The Knot in the Thread – Loki’s Side of the Baldur Myth Retold

My name is Loki, and before you roll your eyes or call me a liar, let me get one thing straight—I don’t care what you think of me. Yes, I’ve been called a trickster, a deceiver, a thief, a shapeshifter. Some even dare call me a murderer, but that last accusation? That one is not true.

They say I killed Baldur, the golden son of Asgard, the beloved child of Odin and Frigga. But I swear on my slippery honor—I had nothing to do with his death. Nothing… at least not in the way they accuse me.

The Golden Boy of Asgard

Baldur. The shining one. If Asgard had a sun, it wasn’t in the sky—it was in Baldur’s smile. Everyone adored him, though I never understood why. Sure, he was beautiful, more radiant than any goddess, with hair like spun gold and a voice like a harp string in the breeze. But beauty isn’t everything. He wasn’t as strong as Thor, as cunning as Freya, or as clever as me—Loki, the god of wit and mischief.

But none of that mattered. Baldur was loved, and his mother Frigga loved him most of all. When she began having dreams—dark, terrible dreams of Baldur’s death—she was consumed by dread. She roamed the halls of Valhalla, sleepless and pacing, searching for any way to prevent the nightmare from becoming truth.

The Joke That Became a Curse

One day, watching her fret, I—perhaps foolishly—tried to lighten her burden. I said:

“Why don’t you just ask everything in the Nine Realms to promise never to hurt him? If everything loves Baldur so much, make them vow it!”

It was meant as sarcasm, a tease! But Frigga took my words seriously. She embarked on a grand quest, travelling across realms, seeking vows from everything that could harm—from iron to flame, from wolves to eagles, from rivers to stones. Every animal, every plant, every element swore they’d never harm her precious son.

Well… every plant except one.

Some say that an old woman whispered to Frigga that she needn’t bother with the mistletoe. Some say that woman was me in disguise. But that is a lie. A convenient story, crafted to fit the villain they wanted me to be. As if Asgard didn’t have enemies, other tricksters, other shapeshifters. But I—Loki—was the easy scapegoat.

So yes, when I later encouraged the blind god Hod to join in the games of the gods—games where they threw weapons at the invulnerable Baldur, watching them bounce harmlessly away—I had no idea that the spear Hod carried had a shard of mistletoe on its tip.

I didn’t know the spear would pierce Baldur’s heart.

I didn’t know that the joke would end in death.

But did that stop them from blaming me? Of course not.

The Hunt Begins

That night, the halls of Asgard burned not with fire, but with fury. I was chased, hunted, declared the ultimate betrayer. I fled Asgard, racing through realms, until I found refuge in a lonely hut beside a crashing waterfall, where mist cloaked me and water sang loudly enough to drown my fears. I thought I could be safe there.

But gods do not forget. The Aesir don’t care for explanations, for investigations, for truths that might be complicated. They want someone to blame, and in their eyes, I was guilty.

Now, I hear them. Their footsteps are near. Their voices echo in the spray of the waterfall. They have nearly found me.

But I am Loki, after all. More cunning than any net, slipperier than the fattest fish. They will not catch me—not today.

And if the thread of fate has a knot, it is not of my tying. But who will believe the trickster? Perhaps no one. But still—I wanted to set the record straight.

Moral of the Story

Every tale has more than one side, and those with sharp tongues are often blamed for crimes they never committed. Be wary of judging too quickly, for even tricksters can sometimes tell the truth.