is not a dangerous game," replied Frigga, smiling serenely. "Last year it might have been, but now all things have given me their solemn oath not to harm Balder."