Tom Hiddleston Imagines

Stranger Realms.(LOKI)

"This is becoming too much Y/N! You need to settle down," your parents berated at you for what seemed like the hundredth time that month.

"Can't you see I'm trying?" you yelled back in desperation.

Of all the Silvan elves in Mirkwood you were the black sheep of your kind. Yes you looked the part wonderfully, but you were not of grace and regality as the others were. Everyone knew you were painfully different, oh how you hated that word.

You excelled in your academic studies, but was sadly awkward in combat training. Your father and mother had dreamed of you becoming a renowned soldier just as they had been but were sorely disappointed at what you turned out to be.

You were not of royal blood, but your parents were head of King Thraundil's great elven army. Your whole life your parents always told you of the potential you had, but you never seemed to be able to tap into that "potential".

You grew weary of their constant nagging and the reprimands of the headmaster who would scold you for daydreaming of adventures and other realms. The other students would giggle at your dreamy disposition, you were left without a friend in the world.

"We do not have the time to argue about this Y/N, but we strongly suggest you think about your future while we are gone," your father said as he put his ceremonial cuffs on his wrists.

"We've told you this a thousand times Y/N but if you cannot fight, you must marry and no respectable elf wants to marry a young lady with no talents beside daydreaming," your mother said in a gentle voice, it was a wonder how those words did not leave a sour taste in her mouth.

"I don't want to marry a respectable elf, I don't want to be a respectable elf, and I do have talent mother," you said venomously after they had walked out of the door. They were called for an emergency meeting with the king and would not be back for a while.

Flopping ungracefully onto your bed you stared at the ceiling, a single tear traced its way down your cheek. You longed for your parents or anyone for that matter to listen or understand you.

"Don't you wish you knew me?" you whispered aloud to your parents who had gone. Wiping away your feeling of melancholy you sat up and grabbed your secret and favorite book.

Running to the small, sunlit garden in your backyard you sat by the peaceful fish pond and opened your only treasure and ran your hands over the worn paper. One day, when you had skipped your lessons you had run to the edge of the forest under the all-seeing eye of the forest guards.

Into the meadow you ran, the feeling of freedom running its fingers of wind through your long silver locks. You approached a worn road and heard a cart approaching with the sound of whistling making its way toward you.

Scrambling up in a tree, you looked down to see who was coming. An old man with a grey beard who was smoking a pipe, was slowly making his way down the road. He looked kind, he also looked like he wasn't going anywhere in particular which was strange to you, elves always had a purpose to whatever they did.

"Are you a spy?" asked the man in a grumbling voice.

"No," you had answered indignantly, you immediately clamped a hand over your mouth cursing yourself for answering aloud. Your rashness would surely be the end of you one day.

"Well then climb down from that tree and tell me who you really are."

Swinging down with a jump you landed right next to the old man.

"What do they call you little one?"

"Y/N daughter of Aithlin and Daeondra."

"Well, Y/N daughter of Aithlin and Daeondra, what are you doing so far from the wood?" asked the man kindly.