At first, Thor was pleased when his mother studied his hands and murmured, "I think you have a gift, my son."

The weather had been quite strange lately—dark clouds forming instantly in the previously clear sky, only to disperse just as quickly. But this afternoon, as the princes sat in the queen's sitting room, she divined the cause, for Frigga's own proficiency in magic made her sensitive to the power of others.

Thor's chest swelled with pride as he watched the pouring rain outside. This is me? I'm the cause of this?

There was a sudden flash of lightning, and Thor knew his mother was right—he felt the electric charge run like a shiver inside him, felt the rumbles of thunder as if they were echoing his heartbeat.

Thor Odinson, Bringer of Storms. I like the sound of that, he thought.

A grin spread across Thor's face. He gave his brother a playful shove. "You see, Loki? And just yesterday you were saying I was the only one in this family without magic."

Thor had expected Loki to be happy, too. After all, the younger prince was always complaining that Thor was so hopelessly ignorant of magic—and though the boys were usually inseparable, Loki's private lessons with Mother had been driving them apart more and more of late. But now this was something they could share together.

To Thor's confusion, Loki's expression was crestfallen. His green eyes kept darting between Thor and Frigga and the storm.

The queen ruffled Thor's hair fondly and said, "Just wait until I tell your father. He will be delighted."

She kissed the top of his head and left in a flurry of excitement.

Thor watched her go, basking for a moment in the golden warmth of his mother's pride. But the awkward silence between the brothers stretched on until he could no longer ignore it. Thor opened his mouth, wanting to ask Loki why he was looking at him so coldly, but he couldn't find the words. The rain began to pelt the windows with sharp plinks.

"I thought you said magic was for maids, not for princes," Loki muttered. "But I don't hear you objecting to it now."

It was true. Thor had, on a regular basis, voiced his discomfort with his brother's proclivity for a woman's art, and Thor knew others whispered about it at court, too. He was too young to truly understand the social mores; he had simply observed that sorcery was something that ladies did, while battle was the work of men.

"This is different," said Thor, though he couldn't quite articulate why he held this conviction.

This was not the delicate craft of seidr, the threads of energy that his mother wove with care and precision. This power, Thor thought, was more instinctive, more raw—fit for a warrior, not a scholar.

Before he could say anything else, however, Loki turned on his heel and left the room in a huff. Thor shook his head. His brother very rarely made sense to him.

Later that day, the family shared a meal together in their private dining chambers—a rare occurrence, since Odin was usually so occupied with treaties and council meetings, but he had carved out an hour in his schedule today to celebrate his firstborn's newfound powers. Frigga had ordered the kitchens to make Thor's favorite dessert, strawberry jam tarts.

He enjoyed every approving glance his parents gave him, every pat on the back, every toast in his honor—but the moment was soured a little by Loki's behavior. Though they sat across the table from one another, as usual, Loki was uncharacteristically quiet, and his brow was furrowed petulantly. Thor tried not to feel hurt, but he didn't understand what was wrong.

"Thor, dear heart," Frigga said as their plates were cleared away. "As excited as you must be to demonstrate your abilities, I think the gardens have had enough rain now. Could you…?"

"Yes, Mother." Thor closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on quieting the thunder, on drying up the rain and dissipating the clouds. But he couldn't seem to make it stop.

"How impressive," Loki said sarcastically, looking pointedly out the window.

"I'm trying!" Thor snapped.

"Loki," said Mother. "You are not helping matters." Her voice was quiet but reproving, and Loki looked down at the table, shamefaced.

Frigga touched Thor's arm. "Deep breaths, Thor. Remember that this storm is yours to command. You created it, and you can dismiss it too."

Mine. This storm is mine and I want it gone, Thor repeated in his mind. His mother's soothing voice helped him breathe slowly and relax his muscles. He trusted her; he did not know anyone that knew more about magic than Frigga. After a moment, the drumming sound of the rain stopped.

"Well done, Thor," his father said with a rare smile.

Unfortunately, it was not always that easy. Thor discovered quickly that, although he could effortlessly call forth a storm, he did not really know how to send them away. Over the next few days, he used his powers to impress his friends while they played outside, but when Sif asked him to try striking a nearby pine tree with lightning, Thor had had to admit that he did not have that much conscious control over the magic at all.

The times that he did manage to accomplish something that specific were few and far between, and it only seemed to happen when he was feeling particularly upset or annoyed.

After their history lessons today, for example, Thor and his friends raced outside to stretch their legs and shake off the musty atmosphere of the library. But a few dark clouds loomed in the horizon.

"Thor, please, if it rains we'll have to go back inside," Fandral pleaded.

"Not every storm is mine," Thor laughed.

"Really? I was wondering how Asgard ever survived without you," came a sardonic voice behind Thor.

It was not that unusual for Loki to follow Thor around—in fact, Thor was accustomed to his little brother always one step behind him, like a shadow—but over the past few days he had begun to feel Loki was avoiding him.

"Brother, there you are!" Thor exclaimed, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. Perhaps Loki was ready for things to go back to normal again. But Loki deftly evaded him.

Thor didn't mean to do it—his annoyance simply bubbled over.

A miniature dark cloud formed over Loki's head, and promptly began to rain on him and no one else. Loki yelped and tried to jump out of its radius, but the cloud followed him wherever he tried to escape.

Sif, Fandral, and Hogun doubled over, roaring with laughter. Loki had apparently not yet learned a spell to make himself waterproof, because his tunic was drenched and his sodden boots squeaked when he walked.

"What ails you, brother? I thought you liked tricks," Thor called, grinning smugly.

"I will murder you with my own hands," Loki said in a dangerously calm voice. His smile made Thor think of a coiled serpent about to strike. "Make no mistake, brother."

"Oh come now, it's only a little water. And you can consider it repayment for the spider you put in my bed last week."

Sif caught her breath and interjected, "You dole out enough mischief to others, Loki. Surely you can tolerate being made the fool for once."

Loki said nothing. He merely pushed his sopping wet black hair off his forehead—the meticulously combed locks returning to their natural unruly curl—and walked away, the raincloud following him.

Thor's friends continued to guffaw, but the mirth was draining slowly out of Thor. He would feel better if Loki had continued to shout at him, but the way he had shut down left Thor uneasy.

He and Loki played pranks on each other all the time, and sometimes it did escalate too far and Mother or Father would have to intervene. But it was usually well-meaning mischief, because they enjoyed getting a rise out of each other. They enjoyed the harmless bickering and the petty vengeance. And at the end of the day, they could always sit together in companionable quiet and put aside their grievances. Loki was the only one that could call him insults—oaf, idiot, lout, boor—with as much fondness as exasperation.

But this was different. Something was wrong—something worse than wet clothes—and Thor couldn't understand what he had done to upset his brother.

He knew the storm overhead was coming before the rain started to fall. He could taste the electricity humming in the air before he saw the flash of lightning. But he found himself wishing for sun.

That evening, Frigga summoned Thor to her quarters. When he arrived, she had her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised in silent reprimand.

Thor gulped. "Is everything alright, Mother?"

Wordlessly, she took his elbow and led him to the stone baths in the adjoining chamber. Before Thor could ask what they were doing here, he realized Loki was standing in one of the baths, scowling—and Thor could understand why. The cloud was still hovering over him. Mother must have taken him here so that the rain would collect in the drain instead of making puddles all over the palace.

"It's still raining on you?" said Thor incredulously. Loki's eyes flashed at this statement of the obvious, but Thor was genuinely shocked—he had thought for certain the cloud would disperse in a matter of minutes. Guilt swiftly followed.

What have I done? He must be so miserable.

"Thor," sighed Frigga, massaging her temples as if she had a headache, "please undo this. This has gone on long enough."

Thor closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on banishing the little storm. But to no avail.

"I'm trying," he said through gritted teeth, "but it's not working."

Loki made a strangled sound of protest, but Frigga hushed him. She knelt in front of Thor and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Close your eyes, Thor. Try not to panic. Don't let yourself be ruled by frustration. Breathe slowly."

Thor appreciated the calming effect of his mother's soft voice, but he could still hear water hitting the marble bathtub.

"I believe this magic is connected to your emotions, Thor. You made the rain because you were annoyed with your brother, yes?"

"But I don't want him to stay this way forever!" Thor exclaimed, his voice sounding higher than usual.

"I know that, dear heart. Do not think of your anger, or your fear. I know you are capable of this, Thor. You have a strong will, now all you must learn is discipline. And if there is one thing you never fail to do, it is looking after your brother."

Thor opened his eyes, and the cloud over Loki's head was gone. There was silence for a moment, save the dripping from Loki's clothes. Frigga whispered a spell over him, and wrung his clothes completely dry with a flick of her wrist.

"There, now. No harm done," she said with a tired smile.

But Thor was not so certain that was true.

Even when their mother left them alone—her subtle way of giving them a chance to reconcile without her interference—Loki said nothing. Thor watched him slicking his hair back into place in front of Mother's mirror, though Loki did not acknowledge his gaze.

"Loki?" he ventured. "Did I do something to anger you?"

The younger brother snorted.

"I do not mean the rain," Thor elaborated. "You have been acting…oddly even before that."

"Noticed at last, have you?" Loki snapped.

Thor studied his hands glumly. "I thought you would be happy about my magic."

"Your magic," Loki repeated with a sneer. "As if you needed something else, you're an accomplished sorcerer suddenly as well."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Loki's cold, scornful veneer broke apart at last. His green eyes shone with angry tears and he spat his words through clenched teeth.

"I have been second to you my entire life, because you can do absolutely everything, perfectly, all the time. I finally found something for myself—something I could do that you could not—and now you have to take that from me too?"

Thor felt his temper rising. "I have taken nothing from you, Loki! And you're acting as if I did this on purpose—"

"You haven't exactly tried to hide it, either."

"Well, why should I?"

The moisture had spilled over onto Loki's cheeks. Thor felt so frustrated with Loki's insecurity, wanted to grab his brother by the collar and shake him—but the instant his hand made contact, Loki jumped back with a cry of pain.

Thor saw the spark: he had shocked him with static electricity.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Loki shoved him out of the way and did not stay to listen to his apologies. Though it was clear the younger prince was not seriously injured, Thor felt sick to his stomach.

The storm had only just begun, however. Hours had passed, but the shower outside only seemed to be coming down harder. Thor stood on the balcony attached to his quarters, watching the iron-grey clouds collide, trying to find some way to make it stop.

Thor could only remember a few instances when he admitted to himself that he was afraid.

The time when Loki fell out of that tree and lay still on the ground, his arm twisted at a funny angle—Thor had thought for a moment that he was dead, though of course the healers had mended his broken arm in minutes. Then there was the time when Mother was going to have another baby, and she was sequestered in her chambers with the midwives for what felt like an eternity, and no one would tell Thor what was wrong, why everyone's faces were so grim and so sad.

Thor hated that feeling, of being choked by fear, helpless, unable to do anything, because when something was wrong, Thor's instinct was to fix it.

But right now, with the wind howling in his ears and the deluge starting to flood Asgard's streets, Thor was terrified. He was not simply unable to help—he felt out of control.

Is this how the berserker warriors feel, when they succumb to the battle-rage? Thor wondered. Does it frighten them, knowing that they cannot stop themselves?

The brutal, unrestrained power of this magic that had so thrilled him was also what made it dangerous, he realized. The storm inside of him became an external force of nature, but now both seemed to be feeding off each other, perpetuating each other.

His parents stood behind him on the balcony, trying to calm him, but they had to shout to be heard over the storm, and some of their words were lost.

"Thor," his father said firmly, "the crops might be ruined if you cannot stop this. You must settle down."

Thor nodded, but these thoughts were only driving him into the further panic. He heard his mother suggest they send for some Vanir sorceress to help, but before the idea could be discussed further, there was a hand on Thor's shoulder.

"Loki, you should not be here," said Thor miserably.

"I will not drown, you idiot." Loki did not look pleased to be soaked, so soon after he had gotten dry again. But he stayed where he was.

The boys flinched when lightning flickered nearby.

"Loki," Thor confessed, "I cannot stop it. I'm scared."

The younger prince tightened his grip on Thor's tunic. "Well, I am not. We can stop this, brother—together."

There was earnest, open affection in Loki's eyes, and it felt like so long since he had looked at Thor that way. For a moment, all the rivalry and bittersweet confusion of growing up fell away. They were nothing but a little brother filled with admiration, and a big brother who only wanted to protect him. Just as things used to be.

Perhaps Loki was only putting on an act, or setting aside his grievances for the time being, just to stop the storm. But whatever the case, as Thor crushed his brother in an embrace, he did not care.

He heard the pounding rain cease. He felt the warming bath of sunshine on their faces. But he and Loki did not immediately part.

"I will still think of a creative revenge for the raincloud incident," Loki said conversationally. "Do not think I have forgotten."

The two of them laughed, light-headed with relief.