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The boy looks at him with a stare so hopeful Jaskier feels like shit at once because there is no way they’ll find his mother there, he knows that. “Thank you,” he sobs, “sir…?”
“Oh, please, no sir,” he says, “I’m but a humble bard, no need to call me sir. I’m Jaskier. And you are…?”
“Geralt,” he replies. “My ma is Visenna,” he adds, but Jaskier doesn’t think he heard that.
Geralt --
Oh, fuck.
“Geralt,” he says, trying to not fucking hyperventilate, “nice to meet you. So, you want to meet my horse and then we can go to the village?”
The kid -- Geralt -- nods, his eyes going dry for the first time since they met, and then slips his tiny hand inside his.
or: in which a mage curses Geralt to relieve his worst memory for an entire month. Jaskier deals.