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Chapter Text

Jaskier was Bored, with a capital ‘B’. No one had needed his talents in years. His whispers in the ears of budding musicians had gone unnoticed. No one had written a good Christmas carol in decades. Dearest Angel Gabriel, he missed the days of yore when carols were written all over the place, around campfires, in old monasteries, even in the bedchambers of young children who were just picking up a lute or lyre. These days all people wanted to listen to at Christmas were the ‘classics’ or whatever was top of the charts. 

His talent was being wasted! 

What was the point of being a Christmas elf if he couldn’t even spread cheer?

He sighed dramatically and trailed a finger along the glass of the snow globe in front of him. Santa used it to travel between the North Pole Realm and the human’s Earth. Inside was the remnants of Christmas Spirit, the magic that powered the North Pole Realm and all it’s creatures. The snow globe’s glow was dull these days and could only be seen in the dark. For that reason the elves weren’t allowed to touch it anymore. They had to use their own talents rather than rely on magic like they had in the past. Only Santa was allowed to use the globe, once a year on Christmas Eve, to enchant the reindeer. 

Jaskier accompanied Santa on his travels and tried his hardest to inspire the musicians of the world, but with only one night a year to work on spreading his compositions he was struggling to increase the Christmas Spirit even by a teensiest amount. 

And he was fucking bored!

He wanted to flit around the realms like he used to. He wanted to use magic again, and charm the instruments he made for children. He wanted to sing and perform and have adventures. God he missed the adventures. 

He sighed again, peering into the snowy village in the snow globe. 

“I’m sure a tiny adventure wouldn’t hurt…” He hummed thoughtfully. It was the middle of summer and it was just around the time when film makers and musicians would be thinking about creating their festive content. “Perhaps I could even create more Spirit than I use.”

He grinned and snatched the snow globe from the shelf. 

“Santa won’t even know I’m gone.” He muttered as he gripped the shining globe between his fingers. 

He shook the globe hard and the magic swirled around him. The North Pole Realm shimmered and disappeared. His gut twisted as he was pulled through time and space, then he landed in a pile of mud, the snow globe clattering to the ground. 

“Oh fuck!” He groaned and rolled onto his back. 

The stars were glittering in the sky above him but something was wrong. He didn’t recognise these stars. He’d been all over the Earth and he’d seen every constellation the planet had to offer throughout human history on Earth. 

This was not Earth. 

“Bollocks.” 

Geralt’s medallion hummed on his chest, the vibrations causing it to bounce over his armour. He gripped it in his gloved hand and scowled. He pulled on Roach’s reins and she trotted in a neat circle around the path. Geralt kept his eyes peeled in the dark for any monsters or mages that may want to cause him harm but the only living being was a brightly dressed man lying in a particularly muddy patch in the middle of the path. 

“Oh fuck!” The man groaned and rolled onto his back. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. He was probably drunk, but it was peculiar to find a drunk passed out this far from any tavern. They were days away from the next village, and none of that accounted for the humming of Geralt’s medallion beneath his fingers. He dismounted Roach, landing silently beside her and he bumped his forehead against her muzzle. 

“Stay.” He muttered quietly and approached the brunet on the path. 

He was dressed in a bright green tunic with even brighter red trimmings, on his head was a matching hat with silver bells sewn neatly on the top. Geralt frowned. The man must be some kind of court jester, or, judging by the pointed tips of his ears, a clown in one of the travelling circuses. The elves often joined the travelling acting troupes and circuses that roamed across the Continent. 

The man peered up at the sky with shining blue eyes. Geralt furrowed his brow. Glowing eyes were not a trait of any elves that he knew. He’d heard rumours of fae exhibiting eyes that shone in the night but never elves, and this man definitely resembled an elf. 

“Bollocks.” The man groaned. 

“You alright?” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

The man jumped to his feet and his hat tumbled off his head. “Shit!” He cursed. “I mean, oh fuck. Where’s is it? Oh no. No no no. Santa is going to kill me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Santa?”

The elf waved his hand, the bells around his wrist jingled noisily. Geralt grabbed his hand to stop the flailing. Noise like that this late at night would only cause trouble this far out from a town. 

“Shhh.” He murmured. “Best take those off, or you’ll get yourself killed. elf.”

The elf’s eyes widened and he tugged his hand away from Geralt’s grip. “You know what I am? Oh God. I am so dead. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get home. Shit where is it!?” He spun around too quickly to see anything clearly and whined pitifully. 

Geralt scanned the area and spotted a dimly glowing orb in a nearby bush. He picked it up and his medallion almost yanked off its chain. “What the fuck?” 

“Oh thank Rudolph! You found it! Give it to me!” The elf lunged forward to grab it but Geralt was faster and drew his sword, preventing the elf from taking the orb. 

“What is it?” He asked through gritted teeth. “My medallion is going crazy. With this much chaos you could blow us all sky high.” 

“Chaos?” The elf put his hands up and stepped away from Geralt, eying his sword nervously. “It’s Christmas Spirit and I need it to get home.”

Geralt snarled. “What spirit?”

“Christmas!” The elf pouted. “I’m a Christmas elf!”

“You’re drunk.” Geralt snarled. 

“Am not!” 

“What the fuck is a Christmas elf?” Geralt asked sharply. He knew of every monster and species in the history of the Continent and he’d never even heard a whisper of a so-called ‘Christmas Elf’.

“I am!” The elf put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “Although… You won’t have Christmas here I suppose.”

“No.” Geralt grumbled. 

“Which means it’s imperative for me to get home before all the Spirit leaves the snow globe. Please!” The elf was getting bolder and he tried to dance around Geralt’s sword to grab at the… globe?

“No.” Geralt knocked him aside with the flat side of his blade. “What is Spirit?”

“Magic.” The elf said quickly. “Our magic. It’s created through the warmth and love of Christmas, and belief in the magic behind it. Ah, umm. Christmas is well, I guess… how to explain it? It’s a religious celebration in another world from this one, called Earth. The North Pole Realm, where I’m from, was created from the human’s faith in that world. Before we used to be sprites of the Solstice, but more recently it has been Christmas Spirit that has kept our Realm alive.”

“The Solstice?” Geralt asked. “I know that one.” 

The elf lit up and he smiled brightly at Geralt. “You do?” 

He nodded. 

“Oh well, then all is not lost! Come on, sorry what was your name?” 

“Geralt.”

“Come on, Geralt! I must see if I can generate more Spirit in this Realm! What do you call it?” He asked as he plopped his hat back on his head. 

The bells jingled and Geralt rolled his eyes. “You need to change. The bells will attract all sorts of monsters.” 

“No bells?” The elf pouted. 

“And something less colourful.” Geralt agreed. 

“Oh fuck that.” The elf groaned. “I’m not wearing black. No respectable Christmas elf would be seen dead in that.”

Geralt scoffed. “You will be dead if you don’t change, elf” 

“Jaskier.”  The elf laughed melodically. 

“What?” 

“My name, Geralt, is Jaskier. Don’t call me ‘elf.’ That’s so impersonal. No wonder your world is full of monsters. There’s no joy here!” 

Geralt snorted. “Bullshit.”

“No really! I can feel it.” Jaskier insisted. “Take me to a pub! or a theatre! I need to work, Geralt.” 

Geralt hummed but furrowed his brow. Jaskier was really from another world, or completely mad. Geralt hadn’t quite worked out what yet. 

“Or anywhere where there is good booze and merriment.” Jaskier said with a noisy flick of his wrists, rolling his eyes at Geralt’s obvious confusion.

“There’s a tavern in the next town. Go yourself.” Geralt grumbled. 

“But I don’t know the way!” Jaskier pouted. “And you said yourself, Geralt, I will probably get myself killed. You on the other hand, have two very scary looking swords and I’m sure you know how to use them. Please?? With chocolate sprinkles and edible glitter on top?”

Geralt grunted. 

“Excellent! Lead on, Geralt!” 

A tavern. 

Oooh Jaskier hadn’t been in a proper tavern for centuries. It stank like horse shit and mead but you honestly couldn’t beat it. The fire was roaring in the centre of the room. There were dried herbs and meat hanging from the ceiling over the bar. Everyone was drinking from tankards and goblets instead of glasses. Oh this was really a blast from the past. 

He. Was. Loving. It!

Geralt, not so much. The witcher, as Jaskier had learned, was brooding in the corner on the tavern out of sight of everyone else, which wasn’t the end of the world. It gave Jaskier a chance to swat up on the new realm. 

So far he’d worked out that it closely resembled Medieval Europe from Earth’s history, except… there was magic! Or Chaos as the people of the Continent called it. Chaos worked in a similar way to Spirit. It wasn’t finite. A mage couldn’t just creating world shattering events with no price. For smaller incantations or enchantments, the mages could rely upon their own life force. They would feel a drain in energy but be otherwise fine. That was the sort of Chaos that witchers could use with their ‘Signs’. Geralt had briefly explained the basics but refused to demonstrate his talent. The only reason Jaskier knew about it at all was because Geralt had created a shield when a pack of wolves had attacked them just outside the town of Posada. 

The shield was apparently something the witchers called Quen. 

Jaskier devoured all this new information like it was candy canes and mulled wine. It was just so fascinating, and would make excellent fodder for his new set of compositions for this Christmas when he finally got back home. A pang of guilt stabbed his chest. 

Home. 

He had meant to go home as soon as Geralt had relinquished the snow globe but he couldn’t just give up on his adventure. Not now he knew that magic existed in this realm. If he could just work out how to harness it, to link this realm’s faith and belief in magic, then the North Pole Realm could be alive again!

In his defence he had actually tried to back the jump back, but the globe was nearly depleted. There just wasn’t enough Spirit left. 

So he was pretty screwed either way. 

He sighed and rested his hand on his arms as he watched Geralt scowl across the room. 

“So you slay monsters?” He asked. 

Geralt grunted, and Jaskier was pretty sure that was his positive grunt as opposed to his ‘fuck off and go away’ grunt. 

“We’re not so different you and I then.” He hummed thoughtfully. Geralt snorted and glared at him indignantly, a trickle of ale dribbling from his lips, which Jaskier thought was just adorable. 

He was a magical being of love and joy. He could hardly be blamed for that thought, especially when his new witcher friend was utterly gorgeous. 

“No, really!” He insisted. “You slay monsters to protect people, I sing and spread cheer for the same reason. Never underestimate the power of family and love, dearest witcher.” 

He grinned and reached out to bop Geralt on the nose. The witcher snarled but Jaskier wasn’t afraid. They’d spent a few days on the road together, travelling towards Posada. Jaskier was even wearing one of Geralt’s disgustingly dull shirts. After the first bandit attack, Jaskier had agreed that maybe, just maybe, Geralt had been right about his own clothing drawing too much attention on the path. 

He missed the bells sorely though. He missed making music as he walked, but the bandits had almost stolen his snow globe and he couldn’t risk that again. Christmas on Earth would be ruined if he couldn’t get it back home to Santa. 

But his point was, if Geralt was going to hurt him then he would have done so already. 

And so Jaskier wasn’t afraid. 

“We don’t serve your kind here, elf!” A pale blond man hissed and jabbed Jaskier in the arm. 

“Oi!” He yelped and rubbed his arm. “Get off!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned with a shake of his head. 

Jaskier huffed and slunk further into his seat. “I won’t cause trouble.” He muttered dejectedly. 

“Bad enough, there’s a witcher!” The blond continued. “But he brought a fucking elf!” 

Jaskier saw red. 

Oh they could insult him all they like. He had always been a bit odd, even among his own kind, but to insult Geralt? A man who would lay down his life to protect these people! A man who had taken Jaskier under his wing and asked for never in return. A man so full of love that it made Jaskier’s heart ache to know he felt no joy. 

They would regret that. He found the snow globe in his borrowed satchel and closed his eyes. For the first time in centuries he allowed the Spirit in the globe to flow into him, drawing the last of its power for himself. 

He was practically buzzing by the time he opened his eyes. Outside the tavern, unbeknownst to its patrons, snow clouds were forming even in the heat of summer. Jaskier could sense them as he tried to rein in the Spirit. There wasn’t much left and he couldn’t afford to waste it. He giggled happily, mesmerising the man in front of him. It would have been more effective with his bells or an instrument but it would hopefully be enough so they could drink in peace. 

Back in the olden days the Christmas elves had been able to mesmerise humans in order to make sure the right gifts were bought for loved ones, or to make them forget if they saw something they shouldn’t have done. 

He guessed it wasn’t too dissimilar to Geralt’s Axii sign. 

“There won’t be any trouble.” He sang in the man’s ear. “Now be a good fellow, and get us all a round of spiced mead.” He caressed the man’s cheek and blew softly over his face. 

The blond’s scowl melted into a serene smile. “Spiced mead!” He called happily. The gesture would distract the rest of the tavern from Jaskier’s little display of magic. 

“What the fuck?” Geralt growled. 

Jaskier flexed his fingers. His finger tips were cold as snow now but he didn’t mind. It was a good feeling after so long. He stretched in his seat and let the Spirit settle in his bones. 

Flaming candlesticks! It had been too long. 

He probably only had a few more spells left before the magic was gone but by the holy star he was going to enjoy it. The tavern was soon filled with the sweet scent of spiced mead, one of Jaskier’s favourite drinks. He spied an old forgotten lute in the corner behind the bar, it was dusty and it looked a little broken but Jaskier couldn’t help the little cry of excitement. 

He tugged at Geralt’s armour and pointed. “Geralt! They have a lute!” 

“So?”

Jaskier whined. “A lute. Oh my dear witcher. It has been centuries since I last played the lute! It’s all CDs these days. Oh don’t look at me like that. I’m older than I look.”

Geralt scowled. He did that a lot. “CDs?”

“Yes! Oh never mind. I’m going to borrow it.” He announced. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and went back to glowering at the tavern and drinking his ale. 

Jaskier managed to charm the barmaid without any magic. It was remarkable how far a well placed compliment and a wink would go. She was putty in his hands in no time and she handed over the broken lute with a flustered apology. He kissed her cheek and thanked her. 

Unbeknownst to him, the snow globe in his satchel flickered slightly, not a constant glow but a tiny shimmer of light, barely perceptible even to his elven eyes. 

He trailed his fingers over the cracked wood. When it had first been made the lute would have stunning, as it was it was falling apart. He sighed and sang gently under his breath as he wove enchantments that hadn’t passed his lips in years. The lute melted back together and by the time he was finished it was as good as new, probably even better. He grinned. It had been a long time since the Christmas elves had used magic to create toys, or in his case instruments. They’d been doing it manually for far too long. 

He plucked one of the strings experimentally. The note chimed through the noisy tavern and there was a murmur of excitement from the crowd. He thought back through the compositions he’d been writing for this year’s Christmas… they were all about Santa and presents, Christmas lights etc. 

Not appropriate for this realm at all. 

He’d have to go old school and bring out some of the old Solstice folk songs. Ooh maybe he could write some songs about Geralt and witchers. Spread the message of these gentle beings who were protecting humanity. That would bring cheer. At the very least it might make Geralt’s life a little easier. He was rather fond of the grumpy witcher with too much love in his heart for a world that hated him. 

But for now he would sing his favourite old carols that had fallen into the mists of time for the humans of Earth. It was a cheerful upbeat number that celebrated the fire in the hearth and food around the table on the longest night of the year, bringing candles into the home to remind the old humans that the darkness wouldn’t last forever. 

He strummed the lute and hopped up onto the table as he began to sing. He didn’t use magic this time. Fixing the lute had all but drained what was left of the Spirit from the globe, but luckily he was an incredibly talented elf. Music was his talent. None of the other elves had been able to hold a candle to his skills in composition, poetry and performance. He danced and sang and flirted with the crowd. They clapped along, by the end of the second chorus some were even humming along drunkenly. 

He was filled with the joy and love in the room. He felt brighter than the star on the top of the tree. He twinkled and shined more than any fairy lights. He was performing again and dear god had he missed it. 

Chapter Text

Geralt sighed and tugged at the ropes that bound his hands together. 

He blamed Jaskier for this. 

The bloody elf had gotten everyone drunk and happy, which was a lethal mix. Some poor sap had decided it was a brilliant idea to hire a witcher when they usually feared them. Now he was tied up and his head was fucking killing him. 

“Filavandrel, please!” He heard Jaskier’s sing song voice pleading in the cave. 

He groaned and blinked, his eyes adjusting as he looked around. 

Elves. 

Fuck.

And these weren’t the happy music kind that Jaskier seemed to be. These elves were dangerous and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. 

“I have no choice.” A blond elf replied, Geralt assumed this was Filavandrel. 

If Geralt’s knowledge of history was right then this was the king of the elves, Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. 

“He won’t tell anyone!” Jaskier insisted. “We won’t tell anyone.”

Geralt looked between the two elves. The similarities were startling. Perhaps sometime before the Conjunction of the Spheres the two species shared ancestors. The pointed ears were the most obvious similarity, but there was something in the bone structure. The elven beauty that humans so often sung about. 

Jaskier’s eyes glowed though. It was only faint in the sunlight but they had grown brighter in the tavern when he’d absorbed the Chaos, or Spirit as he called it, from the orb. Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d never seen anything like it. He’d felt the thrum of magic from the satchel as Jaskier danced through the tavern, singing gaily and charming the lot of them out of their coin. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jaskier’s performance had managed to recharge the magic. 

The elf had mentioned that his magic was created through love and joy of this Christmas celebration. Geralt had scoffed at the thought. It was something out of a fairytale but he’d felt it, he’d seen it! He couldn’t deny the evidence that he’d seen with his own eyes. The love Jaskier had shown to the barmaid, the joy he’d brought to the tavern. 

It was magic. 

And Geralt was enchanted. 

“What are you?” Filavandrel hissed at Jaskier. “You are not like any elf I’ve met before.”

Jaskier laughed his musical laugh and tossed his fringe from his eyes. He put a hand on his hips and smirked at the blond elf. “We used to be called Sprites of the Solstice, but I assure you I am very much an elf.” 

Filavandrel scoffed. “If we let him go then the humans will learn that we’ve been stealing.” 

Jaskier shook his head. “But he’s not human, and neither am I! We are not your enemies your majesty.” 

“But are you our friends?” He asked with the serene quality in his voice that only elves could manage. 

Jaskier stuck his tongue between his lips and frowned. Geralt watched the pair of them silently. Jaskier hadn’t been tied up so the elves had trusted him to a certain extent. Geralt just hoped his elf knew what he was doing. Jaskier wasn’t familiar with this world. He’d experienced the hate against the elves first hand but that didn’t mean that he knew how to talk to elven royalty. 

He looked down at his fingers and hummed. 

“You have much hate in your hearts, Filavandrel. Now, no don’t look at me like that, I know why. The humans have not made your lives easy, but you need to learn love if you want to survive.”

“What?” A she-elf spat from the corner. Geralt recognised her as the elf who had ambushed them. 

“I’m a… a winter elf, not a summer one, so I can’t fix your harvest, but I am a rather talented musician. I could sing of the elves and their kindness. I could mesmerise a few humans in the town into forgetting why they ever hated elves.” He licked his lips. “Maybe one human, my Spirit is running low.”

Filavandrel stared at him aghast. “You can use Chaos?”

Jaskier snorted. “Even your word for it is all…” He finished his sentence with a flourish of his hands. “Chaos, Spirit, Magic. Whatever you want to call it. Yes. I can, but I can only harness it through the globe. It’s the North Pole Realm’s source of all magic. Please just let us go and I can help you.”

Filavandrel looked between Geralt and Jaskier then drew his blade. Geralt barely flinched as the steal kissed his throat and he stared back at the elf king defiantly. Jaskier had been right, the elves needed to learn to work with the humans if they wanted to survive. Their survival should come first, their pride could come later. 

“No!” Jaskier yelled.

Geralt’s eyes flashed over to the elf. He had a hand in the satchel which held the orb. His eyes flashed brighter and the temperature in the cave dropped. Geralt’s breath crystallised in front of him and he noticed flurries of snow fall from the sky. The tips of Jaskier’s hair was now covered in frost and his face was like thunder. 

“Do not harm him!” He hissed at Filavandrel. 

The blond elf regarded Jaskier haughtily but dropped his blade. “Incredible.” He breathed quietly, a wispy cloud forming from his lips. 

Jaskier blinked a couple of times and stared down at his hands in shock. The cave was filled with a sudden rush of warmth. “Sorry.” He mumbled with a sheepish smile as his hair returned to a soft chestnut brown. “It’s been a while. I’m not used to the power. I’d forgotten we could do that. It was meant to provide cover so the humans wouldn’t see us through the snow.”

“You are really quite remarkable.” Filavandrel murmured. “I haven’t seen elves with such raw power in centuries. Not since humans corrupted chaos.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Chaos is the same as it’s always been. Humans just adapted better.”

Both elves glared at him for his interruption and he raised an eyebrow at Jaskier. The Christmas elf was not as soft and helpless as he first appeared to be. Jaskier’s glare morphed back into a charming smile as he turned to face Filavandrel. 

“So, my darling friend, let us go and I promise you, we will help you.” Jaskier sang with a flick of his wrist. Filavandrel thought about the proposal for a long heavy beat and then nodded. 

“As you wish. Toruviel. Your lute.” He gestured at the she-elf. 

Jaskier’s lute was lying in pieces on the floor at the edge of the cave. The first casualty in the elves’ attack.

Toruviel continued to scowl at both Jaskier and Geralt but she left the cave with a grumble. When she returned she was holding an elven lute, intricately decorated and elegantly made. Jaskier’s eyes lit up. 

“A present!” He clapped his hands together. “By the holy star, I’ve never had a present before!” 

“A gift, to replace the one that was taken from you.” Filavandrel took the lute from Toruviel and presented it to Jaskier. 

Jaskier bowed as he accepted the present. “Thank you.” He grinned. “I won’t forget this.”

Geralt was untied by Torque and in return he gave Filavandrel the coin the farmer had given him. Jaskier beamed brightly when he noticed the gesture. 

They left the elves on good terms. Jaskier swaggered along the path with a spring in his step as he caressed his new instrument, chattering excitably about their adventure together. 

“Oooh. I almost forgot!” He spun round excitably, his lute swinging from his shoulder as he dug the orb out of the satchel. “Geralt! Look!”

The orb, or snow globe as Jaskier called it, was glowing brighter than Geralt had ever seen it. 

Geralt furrowed his brow. “What does it mean?”

Jaskier held the glowing orb up into the air and laughed melodically. “It means, dear witcher, that I can save my home. Humans on Earth no longer believe in magic in anymore, and without that belief our realm was dying. I heard Santa say that within a few decades our realm might cease to exist completely unless we could get people believing again, but there wasn’t enough Spirit left to do anything about it!”

“There is now.” Geralt surmised. 

“Yes! Look at it, Geralt!” He thrust the globe under Geralt’s nose. 

“Hmm.” He gripped his medallion in his hands to contain the vibrations. 

“This land is full of magic and belief in magic. It was just missing joy! Joy and love. If I can spread that throughout the land then I’ll be able to completely recharge the snow globe.” He licked his lips and traced a pattern on the glass. 

Geralt found himself swept along with Jaskier’s unbridled joy. He smiled faintly at the elf who was gazing in wonderment at his shining snow globe. 

“Back to the tavern then?” Geralt suggested. 

Jaskier’s glowing bright eyes flashed to meet his and he smiled fondly at Geralt. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat and his heart raced a little faster. 

If he hadn’t have been a witcher he might have said he was falling in love with the elf. 

But that was impossible. Witchers didn’t have feelings, and even if they did, someone as radiant as Jaskier would never love him back. 

He swallowed and tore his gaze away from Jaskier. He grunted and mounted Roach, kicking her into a canter as he put some distant between him and Jaskier’s kind smile. It was just the adrenaline that was making it so hard to breathe. That was all.  

Jaskier was having the time of his life. He’d been on the Continent for over a month now and was absolutely loving it. Geralt was a brilliant and interesting guide for this new world. The man was full of stories and knowledge about all the monsters and miscreants of the Continent. Jaskier took every single scrap of information and wove it into a delightful new song that painted Geralt and his witcher brethren as heroes of the Continent. 

Geralt wasn’t quite as happy with attention he was receiving as a result of Jaskier’s ballads. The witcher was finding it harder to slunk around in the shadows now that his name was becoming more renowned and more famed for heroic deeds rather than butchering, but Jaskier didn’t take much notice of the witcher’s grumbling. The snow globe was shining brighter every day and Jaskier was learning so much about the Christmas Spirit than had been dying out for decades. 

First and foremost was that it wasn’t the belief in Christmas or the Solstice or what wintery holiday that the Christmas elves had served over their long history. It was the absolutely, without doubt, the belief in the magic behind it, and in a world where magic or Chaos was so very present… the Spirit was thriving. 

But it needed more than belief. 

It needed hope, joy and love. 

It was the very essence behind Christmas, the bond between loved ones, a light in the dark. 

Earth was struggling to believe. 

The Continent lacked love and joy.

Jaskier couldn’t force humans of Earth to believe, not without revealing his true nature as a magical being, and that was strictly forbidden. What he could do was bring light to the darkness of the Continent. 

He was starting to thinking that being called Christmas Elves was a misnomer. They were so much more than that. 

He scoffed as he blew on his wine. Glitter fell over the drink and the goblet began to steam. He grinned. Mulled wine was clearly the superior option even if it was hot outside. 

“Would you stop doing that?” Geralt grumbled as he sipped his own tankard of cold ale. 

Jaskier smirked and flicked his wrist towards Geralt’s drink. He didn’t jingle the way he had before which saddened him. He really did miss his bells, but at least now he’d acquired some clothes that suited both his need to be colourful and Geralt’s requirement to not be a walking Christmas tree. He was now wearing a silky teal doublet with a beautiful fish scale pattern embedded into the fabric. It wasn’t quite the vibrant greens and reds he was used to but it would do. 

Geralt growled as his tankard began to steam and the delicious scent of hot spiced cider filled the room. 

“Jaskier!” 

Jaskier pouted, his face a picture of innocence. “Yes, darling?”

“Fuck off.” 

Jaskier let out a peal of laughter as the witcher scowled into his now hot drink. His laugh drew the attention of the nearby barmaid and he winked at her. She was really rather pretty, and if his job was to spread love then he could hardly be blamed for flirting. 

“Would you stop it?” Geralt snapped. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes and finished his wine in one large gulp. “Ah, dearest witcher. Are you jealous?” He purred. 

“No.” Geralt grumbled. “Are all Christmas elves like this?”

Jaskier frowned. 

“I’m afraid not. I’m one of a kind.” He mumbled and pulled away from the witcher. “More cider?”

“Ale. Cold.” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier scoffed. “You’re no fun, Geralt.” 

But he waved down the barmaid to order Geralt a new drink, and promised his witcher that he wouldn’t tamper with it. He swore that he was just excited to be able to use magic freely again. 

“And what would your Santa say?” Geralt asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

Jaskier rested his chin on his arms on top of the table and sighed dramatically. “Santa doesn’t know. Fuck!” He groaned. 

“What?”

“I need to go back.” He whined and pouted at Geralt. “Santa won’t be able to enchant the reindeers without the snow globe.”

Geralt huffed. “Half of what you say makes no sense.” 

“They can’t fly without it!” Jaskier insisted. 

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “Reindeer have wings?”

“Oh darling… no.” He giggled at the mental image. “That’s why they need the Spirit to fly.”

“Your realm is strange.” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Makes no sense.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Perhaps, but it’s home.”

Jaskier stood in the middle of their shared tavern room dressed back in the clothes that he had arrived in. Geralt had almost forgotten just how bright the felty fabric was. He much preferred the way Jaskier looked in the soft blues and golds that he had taken to wearing over the last two months. They complimented his bright cornflower blue eyes better. The garish Christmas elf clothes were too harsh. They made him look like a fool. 

Geralt scoffed.

Jaskier may act the fool but he was very much not one. The bells and songs and general foppish persona were just quirks of his personality, and ones that led people to underestimate him, especially now he could access his magic. Geralt had grown quite fond of his elven bard over the last few weeks. The noise and endless chatter was no longer irritating and instead filled a quiet void that Geralt hadn’t realised was there. 

His heart beat faster whenever the elf called him darling or, more recently dear heart and he found a little bit of home in Jaskier’s softly glowing eyes. 

Ok, so perhaps Geralt had developed feelings for the elf. 

Feelings that he would deny profusely if anyone were to ask him. Jaskier was clearly a lover of the fairer sex, and had had many dalliances during his time on the Continent and despite what Jaskier said, he wasn’t jealous.

He would just miss the shining presence of the Christmas elf in his life. 

“So…” Jaskier sighed. 

He looked miserable and he gripped the snow globe in his hands. His hair was almost completely covered in frost as he absorbed the energy to make the jump. Geralt couldn’t help but smile at that. His magic was unlike anything the Continent had ever seen. In its own way it was remarkably powerful, but if he were to go up against the sorceresses of Aretuza then he would almost certainly lose. Without the snow globe, Jaskier had no access to his powers and they were, what the sorceresses would call, cheap tricks. 

Geralt grunted in reply to Jaskier’s unasked question. 

“Guess it’s time for me to go.” He sighed again and looked down at his shoes that were adorned with bells.

“Yeah.” Geralt agreed with a scowl, ignoring the pain in his chest. 

“Santa needs me.” Jaskier mused. “He needs the globe.”

Geralt tilted his head and moved to cover Jaskier’s hands with his own. He could feel the chill radiating from the elf. He swallowed as he looked into Jaskier’s brilliant blue eyes. Jaskier licked his lips and was, remarkably, quiet. 

“He needs you.” Geralt corrected him. “Look at what you’ve done, Jaskier. This was empty before you arrived here.”

“Not empty.” Jaskier amended. 

“As good as.” Geralt growled gently at his friend. “You wanted to save your realm?”

Jaskier nodded. 

“You’ve done well, elf.” He smiled faintly, it was all he could manage. 

Jaskier flushed, probably from the cold that was surrounding them. “Yeah, well. I had a good muse.” He looked up at Geralt through his eyelashes and Geralt was once more taken aback by the elf’s beauty. “Geralt?”

Geralt hummed, finding no words to say. 

“I. I should quite like to kiss you now? I thought, maybe, seeing as I probably won’t see you again… there’s no harm in asking right?” Jaskier stammered. 

Geralt’s mind went blank and before he knew it his hands were cupping Jaskier’s cheeks and he was kissing the elf fiercely. The kiss was over before it had begun as Geralt realised what he was doing and he stumbled back with wide eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier had the audacity to laugh. He scoffed with a jingling flick of his wrist. “Geralt, dear heart, there is nothing to apologise for.”

Geralt scowled at Jaskier. Of course there was something to apologise for. 

“I asked you to.” Jaskier reminded him and stepped forward to caress Geralt’s cheek in a gesture that was so tender and openly affectionate that Geralt really didn’t know how to react. 

“But you’re leaving.” He mumbled. “Why would you ask that when you’re leaving?”

Jaskier’s eyes bore down into his, and neither of them noticed the snow beginning to fall around them. 

“Because I wanted to reason to stay.” Jaskier admitted quietly. “Or at the very least, a reason to come back, to you.”

Geralt’s resolve crumbled and they were kissing again. The snow around them whipped around their feet in a flurry and even Geralt’s hair was covered in frost by the time they parted. 

“Stay.” He growled.

Jaskier closed his eyes and shook his head. “They need me.”

“I need you.” Geralt countered. 

Jaskier snorted. “A big bad witcher needing little old me? Please.”

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I want you then.”

Jaskier smirked and took Geralt’s hand in his. “Oh I know, I’ll come back, dear heart, darling, shining star, my white wolf.” 

Each of the nicknames was followed by a kiss to Geralt’s palm.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier laughed. “I love you too, darling.” He winked and dropped Geralt’s hand. 

Before Geralt could reply, Jaskier shook the snow globe, vanishing in a swirl of snow. The last thing Geralt saw was a twinkle of lights in the flurry of snow flakes and there was an echo of musical laughter. 

Jaskier was gone. 

Chapter Text

“Where on the holy star have you been, Jaskier?” Poinsettia snapped, her face was redder than the trimmings on her hat. “And with the Christmas Spirit, no less! What were you thinking?!” She squeaked indignantly. 

Poinsettia was unusually tiny for an elf. She came up to Jaskier’s shoulder, even with her hat and her bell. Her hair was bubblegum pink and she had eyes like a chocolate reindeer, but Jaskier was well acquainted with her short fuse. She was a lot of anger bundled up in bells and sugarplums. Jaskier had still been a young elf when Poinsettia was appointed head elf by Santa. She’d been lighter back then. Spirit was still used freely back then and the elves had been the joyous singing delights that the humans thought they were. More recently the North Pole had been rather dour, and Poinsettia was the perfect example of that. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled the snow globe out from behind his back. 

“Just saving the North Pole Realm, you know, business as usual. Wow, thanks Jaskier.” He mimicked her squeaky voice, seriously how had she ever become head elf? “Oh, no. No problem at all. Just doing my duty, boss!” He bowed dramatically and presented her with the globe. “My lady.” He winked and licked his lips. 

She gasped and snatched the globe from his hand. He smirked and stood up to watch her as she gazed into the snowy landscape trapped inside the globe. He tilted his head and brushed his fringe from his eyes and he saw a shimmer of Spirit glow under her fingers. 

“But how?” She whispered as if speaking loudly would drain the Spirit from the globe. She gripped the globe in one hand and with the other she created a small flurry of snow flakes that danced between her fingers. 

Jaskier shrugged. “A happy accident and a little bit of love.” 

Poinsettia scoffed. “Love? Jaskier, we’re Christmas elves. We don’t fall in love.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and snorted indignantly. “Oh yeah, and who told you that?”

“Well everyone knows that.” Poinsettia insisted. 

“I don’t.” Jaskier grumbled and tossed his fringe. “In fact I know the opposite to be true, dear sister. We can and do fall in love.”

“I have to tell Santa.” She muttered to herself, holding the globe to her chest, and scurrying off towards Santa’s Grotto.  

“Oh hey now, hang on!” Jaskier yelled and ran after her. Filavandrel’s lute slipped off his arm as he ran and he stumbled as he tried to stop the precious instrument from clattering to the ground. “Oh no you don’t!” 

He cradled his beloved instrument in his arms and then looked up. Poinsettia was gone. 

He frowned and stuck his tongue out, picturing Santa’s Grotto in his mind. When he was certain he had it, he let the Spirit loose and he was lost in a flurry of snow. When it cleared Santa was peering down at him. 

He was not the jolly old man that kids thought he was, not at that moment. 

“Jaskier!” 

“Hello Santa, old friend.” He mumbled and gave him a wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You just frost hopped.” Santa pointed out. “Care to explain?”

“I, well, it was an accident.” He spluttered. “I may have, sort of, stolen the snow globe.”

Santa nodded as if he’d expected this answer. “You travelled to the realm known only as the Continent.” 

Jaskier gaped at the old man, nay the legend, before him. “How?”

“The snow globe is ancient magic, Jaskier. It is linked to me no matter what form I take.” Santa said gravely. “From the old gods, to St. Nicholas to Santa Claus. I know where the snow globe is throughout time and space.”

Jaskier let out a stream of syllables that should have been words. 

“You have done well, little buttercup, but there is sadness in your heart?” Santa’s voice was all warmth and cinnamon sugar. 

Jaskier couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t actually angry! 

“I, umm, well, yeah.” He admitted. “I’m afraid I think I left part of my heart behind, sir.”

“Then what are you still doing here, elf?” Santa laughed his famous hearty ‘Ho ho ho’ and shoved Jaskier fondly. 

Jaskier stumbled a little and squeak. “Wait what?”

“You returned the snow globe full of Spirit. Now off with you! Take a reindeer and go!” Santa chortled. 

Jaskier was still staring. “A reindeer?” He repeated. 

“Your heart is waiting. Come back in Winter. I have no doubt you’ll have plenty of new winter tales to share with humanity.” Santa pushed him gently from the Grotto. “I trust you have enough Spirit stored to enchant a reindeer, but be a good fellow and leave Rudolph. I won’t admit to playing favourites but he’s my favourite.”

“Yes Santa.” Jaskier mumbled.

“Oh and Jaskier!” Santa called before he could leave. “Take this.”

Jaskier watched in awe as a large snowflake formed in Santa’s hand. With the other hand, the old man gently tapped the top point of the snow flake and it burst into a flurry of snow. When the snow flurry cleared there was a second snow globe. It was barely a quarter of the size of the original but it was definitely a snow globe. 

Jaskier whistled a low drawn out note and carefully took the tiny globe in the palm of his hand. “How did you do that?” He asked. 

Santa just winked and tapped his nose. “Away with you, young elf.”

Jaskier grinned and turned on his heels. He conserved his Spirit and ran off towards the stables, waving to Poinsettia as they crossed paths. She was still gripping onto the original snow globe for dear life as she ran to the Grotto and seemed quite surprised to see him running in the other direction. 

“I’ll see you in December!” He called. “I have to go!”

He didn’t wait for a response. 

By the time he reached the stables he was panting heavily, and his lungs and legs were burning. “Oh fuck.” He grumbled and leant against the nearest stall. Rudolph’s red nose butted him in the head. “Oi!” 

Rudolph’s nose didn’t glow like it once had but maybe this year with the return of Spirit, it would shine again. 

The reindeer snorted and Jaskier scratched him behind the ears. “I’m not allowed to take you, dearest Rudolph, but I’ll be back in time to pack the sleigh. I promise!”

In the end he chose one of the younger reindeers, one that hadn’t yet been donned with golden bells and one of the special reindeer names. 

“I suppose you need a name.” He said fondly as he stroked the reindeers feet, the Spirit pouring from his fingers over the hooves.

The young reindeer huffed. 

“I shall name you… Greg!” He announced with glee. “A far better name than Roach. Who calls their horse Roach?”

Greg whacked him over the head with his small antlers.

“No?” Jaskier pouted. “Oh fine. How about Pegasus? You will be flying after all.”

Pegasus seemed to quite like that and nuzzled against Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“Ok then.” Jaskier sang. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Pegasus snorted again and Jaskier hopped on his back.

“Ho ho ho!” Jaskier laughed in his lower register, trying to impersonate Santa. “Merry Christmas!!” 

Pegasus shook his antlers but kicked off the ground and they were off. Jaskier wasn’t sure how Santa or the reindeer knew the way between realms, Jaskier normally got distracted by the stars whizzing past his head when he was on the sleigh, but Pegasus seemed to understand exactly where Jaskier wanted to go and soon enough the now familiar stars of the Continent faded into view. 

He grinned and stroked the reindeers neck. “Good boy, Pegasus. We’re home.” 

Geralt had barely made it out of town before there was a surge of magic and blinding lights. He drew his sword without thinking and pointed it at the twinkling lights on the path in front of him. The only thing that stopped him from attacking was the strange jingle of bells. 

Jaskier’s bells. 

But it couldn’t be Jaskier. The elf had only just left him to go back home. The empty feeling in his chest was proof of that, a dull ache that wouldn’t go way no matter how many healing potions he took. 

He scoffed. How had the bastard managed to get under his skin so easily? It had only been a few months, but he was so unlike anyone Geralt had ever met. So open with his love and affection that Geralt had let his guards down before he’d even noticed. 

The lights in the sky grew brighter and Geralt snarled, holding his sword steady towards the crackle of magic. 

To his great surprise a reindeer came barrelling into him. He dropped his sword and leapt to the side of the path, rolling to break his fall. 

“Fuck!” He cursed and he scrambled back to his feet, only to be knocked down again by a jingly bundle of green and red. 

“Geralt!!” Jaskier cried happily. 

He scowled but wrapped his arms around Jaskier almost instinctively as he lay on the hard ground.

“You’re back.” He hummed not quite believing that Jaskier was there in his arms. 

The way the elf had been talking, Geralt had assumed Jaskier would have been away for months, at least until after winter. Apparently winter was a crazy season for the Christmas elves, but here he was, back on the Continent. 

“I’m back!” Jaskier agreed and pulled back from the hug just enough to stare down at Geralt with light shining in his eyes. 

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Thought it would be longer.”

Jaskier pouted. “And I thought you’d be pleased to see me.” 

Geralt scoffed. He was about to pull the elf down into a kiss when they were interrupted by a long set of antlers forcing their way between them. 

“Oi!” Jaskier grumbled and pushed the reindeer’s snout away. “Pegasus no!” 

The reindeer stamped its hoof and Geralt heard Roach’s answering huff. 

“You have a reindeer?” He asked incredulously. 

“I’m a Christmas elf, Geralt! How many times do we have to go through that? What else what I have, a motorbike?”

Geralt frowned. 

“Oh never mind, you won’t understand.” Jaskier answered Geralt’s unasked question with a jingling wave of his hand and then helped pull them both to their feet. 

“I am glad you’re back.” Geralt admitted and smiled faintly at the way Jaskier seemed to light up with his whole body. “Just wasn’t expecting it so soon. I almost ran you through with my sword.” 

“Nonsense!” Jaskier rolled his eyes and swatted Geralt’s arm. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed, not on purpose at any rate. 

“And Santa was proud of the work I’d done here. He sent me back to keep up the good work. Ooh look!” Jaskier pulled a miniature snow globe from his pocket. “I even have my own personal snow globe now.” 

Geralt peered at the tiny globe. The scene in this snow globe was different. The original globe had had a small village of tiny snow covered cottages and even smaller figurines of people running in the streets. If Geralt didn’t know better, he would have said that this one was a miniature Kaer Morhen, but that was impossible. Jaskier had never seen Kaer Morhen. Geralt was certain he hadn’t even mentioned his home or the other witchers. 

“What’s that?” He asked as he poke the glass. 

Jaskier shrugged. “Some old castle. Something Santa picked out I guess.”

Geralt frowned. “Hmm.”

“So where to, witcher?” Jaskier grinned as he hopped astride his reindeer. “What adventures do we have in store? What ballads will I be writing next?” 

Geralt grunted and mounted Roach. He didn’t answer Jaskier’s question. Truth be told he didn’t know where they would be heading next. He would follow the path until he found a town with a noticeboard or Destiny intervened. 

“Come on, Roach.” He kicked his horse into a trot, knowing Jaskier would follow. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for Jaskier to fly, literally fly, past him in a blur of sparkling glittery light, laughing melodically?

“I’ll race you!” He trilled from a couple of feet above Geralt’s head. 

Chapter Text

Peace. 

Fucking peace. 

Geralt charged along the path towards the mayor’s house where Jaskier and Yennefer were hopefully still both alive. He didn’t want anymore lives on his conscience today.

They’d been travelling together for sixteen years at this point, married for eight, and he knew Jaskier had a tendency to chatter, especially when he nervous about something. They’d been toying with the idea of Geralt going with Jaskier back to his home this winter. Jaskier had visited Kaer Morhen a couple of times over the years when he’d been able to convince Santa that he wasn’t needed for Christmas that year, returning in the spring to pass along the Christmas Spirit he’d managed to capture in the smaller snow globe, but Geralt had never seen the North Pole Realm. Jaskier was worried about bringing an outsider into his realm. Not because he didn’t trust Geralt but because he didn’t trust the other Christmas elves to treat Geralt kindly. 

Jaskier’s isolation from his own kind had only gotten worse after they’d had a hand-fasting ceremony eight years ago. It had been Geralt’s idea. He’d needed something to hold onto during the months they were separated each year and he knew that Jaskier was the romantic sort. 

Vesemir had performed the ceremony and his brothers had been there as witness. Jaskier had ridden home on Pegasus to ask a few of his closer friends from the North Pole to attend but he’d come back alone and devastated, the light in his eyes almost nonexistent. 

He’d vowed right there and then to make sure that Jaskier knew that he always had a family in the witchers of Kaer Morhen. 

Their marriage had also saved them a whole lot of trouble when it came to jilted lovers. Over his first few years on the Continent, Jaskier had built up quite a reputation as a lover of all and disgruntled spouses often lashed out at him when they had the chance. Now, no one came near Jaskier, not with his witcher husband standing guard. He smiled fondly as he remembered the swine from Pavetta’s betrothal feast. He hadn’t noticed Geralt watching Jaskier from across the room and had almost shit himself when Geralt introduced himself as Jaskier’s husband. 

Of course it was that shit show that was still haunting Geralt to this day. It was nightmares  of his child surprise fleeing from a burning city that had kept him awake each night. It was that fated evening that had caused his irritation the day before. So yes Jaskier had been particularly chattery, too anxious to read Geralt’s short fuse but he was the one that had lashed out at Jaskier. Sure he was exhausted but it was Jaskier. 

He should never have said that, not to him, not to someone he loved. 

Now if only he could get that fucking scent out of his head. He’d known as soon as it had hit him that there had been some kind of enchantment. His medallion had hummed on his chest but he’d noticed too late. The damn witch had been inside his head, manipulating his thoughts, pulling at his free will. It had been a blessing that he’d blacked out. He didn’t want to remember the pain he’d caused throughout the town, further damaging the reputation of witchers and undoing all of Jaskier’s work. 

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the angel Gabriel. I might live to see another day.” Jaskier came running from the house. His shirt was covered in his blood and Geralt winced. It had all been his fault. Instead of pulling Geralt into a hug, like he would usually do, Jaskier charged straight past him.  “We need to go.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grabbed his elf’s hand and pulled him to a stop. He needed to see for himself that there was no permeant damage done. He cupped Jaskier’s cheek and smudged the blood from his lips. “You’re ok?”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” Jaskier snapped. 

Fuck. 

He was still mad at Geralt. They didn’t argue this badly very often. Neither of them enjoyed the distance it put between them, and they always tried to make up before winter came and they parted ways. 

Geralt hummed. “What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous.” Jaskier explained with a flick of his wrist. He no longer wore bells around his wrists during the summer but he’d never quite lost the habit. His words stung. Geralt snarled. Now his husband was just being petty. “The second, significantly more terrifying.”

“Tell me about the second one.” Geralt grumbled. 

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen. You know, the usual.” Jaskier answered, ever the dramatist. 

Yennefer. 

Fuck.

He had to save her, he owed her for Jaskier’s life. She wasn’t allowed to die. 

Jaskier protested at Geralt’s response but Geralt insisted. 

Finally with a dramatic sigh, Jaskier grabbed onto Geralt’s hand and they were wrapped up in a flurry of snow. 

Frost hopping, Jaskier called it. 

Geralt called it what it was, a short ranged portal, and he fucking hated portals. 

Yennefer was tearing herself apart trying to capture the djinn, and neither Geralt or Jaskier’s magic would touch her, not like this. 

He had to wish. 

So he wished. 

And the house went still. 

For a moment. 

The calm before the storm. 

Then havoc as it all began to crumble on top of them. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier screamed and everything stopped. 

No. 

Not stopped. 

Yennefer looked between the pair of them in shock. 

Jaskier’s hair was now white with frost and his hands were like ice in Geralt’s. Geralt had to let go before the cold burnt his skin. 

“What the fuck?” Yennefer asked. “I thought he a bard?”

Geralt shrugged. “He’s also an elf.” 

The ceiling creaked a low long groan and dust slowly floated down from the sky. 

“Fuck!” Jaskier gasped, his eyes flying open. They were like blue torches in the darkness of the bedroom.

Geralt had never seen them shining so brightly. 

“Not even Francesca Findabair could do this.” Yennefer muttered. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier slurred the word, his voice was strained and barely above a whisper. “I can’t hold it. Not enough Spirit. Get us out!” 

Geralt grunted and turned to Yennefer. “We need to go. Now.”

“I can see that, witcher.” She snapped. “Grab hold of your bard and take my hand.”

Geralt took a deep breath and wrap his arm around Jaskier’s waist. The cold pierced through his armour and he felt like he’d jumped into the icy rivers around Kaer Morhen. He hissed in pain but managed to hold onto Yennefer’s outstretched hand. 

His stomach churned as Yennefer made another portal. 

He groaned. If he could never see another portal again then he would be happy. It was the simple pleasures in life, like knowing how to walk places or riding Roach or just anything except a portal. 

All three of them tumbled to the ground in Yennefer’s sex den. Jaskier fell limp in Geralt’s arms, the colour returning to his hair and skin. Geralt landed on his back, thankfully onto a cushion and Yennefer collapsed next to him her arm draped over Jaskier’s back. Geralt groaned quietly under the weight of the two bodies. He heard the roof crumbling above them. 

Yennefer’s portal and whatever shit Jaskier had done, had saved their lives. 

Geralt brushed Jaskier’s now brunet fringe from his eyes. They were shut but Geralt could thankfully feel the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart. 

He was alive. 

Geralt turned his attention to Yennefer. She wasn’t moving but she was also alive. The portal must have drained her energy.

“Yennefer.” He tried to rouse her, unsuccessfully. He carefully laid Jaskier down on the large cushion and pressed his lips to his husband’s forehead. 

Jaskier groaned quietly under his touched and rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball. 

He was alright. So Geralt tried Yennefer again. She was more awake this time and her tongue was sharper than his blades, blaming him for the djinn’s disappearance as if he’d hadn’t saved her life with his wish. 

His wish. 

Fuck. 

That could have been better worded. 

He made a note not to tell Jaskier. His husband, the ever eloquent wordsmith, would have his head if he knew. 

He traded barbs with Yennefer until Jaskier whacked him in the leg. 

“Would you two shut up?” He grumbled and buried his face in the pillow. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Careful, Jask. You don’t know where that cushion’s been.” He huffed a laugh. 

Jaskier immediately jumped to his feet before falling straight back into Geralt’s lap. 

“Oh fuck, my head.” He whined and snuggled into Geralt’s embrace. 

“How did you do that?” Yennefer asked. 

“Do what?” Jaskier slurred.

“You stopped time.” She raised an eyebrow at the pair of them. 

Geralt shrugged. She had been the one who had assumed they were only friends. He’d been too overwhelmed by the panic in his chest to correct her before. 

“Slowed time.” Jaskier corrected. “and I don’t know. I thought only Santa could do that.”

“Santa?” She laughed. “What the fuck is that?”

“His boss.” Geralt explained. 

“Santa, Father Christmas, good old Saint Nicholas.” Jaskier waved his hand but kept his face buried in Geralt’s chest. 

“Is he mad?” Yennefer asked. 

Geralt shrugged again. 

“Oi!” Jaskier snapped. Geralt just laughed and kissed his hair. 

“You married me.” Geralt reminded him gently. 

“Oh yes, I was completely mad to marry you.” Jaskier drawled sarcastically and pulled back to glare at him. “Eight years and you still doubt that I love you.”

Geralt hummed nonchalantly. 

“Married?” Yennefer scoffed. “A Witcher and a bard, how poetic.”

Jaskier laughed. It wasn’t his normal radiant laugh, he was too tired from the exertion of the magic, but it was still beautiful. “All the best love stories are, my darling witch.”

Jaskier watched helplessly as Geralt and Yennefer tore each other apart with scathing words. His own heart was breaking as Borch revealed the true extent of Geralt’s fated wish. 

How could his husband be so foolish?

He didn’t noticed the frost creep out from beneath his boots as he seethed silently away from the feuding pair. 

No wonder Geralt and Yennefer had always had this strange dance. Geralt had never cheated on him, as far as he was aware, but Jaskier had noticed the way his witcher was always drawn to the sorceress. He’d just turned a blind eye. It had been easier that way. 

Fuck!

Was this the feeling he’d sparked in all those jealous spouses all those years ago?

Fuck!

He wrapped his arms around his chest. For the first time in decades in actually missed his home, not Kaer Morhen or his occasional lodgings in Oxenfurt but his real home. The North Pole. His cosy little ginger bread cottage with it’s roaring fireplace and the ever-present scent of candy canes and cinnamon. 

Sure he dropped back a few times a year to transfer the Spirit he’d generated and every other year he still joined Santa on the sleigh, although he’d never built up the courage to ask Santa how he had managed to slow time in Rinde. Christmas elves were not supposed to have that ability and he was unsettled by it. He’d also been avoiding the topic of bringing Geralt back to visit. His husband already put up with enough hate in this realm, he didn’t need it from the other Christmas elves too. 

And after this delightful revelation, Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he wanted to bring Geralt home, not if he was just going to pine after Yennefer the whole time. 

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He was going to be sick. His ears started ringing as he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t do this. Not without Geralt. Christmas elves weren’t supposed to fall in love and yet Jaskier had fallen so deeply in love that he could no longer imagine what his life would be without Geralt in it, but how were they supposed to move past this.

Yennefer stormed past him and he watched her go, his hands white and trembling. He gripped tightly onto his lute strap in attempt to ground himself but it didn’t work. 

He needed to get away. 

He couldn’t bear to lose Geralt any more than he already had. He couldn’t look Geralt in the eyes and know that his husband no longer loved him. 

He let out a shaky breath, wisps of condensation escaping his lips, and he could feel the cool frost in his hair. He was losing control of the Spirit that he had stored in his veins but there still wasn’t enough to make the jump back to pegasus. His reindeer was too far away for him to frost hop and he couldn’t get home without him. 

He scrambled to his feet and went to follow Yennefer back down the mountain. 

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt called after him.

Jaskier froze and spun round to face his husband with tears in his eyes. 

Christmas elves didn’t cry. They were joyful creatures by nature. They sang and whistled and made toys for all the children of Earth. They created fairy lights and Christmas trees. They baked gingerbread and painted striped on candy canes, and elves like Jaskier created the music of Christmas, the soulful carols that uplifted the hearts of every human on Earth, young and old. 

But they never cried. 

Jaskier hadn’t even realised it was possible. 

He brought a shaky finger up to his eyes and wiped away the tear. He had to laugh despite everything when he noticed the flecks of glitter in the droplet. 

Geralt’s arms wrapped and around him, despite how cold he must be to the witcher. He pressed his face against Geralt’s chest, too weak to resist his lover’s embrace. 

“Are you… crying?” Geralt murmured quietly. 

Jaskier scoffed and sniffed loudly. “Apparently so.” 

“Why?” 

Jaskier sighed and he frost hopped away from Geralt in a cloud of snow. 

“Why?!” He snapped putting his hands on his hips. “Geralt, you bound yourself to her like she’s your fucking soulmate. Bloody hell. Why would you do that?”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t have time to think about it, Jaskier. Fuck!” He snarled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was just trying to save her life.” 

“Always so fucking noble.” Jaskier grumbled. “You could have just asked the djinn to let her live!”

“It was a mistake.” 

“You didn’t want to lose her, Geralt. Bollocks. You barely knew her.” Jaskier glared. “Is that why you went back inside, because you wanted her…”

“No.”

“I don’t understand!” Jaskier yelled and snow whipped around him, lashing out against Geralt and knocking him to the floor. “Oh shit, Geralt!”

He ran over to where the witcher was lying on his back and covered in snow. 

Geralt groaned and wiped the snow from his eyes. “Jask.” He reached out for Jaskier and despite his anger and heartbreak Jaskier took Geralt’s outstretched hand. 

“Just tell me one thing, Geralt.” Jaskier sighed. 

Geralt grunted. 

“Why did you lie to me about the wish?” He asked quietly. 

Another grunt. 

Jaskier huffed and rolled his eyes, yanking his hand away from Geralt and moving back down the path.

“I knew you would be cross.” Geralt mumbled. Jaskier stopped but didn’t turn to face his husband. “You are so good with words. I knew you would have thought of a hundred ways I could have made that wish that didn’t bind Yen and I together. I felt… inadequate. I didn’t want to disappoint you, but it’s too late now.” 

Jaskier’s heart broke again for the second time that day. 

Fuck! 

How had he been so selfish? He knew Geralt was hurting, losing Yennefer would be hard for his husband, no matter what he thought of the witch, and facing his own abandonment of the child surprise would have been a second dagger in his witcher heart. 

Jaskier sighed and wiped his tears. He didn’t need them. Geralt loved him. He knew that. He wouldn’t let this jealousy poison his heart. He’d be a shit Christmas elf if he couldn’t forgive easily, especially when Geralt sounded so remorseful. 

“I’m disappointed, yes.” He agreed. “but only because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” He knelt beside the snowdrift that was currently Geralt of Rivia and cupped his husband’s face in his hands. 

“I’m… sorry.” Geralt refused to meet his eyes.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s forehead. “I know, dear heart. I know.”

“Forgive me?”

Jaskier smiled weakly at his husband. “Of course. That doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting though, Geralt, but I forgive you.”

“You’ll come to Kaer Morhen this winter?”

Jaskier frowned. He’d spent Christmas at Kaer Morhen last year. This year he was due to go back to the North Pole. He had instruments to enchant and Christmas hits to pass around Earth. Whilst Earth wasn’t generating as much Spirit as the Continent, things had improved in the last couple of decades. Now that the Christmas elves could use Spirit again there were traces of magic on Earth once more and the children believed in Santa for a little longer with every year that passed. 

Jaskier was incredibly proud of that achievement, but it did mean that he couldn’t abandon his home and his work to be with Geralt every year at Christmas. 

He shook his head. “I have to work.”

“So I’ll come with you.” Geralt said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. 

Jaskier sighed and nodded. 

It was time. He couldn’t hide his home from his husband any longer. They both needed to face the music of his fellow elves, and the North Pole Realm. 

“Alright then. Yeah.” He appraised Geralt’s snow covered outfit. The black armour that Geralt never seemed to change out of, unless Jaskier literally forced him to. 

He pictured Geralt stomping around the North Pole with his swords and his black clothes and his grumpy expression, and he promptly burst out laughing. 

His husband would look like a bull in a china shop. 

“What?” Geralt growled which only made Jaskier laugh harder. He brushed some of the snow from Geralt’s silvery hair and kissed him chastely before rubbing their noses together. 

“You, darling witcher, will need to change before you get anywhere near the North Pole Realm.” He sniggered at Geralt’s look of horror. 

“No bells.” 

“Yes! Bells!” Jaskier clapped his hands together and with a flick of his wrist, Geralt had a shining silver bell attached to his usual black leather hair tie. He tilted his head and reached round to flick the bell.

“Jaskier!” Geralt snarled and lunged for him. 

Jaskier grinned and frost hopped away before running down the mountain. Only this time he was sure Geralt would follow him. 

Chapter Text

Geralt was not happy. 

This was mostly due to the fact that Jaskier had forced him into the red scaly doublet and trousers that he’d been wearing the day before. To both their astonishment, the clothes fit Geralt almost perfectly. It was a little tight across the shoulders but that was fine. Geralt would just pull a Jaskier and not do the garment up properly. Jaskier was back in his vibrant green and red ensemble from his home land. He’d tried to convince Geralt to wear a matching outfit, as apparently all the Christmas elves did, but Geralt had refused. They compromised on the duller red doublet from the dragon hunt. 

Still Geralt really didn’t enjoy wearing the more flamboyant outfits of his husband. He much preferred it when Jaskier decided to wear his shirts instead. They hung slightly looser on the elf’s form and the tease of dark chest hair peeking out from under the collar never failed to send a rush of warm arousal through Geralt’s body. 

“And one last touch!” Jaskier’s laugh chimed like the bells he wore. The elf flicked his wrist and a flurry of snow whipped up in his palm, as it settled a small golden bell appeared on Jaskier’s palm. 

“No.” Geralt grunted. 

“But dearest! It matches your eyes!” Jaskier pouted. 

Geralt glared back at him for less than two seconds before sighing. “Fine.” 

Jaskier grinned. “Oh ho ho! I knew you wouldn’t say no, now come here.” Geralt stepped forward, dragging his feet slightly just to make a point. “Oh stop all your grumbling. You look incredibly handsome in my clothes, dearest of hearts.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier gently ties the bell around one of his wrists and then brought Geralt’s hand up to his lips. Geralt almost smiled as Jaskier placed a kiss on the palm of his hand. 

Almost.

He was still pissed off. 

He missed his armour. 

“There.” Jaskier beamed up at him and he felt his sour expression soften under his lover’s gaze. “Beautiful.”

“Jask.” He groaned as he felt the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks. 

Jaskier bopped him on the nose. “Beautiful, lovely and gorgeous.” Jaskier insisted and cupped his cheek, pulling him into a tender kiss. “Are you ready?” 

Geralt frowned as he glanced over a Pegasus. “Are you sure he can carry both of us?”

Jaskier scoffed with a wave of his hand. “He’s a magic reindeer, Geralt. Have a little faith.” 

Geralt hummed, not convinced. Pegasus was at least fully grown these days. When Jaskier had first arrived on the reindeer back when they’d first met, he’d been barely old enough for Jaskier to ride. Even with Jaskier’s Spirit they would have to break frequently or go slowly as Jaskier walked instead of rode. 

These days Pegasus was a fine mount, for a reindeer. He was no Roach and the antlers occasionally got in the way of Jaskier seeing properly but Geralt had grown rather fond of the beast. 

“You’re up front?” Geralt asked as they both approached the reindeer. 

Jaskier shrugged. “There’s not much steering involved. He knows where he’s going better than I do. Plus I rather like the view from the back.” He winked and pinched Geralt’s arse. 

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re up front.” He repeated. 

“Oi! What? No!” Jaskier pouted. “Geralt!”

Geralt smirked. “I rather like the view from the back.” 

Jaskier flushed brighter than his hat, despite the fact they’d been together for over two decades. It was for this exact reason that Geralt didn’t flirt back very often. He enjoyed seeing Jaskier get flustered for a change and he didn’t want the effect to get old. 

Jaskier let out a string of noises and fumbled to get up on his reindeer. Geralt chuckled but pulled himself up behind the bard, placing a kiss on the back of his neck as they both settled. Jaskier leaned back against him with a contented sigh. 

“Hold on tight, my love.” He sang and then pulled the small snow globe from his pocket. There was a sudden chill in the air as Jaskier pulled the Spirit from the glow and then showered glitter over Pegasus’s antlers. “Come on, Pegasus.” He cooed at the reindeer. 

And then they were flying. 

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and buried his face against the elf’s back. “Fuck. This is worse than portals.” He groaned. 

“Pfft.” Jaskier snorted. “You are such a bore sometimes, love.” Geralt jabbed Jaskier between the ribs and then ran his hand gently over the same spot. “Oi!” Jaskier squeaked. 

Geralt just grunted, feeling a little too nauseous to answer. 

Jaskier sighed and began to sing one of his favourite Christmas carols to fill the silence as the stars began to fly in the sky above them. The temperature dropped dramatically as they flew and Geralt’s medallion was practically yanking off its chain by the time Pegasus’s hooves hit the floor. 

Geralt wrapped his arms around his chest as he jumped to the floor. Snow crunched underfoot and there seemed to be a constant gentle flurry of snowflakes falling from the sky. 

“Shit. It’s fucking freezing!” He grumbled. “Should have brought my cloak.” 

Jaskier tilted his head and glanced around them before dismounting. He scratched Pegasus behind the ears absentmindedly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes. It is.” Geralt glowered at him. “Fucking elves.”

Jaskier punched him in the arm and muttered something. “Melitele’s tits, you are grumpy today. This is my home, Geralt!”

Geralt grunted. “Sorry.”

“I know.” Jaskier kissed his cheek and ran a finger through his hair, twirling one of the loose strands. “Now let’s see what I can do about the cold. Bear with me though, making clothes was never my talent.” 

Geralt frowned as Jaskier closed his eyes and stuck his tongue between his lips. Jaskier hummed as he wove magic around Geralt. Geralt smiled fondly at the bard. He had a soft spot in his heart for Jaskier’s concentrating face. It was adorable the way his tongue peeked between Jaskier’s soft pink lips, not that Geralt would ever admit to finding it adorable… cute maybe at a push after a few pints of ale. Geralt shivered slightly as glitter rained over his head and he suddenly found a long heavy cloak round his shoulders…in buttercup yellow. 

He tied the cloak swiftly and pulled up the hood before turning to fix his husband with an exasperated look. Jaskier smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I got distracted by your eyes.”

Geralt huffed but pulled the elf into a slow kiss. When they pulled apart Jaskier snuggled up against his chest and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, inside the cloak. “You ok?” 

Jaskier nodded. “I just want them to like you.”

Geralt smiled though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. They wouldn’t like him. Not many people did. Jaskier was one of the few exceptions that actually stuck around. “Hmm.”

“Well.” Jaskier huffed and put one hand on his hip as he pulled away. “It doesn’t matter. I love you. That’s what counts.” 

Geralt nodded and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “Hmm.” He agreed. 

“Jask!” A perky voice called and there was a rush of footsteps across the snow. 

“Daisy!” Jaskier grinned and ran to hug the other elf. “Daisy, Geralt, my husband, Geralt, meet Daisy!” 

Daisy was a handsome elf with mint green eyes that glowed just like Jaskier’s. They had long ginger hair with curls to rival Lambert’s. Like the elves of the Continent they had a lean willowy figure and angular elven bone structure. The points of their ears were decorated in elegant gold spirals. 

“Good to meet you.” Geralt nodded at the newcomer with narrow eyes. Jaskier had never mentioned having any friends amongst his own kind before. “You didn’t come to our wedding.”

The elf blushed and stared down at their feet. “Poinsettia wouldn’t let any of us leave.”

Jaskier’s jaw tensed and he looked away. “Elves don’t fall in love, no need to have a wedding.” He muttered. 

“I tried to get away but Poinsettia locked up the globe. We can’t travel between realms without it.” For a moment, Daisy looked like they were about to cry but they plastered a happy smile on their face. “But it was our most productive Christmas ever, at the time. We’ve outdone ourselves every year since. We have Jaskier to thank for that. You must be so proud of him!” 

The elf bounded over to him and flung their arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt felt his eyes  go wide and he met Jaskier’s gaze with an alarmed expression. Jaskier tilted his head a smiled, but there was still a sadness in his eyes. 

Geralt was going to fucking murder this Poinsettia elf.

“I am proud,” He answered, not breaking eye contact with his husband. “immensely proud.” 

Jaskier’s face softened. “Geralt.” He breathed, his eyes twinkling like the sunlight hitting the snow around them. 

“He deserved to have his family there.” Geralt sighed and extracted himself from Daisy’s arms. 

They pouted in a very Jaskier fashion. “I know. Sweet baby Jesus we all knew, but Poinsettia has lost her way. She’s so focused on making every Christmas better than the last, to keep building up Spirit from Earth, instead of the Continent, that I think she’s forgotten what it means to be happy.”

Jaskier put both hands on his hips. “Jealousy is not a good look on a Christmas elf.” He muttered. 

“There’s been rumours!” Daisy hissed with a scandalised giggle. “That the boss asked her to resign! She said no of course but it’s only a matter of time.” 

Jaskier snorted. “She does need a holiday.” He mused. Geralt looked between the two elves suddenly feeling very much like the outsider that he was. Jaskier glanced up at him and glided over to link his arm with Geralt’s. “So tell me, darling Daisy. What have I missed this time?” 

Jaskier flitted about around all the igloos and gingerbread houses greeting his oldest friends. He pretended not to notice the way his fellow elves shrunk away from Geralt, and if he was honest, him. It had always been like this at the North Pole. The other elves thought it was a bit odd, and he was really. He had always been more in tune with his own feelings and wasn’t afraid to act on them. 

Most elves were told they were happy and so… they were happy, fake smiles hid tired faces. Elves like Poinsettia were the ones where the cracks were beginning to show. He supposed being in charge for a few centuries wore one down rather quickly. He never wanted to be in charge. There was far too much red tape involved. He much preferred travelling the Continent with his husband, the grumpy bastard who he loved so very much. Jaskier had his own special job in collecting Christmas Spirit and that was how he liked it, thank you very much!

Also he did miss the banter of the workshops, back when he used to make instruments for days on end. There was always a lot of laughter in his team. The musical types were the most lighthearted of the bunch. After he’d been promoted to head composer he’d missed out on a lot of what had previously made the North Pole so special. 

He chuckled to himself, that was what had led him to steal Santa’s snow globe in the first place, many moons ago. 

The decision that had ultimately made him an outcast from his own kind but set him on the path to meeting the love of his life. 

“And this!” He threw a sparkly rainbow as he gestured widely to the ginger bread house in front of them. Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier’s dramatics but he was smiling beneath it all. “This, my dear heart, is Santa’s Grotto!”

“The famous Santa.” Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Is everything made out of food?”

Jaskier laughed and took Geralt’s hand to pull him down the path lined with candy canes. “Stop complaining!”

“Just seems like a waste.” Geralt muttered but he was smiling and he allowed himself to be dragged. “Does this mean you’ll finally ask Santa about Rinde?”

Jaskier scowled up at Geralt. “No.”

“Jask…”

“No!” Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest with his free hand as they stopped abruptly on the path. “I don’t want to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because only Santa has that ability.” Jaskier sighed. 

“Which means?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

“There’s rumours.” Jaskier muttered. “A prophecy of sorts. That one day Santa will step down. That someone else will take his place.”

“And that’s you?” Geralt furrowed his brow and squeezed Jaskier’s hand. 

Jaskier gave his husband a fond smile and squeezed back. He tossed his fringe from his eyes. He shrugged. “No?”

“Hmm.” Geralt frowned. 

“I hope not. I don’t want it.”

“Jaskier, I hope you’re not planning on staying out there forever.” 

Jaskier jumped with a jingle of bells and spun round to see Santa watching them with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Ahh. Santa.” Jaskier gave a little bow with a wide wave of his arms. “Good to see you!”

“And you must be Geralt.” Santa laughed his jolly laugh and rubbed his belly. 

Geralt grunted and nodded. “You’re smaller than I expected.”

Jaskier gasped and hid behind his hands. “Geralt!” 

But Santa just laughed. “It’s alright, little one.” Jaskier glared at Geralt, his cheeks were on fire. “Come in, Jaskier. We have much to discuss. I know you have been avoiding me.”

“I have done no such…” Jaskier trailed off at the look Santa gave him. 

“You’re worried that you can slow time.” Santa chuckled. “The Great Prophecy.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he watched Santa go back inside the Grotto. Geralt’s arms wrapped around his waist. “I won’t let him take you.” His witcher murmured in his ear and placed a kiss to his temple. “Come on.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier hummed and chewed on his bottom lip. “Stay with me.” He mumbled as he leaned into Geralt’s side. 

“Always.” Geralt reassured him.

“Jaskier, stop your dawdling.” Santa called and Geralt gave him a quick push. 

He stumbled forwards. “Oi!” He grumbled and dusted off his clothes. Glitter fell from the tips of his fingers as his nerves got the better of him and he lost control of his Spirit. 

“You are wondering why you are different?” Santa asked with a broad smile, offering him a plateful of chocolate chip cookies. 

Jaskier snatched one and began to nibble it.

The Grotto was as warm as he remembered with the spicy scent of citrus and cinnamon wafting through the air. The cookies were probably made by Mrs Claus, only her baking was as delicious as the cookies he currently had the pleasure of eating. The chocolate chips were melted and gooey and the biscuit was buttery and sweet, with just a tinge of salty goodness. Gods it was a piece of heaven!

”Obviously.” He grumbled. “I thought I was just… odd, but…” 

“You were designed differently from the others.” Santa admitted as he pulled off his hat. 

Jaskier’s heart was racing in his chest and he gripped tightly onto Geralt’s arm. Around him snow began to crystallise in the air and he felt the tips of his hair go cold as they were covered in frost. 

“Easy, Jask.” Geralt murmured. “I’ve got you, love.”

Jaskier looked up at his husband, startled by the pet name. “Dear heart.” He breathed in awe. Geralt’s lips twitched in that adorable half smile that never failed to make Jaskier’s heart turn to goo. Santa cleared his throat and they both turned to face him. Jaskier’s face was lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. “Sorry.” He mumbled. 

“You are not my replacement, young elf.” Santa reassured him. “I just knew that one day it would take someone special to keep the belief in magic alive. You, Jaskier, were created from my own magic rather than Spirit that created the others.”

Jaskier gaped. “I’m sorry, what now?”

Geralt hummed. “So, you’re his father?”

Jaskier jabbed his husband in the rips. “Geralt!” 

Santa chortled. “You could say that. It would be the closest thing any elf has to a father.”

“Santa!” Jaskier whined. “Oh gods, what is happening?” He moaned and pressed his head against Geralt’s chest.

Geralt laughed and ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, knocking his hat to the floor. 

“Do we have to stay here?” Geralt asked, ever the business man whilst Jaskier was in the middle of a fucking identity crisis.

“Of course not.” Santa laughed. “But I would appreciate a visit at least once a decade.”

“But my snow globe.” Jaskier protested. 

“Your work is done, Jaskier.” Santa said softly. “Earth’s Spirit is glowing brighter than ever thanks to the magic you were able to harness from the Continent. Go. Be with your witcher.”

Jaskier stared up at Geralt in wonder. “I can stay with Geralt?” 

“You don’t think old Santa Claus would stand in the way of love, do you?” Santa raised an eyebrow at him. “It is a shame. You would have been a brilliant head elf.” 

Jaskier groaned. “Oh sweet Melitele no.” Then the idea hit him. “What about Daisy? They would be excellent, poor Poinsettia could use a break.”

“Poinsettia is stepping down to go back to her old job and looking after the Reindeer. She loves those daft bastards more than anything. She’s been apart from them for far too long.” Santa agreed. “I’ll keep Daisy in mind, son.” Jaskier squeak at the word and gripped onto Geralt’s arm tighter. “Now off with you.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt. “Husband, would you mind terribly if there was a change of plans this winter?” He grinned. 

“Do I get to change out of this ridiculously outfit?” Geralt smirked. 

Jaskier swatted his arm. “Well you most certainly don’t now! Rude!” 

Geralt chuckled. “Kaer Morhen?”

Jaskier nodded and leaned in to brush his nose against Geralt’s. “Kaer Morhen.” He agreed and kissed Geralt with all the love in his heart. “For now and forever.”