One was practically sunshine, and the other sparked fire. Humans worshipped one as warmth giver and avoided the other even though he had given them the pink blood in their cheeks. Feared him, because fire gives heat but also takes life - and the only wrong the sun can do is disappear.
Balder the Golden so often slept restfully that nightmares were something to be wondered at. And this one was terrible. He'd jerk up from his royal bed in a sweat, and the bloody dreamscape would stay with him all day, clawing the back of his mind.
And so he did what all those who received nightmares did - he went to his mother, Frigga.
"Mother," he said, "I'm having the worst dreams. Mother, I think they mean something.
"Every night, I dream my life is threatened, I dream I die."
Frigga feared for the life of her favourite, but the fear of the gods is not a paralytic. She rose and took what steps she could: she bound everything in creation - stones, water, sunshine through the leaves - to an oath of benevolence. The most harmless of things promised they would not raise themselves against Balder the beautiful.
Except mistletoe, silly kissing branch, worth nothing and hardly a danger.
One feast day, full of flags, Frigga was visited by a stranger (fire changes shapes). "What's going on out on the lawn?" Loki said, watching the courtiers on the grass of Asgard's court.
Frigga smiled affectionately, a smile she reserved for her best loved sunshine son. "They are amusing themselves with my good work - since nothing on earth can hurt my son, the partygoers are throwing weapons at him and watching them drop away before they reach him."
"Nothing can hurt him?"
"Nothing. Everything is enchanted to love him too dearly - everything except mistletoe - it is stubborn and little and not worth my time. How could that small vine do any harm?"
Green-cloaked and knowing very well that stubborn little things not worth ruler's time can have a sting, Loki left, crossed the lush grass lawns, and picked a sprig of mistletoe from beneath a tree. With glowing magic fingers he hardened an arrow from it, then went over to the gods sporting with Balder's life.
One stood apart - dark and blind - and Loki went to him. Balder's twin brother and opposite, Hodur could not see and thus could not join in the frivolities.
Picture of kindness, Loki put a bow in his hands, gave him an arrow, helped him point.
The arrow went through the favoured brother's throat. Flames on the funeral pyre, days later, ate the body.
Loki ran but the gods caught him, caught him on fast war-steeds, hell in their eyes and hands. Chained his hands above him, gave him a just-unjust reward of endless eternal searing poison. There was someone that understood something, maybe, maybe, that nobody else did, someone who held a chalice to catch the poison. But the punishment still stood.
And that is the story of Balder and Loki, the time fire was so jealous it put out the sun.