A/N: My first little mini-fic, don't expect too much out of it. Be as harsh or as nice as you like, any kinds of reviews are appreciated. This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, I don't normally write fics. Anyway, enjoy (hopefully)?
Thor knew his way around the village like the back of his hand. It was small and quiet, not at all suited for the insatiable curiosity, seemingly endless energy, and lust for adventure he had been known to possess as a child, but he was a young man now, and the village had transformed from a mundane settlement to a prison for him.
It was the same every day. The butcher was next to the baker, and across the square was the blacksmith. In the center of the square, farmers and craftsmen would peddle their goods, trying to shout over each other, claiming they had the best prices. His friends lived in a cluster of cottages behind the main square, where a girl would always be selling flowers from a basket - one coin for a daisy, two for a red rose. Everything was the same, every single day, and it was maddening.
But a ways down the cobblestone path that snaked through the village was a small tent of emerald and golden cloth, unlike anything else in the village.
Thor had been told never to go near the tent. His father warned him of gypsies - filthy, lewd, pagan witches that worshipped demons. They were liesmiths and tricksters, not to be trusted. It was the rumor that in other parts, if one could capture a gypsy and turn them in, they'd receive a handsome reward from the lord of the lands, but the gypsy tent in Thor's village had been there for as long as he remembered, undisturbed. Perhaps the villagers feared what was not known to them, or perhaps the conjurer who lived there would turn them all to toads if they dared act against him.
Sif, a girl from the village who Thor had known since they were children, claimed to have visited the gypsy conjurer before. She said that she was given a satchel of foreign, spicy-smelling herbs to put under her pillow as she slept, and the next day, her hair had grown two feet in length.
Thor wasn't sure if he believed that such magic was real, but he was willing to believe anything. Anything at all to make his mundane life more exciting, even if only by a little bit.
Going to see the gypsy himself was his own idea, which he had formulated in his mind one night before he had fallen asleep. Going against his father's will was, by itself, already an exciting adventure.
As Thor walked down that cobblestone path towards the gypsy's tent, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Not at the notion that the gypsy would be that dark, evil, devil-worshipping witch his father described, but the notion that his magic would be nothing more than a gimmick, and Thor would have to resign himself to the fact that the village really was as mundane and boring as he thought it to be.
He felt a tingle of anticipation leap down his spine as he approached the tent. He'd never been this close to it before, and part of his mind told him to go home and save himself a lecture from his father, but the rest of his mind was drawn to the prospect of magic and something supernatural. The idea seemed seductive enough to him, and without a second thought, he drew open the velvet curtains that made the tent's entrance.
The inside of the tent was lit with candles, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows against green and gold silk, like some sort of ancient, primal dance. Strange trinkets dangled downwards - stars and moons carved from silver, exotic fruits he'd never seen before, satchels of pungent spices, feathers every shade of the rainbow, strings of softly tinkling bells. A large mahogany wood shelf held jars full of curiosities - strange plants, brightly colored potions, what might have been a shrivelled piglet's head bobbing in green fluid. Another shelf bore what must have been hundreds of books, full of ancient spells. Some of the tomes were thicker than Thor's forearm, some were as thin as his pinkie finger. He could not make out their titles, for they were etched into the spines of the books in some kind of unrecognizable text.
"You have come for my help?"
Startled, Thor jerked backwards, knocking into a dangling bundle of garlic cloves. He grabbed it, trying to steady its swaying before turning to the source of the voice.
A young man who looked to be around his age - perhaps even a little bit younger - sat in a wooden chair, watching Thor with some kind of mischevious amusement in his eyes. He was dressed in garments the same color as those eyes - a brilliant emerald green. He had hair that fell down the nape of his neck, just above his shoulders, that reminded Thor of a raven's wings, high cheekbones, and unnaturally pale skin. Thor did not know why he hadn't noticed him earlier.
"Well?" the gypsy said, an eyebrow arched, and an ambiguous, almost feline smile upon his lips, "What can I do for you, Thor, son of Odin?"
"H-How do you know my name?" Thor spluttered.
The gypsy's smile was now a sly, artful smirk. "I know many things, son of Odin. I know which flowers can stop a grown man's heart with but one drop of its poisonous nectar, and where to find them. I know how to prepare a potion that would make even the most cold-hearted of all people fall in love with whoever I wanted. I know spells and incantations that could bring one good fortune for years, curses and hexes that could bring one bad luck for even longer. I can change myself into any form I fancy - a serpent, a raven, a tree, a blade of grass, a tiny insect, or perhaps even a woman - anything you can imagine. I can capture your thoughts in a jar, steal your senses, ensnare your very soul and pluck it right out of your body."
"Who are you?" Thor demanded, unintimidated.
The gypsy's smile did not fade. "My name is Loki."
Thor stared at Loki dumbly for a few moments. Both were silent, until Loki finally spoke again.
"You must have come to me for a reason," he said evenly, "Tell me, Thor, son of Odin, what you seek from me, before I lose my patience and turn you into a worm. Your mother and father will never know what happened to you."
"You would do that?" Thor asked, considering bolting for the exit.
"I could," Loki replied, "But there's no need to fear me, I only jest." He laughed, mischief in his eyes. "Do not worry, Thor. Your father is a respected man. I would not dare to hurt his son, lest a witch-hunt begin. Come now, ask anything of me. Don't be shy."
Thor shifted, unsure of what to ask. He hadn't really thought of a favor to ask the gypsy before coming, his plan had more or less been merely to see if he really did possess magic powers, as the rumors said. He had come, in the hopes that there was something, anything, in the village that was not so terribly ordinary.
"Perhaps you love a fair maiden?" Loki suggested casually, stretching his legs, "I can prepare a potion that will make her love you back, even more fiercely. Or perhaps you want to become a great warrior? I have an herb that will make you stronger than any man in the village. Or perhaps you have an enemy?" He chuckled darkly, gesturing to a small cloth doll that lay face-down on the table, stuck full of pins.
It was then that Thor noticed a small stack of red cards resting on the table next to the doll. "What are those?" he asked curiously, "What do they do?"
"They tell stories."
"About what?"
"You. Me. Anyone. Our pasts, our presents, our futures."
"So you can tell me my future?"
"If you'd like me to."
Thor considered this for a moment. In all honesty, Loki could make up anything he wanted and claim it was Thor's future, and Thor wouldn't know any better. After all, gypsies were rumored to be skilled liars.
"Well, first prove that your magic is real," Thor demanded in a moment of stupid brashness.
"You do realize that I am a sorcerer and not a circus magician, yes?"
"Well...I don't know."
"Very well, I will show you a simple spell."
Loki held his palm out towards Thor to show him that there was nothing there, before closing it. He muttered something in some kind of foreign, ancient tongue before opening his hand. A large, ugly brown spider sat where nothing had been moments before. Loki placed the spider on the table, where it instantly began scurrying for freedom. With another incantation, the spider froze in its steps, immobile. Thor watched in fascination as Loki turned to the shelf behind him, picking up a small satchel and taking a pinch of glowing red powder from it. He threw the powder upon the spider, and there was a small explosion of crimson smoke. The spider was gone, and in its place was a beautiful butterfly, which flitted away on its golden wings.
"Satisfied?" Loki asked, a look of amusement on his face as he looked back at Thor.
"It could have been an illusion," Thor answered stubbornly.
Loki laughed. "You are too doubtful, son of Odin." Thor opened his mouth to protest, but Loki snapped his fingers, and Thor's lips flew shut. He tried to open his mouth, but his lips seemed to be sealed together with cement, and he clawed at his mouth in panic.
"It's not permanent," the gypsy told him calmly, "But let's not have any more doubtful words, yes?"
Thor nodded.
"Do you believe my magic is real now?"
He nodded again.
"Good." Loki snapped his fingers again, and Thor was relieved to find that he could open his mouth again.
"So would you like me to tell you about your future, then?"
Thor hesitated. Why not? Whether or not Loki's magic was the real deal, it wouldn't hurt, would it? "Alright," he finally said, "Please."
"Of course it will cost you something."
"I...I'm sorry. I don't have any money."
"I was jesting. I don't want your money. Come now, have a seat." The gypsy gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the table, and Thor sat down slowly. He watched as Loki picked up the cards, shuffling them, hands moving with unnatural speed. Finally, he set the cards back down on the table.
"Give me your hand," Loki said, and hesitantly, Thor held his hand out. Loki clasped Thor's hand with both of his own, and Thor noted that Loki's hands were much smaller and paler than his own, and they felt as cold as ice to the touch. He shuddered at the sensation. Loki closed his eyes. It was silent in the tent, save for the soft tinkling of the bells upon a slight breeze that had made its way inside. Thor studied Loki's face. He seemed to be in deep concentration, all the muscles in his face completely still. What must have been a full five minutes passed by quietly. Finally, Loki stirred. His dark lashes fluttered, and then his electrifying emerald eyes met Thor's for a brief moment, and Thor could have sworn that his heart had stopped beating in that instant.
"You are afraid," Loki said softly, "You fear a cage. You fear that you will remain in this village until you are dead, until your bones become dust. You fear that you will never see the world."
The gypsy let go of Thor's hands, before taking a card from the top of the stack. He turned it over and placed it facing upwards on the table. There was an image of a raven, wings spread against an open sky.
"But don't be afraid, Thor," he continued, "You are meant to do great things. You will not be trapped forever, your spirit is much too strong for that. Your time of glory will come, if you are patient."
"When?" Thor asked faintly, "When will it come, Loki?"
"Only you know that," Loki replied with a wry smile.
"What else do you know of my future?"
Loki's mischievous smile grew. "I can see that this will not be our last meeting. You will see me again, Thor, son of Odin."
Thor wasn't sure why, but he found himself smiling broadly at the gyspy's words. He was still smiling even as he was making his way back up the cobblestone path and back towards the village. Every fibre of his body anticipated the glorious future Loki had forseen. It was only a matter of time, but he was a patient young man, and he was willing to wait. But he also trembled with excitement at the prospect of seeing Loki again. Something told him that their story had something even more magical in store that both of them were yet to discover.
Suddenly, everything did not seem so ordinary anymore.