For Asgard!

He could feel her sympathies, and even though he had imparted some to her not minutes before, he found this type to be somewhat detrimental. "Cheer up, Sif," he said, because she was growing too somber, too fast, and he would rather the Sif who had first joined him - cheerful and pleasant. Loki did not want pity, and while he didn't think that Sif was giving him any, there still remained the fact that he felt like she was, simply from the fact that she wasn't treating him sternly. "This isn't my home, either - I shall remain a vagrant. And I am at peace with that, for the time being. I miss Asgard less with you and my mother here." Half false, half true; Sif was a reminder, but a pleasant one - and present.

He held up a hand in innocent defense. "I shan't breathe a word to anyone," he said. "Though it is a shame you cannot be so candid with others as to your opinion of the Allfather's actions. Let that candidness remain with me," he said, with a teasing smile, "I'm already unpopular enough as it is. A little bit more won't hurt. If ever I voice your opinion, I shall claim it as my own." He did not ask her just which son she herself deemed to be the better King - in that instance he cared not for her opinion, or rather, what he assumed her opinion would be. It was true, though, that Loki had been given the throne, and he had mishandled it badly. He had been emotional, desperate, empowered. In some ways he was still at a loss at where he had gone astray, but somewhere he had, if everyone else's accounts were to be considered.

"That is true," he admitted, to the masochist remark, with a bit of a laugh. Rarely did anyone put his own words against him, especially when he had been teasing. He held out the wine to her. "Ah. Here is your reward for outsmarting me."