Work Text:
Usually when Tom dreamed of ice and snow, he did not feel the cold. He walked through frozen landscapes and gazed upon alien architecture with dispassionate eyes, feeling removed from himself and from the world around him. In such dreams, he would trudge through the wastes alone, feeling the harsh bite of the winter wind as if it were the gentle caress of a spring breeze. He would reach out to touch the snow with his bare hands, brushing it away from broken pillars and shattered monuments, statues and ornaments which littered the ground like tokens of better years. He would search for meaning, or perhaps for memories, but all he ever found were signs of decay.
If he looked down at himself during these dreams, he found himself clad in green cloth and black leather, embellished with golden studs. That was when he knew that he was not Tom anymore; these were not his clothes, this was not his world, and this was not his dream. At that point he usually woke up. But sometimes he just smiled. Sometimes he laughed and embraced a madness that was also not his own. Sometimes he reveled in being not Tom, not himself, but rather a dark creature out of legend.
This was not one of those dreams.
Tom shuddered as the wind whipped across the open field in which he found himself. He stood knee-deep in snow, and more was falling from the sky, settling on his upturned face. It was night, and stars shone so brightly above him. They were familiar stars, although oddly placed in the sky. This was not the alien world of his dreams. This was earth, although it certainly wasn't England. This was… cold.
Tom looked down at himself, and immediately realized why he was so bitterly, dangerously chilled. He was dressed in jeans, a button-down shirt, and a leather jacket suitable for autumn weather in London. But he was clearly not in London, and this wasn't autumn. And he also wasn't an Aesir prince of Jotun parentage. He was just Tom, who could suffer from hypothermia like any other human.
"Damn," he said through chattering teeth. The wind carried away the single syllable as soon as it left his lips.
He looked around, but he could see little in the darkness. There were no cheerful lights from any nearby houses to show him the way to safety. All he saw was a line of trees at the edge of the field. He began to make his laborious way towards the woods, thinking that the trees would at least provide some shelter from the cruel wind.
He entered the woods and went still deeper, leaving the deepest snowdrifts behind. The clustering evergreen boughs kept some of the snow from reaching the forest floor, but the snow was still clinging to his clothing and soaking through his shoes. His toes already felt numb. He pressed forward, searching the darkness for anything that could serve as a temporary shelter.
And then he spotted a flickering green light through a break in the trees. Tom drew in a sharp breath at the sight, which looked so much like a beacon of hope, and he moved forward with renewed energy. After trudging another hundred meters or so, he finally emerged from the dense forest into a large clearing. At the center of the clearing was a tall pillar of green fire, the most magnificent bonfire Tom had ever seen. And standing before the bonfire, on the ring of earth where the intense heat had melted the snow, was a tall creature whom Tom knew almost as well as he knew himself. The god of mischief stood between ice and fire and he smiled at Tom. As if in welcome. As if he had been waiting for him.
Loki's dark hair fell in loose waves over his shoulders, a bit windblown but no less beautiful for that. There was a string of crude beads around his neck. The beads looked like they were made of bone, possibly teeth. Other than that, all he wore was a pair of soft-looking pale suede leggings. He looked primal and savage, and he was the most glorious thing Tom had ever seen.
"I know who you are," Tom said inanely.
"Impressive," came the soft, amused voice, so like Tom's own and yet so fundamentally different. "I was going to offer you three guesses."
Tom flushed, then shivered violently.
"Come to the fire," Loki said, beckoning with one hand. "I built it for you."
Tom wasn't about to argue. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore, and he figured that was a bad thing. But as he drew closer to Loki, his steps slowed. He felt the need to display some form of reverence. He was in the presence of a god, after all. At last he reached Loki's side, and he let out a shuddering sigh of relief as he felt the heat of the bonfire lick over his skin.
"Better?" Loki murmured, looking amused.
"Until the pins and needles start, yes," Tom said.
Loki laughed softly. "Those pins and needles are signs of health. Pain is evidence of life."
Tom grimaced slightly. "I'm not used to being cold in my dreams. Usually when I dream about ice, I'm you."
Loki gave another low chuckle.
"This isn't Jotunheim," Tom pointed out.
"No," Loki said. His amusement died, and his expression turned pensive. He turned towards the green flames, and the lights played over his face and reflected in his emerald eyes. Tom watched his face in fascination. They looked so much alike, and yet nothing alike at the same time. Loki appeared simultaneously older and younger than Tom. He looked… not human. Not at all human.
"You have seen Jotunheim through my eyes before, I know," Loki said. "An uninvited guest in my body, as I have been in yours. But I would not take you there, like this. Your body could not withstand the conditions there, and you would have awakened long before we had the opportunity to talk. Instead, I brought you here. This land was once sacred to me. Your kind worshiped me here."
"Norway," Tom whispered. "Are we in Norway?"
"Just so," Loki said with a nod.
"You said I was an uninvited guest in your body, as you were in mine. What does that mean?" Tom asked, trying to distract himself from the fiery ache in his fingers and toes as they came back to life.
"Have you ever wondered why you find it so easy to play me?" Loki asked in a voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "I know you work hard at your trade. I know that every word you speak, every expression you give, every gesture you make is calculated. It takes concentration and skill. But when you are me, you are… me. It is not acting, is it? It is being."
"I've noticed," Tom said, frowning into the fire. "But I didn't question it."
"Of course you didn't," Loki said. "Because it felt right. We are connected, you and I. I don't understand it yet. I am still exploring our connection. But I feel it. It is there."
Tom looked over at the god, his frown deepening. "That doesn't… bother you? Being connected somehow to a mortal?"
"My mortal," Loki whispered, and a slow smile spread over his face. He turned to meet Tom's eyes, and his own were brimming with mischief. "Does it bother you?"
Tom considered that question for a moment. If he chose to believe that anything about this dream was real, then he should probably be more than bothered. He should be terrified. He was talking to an ancient god, the embodiment of mischief and chaos. Not only that, but he was connected to that god in some mysterious way. Tom had the sudden impression that, however chaotic his life had become as a result of his rise to fame, it was about to become much, much more complicated. And yet… and yet…
"No," he said simply. "It doesn't bother me."
Loki's grin widened, until he looked thoroughly mad. "Correct answer, mortal. You and I, we will change the nine realms together."
"For the better, I hope," Tom said.
"That is yet to be seen, isn't it?" Loki whispered. "Though I suspect you are right. Fate linked our souls for a reason." His smile dimmed and changed. He laughed softly, almost self-deprecatingly, and held out his hand to Tom. "Come, my mortal. It is time for you to awaken. You have a busy day ahead of you. You must be me again for a time. You must show your world that I am not all bad. Then, when your film is complete, I will have new tasks for you."
Tom put his hand into Loki's, marveling at the strength he felt in those long, clever fingers. "Will I see you again soon?" he asked.
Loki chuckled softly. "I am always there. You can see me whenever like. Just open your eyes, Thomas. Open your eyes. Open your eyes."
Tom opened his eyes.
He awoke in an unfamiliar bed and in a room that was definitely not his own. For a few moments he was thoroughly bewildered, but then he remembered. He was in Iceland. He was here to film Thor: The Dark World. He was here to show the world a new side of Loki.
Tom smiled. Then he laughed and covered his face with both his hands as he lay back in the comfortable bed. In a few minutes he would have to get up and face the day. The wind whistled outside, and when he let his hands fall and turned toward the window, he could see a few fat snowflakes floating picturesquely past the glass.
"Perfect," he sighed. First he dreamed of ice and snow, and then when he was finally feeling warm again, he had to venture out into the cold once more. "Loki," he said absently, "I could use a bit of your blood in my veins today."
It is done, whispered a silky voice in his ears.
And when Tom stepped outside half an hour later, he barely felt the wind on his face. It was a soft kiss of air against his skin, like a breath of spring, and the snow felt like warm drops of summer rain.