Thor only grinned maddeningly in response to Loki's sardonic smile. He stood, raising his goblet. "Then a toast, to the jewels of Asgard. At least if my brother is to be blinded, it will be with beauty."
Loki met his brother's eyes, and he smiled at what he found there. Thor had his brilliant moments. Loki rose as well, raising his own goblet. "Rather, to the blades of Asgard, as I think they shine more brightly today. My poor eyes may never recover."
Whatever they thought of the words, the rest of the court had little choice but to follow along. Loki risked one last glance at Sif as he sat. He felt strangely clumsy and awkward, though it certainly didn't show in his movements. Normally he was better at things than this. He frowned down at his plate as if the food had personally offended him. Maybe it was the headache, but he felt unguarded and clumsy. Even his tongue felt thick and strange, like he'd have to try to come up with glib things to say instead of just producing them like magic.
And looking at Sif definitely was just too distracting. So Loki spent the rest of the night studying his plate, or speaking politely to his mother, or inspecting the table in front of him. Toward the end of the evening his headache grew even worse, his hand wobbly enough that he actually spilled a little wine as he picked up his goblet.
It was embarrassing, but it was also a good excuse. He excused himself from the table, saying that he felt unwell, and made his escape before the final two courses. It had the added advantage of meaning he could avoid any possible interaction with Sif entirely for the evening, when he was already off balance and would probably make some horrible mistake.
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Loki met his brother's eyes, and he smiled at what he found there. Thor had his brilliant moments. Loki rose as well, raising his own goblet. "Rather, to the blades of Asgard, as I think they shine more brightly today. My poor eyes may never recover."
Whatever they thought of the words, the rest of the court had little choice but to follow along. Loki risked one last glance at Sif as he sat. He felt strangely clumsy and awkward, though it certainly didn't show in his movements. Normally he was better at things than this. He frowned down at his plate as if the food had personally offended him. Maybe it was the headache, but he felt unguarded and clumsy. Even his tongue felt thick and strange, like he'd have to try to come up with glib things to say instead of just producing them like magic.
And looking at Sif definitely was just too distracting. So Loki spent the rest of the night studying his plate, or speaking politely to his mother, or inspecting the table in front of him. Toward the end of the evening his headache grew even worse, his hand wobbly enough that he actually spilled a little wine as he picked up his goblet.
It was embarrassing, but it was also a good excuse. He excused himself from the table, saying that he felt unwell, and made his escape before the final two courses. It had the added advantage of meaning he could avoid any possible interaction with Sif entirely for the evening, when he was already off balance and would probably make some horrible mistake.