Jaskier finds himself tracing the carvings, pulled in enough he's forgotten his original offering. (Or set it to the back of his mind, at least.) He can't help but be drawn into all of this. Dragons, dragon-people, dragon-people musicians... it may as well have been a fairytale.

He shakes himself, putting the lyre down. "You're right! My apologies, I was sufficiently distracted by your workshop."

To put it mildly. If Jaskier wasn't trying to be on his best behaviour, he would already be absolutely distracted in every part of Aster's body. With or without clothing. Gods, they're truly beautiful. It's almost not fair. "I shan't tarry any longer."

He clears his throat, gently placing his lute case down to unlatch it. Inside is his pretty lute, gifted from Ciri, decorated with knots and smatterings of mother-of-pearl. Certainly this song deserves some degree of context, but as he promised -- it is a song of home. About what is happening there. The chance to have someone experience one of his ballads without the context of the Continent is truly a rare one... especially now that Geralt's gotten so popular.

He takes a seat, crossing his legs at the ankle to balance his lute in his lap. He tests a few notes, a scale to adjust the tuning, then begins to play his last composition, his feet tapping to keep measure.