[He drops his hands from his face, letting them fall back into the water. His breath is soft again. Plenty would claim there w as no comfort to be found in a witcher, but Jaskier had known him far too long.

Actually, he's quite a bit glad he did not discover this while alone in the bath. He may have woken both of them up.]

I would bet a thousand crowns you never have thought there'd be a day you'd claim I had any power.

[He's too preoccupied to notice the water, which is a feat in and of itself. He lifts a hand and stares at it, as if he can see any indication of what made that happen. You made flowers. His memory goes back to the portal, their landing. The soft landing. Petals sticking to his boots.]

You're so infuriatingly practical sometimes. [He closes his eyes. Rubs the fingers of one hand together. The pull, magic like strings.

He opens his hand to several blades of lemongrass, the oils scenting the air.] Well? Would you like some grass to chew?