Mae govannen!

Apologies for the long lull in updating, Life is a great distraction...I won't blab on: so here is the next chapter! ;)

again: WARNING: do not read if you don't ship Geralt and Jaskier- you have been cautioned ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the WitcherVerse, all of it is the work of the amazing Andrejzi Sapkowski and brought to life by Netflix.

Please leave a review if you would be so kind!

Namarïe!

"I still can't believe that you pulled me into this..."

Jaskier grinned up at the sullen witcher. "And I can't believe that you're still complaining!" He bumped a black leather and silver-stud covered shoulder. "It's Christmas, Geralt. Smile."

A huff was all he got in return. That was alright. He could deal with it. For the moment, he ignored his boyfriend as he swept the music room like a tame hurricane, gathering guitar picks, spare strings, an abandoned scarf embroidered with stars, and his guitar itself- safely shut in it's case. "So...how are we getting there?"

"The bike." Geralt looked serious, his mouth a hard line. Golden eyes tracked the look of dismay on the singer's face and then he burst out laughing. "Relax," he said with a grin. "I borrowed the car. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, you bastard," muttered Jaskier, scowling.

Unfortunately, Jaskier could never hold a frown for long when Geralt was involved. Not only that, but it was a rare beautiful morning. Novigrad in winter tended to be gloomy and miserable, with black ice coating all surfaces outside- making sure that you ended up slipping on at least one thing every few minutes.

But this morning, though icy cold, was clear skied and light. A pale golden glow streaming from the sun way up high overhead. It made the singer feel alive. Sunshine, snow and music- what more could a body want?

His eyes strayed to the old cuckoo clock hanging over his piano.

Damn . It was nearing eleven. Nearly time to go.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Jaskier slapped his hand to his forehead. Where was his mind at today? Honestly. "Here!" He tossed a knot of red and white at the witcher. "Wear this!"

Geralt allowed the candy cane striped scarf to unfurl. He snorted. "Absolutely not."

"Geeeerrrrraaalllttttt," whined Jaskier. "It's Christmas! Put on the damn scarf!"

The witcher rolled his eyes. "No."

Jaskier stomped up to him and snatched the scarf from a calloused hand. "Hold still you." He slung the festive garment about Geralt's neck and fussed with the knot. Finally he stood back, a smug smirk on his face, hands on his hips. "There."

A long-suffering sigh left the witcher, before a smile broke over his face. "You're ridiculous, Jask."

He gave a dramatic bow before springing back up, laden with all his musical needs. "Okay! Let's go!"

Jaskier drew in a big lungful of chill air as he stepped outside his house. It was like a scene from a wonderland- carpets of glistening snow blanketed the sidewalk, the houses down along the road twinkling with a rainbow of little lights. Pine trees in all the gardens were festooned with large shiny baubles, even tinsel in some cases. The good cheer of Christmas was almost tangible in the air as a playful little breeze tugged at Jaskier's hair.

Today was going to be a good day. He could feel it.

And a busy one.

Not only did he have a performance to give in the annual Christmas Concert, but Geralt had informed him yesterday that he was invited to Yennefer's Christmas night party. And that he could bring Essi along with him.

"Where's this concert of yours again?" Geralt had somehow managed to get his hands on Jaskier's guitar case and was loading it into the back seat. It was only now that the singer got a good look at the vehicle. Sleek, black, chrome plating.

"This isn't your car is it?"

Geralt laughed. The sound always sent a shudder up Jaskier's spine- the deep, rich rumble. "No. It's Lambert's."

"But...the bike is yours?"

"Yes."

"Fuck. Guess I'll have to get used to it then..."

Another laugh, this time muffled as the witcher got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

Jaskier slid into the shotgun seat, doing up his seatbelt as Geralt disengaged the handbrake. As they drove off down the road, the witcher going slower that usual because of the black ice, Jaskier realised that he still needed some details.

"Err...are you bringing me back after the concert? Or am I walking?"

Geralt spared him a glance as he drew to a stop at some traffic lights. "I can drop you if you want. But if you want to walk..."

"No! No I do not want to walk." Jaskier settled back in his seat. Perhaps now was the time to prepare. "Oh- um, if I stop talking to you, I'm not trying to be rude or anything..."

"You're just saving your voice, I know." Geralt pulled away from the lights, before swinging off down a road that lead to the park.

The pine trees drooped slightly under their blankets of snow, the lake frozen to an icy mirror of frosted glass. Winter perfection. Jaskier's breath clouded about him as he drew a lung full of chill air.

He could see the great soundstage erected by the waterfront, it's steel bones wound all about with christmas lights. The familiar bubbling of nerves and excitement rose up within him. It always preceded a performance.

Of course the moment couldn't last forever.

"Fuck, it's cold," grumbled Geralt, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Jaskier shouldered his guitar case. He was all prepared for winter; clad in a cashmere sweater patterned with blue and silver snowflakes, flaring pants of deep indigo scattered with golden embroidery, high cowboy-style boots, and an elegant flaring coat of white.

Geralt had said this morning that the singer looked like walking christmas...

As usual, the witcher wore black, silver-studded leather. The only difference was the candy cane scarf about his neck. And his shirt...

"Who gave you that?" asked Jaskier with a laugh of delight.

"Hmmm?" Geralt looked confused for a moment, then sighed. "Ah. That would be Ciri."

On his black sweater were drawn the words "I know what you're thinking...and you should be ashamed of yourself" in flowing silver script.

"I cannot wait to meet your sister tonight," said Jaskier with a grin.

Geralt sighed. He looked gloomy at the thought. "I'll just keep hoping that she can't make it then."

"Scared we gang up on you?" teased the singer.

"Oh- I know you will." Geralt barked a laugh, face relaxing into a smile. "We'll see later, I suppose. Where are we going?"

"Well, I'm going backstage..." Jaskier hoisted his guitar case higher up onto his back. "You can go join the others." He pointed to the crowd mingling at the base of the soundstage. Geralt winced.

"I'd prefer to keep my distance..."

"Riiiggghhtt...witcher ears." Jaskier bit his lip. "Shit- sorry I dragged you along. I forgot..."

Geralt waved a hand. "I'll be fine. Go- go do your thing. I'll be there."

Jaskier leaned up for a quick kiss, the witcher's mouth warm on his. His heart gave a great wrench as he pulled away, already missing the contact. "Can we...y'know...get some coffee before we drive back?"

A mischievous twinkle sparked to life in those golden eyes. Sometimes the witcher was truly on the ball. "I don't see why not."

Jaskier threw a wave and a grin as he went careening down the snow-glazed path towards his musical christmas morning. Never did this season squander it's magic.

...He almost loved it more than Geralt.

Why did doing the right thing always feel so wrong?

Lambert knew what he had to do. He stood there, half in the heavy oak doorframe, the heat of the fireplace at his back. He knew of the pain he was about to cause his younger brother. But it had to be done. For all their sakes.

"Vesemir," he said softly, rapping on the wall.

The old, white-haired witcher looked up from a mortar and pestle, no doubt busy grinding herbs to make more healing potions. He was shorter than most of the younger witchers, but had a stern stature about him that made him seem larger than he truly was.

"Lambert?" Vesemir frowned. He could tell, Lambert knew. He always knew when something was wrong.

Always.

"There's something you should know." Lambert forced his voice to remain soft. It wouldn't help for everyone else to overhear. "It's about Geralt. He's put us all in danger..."

"See the stars sparkle, oh so bright.

"Gleaming silver jewels in the depths of night.

"The wind a-singing a song, one of joy and good cheer.

"It's that time of year again,

"Christmas is here.

.

"Got the sun on my face, I haven't a care.

"With this feeling inside, we can go anywhere.

"All merry and festive, all filled with good cheer.

"I'm just driving alone, down Candy Cane Road.

.

"Trees tangled with lights, in a rainbow glow.

"Scarves and rosy-red cheeks, wild laughter in the snow.

"I can see your reluctant smile, reflected in your eyes.

In a multitude of snowflakes,

Winter's hold on you.

.

"With you beside me, I haven't a care.

"With your hand in mine, we can go anywhere.

"Your eyes are a-gleaming with rare good cheer.

"You and I alone, here on Candy Cane Road.

"You and I alone, driving Candy Cane Road.

.

"Oh, oh, here alone,

"On Candy Cane Road."

.

Jaskier's voice faded away into the brisk morning air. He drew a deep breath, trying to keep back his grin at the applause that thundered over the echoes from his still ringing guitar. Sweeping a hand before him, he sank into a dramatic bow. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! Merry Christmas to you all!"

Voices in the crowd all chorused the same sentiment back at him, and Jaskier made his way to the back of the soundstage, pushing through the curtains, his guitar slung from his back.

The last thing he expected to find was Geralt standing beside the stage manager, a small smile on his face as he listened to the man's idle chatter.

"Heelloooo?" Jaskier dragged his guitar case over to the two men and set about securing the instrument. "Have you been back here this whole time?"

"It's not so loud back here. Heinrich was kind enough to let me hide behind the crates." Geralt was giving Jaskier a searching look. "Did you write that?"

"What?"

"The song?"

"Oh. Yes." Jaskier picked up his guitar case, buttoning up his coat with his spare hand. "Everyone who's singing today wrote their own stuff."

"Hmmmm," rumbled the witcher. "You don't sound so bad, Jask."

"Why thank you!" Jaskier seized Geralt's hand and tugged. "Can we go get coffee now? I'm freezing."

"Yes, you demanding bard."

"Singer."

"Same thing."

"It is not!"

They bickered all the way back to the car. It was only as Geralt was drawing into a parking spot beside the café that Jaskier sobered up. He squashed the grin trying madly to escape, and said casually, "Soooooooooooo...you're okay now with this place's design options?"

Geralt looked confused, then groaned. "Fuck, Jaskier."

"Mwahaha!" The singer sprang from the car as the witcher tried to grab him. He danced a taunting jig on the sidewalk, ice crunching under his boots. "Admit it, Geralt! It's rather funny."

A snort was his only answer.

And so there they found themselves, back where they had started this crazy journey- outside at a table with the rainbow-print coffee cups.

All it took was one moment of eye contact and they burst out laughing.

"Fuck," gasped the witcher, trying to speak over his amusement. "Destiny really is a beast!"

Jaskier was doubled over, his stomach aching from laughter. "Touché, Geralt," he wheezed through giggles. "Touché."

"What if she hates me?"

Geralt gave Jaskier an amused look. "Don't give her an excuse to hate you."

"You do realise this is me you're talking to, right?" Jaskier eyed the raven-black door with some trepidation. "I seem to have an inborn talent for pissing people off. Haven't quite figured out how to shut it off. Yet."

"Well, they say there's no time like the present," said the witcher with a grin, before he rung the doorbell twice.

It was Triss who opened the door, her red curls frizzy from the cold. Her green jumper was slightly too big, and had Christmas trees embroidered all over it. She looked exceedingly festive this evening.

"Geralt!" She jumped for a hug, her arms barely reaching his broad shoulders. The witcher laughed and swung her around. She soon disentangled and seized the singer. "Hey, Jaskier."

"Hey, Triss."

"You're the last people to arrive," she said, holding the door open so they could duck inside. It was cosy and snug within, all Yennefer's fireplaces going with dancing flames. Jaskier remembered Geralt mentioning that she hated the cold.

Triss led them down a long, wood panelled hall, and into a tasteful living room. Brick and wood walls; It was full of various worn looking leather couches and armchairs, the large, stone hearth snapping with a blazing fire. The kitchen counter was bedecked with a range of bottles and glasses, bowls of what must be snacks, and even a few boxes of games.

Though it didn't take Jaskier long to notice that he had walked right into the middle of one.

Ciri was miming something in the centre of the room, bare feet silent on the red carpet. Jaskier couldn't decide if she was hot-footing or climbing a ladder.

Neither could the two women by the counter, it seemed. One was Essi- she flung a wave at Jaskier before returning to her studying of Geralt's sister.

The other was Yennefer. A petite beauty with a storm of raven hair, and cool violet eyes. She wore a black wool gown, a blanket slung over her shoulders.

"Cold, Yen?" Geralt gave her a tender hug, and she smiled faintly.

"Winter is the bane of my existence, Geralt. You know that."

"Ladder?" Jaskier asked Ciri and she flung up her hands.

"Yes! Thank you! This lot is useless!"

A soft chuckle from the one couch drew the singer's attention to the final member of the party.

Filavandrel lay under a thick knitted blanket, the pale hand atop the covers with two IV needles deep in his skin. His other arm pillowed his head that rested on a fat cushion, and Jaskier thought he could see a heart-monitor wire snaking in under his sweater. It was the ears though, that made the singer pause.

Slender, pointed arches spearing out from under the straw-colored hair.

Filavandrel gave him a tired smile. "Hello, Jaskier."

"Hey." The singer edged closer. "You okay?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," said the elf. Ciri slid to his side and took his slightly trembling hand in her own. She actually looked a lot like Geralt, despite not sharing the same blood. She looked the singer up and down.

"So you're Jaskier."

"At your service," he said with a bow and a grin.

"I told you he was ridiculous," whispered Filavandrel to Ciri.

"You what? Now hang on just a minute-"

Filavandrel burst out laughing, the hoarse rasp of it infectious. To his own amusement, Jaskier found himself joining in.

"If you really are so dramatic, you should do fine at charades," said Ciri, handing him the dice and the cards. She gave him a grin, emerald eyes twinkling. "Show us what you've got."

And that was how the entertainment progressed for over an hour. Everyone save Geralt and Filavandrel taking turns to attempt miming the most ridiculous things Jaskier had ever imagined. And seriously, who would be able to mime a cabbage? You'd have to be a shapeshifter to do most of these things.

Not that Jaskier was about to question the sanity of the game. He's never been one to understand why people liked games that required contortion. He preferred one that relied on brain power and skill. Even cards were better than Charades...but he sighed inwardly, steeled himself, and went to work to depict a chicken.

Geralt laughed himself hoarse as he watched the escapades of his boyfriend, a rare red flush rising on the witcher's cheeks from his exertions. "Fuck, Jask," he gasped. "Chickens don't move like that."

"Fuck the chickens," grumbled Jaskier to an uproar of laughter.

It was near eleven when Geralt finally shouldered his way through the heavy oaken doors of Kaer Morhen. The wind had come up, driving a thick veil of snow before it, and he had been forced to park the car inside the old garage, to prevent any unwanted freezing. Jaskier's candy cane scarf had been left with its owner at Yens, and the witcher wondered what Jaskier would say to him when he noticed.

A small laugh escaped the white-haired witcher as he shook snow from his hair. The heat of Kaer Morhen's fireplaces made the snowflakes vanish into little curls of mystical smoke.

He made his way up the small flight of black-marble stairs into the wooden entry hall, boots scuffing on the stone floor under him.

Kaer Morhen, the Novigrad Witcher's Keep, had a rather old fashioned feel to it, with the rough cut stone, and unvarnished wood panels. Normally, coming back after a long day, Geralt felt himself relax.

That was hard when Vesemir was standing, beckoning at you with a cool look in his eyes.

"Geralt," said the old witcher, from the door to the training room. "Come with me."

"Why?" Geralt felt the telltale shudder along his arms that warned of danger. To his frustration, his wolf's head medallion lay still under his shirt. What was going on?

"We need to talk." Vesemir's face was stone, but behind it shone a glimmer of what might even be anger. "About you and that singer."