[Sounds like Ciri. Like Geralt, hardly ever still. Always doing something. And with that bright spark of kindness hidden beneath dirt and blood and sweat. Of course she wanted to do something. He can only imagine she blamed herself for its destruction in the first place.]

Suppose I did.

[He doesn't ask what. Doesn't matter. He's safe here, fulfilled, and as he reaches over to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair -- taking advantage while Geralt is feeling generous -- he relaxes.]

I'll come by soon. I already know you need help sprucing the place up with a bit of decoration. And, of course, I owe your wolf a steak or two.

[A part of himself in Kaer Morhen. He doesn't bring it up, and neither does Geralt. Like Moglad, the wolf is more Geralt's than anyone else's anymore. Jaskier doesn't even lay claim to it, nor to why he created it in the first place.

Silently, he's thankful to the beast. Someone to protect Kaer Morhen, and someone to keep Geralt company when no one else can.]