Hey people! So, I was watching Thor the other day, and then I couldn't sleep. So, as I lay awake listening to the rain, I had the idea for this fanfic. All I ask, is that, as you read, you attempt to NOT picture young Loki from the film. So NOT the character I was trying to create.

I don't own anything. All rights to Marvel.

~ Storm Fear ~

When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lowest chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
'Come out! Come out!'-
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,-
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether 'tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.

Robert Frost, 1913

-O-

The darkness was so very heavy. With each passing second, it seemed to grow more and more solid. Almost, as though one could reach out a hand and grasp it in one's fingers. Even the purest moonlight, shining through the polished window, could not penetrate its bulk.

But that is ridiculous. No one can catch the darkness. No more than you can catch water, or a beam of sunlight.

With a sigh, Loki rolled over in his bed. Tonight, the feather mattress felt hard beneath him, its stuffing uneven. Every way he turned, there appeared to be another lump he had not yet discovered. Outside, the sky hung, foul and ominous above the slumbering city. Thunder rolled in the distance, and Loki felt certain that the coming storm would not pass by as swiftly as the last.

And yet, he found himself wishing for rain. The young god was yet to find something as soothing as the patter of rain against the palace's roof. A lullaby from his mother, perhaps. As a younger child, he may have ventured forth from his chambers in search of her. However, Loki now knew better that to go wandering around the palace halls at night. Besides, he doubted even a song of Frigga could send him off now.

With a sigh, he sat up in his large bed. His nightshirt felt hot against his body. His thin arms shone looked pale in the dim light. Yawing wearily, he pushed his raven hair back from his forehead. As he did so, a spot of red sitting atop his finger caught his attention. Narrowing his emerald eyes, he brought his hand closer for inspection. In the darkness, his blood shone bright red. Loki frowned. He must have sliced the tip earlier that day. Wounds on fingertips were the worst, he had discovered, because every time he went to touch or grasp something, the wound would open once more. With another sigh, the boy placed his slender finger to his lips.

As he sucked away the blood, Loki felt his icy skin nip at his warm tongue. He was quite used to his body's temperature – or lack thereof – however, even after all his years of being alive and frozen, he simply could not understand how he could feel so very warm inside, and yet, in reality, his being was as cold as a Frost Giant's kiss. He pulled the icy finger from his mouth. The metallic taste of blood lingered upon his tongue. With a small smirk, he gazed once more at his minor injury.

At least my blood is warm.

Thunder roared, a sound so soul splitting that the very night seemed to hold its breath. Loki, startled, jerked up from beneath his blankets. However, reassured that the roof remained steady above him, he relaxed back onto the bed.

For a long while, he lay still, eyes shut, unmoving. But still, sleep continued to elude him. Behind his closed eyelids, images danced, hazy and dull. He longed to open his eyes and dispel the mirage-like shapes, but he so desperately craved the peace sleep would bring.

Eventually, he allowed his eyes to flicker open. The canopy that stretched above his head seemed so far away. Absently, he lifted one long arm. It hung, suspended in the darkness, before falling back to his side. Defeated, Loki sat up once more.

Despite his cold body, he felt his cheeks flush. Slowly, he swung his legs to the ground. The rug beneath his toes felt unnaturally soft. Yawing again, he climbed to his feet. His head spun from the sudden movement.

After making completely certain he was not going to collapse, Loki took the hem of his nightshirt. In one swift movement, the prince pulled it from his back. Twirling it once through the air, he let it sail from his hand, and land in a crumpled heap, by the gilded mirror he so despised.

It was not the mirror itself that he hated. It was a nice mirror. Its golden frame sparkled bright, even in the darkness. The path of the carved flora was beautiful to follow. No, the mirror was fine.

It was what stared back at him that he hated so. Hesitantly, Loki stepped forward.

No longer shrouded by shadow, the young prince stood, clothed in nothing but the moon's shine. In the pearly pale light, he looked more like a phantom than a solid creature. His exposed skin glowed white, a stark contrast against his inky locks. His emerald eyes appeared almost serpentine when compared to the blue of his brother's.

Like all other Aesir, Thor would surely grow to be strong and golden. Already, the eldest Odinson was far heavier than his brother, and, Loki supposed, much stronger as well. However, Thor still carried with him the softness of boyhood.

Despite his young age, Loki was lean. His slender frame stood tall and poised, and possessed a natural elegance that his sibling could never dream of achieving.

As Loki gazed morbidly at the spectre who haunted him through the crystalline glass, he noticed something strange. Something new.

A prompt bruise sat upon his neck, just above his collar bone. It appeared like an inkblot against very pale parchment. Stepping closer, he peered at the mark. It was small, and in a different light, he imagined, unnoticeable.

As Loki peered at it, he knew it was far too blue to be a bruise. Its shade resembled that of a berry. Tentatively, he pressed his wounded finger against his tainted skin.

No pain. Just ice.

Scowling, Loki dropped his hand. With slow, deliberate movements, he took a step back, and then another. With each inch, he retreated into the shadows. As he turned, he caught one last glance of himself in the mirror.

"Who are you?"

-O-

The storm grew steadily throughout the night. In his chamber, Thor slept soundly, safe and secure, wrapped up in his dreams of fighting foes and leading quests and the wonders of the Realm Eternal.

Peaceful. Untroubled.

Unaware, that in the very next room, his brother lay awake, all night long.

Unmoving. Unblinking.

He lay silently, staring into the darkness.

Outside, the first raindrop fell.

Hope you liked it. Reviews make me smile