The fare that Geralt brings brings back to the room isn't bad-- there aren't many patrons, so the innkeeper has no qualms with getting rid of food that would otherwise just be waiting in the kitchen. It likely helps that Geralt is trying to present himself as nothing more than a traveler, asking after no contracts and making no mention of witcher's work. It's a decent dinner-- thick venison stew with root vegetables, crusty bread, some pickled vegetables, a little fruit from the end-of-the-year harvest. Ale for the both of them.

Geralt takes the time while he's down there to take stock of the patrons; nothing seemed amiss, mostly drovers and merchants, maybe a local or two. People that he would expect to be here. The common room was relatively quiet, with the main excitement being a few games of gwent.

They eat after he returns with the food, quiet and companionable. It's... good. It's like things were before the mountain, except that Jaskier is too tired for endless chatter and he would not have dared sit so close before. Geralt is about to reach for a dagger to cut an apple with when Jaskier decides that their current level of closeness is insufficient, and just climbs right into his lap.

Definitely far bolder than he'd ever been before.

The witcher hums, brow furrowing a little, but doesn't push him off as he might have done a year ago. He lets his arms settle around the bard, holding the apple and the knife-- not the one he uses to take monster heads as trophies, thankfully-- and starts cutting the fruit into slices and eating them off the knife.

"That's only because you can't sit yourself in it."

Though Jaskier has certainly gotten uncomfortably close to the campfire some nights, close enough that Geralt thought that he might set himself alight. There hadn't been any unfortunate fire-related incidents, yet.