Geralt's expression darkens at Jaskier's confession, an angry thundercloud despite the lightness of the bard's tone. His guts and not his face. It had been a pulled punch, probably, because it didn't seem like it harmed him very much, but that's not the point. The point is that there should be no circumstance in which Geralt raises a hand to Jaskier in earnest. A cuff upside the head when he was being particularly stupid or troublesome, sure, or a little slap to the arm, but never a closed fist.

He's a witcher, after all. He's strong, and a misjudgment of his strength could easily hurt the bard severely. And for what? To punish him for an off-color comment or for chasing after the wrong skirt? Trifles compared to what could be lost.

"Hm."

Classic Geralt-brand brooding. A more emotionally competent witcher he may be, but there are some habits that never quite leave.

But Jaskier's tone and his scent soften, and that in turn helps to blunt the edge of Geralt's bad mood. Even if Jaskier's been poorly treated before, he's here, and he's safe, and there are no ungrateful witchers around to break his heart.

"There's nothing for you to apologize for," he says with a shake of his grey head. "You didn't ask the sorceress to do any of this."

That last comment, though, Jaskier's sudden thought, makes Geralt frown. Could that be true? Would Dandelion have wished to get away from him, to go somewhere that Geralt couldn't follow? He'd never tried to restrict Dandelion's wanderlust or demanded that he stay, but perhaps he had felt trapped anyway. Geralt had been so sure that he was happy, but he'd also once thought that he was in love with Yennefer, so he isn't exactly the most reliable judge of such things.

"Dinner will be ready soon," he says, because food is a safe topic. "Will you come?"