Jaskier, with his head on Renfri’s lap, lightly strums his guitar. There’s a vague melody in his brain, nothing really concrete, but Jaskier thinks it has the potential to be something truly epic. If he lets it. For now, he’s content to just bask in the sun with his eyes closed. It feels comfortable. Warm. Safe. Like he belongs.
“New song?”, demands Renfri absent-mindedly. Her hands, rough from too many hours spent in training, are busy making a flower crown. The one she made for Jaskier sits atop of his head, the pollen from yellow dandelions making his eyes a bit itchy.
“Maybe”, replies Jaskier lazily. He plays a few chords from her favorite song, the one with too many swear words and not enough meaning. Renfri hums along to the music, relaxed.