Chapter Text
Belsnickel was angry. Very angry.
This was utterly unacceptable. Everyone knew the rule: Elves turned human only when they strayed—when they lied, acted selfishly, or otherwise lost their way. No one had let Belsnickel forget the day he had transformed. True, he had always been the loudest voice mocking humans, and in the end, he became one of the very few in the North Pole's long history to be transformed. The story had since become legend in Santa’s village—recounted in song, cautionary tale, and hushed conversation alike.
And now, barely five years later, they were all about to turn human.
Yes, all the elves—without exception—would assume human form until New Year’s Eve. Officially, it had been a decision reached through votes and gatherings, but to Belsnickel, it felt more like a directive from above. A steady pressure, subtle but firm.
It had all started with murmurs just after Christmas. Reports of troll movement on the southeastern and southwestern borders. Nothing major, just flickers. Belsnickel had been uneasy; the last serious troll attack was before his time, but many older elves remembered it. At school, they’d used troll attacks the way the surface world used earthquakes—on a scale of annoyance to catastrophe. No one ever thought the dial would turn past "minor squabble." Santa himself had downplayed it. Only a few scouts were sent out. No panic.
But now it was March 21st. There was another gathering—formal, this time. Attendance was mandatory.
The days were already long in the North Pole, golden sun stretching over icy rooftops well past bedtime. Belsnickel walked toward the town square flanked by his best friend, Speck, and his older brother, Jay. They chatted quietly, half-joking, half-wondering if Santa might let him deploy one of his inventions this time. Unlikely. Santa, steadfast as always, opposed any form of violence except in the most extreme circumstances.
The town amphitheater was alive with chatter. In the center, as always, stood the great Christmas Tree, recently redecorated in its spring garb—draped in wildflowers, berries, beeswax figurines, and sugared sweets. So it had been for 1,700 years.
Santa sat in his ornate wooden chair beside Mrs. Claus and their three sleepy Bernese Mountain Dogs. He looked unusually serious.
Belsnickel, Jay, and Speck took seats in the third row. Belsnickel gave Santa a sidelong glance, noting the weight in his expression.
"Everyone," Santa bellowed, voice warm but solemn. "Thank you for gathering. As noted in the invitation, we need to speak about the troll activity along the Borealis borders."
A hand rose—Mina, sharp as ever. "Forgive me, Santa, but I thought we’d concluded the trolls weren’t a serious threat. Hugg and the scouts reported as much, unless I’m mistaken?"
"You are not," Santa replied. "But we’ve received a request—for assistance. Or rather, for mediation. From a third party."
"A third party?" Mina echoed, skeptical.
Mrs. Claus rose gracefully. "As you all know, our peace at the Pole depends on carefully maintained alliances. We do not live in isolation. While we spread joy and goodwill at Christmas, we also offer kindness and aid where needed. At present, one of our oldest allies has asked for help."
A murmur spread.
"The Sugar Plum Fairy," Santa added. "She wishes to send an envoy here—not simply to observe, but to collaborate."
The murmurs grew into full voices. Next to Belsnickel, Jay let out a scoff.
"She is proposing a temporary residency," Mrs. Claus continued. "From Walpurgisnacht to Epiphany. She brings with her her retinue of allies powerful seasonal magic—magic that might be of use in keeping peace with the trolls."
Santa glanced across the gathering. "She also requests open collaboration with our inventors’ guild. Especially with those specializing in magical constructs."
A pause. Every head turned to Belsnickel.
He felt his face grow hot.
"No," he blurted. "Absolutely not."
Mrs. Claus looked at him kindly. "Belsnickel—"
"I know who I am," he said, rising. "I made mistakes. I know that. But this? We’re inviting them all here? You’ve always said we don’t fight other people’s battles, Santa. I’ve heard you say it a dozen times when I wanted to enhance our defenses. And now she shows up, and we hand her the keys?"
Santa stood. "You’re not wrong to ask. But sometimes we have to shift with the world around us. The Sugar Plum Fairy may not think as we do, but she’s not our enemy. And the trolls—they aren’t always content to stay in their own lanes."
Belsnickel crossed his arms, scowling.
"The temporary transformation into human form," Mrs. Claus said gently, "is a symbolic gesture. It allows us to meet the Fairy and her court halfway. Their customs are old, they have kept their human forms for centuries. Their magic is steeped in a different tradition—one that channels greater power through human vessels."
There was a beat of silence.
"Some communities," she continued, "have chosen to remain in human form—not as a punishment, but as a pathway to deeper magic. They accept a different kind of strength… and a different kind of vulnerability."
Santa's eyes softened. "It comes at a cost, of course. One might say, the cost of certain...innocences. But it is not inherently wrong. Just different."
Belsnickel looked down. His jaw tensed. There were a dozen things he could have said. But the real reason for his resistance clawed quietly at his chest.
In human form, his changes would be... obvious. The weight he had gained over the past few years—a slow, quiet layering of comfort and isolation—would no longer be disguised by the lightness and small proportions of his elf body.
He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want them to see it.
Mrs. Claus gave him a long, knowing glance. Not judgmental. Just aware.
Belsnickel sat back down slowly, jaw clenched. After a moment, he exhaled.
"Alright," he muttered. "Fine. I’ll turn human. But I’m not shaking her hand."
Santa chuckled, and even Mrs. Claus gave a soft smile.
"We wouldn’t expect anything less."