For Asgard!

The look Loki gave her, of utter startlement, was real. He hadn't been digging; he hadn't expected Sif to suddenly lambast him with his crimes. It was not that Loki would deny what he had done, of course; he was not ashamed, and to make him feel ashamed would be to cast doubt on all of the feelings that had made him act out in the first place. He had done what he had out of desperation, and loneliness, and need. He would not discount those feelings.

But she was wrong, at that most basic accusation. "I never meant to trap Thor on Midgard," he said. "I only meant to get him into trouble, for father to see his hubris and stop him from occupying the throne. Can you imagine that? What crimes Thor might have been compelled to do had he been allowed to rule? He was never meant to reach Jotunheim. He was never meant to reach Heimdall. We are all guilty in letting him get that far. Myself moreso than others, yes, but it is our guilt. Heimdall should not have let us pass; I was supposed to fail in talking our way through. You'll notice that I did, yet we continued on anyway. And I never expected father's reaction to be so stern."

He leaned closer to her, and there was a flicker of anger in his eyes, but he did not mean to threaten her in any way. He was, simply, suddenly overcome. Her accusations had torn that delicate wrapping which was his composure, and now everything was spilling out while he tried to contain it. "Thor ruined the bridge," he said. "Not I. We are all guilty. I was merely expressing my confusion in telling the difference between Thor's failure to kill frost giants, and my success in that endeavour. And not that you would understand, Sif, but none of my decisions once I ascended the throne were calm or collected and I know that now. My parents lied to me my entire life, my father was incapacitated, and I had accidentally gotten my brother banished forever. I'm sorry you got in the way of it. But I had ordered you not to. In the stubborn way of my family, I had been unable to see an alternative. My path seemed laid out before my feet. And I was angry with you. You wanted me to bring my brother back, to have him usurp my position. You wanted as always to give him the easy way out."

He knew he could not argue her for righteousness - not when he was not even sure of all he had done, all that he would do. And she would not agree with him in any case, he knew that. And slinging his own accusations at her would either fall on deaf ears, or would accomplish nothing, yet he had done it anyway. He reached out and placed his hand on hers, her skin warmed from the sunlight. "My dear Sif," he said, his voice softer, lower, even apologetic. "How worked up you make me. Please." He wasn't sure what he was asking her for, but he wished it.