Being the second prince of Asgard meant that one didn’t have much time for oneself, but today, Loki found he had some time on his hands. Unfortunately, his beloved Anthony, whom he had started courting recently, was busy in his forge and couldn’t join him. So, after kissing his friend goodbye for the day after a very long and satisfying night they’d spent together exchanging thoughts and caresses, the prince decided to pay a visit to the market.
The Great Market of Glaðsheim was considered one of the wonders of Asgard and was, at least in the early morning hours, the heart of the realm’s capital.
It certainly was one of Loki’s favourite places.
He loved the vibrant life around him and enjoyed the noise the people made, from shouted warnings to get out of the way to passionate haggling about almost anything that was on display. The market people all knew him from his previous visits, of course, but to most visitors, he was just another face in the crowd. Then and now, a passer-by would recognize him and either stare in surprise, glance suspiciously or pretend to ignore him altogether. Loki didn’t mind; he had been aware for a long time that he was the least popular member of the royal family. He could shape-shift to change his appearance and avoid any disagreeable encounters whenever he wanted to, but then, why would he? He was a prince after all, no matter what his people thought of him. And the regulars at the market trusted and respected him and were always ready to share their gossip.
This was another attraction of the place; it was always brimming with news and rumours from all over Asgard and beyond. It was the place to come to if one wanted to learn about the spending habits of the nobility and who was just ruining themselves and, even more interestingly, which neighbouring ruler suddenly started importing large amounts of metals and supplies. More than once, Loki had thus been able to find out an aspiring warmonger in time and nip their misplaced ambitions in the bud.
Not that anybody at the palace thanked him for that. His older brother Thor, the crown prince, had even yelled at him and called him an attention seeker after learning that a battle had been avoided by Loki politely threatening the wannabe usurper back in line.
Loki rolled his eyes as he recalled the unpleasant incident; he felt that Thor, the mightiest and most admired warrior of Asgard, had already bagged more than his rightful share of glory while he, Loki, and his carefully honed diplomatically skills that had earned him the byname ‘Silvertongue’ were ignored.
The delicious smell of freshly baked pastries lured Loki towards a familiar stall where the baker greeted him with a smile and a piece of his favourite treat. Then the man leaned over and informed him which of his adversaries at court hadn’t settled their bills recently. Loki thanked him and paid in hack-silver instead of copper.
The news, which he would put to good use one day, put the prince into a much happier mood immediately. This is so much better than being walled up behind palace doors, he thought while munching on the sweet warm cinnamon knot. If only I could share this with Anthony.
But unfortunately, this was unlikely to happen in the near future. Anthony was a famous, talented weapon smith whose work was much sought after and who valued both his career and his financial independence. This put him into a sharp (and welcomed) contrast with some sycophants Loki knew at court who flattered his brother for their personal gain only. After a few, hurtful encounters when he was very young, Loki had always managed to avoid this set of people and, even if it meant they had less time to spend together, the memory made the prince love Anthony even more for his independent spirit.
While discretely removing a sugary crumb from his lips with his handkerchief, Loki walked by a huge advertisement sign that pointed out the merits of a coal merchant from a street nearby. Then he spotted a stall with a fine display of tastefully crafted trinkets for all occasions while another one boosted a collection of rare stones with interesting magical properties from the mines of Niðavellir. As an experienced magic user and sorcerer himself, Loki knew after only a short glance that he would find many useful treasures here and made a mental note to return as soon as possible. Perhaps I’ll be able to have Anthony at my side that time, he thought. I’m sure he’d enjoy the market as much as I do. I would so love to show him around and- oh!
A sudden idea crossed Loki’s mind and he whispered to himself, ‘Well then, if I can’t bring Anthony to the market, I’ll have to bring the market to Anthony. The only question is, where do I start?’
Now that he was looking for a gift for his beloved friend, it was much harder to make a decision than Loki would have thought. He tried to see the goods available through Anthony’s eyes and wondered what would make a pleasant surprise. There were so many beautiful and delicious things for sale and naturally, Loki wanted only the best for Anthony. So he meandered aimlessly around the market for an hour or two, having a cup of tea here or asking for information there.
In the end, Loki settled for a selection of flowers.
The lady he bought them from was a learned sage in flower lore and eager to share her knowledge. After being told to whom the gift would go to, she pointed out flowers that stood for health, love, and happiness to Loki, and arranged them into a meaningful, elegant bouquet.
‘This one comes straight from the heart, I’d say,’ she remarked. ‘Your friend is lucky to have found you.’
‘I feel I’m the lucky one,’ Loki confessed and thanked her for her work.
On his way home, the prince stopped at the booth of a small, renowned paper mill and purchased a suitable card with gilded edges, already wondering what greetings he would send Anthony.
It mustn’t be long, he mused. One single, carefully worded sentence should be enough to convey my feelings. But his byname, Silvertongue, had been bestowed on Loki for good reasons: he had a way with words, and when he entered the chambers he shared with Thor in the palace, he already knew the perfect message.
In the drawing room, Loki almost tripped over his brother who knelt on the floor with his bum in the air and his head stuck under a couch.
‘Can’t you be careful?’ he hissed, feeling rightfully annoyed, and disappeared into his study without waiting for Thor’s answer.
When his brother's loud, passionately expressed complaints finally reached his ear, Loki opened the balcony door. How peculiar, Loki thought, irritated by Thor's behaviour.
He quickly glanced in the direction of Anthony’s smithy and hailed a carrier raven who was just flying by before returning inside. Once seated at his desk, Loki selected his best quill and his brightest green ink. Then, in his elegant scrawl and with an excited bird perched on his shoulder, he wrote, May your day be as blessed as any day I find myself in your presence, and eyed his handiwork with a deep sense of satisfaction.
But peace wasn't meant to be Loki's lot, not even on a day like this.
Soon enough Thor, who had somehow managed to unstuck himself, started to hammer on the study's magically sealed door, demanding to be let inside. With a sigh, Loki sent his raven on his way, closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. With today's most important work already accomplished, he felt nothing could shock him now. So Loki unlocked his door with a snap, watched the green sparks of his magic run along his fingers and patiently waited for his brother's latest tale of woe to unfold.