[Jaskier's breath huffs out in a laugh, and he squeezes her. He knows, too, this probably comes as easily to her as it does to Geralt. That is: not at all. She is, at least, more talented at it.

She has heart. He's... he's glad, if she picked up anything from Geralt, it's his heart.]

I do know.

[It would be impossible, he thinks, to still believe he is not important to Ciri, the same way he knows his place with Geralt. He holds onto her now not only for her sake, but his own. His legs feel weak. He did not... expect this. Any of this. This overwhelming appreciation that --

Fuck. It's the real gift, isn't it?

Perhaps he was getting too lofty with the song names. It could be something much simpler. Her Heart.

Ah. He like that.]

Then you shall be thrilled to know I will continue to do so. [He gives her another affectionate kiss on the top of her head, slowly pulling away. He's learned that these moments can stretch too long, become too raw. He never meant to see so much of her, but Melitele. He's glad he has.] Now, please. We should drink before it gets cold. Something tells me it won't be near as good.