"Oh, don't say it like that. I can already see in the slope of your brow you don't think the term pertains to you. As do most heroic types. Truly, no real hero should title himself such. It's a bit pompous."

You know, like bards who go around calling themselves the best bard of the Continent. (That's completely different.)

Of course, he hasn't seen Estinien do more than attempt to murder Ambrose, but... that's heroic, in its own way, because of the immense amount of bravery and stupidity one needs in equal measures. Yet Jaskier envies that. Or he covets simply bearing witness to it. That one could have so much confidence in their own strength. Their own ideals.

What does it take to kill for what one believes in? To be enraged at the neutrality of those around them?

"I'm the last to tell you you're wrong for what you've done, or what you will do." And he can imagine, down the line, what Estinien may try. "Speaking as one who stays uninvolved myself, I understand why we do. Some are content to be here, having escaped from even worse. Some of us are not strong. We're not earth-movers." His hand spreads across his chest, a clear indication he considers himself one of those. Bards do not influence things; they are recorders. Records of history line his head as much as his lyrical poetry does. "Yet I don't believe that your solitude in action means you're on the wrong side of history, either."

It's a hard line to follow. Jaskier does not intend to be involved, but... gods, Ambrose really has it coming. "Honestly, should I be able to help you even with only the encouragement of my words, I take it as a solemn responsibility."

You know, as solemn as Jaskier ever is.

On a side note, he is getting the sickest inspiration for a new heroic ballad from this.