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She mourns.
She does not throw herself on the funeral pyre, though she can only turn her head when Nanna is placed there beside her husband, and her fingers tighten into fists as the seconds tick by and still no Hermod, no Baldr. She can only hope, heart breaking with each beat.
--
"I'll race you," Baldr calls, laughing and pleading as Hermod shakes his head, laughingly refusing.
"You will only be embarassed, I fear," Hermod replies, the smile on his face belying his words. Frigg watches them, watches Baldr tease and smile until Hermod gives in reluctantly. Baldr is all gangly limbs, slightly awkward in this body he hasn't quite had the chance to grow into. His golden hair shines in the sun and Frigg can see the white flash of his smile from where she sits.
"Mama, call go," Baldr yells from where they have set up the starting line. He's crouched into a runner's start, fidgety and impatient with all the energy that runs endlessly through him, and Frigg calls go for them, watching Hermod give Baldr a breath of a head start.
The outcome is still surprisingly close, Baldr reaching the old apple tree just bare seconds before Hermod. Baldr is smiling, laughing and prodding at Hermod. He says, "Oh, you let me win. One more time," and allows Hermod to ruffle his hair.
"You are a far better runner, young Baldr," Hermod says, and Frigg's heart swells over the two of them. Hermod, a few years older than his young step-brother, has always been willing to play with the boy, teach him to properly tie knots and how to talk to the gods.
Baldr pesters him into one more race and Hermod does not let him win this time, but neither does he embarrass Baldr, the result similar to their first race in closeness.
"There," Hermod says, hardly winded, while Baldr laughingly catches his breath.
--
The thing is quiet, all of the gods caught in a moment of stillness as shock surges through the open air. Frigg is the first to move, the first to reach Baldr, his body lying still in the circle of gods. She touches his shoulder, his golden skin still warm from life.
"No," she says, a whisper or a shout, she's not sure. It's the only word in her head, though, repeating over and over. Her son, with his clear blue eyes and his beautiful smile. Dead. The word resounds in her head, pushing her away the no no no until Frigg can think nothing else, see nothing else.
There are hands pulling at her, pulling her away, but Frigg barely feels them. She can only curl closer, clinging to Baldr's shoulders as if she can pull him back to life, breathe the life back into him.
Odin says, "Wife," and there is an edge in his voice that finally pierces the shroud around her. She allows the hands to pull her away, finally, but not without memorizing the slope of his nose, the curve of his empty smile.
--
She is kind and gracious with the foxglove, its pretty purple flowers opening on their promise, but stern with the masterwort as its blood-red petals bend and fold in the breeze. The beech tree stands tall and firm, unyielding in its complete acceptance. All of the plants in Midgard swear to her, vow that they will never harm Baldr.
All except for the small mistletoe, a tiny thing so young amongst the trees it surrounds itself with.
--
"Frigg." Hermod's voice is solemn, quiet. In his arms are Hel's offerings, a robe and a ring that Frigg wants to throw to the ground.
She rises from Hlidskjalf, hands steady as she says, "Baldr? Is he-"
Hermod shakes his head and Frigg only just manages not to collapse, her knees going weak at the thought of Baldr in Hel for the rest of eternity. He says her name again, curls a hand around her elbow.
His support is enough to get them to privacy before she does collapse, the tears choking her words back. She presses her hands to her face, the wetness on her cheeks. She remembers the birth of her son, the chub of his cheeks and the blue of his eyes. She remembers each of his triumphs and the birth of his own son.
Like a moving picture, the images scroll through her mind. After a moment Hermod's voice interrupts her remembering. He says, "All must weep. If all weep for him, Hel will release Baldr. He will be ours again."
--
"He will be wise," Frigg says, taking the sleeping baby into her arms. Nanna smiles, her face red and lined with both exhaustion and joy. Baldr is all solemn happiness beside her, his pride seeping into his posture, the small hint of a smile.
It has been a long night, each present has lines set into their faces, deep circles beneath their eyes, but it is worth it.
She passes the baby to Odin next, the movement causing the baby to wake, and Frigg sees the deep blue of his eyes just before he is tucked into the warmth of Odin's side. Odin says, a gruff, "He will be strong," before touching his cheek softly.
Baldr's smiles widens, turns into a real smile at his father's words. There are generations of family packed into the birthing room, and Frigg can feel their ties tightening, especially with the arrival of Baldr's step-siblings.
Hod is there, eyes unseeing, but smile genuine when Forsetti is passed into his arms. Hermod says, with his boisterous laugh, "He will be fast," and Baldr laughs too, patting his brother on the shoulder.
--
The thing is quiet when Frigg speaks, her voice calm as she says, "Who will have all of my love and favor? Who will ride to Hel and return to Asgard with its prince, Baldr?"
Her response is silence, deafening as the gods of the Æsir deliberate.
Hermod steps forward, fist raised in acceptance and face set in determination. He says, "I will go. I will find Baldr." Odin's son is strong and swift and Frigg presses her hand into his as he sits astride Sleipnir, ready to start his journey.
--
The old woman says, "Was there anything that did not take your oath?" and Frigg hears "I am a mother, I have watched my children grow." She hears, "I could not save mine."
"It was so young," she says and she's thinking of Hod, tiny and pink, his eyes unseeing as he cried into his fist. She's thinking of Baldr, gummy smile and already too large for life. There are so many memories wrapped up in her children, so much love she has that she could never imagine before them.
Frigg says, "The mistletoe was just so small, I did not think it could do any harm. Not to Baldr."
--
Thoekk is unrepentant, her mouth in a tight line. She says, "I will cry waterless tears," and Frigg's heart tightens in her chest.
She will mourn.