Jaskier sings something against his chest before he falls back into sleep-- something soft and a little melancholy, the melody of which Geralt thinks he may have heard before. In a tavern, maybe, while he was traveling north with Ciri. He hadn't paid much attention to it, though; it was the wrong bard, the wrong voice. It hadn't actively irritated him, though, like it did when other bards sang Jaskier's songs.

Geralt can tell when Jaskier wakes by the change in his heartbeat and his breathing, the way it picks up from the slow sleeping tempo. He moves and Geralt shifts to accommodate him, loosening his grasp and allowing Jaskier some freedom of movement. The bard knows him well enough by now, though, not to startle him out of his meditation, and the gentle hand to his cheek brings him fully back to true wakefulness.

"Hmm."

Not exactly the most articulate good morning greeting that Jaskier has probably ever received, but he's well versed enough in the nonverbal language of this particular witcher to hear the affirmation in it. Meditation isn't a long-term substitute for sleep, but Geralt will be fine, for now. He can sleep at Kaer Morhen, when everyone he cares about is safe behind stone walls and deep snow.

"How do you feel?"

He'll have to check on Jaskier's injuries anyway, but the salve should've helped with the pain and swelling throughout the night.