Tom Hiddleston Imagines

Music(LOKI)

A/N: Please, go listen to SKÁLD. I discovered their album a few days ago and it’s breath-taking… and it inspired me, too. Listen to Rún and Enn Átti Loki Fleiri Börn while reading.

The sun had already disappeared behind the rich fjords of Norway, slowly drowning the world in darkness. The Asgardians had prepared a delicious and mouth-watering feast with salmon, oxen and many fruits and vegetables, to honour their fallen warriors and their king Thor, God of Thunder and Loki, God of Mischief. Several barrels of mead were served too, lifting the moods and merriment of all taking part in the joyful festivities.

There was laughter and dancing, kissing and fucking in the dimly lit corners of the vast patch of land the Aesir had settled down on. Now, to scare away the blackness of nature, they had lit torches along with a huge bonfire dominating the location, the warm light throwing eerie shadows on the faces of the Asgardians and the yellowish material of their housings, make-shift tents.

You were leaning against Loki’s chest, warm and comfortable between his legs, covered with a white fur blanket. It was real fur—but the Asgardians had sworn to you they had only used the skin of the animals they had slaughtered for nutrition—and it was keeping you cosy.

You had all spread on the ground, keeping the cold from creeping up through the earth with handmade wool blankets. You sighed, shifting slightly in Loki’s arms which he had wrapped tightly around you to keep you from freezing even though the dress you were wearing—a velvet green fabric complimenting each of your curves—worked like another layer of thick fur around your body.

They had carried instruments to the fireplace now. Handmade drums, guitars and rattles. Soon, mystifying and sleep-inducing music was echoing through the fresh air around you, silencing all of the Asgardians one by one until it was quiet and they were all listening to the sinister looking musicians. Like Vikings, with dark paint in their faces, long beards and jewellery made of bones and roots, they quickly captured the fascinated audience around them, guarded by the countless sparkling stars above the small village.

“The musicians are called skalds. Odin once gave them the task to tell the myths and stories of the gods and pass them on to their children so that their faith in us would never die.” Loki explained quietly, pressing you even closer to his body.

“According to legend, those poets and musicians have drunk from the mead of poetry, made of Kvasir’s blood?” You responded, watching the Asgardians before you with utter interest. You had learned so much about the myths already and still, you were yet to learn so much more. Loki nodded proudly.

“In a kettle called Odrerir, made by the cunning dwarves Fjalar and Galar...”

After a few moments of patience, a woman with pitch black long hair began to sing in a foreign language—Old Norse—a language you did not understand but felt connected to. Your room was by now filled with books about Norse Mythology, the Viking invasions and stories of the nine realms and Yggdrasil. And as Loki’s future wife, you felt it was your duty to familiarise yourself with his customs, his holidays, the rituals and religion he had grown up with. You were downright fascinated by his world you had before only known through documentaries and TV shows up until you had fallen in love with the God of Mischief and given up your life to live in Norway with him.

“Right now, she is singing about my legacy, my so-called children. Fenris, the wolf, Hel, goddess of death and Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent…” Loki whispered in your ear, his warm breath brushing against your temple.

“They are not really your children, are they?” Sleepily, you reached for his hand and began to play with his long fingers, caressing every inch of his skin.

He smirked gently, a brief chuckle sending vibrations through his chest. “Not in the way the stories were told by the brave warriors who fought in the lands of ice and snow, my sweet.” He replied mysteriously, tenderly stroking you hair in the process.

You fell asleep to the sound of the Norse music, lulling you to slumber and dreamt of ruthless Viking warriors invading your home, of a mischievous god abducting you into his world. Safe in Loki’s arms.