Chapter Text
It started snowing halfway through the Pale. Not the soft, storybook kind of snow either. Not the kind that made the trees look quaint and the world feel peaceful. No, this was the biting, miserable kind that turned breath into knives and chewed through layers like they were paper.
Jesper’s left ear had been numb for at least an hour, and his boots had gone from “damp” to “actively plotting his demise.”
Ahead, through the white-out, the cabin finally appeared. Half-buried in drift, crooked and sulking beneath the weight of its own roof. A few tall pine trees crowded close to the cabin’s sides, their wide boughs heavy with snow but forming a makeshift canopy, sparing the roof from possible total collapse.
It was quiet beneath them. Too quiet. As if the place hadn’t seen company in quite some time.
Jesper stomped up the steps, muttering under his breath. The report had said contraband might be stashed here. Some kind of illicit goods, maybe smuggling. It was probably just some bandits using it as a pitstop. Or necromancers. He’d have preferred necromancers. At least they didn’t run. His foot was far too gone for him to chase anyone out in this if they did.
He didn’t knock. Just wrenched the door open, other hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The inside was dim and quiet, the hearth long dead. Dust floated in the air, with the smell of stale wood, ash, and something faintly metallic that he’d rather not think about. The place looked abandoned, just like the report had said, but there didn’t seem to be anything here either. Jesper frowned. It seemed too convenient. No crates, no suspicious barrels, no half-burned papers in the hearth. Still, he figured he would look around, just to be thorough.
He wandered into the main living room. Then checked the back pantry. Then climbed the creaking stairs to the loft, where besides the temperature dropping noticeably, there was nothing but a stuck door he managed to get half open and a moth-eaten rug. No signs of recent use.
He exhaled hard, fogging the air in front of him.
“Perfect. Another dead lead,” he muttered, pulling his helmet from his head and rubbing his now sore ear, “The captain’s not gonna be happy, and I’ve wasted all this time coming here for nothing.”
When he stomped back downstairs, colder and angrier, he nearly missed the warped hatch half-hidden beside the kitchen’s crumbling cabinetry. He stared at it for a second before wandering over, then heaved it open, sword already drawn.
The stairs groaned under his boots as he descended. It was a modicum warmer, but that meant the cellar smelled worse than upstairs. Damp wood, frost, and the sour stink of disappointment.
And to top it all off, down there, crouched by an empty wall rack with his back to him, was none other than Whiterun’s most notorious pickpocket, and the biggest thorn in Jesper’s backside.
Keith.
Jesper froze.
Keith grunted in irritation and muttered something under his breath, something about “wasted trip” and “could’ve been rich” before turning around and seeing him.
They both stopped. Stared.
Jesper spoke first. “You.”
Keith threw his hands in the air. “Oh, for—of course it’s you. This is just divine punishment. Clearly.”
Jesper stepped closer, frowning. “You’re the one who’s been storing this shit down here, aren’t you?”
Keith barked a laugh. “Oh yeah, brilliant plan. Hide a bunch of stolen goods in a place I don’t own, leave it completely empty, then show up right as the guard arrives to personally collect my jail sentence. Nailed it.”
Jesper scowled. “Then what are you doing here?”
“Same thing you’re doing,” Keith snapped, “I heard about the stash. Figured I could lift a few crates before someone else got to it. Turns out someone already did. If you’re about to arrest me for attempted theft of air, be my guest.”
Jesper opened his mouth, something biting already halfway formed—
And then the floor rumbled.
It was subtle at first. Just enough to make the walls creak and the dust above their heads tremble loose.
Jesper’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Keith looked up. “What the—?”
A deep, low groan came from above them. Then a cracking sound followed by a rumbling thud. They both bolted up the stairs. As panic set in, Jesper threw himself at the front door. It didn’t budge. He tried again, harder. Nothing.
Keith rushed to one of the windows, wiping at the frosted glass with his sleeve. It was exactly as he’d feared.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Looks like we’re buried.”
Jesper turned. “What?”
Keith stepped back from the window, eyes wide and incredulous. “The trees. The snow must’ve come down all at once with that shake. We’re literally snowed in.”
Jesper stared at him. Then at the door. Then the ceiling. Then back at him.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Keith leaned against the wall with a groan. “I swear, if you start with the ‘this is your fault’ speech, I’m going to scream.”
Jesper pinched the bridge of his nose.
They were stuck. In a half-frozen house. With nothing to show for either of their trips.
And, of course, it had to be him.
Keith tilted his head back against the log wall and exhaled loudly, closing his eyes. Why did it have to be Jesper, of all people? Stuck in a glorified shack with Skyrim’s most self-righteous guard. His week was just getting better and better.
Jesper was pacing near the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. Like if he scowled hard enough at the hinges, they’d magically unfreeze and the snow blocking the door would vanish.
“Gonna keep glaring at it,” Keith said, “or are you waiting for divine intervention? Should I light a candle to Talos while you brood?”
Jesper didn’t even look at him. “I’m considering kicking it down.”
“By all means,” Keith replied, sweeping a hand toward the door. “Throw out your back. I’ll tell Dave and Kevin you died heroically trying to bust through a snowbank.”
That got Jesper’s attention. He leveled a look at Keith, dry and unimpressed. “You think I’d need them to come rescue me?”
Keith grinned. “No, no. You’re a big, strong boy. I’m sure if you yell loud enough, the snow’ll move out of your way out of respect.”
Jesper muttered something under his breath that Keith caught just enough of to know it probably wasn’t flattering. He pretended to be offended.
“Hey. You’re the one who followed the same lead I did. At least I’m supposed to be robbing the place.”
Jesper finally turned away from the door and walked past him, boots thudding dully against the floorboards. He didn’t say anything, which was somehow worse.
Keith watched him make his way to the fireplace. Uncharacteristic to the Jesper Keith spent most of his time goading, the guy moved like he had a target. Controlled, focused, like even reaching for a log was a calculated act of war. He started building a fire with stiff, red fingers, jaw clenched tight.
Keith shouldn’t have found that mildly impressive.
And yet.
After about a half minute, without looking over at him, Jesper eventually grumbled, “Well, since we’re clearly stuck here, I’ve decided to make myself useful. Why don’t you do the same, and check for supplies. Or were you planning on freezing and starving to death?”
Keith opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat as he thought better of it. As much as he hated the guard’s tone, he was right. There was no point in arguing, at least not until they knew how bad the situation they were dealing with was.
Keith pushed off the wall and wandered toward the cabinets across the room, opening them with more force than necessary just to let off some steam. There wasn’t much. Half a sack of flour, some very sketchy-looking dried herbs, a bag of dried kidney beans, a pot with a questionable crust inside and a few chipped bowls.
After about a minute of Keith rummaging through, he heard Jesper’s voice from behind him, “Did you find anything?”
Keith answered, “A few dried goods, a pot that’s in dire need of a wash and some less than ideal bowls.”
“Okay, good. At least we can make food,” came the reply. Turning around, Keith made his way back over to Jesper still at the fireplace, fiddling with the kindle.
“If you’re expecting me to cook, you’re going to be very disappointed,” he said. “Unless your idea of fine dining is burnt beans and regret.”
Jesper didn’t look up. “I don’t expect anything from you.”
“Oof,” Keith said, clutching at his chest with mock injury. “Right in the feelings. Is this how you talk to all your weekend roommates?”
Jesper threw a look over his shoulder. “Do you even have weekend roommates?”
Keith smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
They locked eyes for a second too long. Then Keith turned back to the shelves, his grin still lingering, just a little tighter around the edges. It was stupid, how entertaining this was. He shouldn’t have enjoyed needling Jesper this much. Shouldn’t have enjoyed watching that stiff exterior crack, even slightly.
But there was something kind of satisfying about poking at the armor and finding that, underneath all that noble guard crap, Jesper had a little bite of his own. A sense of humor that snuck out sideways.
Not that he’d ever tell him that.
Not unless he wanted to watch Jesper puff up like a pissed-off sabre cat.
No thanks.
Letting the silence stretch, Keith crossed over to one of the windows. He brushed his hand across the glass again and squinted out into the blur of white. Still snow. Still nothing moving.
“Well,” he muttered, “looks like we’re roommates for the foreseeable future.”
Jesper didn’t reply, but the crackle of the fire finally started up behind him.
Keith kept staring at the snow outside, trying not to think about the fact that it was already getting colder. Or that night was coming.
Or that Jesper was the only other source of body heat in a cabin that didn’t have a door that worked anymore. Jesper exhaled through his nose, long and slow, trying to will some warmth into his fingertips. The fire crackled steadily now, a small win in a long list of irritations.
But the cabin’s cold still crept through the floorboards like it had a personal grudge.
He straightened from the hearth, brushing off his hands and eyed past the cabinets Keith checked, to the small pantry tucked between the kitchen wall and the support beam. He’d already swept through it when he first arrived. It had looked empty at the time, but he hadn’t been looking for food then. He’d been looking for contraband. Crates, sacks, coin, smuggled skooma... Maybe there was something useful he missed?
Keith was still pacing near the window, muttering something under his breath that sounded like the beginnings of a song, or a very irritated prayer.
Jesper ignored him and opened the pantry door again, more carefully this time.
He crouched down, pulling out a couple dented pots then pushed some dusty jars to the side. His fingers brushed something solid tucked behind a loose board. He pushed it aside.
“Huh,” he murmured.
There was a sealed jar of dried apples, some strips of what might have been venison jerky if you squinted, and a small burlap sack of oats. He lifted the jar, inspecting it in the light.
“What, planning a dinner date?” Keith said over his shoulder.
Jesper didn’t look up. “Just making sure one of us doesn’t starve to death.”
Keith hummed, fake-sweet. “Aw, you do care.”
Jesper slammed the pantry shut a little harder than necessary.
They did another sweep of the cabin together, mostly in silence. The upstairs was small and drafty, with a low ceiling and a half closed door with rusty hinges that stuck.
Jesper supposed the silver lining in all this was at least the draft wasn’t as bad now that the roof was insulated by the caved in snow. He pushed on the door trying to open it further, but it continued to give him a bit of trouble. From what he could see behind it, it looked like it was meant to be a bedroom, but with the hinges continuing to be stubborn Jesper didn’t spare it much more attention. His boots were already cold and wet, and the last thing he needed was to dislocate his shoulder for the sake of what was probably a frozen mattress and nothing to show for it.
A hallway closet yielded better results.
Jesper opened the door and frowned. “Huh.”
“What is it?” Keith peered over his shoulder. “Is it gold? Treasure? The beating heart of Dibella herself?”
Jesper pulled out a thick wool blanket, shaking it free of dust. “Blanket. And…” He reached higher, hand brushing a small canvas sack on the shelf. “Some kind of game. Dice, maybe.”
Keith perked up immediately. “Oho, now that’s more like it.”
Jesper tossed the bag at him without looking. It jingled softly, and Keith caught it with one hand like he’d done it a hundred times.
“Yup. Dice. And hey—” He reached across from Jesper and pulled out a small bundle of parchment and a few stubby pencils. “Looks like someone had big plans for game night.”
Jesper was already folding the blanket over one arm. “We’re not playing.”
“Scared I’ll beat you?” Keith grinned. “Or that you’ll—gasp!—have fun?”
Jesper didn’t dignify that with an answer.
They wandered back downstairs, and Jesper gave the place one last glance. Then he noticed something behind the table near the hearth. A low bookshelf, half-covered by a dusty curtain.
He walked over and knelt, pulling the cloth aside.
“Well?” Keith was still shaking the dice bag, clearly entertained. “What’s the verdict? Smuggler’s journal? Ancient tome? A cursed book that devours the soul of whoever dares to—”
Jesper held up a slim, well-worn volume with a raised eyebrow.
“The Lusty Argonian Maid,” he read aloud, flatly. “Volume one.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Keith absolutely lost it.
“Oh no,” he wheezed. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jesper flipped through the pages, expression unreadable. “With how well-read this one is, I’d be surprised if we don’t find volume two somewhere...”
Keith immediately dropped down beside him like this was the most important discovery they’d made all day.
“I retract all my complaints,” he said. “This cabin is perfect.”
Jesper dropped the book onto the top of the shelf with an unimpressed grunt, but his ears were visibly pink as he stood and dusted himself off.
He did not stop Keith from tucking the book under his arm with way too much glee.
Jesper sat heavily on the edge of the hearth, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. The warmth from the fire barely seemed to register anymore. Or maybe it was just that the headache building behind his eyes was louder.
Keith was sprawled across the one sturdy chair like it belonged to him now, legs kicked over the armrest, The Lusty Argonian Maid sitting proudly on his chest like a trophy.
Jesper glanced his way. “Alright. Rules.”
Keith lifted a brow. “Oh good. I love it when the fun police get all authoritative.”
Jesper glared. “Ground rules. So we don’t kill each other.”
“That’s cute. You think I’d waste my energy on you.”
Jesper ignored the jab. “No sleeping near the weapons. We share the food equally. If you try to steal from me or leave me behind, I’ll shove you face-first into a snowbank when we get out of here.”
Keith put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Harsh.”
Jesper kept going. “We take turns keeping the fire going at night so we don’t freeze to death. And if you’re going to read that—” he gestured toward the book with vague disgust “—you do it quietly. Preferably away from me.”
Keith grinned. “You’re really making this whole ‘trapped together in a snow-covered cabin’ thing sound romantic.”
Jesper muttered something that might have been a prayer to Mara for patience.
They lapsed into a few moments of silence, the fire crackling softly as snow pattered against the windowpanes. Jesper stared at the dancing flames, jaw tight.
Keith eventually sighed. “So. How long you figure we’re stuck here?”
Jesper leaned back, arms crossed. “Captain should be expecting me back in Whiterun in two days. If I don’t show, someone’ll notice. Probably by day four, they’ll send someone out to investigate. What about you? You have a particularly antsy fence waiting on results or something?”
Keith chuckled without humour, “Nope. The Guild tends to let us work on our own schedule. If they notice me missing, it won’t be for months.”
Jesper sighed, dejected. Keith shrugged, “So. Four days before anyone even starts looking. Add in the time it’ll take them to find this place, if they even can... I’d say we’re here for a week. Minimum.”
Jesper nodded grimly. “We ration the food. Oats will be our fallback once the jerky and apples run out. There’s still the beans and that sack of flour, too.”
Keith made a face. “What, you planning to bake bread in your sleep, or—”
Jesper shot him a look.
“Fine,” Keith said, holding up his hands. “Porridge it is.”
Jesper frowned. “Biggest issue’s gonna be water. I have about three quarters of my waterskin left from the trip here. That should last us about a day and a half if I save it for cooking only. Kind of ironic we can't reach the snow on the other side of the door and windows. Considering if we could, we wouldn’t be stuck here in the first place.”
“Well, at least we have that going for us.”
Jesper looked at him.
“When I checked the cellar I noticed something,” Keith said, casually, “There’s a well. Crude thing. Dug straight into the earth, just behind the stairs. Couple of buckets nearby.”
Jesper raised a brow. “Figures. If this place was a base for smuggling, they’d want it self-sustaining. Somewhere to lay low for a while.”
Keith nodded. “Makes you wonder why they cleared out.”
Jesper exhaled slowly, then pushed off the hearth and stretched, back popping. “Whatever tipped them off, they cleared fast. Left just enough to make this survivable.”
“Survivable,” Keith echoed, his voice dry. “What a delightful word.”
Jesper didn’t respond. The heat from the fire had begun to permeate the cabin a little better, so he decided to climb the stairs, and try the door again.
Keith watched as he made his way toward the small hallway, and disappeared around the corner.
First came the sound of rusty hinges being forced open. A minute passed, followed by a triumphant, “Got it!”
Then a moment later, “You have got to be kidding me.”
Keith perked up. “What?”
Jesper’s voice carried back, grim and resigned. “I knew I should’ve brought my bedroll.”
Keith hopped up and strolled after him, reaching the top and peeking around the corner with the smugness of a man who’d already won an argument he wasn’t aware he was having.
“Lemme guess,” he said. “One bed?”
Jesper’s scowl was audible as he returned to the hallway and looked Keith dead in the eye like it was somehow his fault, “One. And it’s barely big enough for a child.”
Keith made a thoughtful sound as Jesper passed him back towards the stairs. “So you’re saying we’re gonna have to snuggle.”
Jesper paused at the landing and gave him a long, dead-eyed stare.
Keith beamed. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands to myself. Probably.”
Jesper turned and walked down without a word.
Keith called after him, following just behind, “You should’ve made that a ground rule!”
***
Jesper crouched by the hearth, coaxing the flames higher with a few careful prods of the poker. The fire was holding steady, but he wasn’t about to let it go out. Not when the storm outside sounded like it was preparing to bury them alive for the second time in a day.
Keith had settled back in the chair, one leg draped over the armrest again like it was a throne. He was holding one of the blank parchment sheets they’d found earlier, drawing something with a pencil and a level of focus Jesper hadn’t expected.
Jesper eyed him for a beat, then headed toward the hatch.
“You keep the fire going. If it dies, so do you.”
“Touching,” Keith called after him. “I’ll be sure to carve that on your gravestone. ‘Here lies Jesper. Frozen solid because Keith doodled instead of stoked the flames.’”
Jesper flipped him off over his shoulder without slowing down.
The cellar was colder than the cabin now, air damp and still, heavy with earth and mildew. As his feet reached the dirt floor, he turned around and ducked under the staircase.
There it was. The makeshift well was little more than a hole braced with old wood and a bucket rig, but it did the job. Jesper hauled up a full bucket of water, muttering under his breath the entire time.
He turned to ascend the stairs again, but on his way back, something caught his eye behind a sagging shelf: a crate shoved into the corner, partially hidden by burlap sacks. He carefully set the filled bucket on the step, and descended back down, making his way over to the crate.
He opened it and exhaled through his nose.
“Finally.”
Inside were a few shriveled carrots, a half wheel of hard cheese, some smoked fish, and—thank the Divines—a tin of salt. Not much, but enough.
By the time Jesper came back up, Keith had actually kept the fire going, and that alone gave Jesper pause. No disaster. No smoke. No excess firewood crammed into the hearth in frustration.
Keith glanced up. “You were down there so long I thought maybe you fell in.”
“I was checking for poison,” Jesper deadpanned.
“Poisoned ground water?”
Jesper didn’t answer. He grabbed one of the dented pots they’d found earlier, poured in the well water, and set it over the fire to heat. When it came to the boil, he added oats, a pinch of salt, and started peeling a carrot with his knife. The fish went in last, crumbled and stirred through, and the whole thing was left to simmer until the cabin was filled with the warm smell of food.
Keith watched, chin in hand, eyes narrowing the whole time like he was trying to decide whether Jesper was just being efficient or if he was secretly someone’s long-lost housewife.
When the food appeared ready, Jesper ladled the mix into two cracked bowls, and shoved one in Keith’s direction.
“Dinner.”
Keith sniffed it cautiously. “You cook like someone who doesn’t expect to survive the winter.”
Jesper shrugged. “Don’t like it, starve.”
Keith took a bite.
And paused.
Then, like it pained him, he muttered, “…It’s not bad.”
Jesper froze for half a second. Not at the words, exactly, but the tone. Quiet. Almost like Keith had forgotten to be a jackass for once.
“You’re welcome,” Jesper said, more wary than smug.
Keith snorted. “Don’t get all misty-eyed. It’s still oat gruel.”
They ate in silence for a while, the fire crackling between them. Outside, the wind moaned against the cabin walls, pushing cold through the cracks in steady, bone-deep sighs. Jesper felt the chill behind his eyes, but the food helped. The warmth. The fact that, for once, neither of them were throwing barbs sharp enough to draw blood.
It was weird. But not entirely unpleasant.
“Not bad for a guard,” Keith muttered eventually, not looking up.
Jesper glanced over. “Not bad for a thief.”
Keith flashed a crooked grin. “Please. I’d be dining on roasted skeever with a wildberry glaze if I were on my own.”
“Sure you would,” Jesper replied flatly.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.
The hours passed in slow drags, like the wind pulling snow across the windows.
Jesper scrubbed the pot clean with a twist of cloth and a splash of well water, then checked the fire again. Keith gathered the food scraps, what little there were, and tucked them into a high shelf nook, muttering something about not wanting a skeever party in the middle of the night. They took stock of their remaining supplies, laying everything out on the floor: The jar of dried apples was full, there was a sack of oats, that half-wheel of cheese. The flour might make flatbread if they kept the fire hot enough. Jesper didn’t say it aloud, but… it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.
They found a candle stash in the back of the pantry. Jesper lit one and set it on the small table while Keith rifled through the tiny bookshelf.
“Gods, who lived here?” Keith muttered, holding up a battered copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid, Vol. II. “Cultists with excellent taste in literature?”
Jesper gave him a flat look as he passed with the water bucket. “That explains the hidden basement.”
“Explains why they left, too. Probably embarrassed.”
Jesper let out something between a sigh and a laugh. Just one breath. But it was more than he thought Keith would get out of him tonight.
Later, they found another bag of dice and some extra sheets of scuffed parchment with half-finished games: a crude version of knucklebones, maybe. They played a few rounds, just to kill time. Keith kept trying to cheat. Jesper kept catching him.
And when that got old, they drifted back into silence. Keith doodled something in the corner of a page. Jesper didn’t look, but he noticed the way Keith covered it with his hand when he walked by.
The storm didn’t let up. If anything, it howled louder now, the wind like a beast trying to claw through the roof.
Eventually, Jesper blew out the candle and announced, “I’m sleeping.”
Keith raised an eyebrow. “Ground rules first?”
Jesper crossed his arms. “I thought we already went over them…” Keith gave him a look. “Fine. I’ll go over them again. We don’t touch the food outside of meals unless we have to. The jerky has to last at least three days. Judging by how well the fire is holding up, I don’t think we have to sleep in shifts to keep it lit all night, but if it does get too low, you’re on first fire duty.”
“Those weren’t the kind of ground rules I meant.” Keith stood and stretched, arms over his head like a smug cat waking from a nap. “I meant sleeping arrangements.”
Jesper narrowed his eyes. “I get the bed.”
Keith gaped at him, scandalized. “You’re heartless.”
“You want it?”
“No, no, gods forbid you sleep on the cold, hard floor. You’re just a delicate flower, aren’t you?”
Jesper rolled his eyes and climbed the stairs to the closet, pulling out the spare blanket. He then walked into the bedroom and tossed the blanket down beside the bed. At least the room was a little warmer than it was earlier.
“Fine. I’ll take the floor,” he called down.
Keith chuckled and called up the stairs, “You serious?”
Jesper lowered himself onto the wood with the kind of resigned dignity only a freezing man with a stiff spine and wounded pride could muster. “Dead serious,” he replied back.
Keith peeked into the room, finally seeing the bed. “Oh. It really is a single.”
“Exactly. Now we don’t have to argue.”
“Right,” Keith said, voice suspiciously bright. “I’ll sleep like a baby in the bed you chose to forfeit. With all this extra space to stretch out.”
“What extra space?” Jesper said dryly, “The bed’s so small your feet’ll probably hang off the end.”
“Beats sleeping on the floor, like your hospitable majesty will be.”
Jesper ignored him and laid down, pulling the blanket over himself. The floor creaked like it was laughing at him.
Keith tucked himself under the covers in the bed, a smug grin plastered across his annoying face.
“Goodnight, Jesper,” he sing-songed. Jesper just let out an exasperated sigh.
He closed his eyes, feeling the chill from the floorboards beneath him.
This was going to be a long night.
***
He was shivering.
No matter how hard he tried to will himself to drift off, the cold pervaded his dreams and forced him awake in what felt like constant ten minute intervals. The fire was too far that the heat only barely reached. The blanket was too thin. The floor was unforgiving.
And all the while, the sound of soft breathing above him taunted him with the knowledge of comfort and warmth.
He lasted an hour, maybe.
Then, with a low groan and a muttered curse, Jesper rose. He didn’t even look at Keith as he slunk around the side of the bed.
Keith was already half-asleep, but one eye cracked open when the bed shifted beneath him.
“Aw. Miss me already?”
“Shut up.”
Jesper curled as close to the edge of the mattress as humanly possible, his back to Keith, his body tense. The bed creaked again.
A pause.
Then, “You’re freezing,” Keith muttered.
Jesper glared at the wall. “Gee. Wonder why.”
Keith snorted and let him suffer in silence.
Jesper wasn’t sure when he fell asleep.
One minute, he’d been staring at the cracked ceiling, spine stiff as a sword, body shivering just enough to piss him off. The next, the room was dim with pale morning light leaking through frosted glass, and the fire had burned down enough that its heat no longer reached the upstairs floor.
His back was warm.
It took a second for that to register.
The rest of him was freezing, feet numb, nose stinging, but his back… it was warm, pressed against something solid and radiating heat like a dying star.
Jesper didn’t move. Not yet. He just breathed. Listened. The soft sound of Keith’s breathing came from behind him, steady and annoyingly calm. As the moment stretched on, Jesper couldn’t tell if it was minutes or hours. Then, inevitably, the bed creaked. Then shifted.
Keith pulled away without a word, the mattress groaning beneath him as he rose. Jesper didn’t turn to watch, just stayed where he was, eyes squinting at the wall, adjusting to the pale grey light bleeding in through the window.
And then the cold rushed in. The sudden absence of heat where Keith had been made him flinch, and Jesper cursed under his breath as he yanked the blanket tighter around himself.
He didn’t get up right away. Not out of laziness (he told himself that, at least) but because the idea of stepping into the frozen morning air felt like a punishment he hadn’t earned yet. Downstairs, he could hear Keith moving: a clatter of metal, the scrape of wood, the distinct sound of a pot settling onto the fire.
Eventually, Jesper groaned and finally rolled out of bed.
The floorboards bit at his feet through his socks as he trudged down the stairs, blanket still draped over his shoulders like a makeshift cloak. He paused on the last step.
Keith was crouched near the hearth, his back to him, coaxing the fire into life again, something Jesper hadn’t expected him to do. A pot was already simmering above the flames. The smell was unmistakable: Oats, with a hint of dried apple.
Keith was making them breakfast.
A strange feeling filled Jesper’s chest, watching him. He shook it off and squinted, eyeing the pot like it was suspicious. “You trying to poison me?”
Keith glanced over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t waste the apples.”
Jesper stepped down, drawn to the warmth like a moth. “Didn’t take you for the domestic type.”
“Didn’t take you for the kind of guy who’d steal my bed in the middle of the night, and yet…” Keith gestured vaguely in his direction without turning. “Here we are.”
Jesper huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he lowered himself onto the stool by the fire, letting the warmth seep into his legs. He still clutched the blanket, still glared like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but his nose twitched at the scent in the air.
Keith ladled oats into two cracked bowls and slid one toward him.
Jesper stared at it, then at Keith.
“Thanks,” he muttered, cautious.
Keith didn’t look up. He just picked at his own bowl with a shrug. “Don’t get used to it.”
Jesper grunted, but the bite he took was bigger than it should’ve been… and more pleasant than he expected.
The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, but it was smoother than yesterday. Less sharp. Like maybe they’d both started to thaw. Just a little.
After breakfast, there wasn’t much to do but exist.
Jesper tried sitting by the fire, but the itch came. The one that crawled up his spine when he was stuck somewhere too long with nothing to do. Fifteen minutes later, he was on his feet, grumbling as he began poking around the cabin.
Keith watched from the chair, one leg draped over the armrest like usual, chewing on a sliver of dried apple like he hadn’t a care.
“What’re you doing?” Keith drawled as Jesper stacked cluttered dishes into a neat pile.
Jesper didn’t look. “Cleaning.”
Keith’s lips twitched. “Aw, look at you. Domestic and terrifying.”
Jesper straightened and shot him a dry look. “If we’re stuck here a week, I’m not living in filth.”
Keith raised a brow, mock scandalized. “You’re telling me, mister hardass Whiterun guard, that dust is your mortal enemy?”
Jesper shrugged and grabbed a rag. “Better than dying of boredom.”
Keith watched him a moment, then pushed it. “Careful. If you keep this up, I might start thinking you’re secretly a housewife waiting for a ring.”
Jesper whipped the rag at him without hesitation.
Keith yelped as it smacked him in the face.
“You’re an asshole,” Keith said, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor with flair.
“And you’re annoying,” Jesper said, but his mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin. “Maybe if you helped, we’d be done faster.”
Keith leaned his head back over the chair, looking Jesper upside down. “Why would I do that when I can watch you scowl at a broom like it personally insulted you? With how often you’re sent to sweep Dragonsreach, I figured it’s your thing. I’d hate to take away all your fun.”
Jesper ignored him and swept.
The floor wasn’t that dirty, but clearing away dust and debris somehow made the cabin feel more like a place to survive, not just squat. Jesper worked methodically: sweeping, straightening books, gathering supplies into neat piles.
Keith lounged, throwing barbed comments like knives, mostly for his own amusement, and Jesper absorbed it all with the patience of a man used to far worse, muttering threats about wishing he could toss Keith outside.
They passed the time like that.
Eventually, Keith got bored and dug out one of the dice bags and parchment they’d found earlier. He sprawled on the floor by the fire, sketching lazy maps and doodling increasingly crude drawings to annoy Jesper whenever he passed.
Jesper pretended not to care but kept sneaking glances at the ridiculous images.
At one point, Keith drew a stick figure wearing a ridiculous guard helmet labeled “Jesper the Joyless,” armed with a giant broom.
Jesper noticed.
Paused.
Deadpanned, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to shove that broom somewhere it’ll be hard to retrieve.”
Keith grinned, all teeth. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
Jesper’s eye twitched. He swept on.
By late afternoon, the cabin looked… not bad. Lived-in at least. The fire crackled steadily. A faint smell of something warmer lingered; not food, not wood, but the first hint of comfort bleeding into the cold bones of the place.
Jesper sat heavily in the chair near the fire, kicked off his boots, and rubbed the arch of his foot through his sock.
Keith, sitting on the floor, rolled onto his back, arms stretched overhead, and yawned loud enough that even Jesper noticed. “Congratulations. You survived a day with me without committing murder. That’s got to be some kind of record.”
Jesper closed his eyes and let his head thunk against the chair. “The week’s still young.”
Keith chuckled softly. For the first time, it almost sounded genuine.
Evening fell slowly.
The fire threw long shadows across the walls, stretching and shrinking with every pop and crack. Jesper sighed and forced himself upright when his stomach growled loud enough that Keith lifted his head, amused.
“Guess it’s time for the royal chef to get to work again,” Keith said, lazy.
Jesper shot him a look. “You want to eat or not?”
Keith smirked, softer this time. “I’m not stopping you.”
Jesper grumbled but hauled himself toward the pantry and rummaged through their slim supplies—the dried apples, scraps of salted meat, a pinch of herbs he’d found in a cellar jar earlier. Not much, but something.
He moved methodically, slicing and tossing things into a battered pot over the fire. The smell of cooking fruit and meat filled the room. Not great, but better than nothing.
Keith sat nearby, watching without comment. Just watching.
It was unsettling.
Jesper pretended not to notice.
When the food was done, Jesper set two mismatched bowls on the floor near the hearth and jerked his chin toward Keith. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Keith pushed himself upright and, without a smart remark, took the bowl.
They ate in a strange truce.
It wasn’t comfortable, not exactly, but it wasn’t hostile either. Jesper didn’t miss the way Keith polished off the food like it was the best thing he’d eaten in weeks. And he sure as hell didn’t miss the almost inaudible “…thanks,” when Keith scraped the last bit from his bowl.
Jesper grunted something noncommittal in return, pretending to be too focused on his food to hear it.
When he finished, he set his bowl aside, fully expecting to have to clean up everything himself again, because of course he would, but—
Keith was already moving, gathering the bowls and pot without a word.
Jesper blinked, caught off guard. He watched as Keith methodically rinsed the dishes in a bucket of cold water they'd drawn up earlier from the cellar’s makeshift well. It wasn’t thorough, Keith muttered a few curses when the water chilled his fingers, but he did it. Without being asked.
Jesper leaned back against the wall, letting his head thud softly against it.
He didn’t say anything.
Just... watched.
Maybe Keith wasn’t completely useless after all.
Not that Jesper would ever tell him that.
After the dishes were set aside and the fire crackled low in the hearth, the cabin settled into a heavy quiet. Jesper poked at the fire with a stick, weighing whether he wanted to turn in early just to kill some time.
Keith stretched out where he sat, hands behind his head, looking unbearably pleased with himself. Jesper shot him a sideways glance. He didn’t trust that look.
“So,” Keith said after a minute, casual. Too casual. “You remember the dice we found earlier?”
Jesper sighed. “Unfortunately.”
Keith grinned. “I was thinking... might as well make this week a little less miserable.”
Jesper raised an eyebrow. “Oh good. You’re about to suggest something stupid.”
“Depends on who you ask.” Keith sat up, elbows on his knees. “Games. Dice. Stakes.”
Jesper frowned. “What kind of ‘stakes’?”
Keith smirked. “Real important stuff. Like... who gets the bed tonight—solo.”
There it was. Jesper leaned back against the wall, arms crossing defensively. His back still ached from the floor, despite ending up sharing the bed anyway, and he knew damn well Keith knew that, too.
Keith's grin sharpened, clearly sensing the hesitation.
Jesper huffed. “You’re desperate to sleep alone, aren’t you?”
“Please.” Keith waved a hand. “You’re the one who hogs all the covers.”
Jesper glared. “I did not—”
“—and mumbles in your sleep,” Keith added cheerfully. “It’s tragic, really.”
Jesper dragged a hand down his face. “Gods, fine. Let’s play. If it shuts you up.”
Keith’s eyes lit up with something a little too victorious, but Jesper refused to acknowledge it.
Keith grabbed the dice from the mantle, tossing them in his hand with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Alright, first game. Loser takes the floor tonight.”
Jesper grimaced but nodded. “Just roll already.”
Keith barked a laugh and sat back down as Jesper took a seat across from him. Then Keith tossed the dice.
They both leaned forward to watch.
The dice clattered across the floor, landing with a small, decisive thud.
Jesper peered at the results…and burst out laughing.
Keith’s roll was pathetic.
"Ha!" Jesper crowed, pointing a finger at him like he’d just scored the winning shot in a tournament. "See how you like the floor this time."
Keith stared at the dice like they’d betrayed him personally. "That was a warm-up roll."
Jesper smirked, crossing his arms. "Too bad. No warm-ups. Rules are rules."
Keith sputtered. "You cheated."
Jesper leaned back, smug. "Uh-huh. You’re the one who rolled, not me. Go cry to the Divines."
Keith narrowed his eyes, lips twitching in reluctant amusement. "Alright. You wanna play dirty?"
Jesper quirked an eyebrow, suspicious. "Define 'dirty.'"
Keith picked up the dice again, twirling them in his fingers. "Next roll decides who makes breakfast tomorrow."
Jesper’s smile faltered slightly. Cooking was tolerable. Mornings were not. Freezing mornings were really not.
"And after that," Keith added, voice casual, "chores. Splitting the firewood on the wall. Fetching water from the damn cellar. You know, real survivalist shit."
Jesper watched him for a beat, weighing the smug satisfaction of winning the bed against the risk of getting saddled with every miserable task in this gods-forsaken cabin.
Still. He did want to see Keith lose again.
Jesper leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You’re on."
Keith grinned, full of wicked promise. "Hope you like doing dishes, princess."
Jesper rolled his eyes. "Hope you like organizing firewood, peasant."
The dice clattered again, filling the cabin with the sound of another bet sealing itself between them.
This time, Keith won, and his grin was all teeth. Jesper groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face.
"Hope you like your oats burnt," Jesper muttered.
"Oh, I expect nothing less," Keith said, leaning back with his hands behind his head, gloating.
It spiraled from there.
Another roll decided who kept an eye on the fire through the night (Jesper won again, much to Keith’s disgust). Another determined who swept and tidied the house tomorrow (Keith's luck turned here, and Jesper just rolled his eyes).
By the time the last roll decided who had to haul water first thing in the freezing morning, Jesper was starting to suspect the gods really did have a cruel sense of humor.
"Should’ve known better," he muttered under his breath as Keith laughed at his misfortune.
The fire crackled between them, casting long shadows across the room.
Their laughter faded into a low, companionable silence. Still not quite comfortable, but less biting than before.
Jesper leaned back against the wall, arms folded.
Keith idly rolled the dice in his palm, as if already planning new torments for tomorrow.
Neither of them said it, but it was the first night the silence felt almost bearable.
Jesper tossed the spare blanket at Keith with a smug little grin.
"You’ll be needing this," he said, almost sing-song, before climbing into the narrow bed and pulling the covers tightly around himself.
Keith caught the blanket with a scowl. "Heartless bastard," he muttered, but Jesper only chuckled, already settling in.
Keith considered sleeping outside the room just to be petty, but even his pride had limits.
He laid down stiffly on the wooden floor next to the bed, wrapping the blanket around himself like a cocoon, facing away from Jesper.
At first, it was manageable. He’d slept outside enough times, under trees, in alleys, curled against cold stone walls, that the chill didn’t bother him much. Well, much at first.
But the floor... the floor was another matter entirely.
Hard. Stiff. Unforgiving, the cold now radiating into every bone in his body. His back began to ache and he just couldn’t get comfortable.
He shifted, adjusted the blanket. Laid on his side. His back. His stomach.
Nothing helped.
The bed creaked as Jesper turned over, making himself more comfortable.
Keith narrowed his eyes into the dark, the silhouette of the bed almost taunting him.
He lasted longer than he should, out of pure stubbornness. But eventually, grimacing, he slowly sat up, blanket still wrapped tight around him.
He glanced up at the bed.
Jesper was still — suspiciously still.
Keith waited, watched, but there was no movement, no sharp remark.
If he kicks me out, Keith thought stubbornly, I'll remind him he invaded my space last night. Turnabout's fair play.
He climbed up carefully, easing onto the very edge of the mattress like it might bite him. Jesper didn’t move.
Keith released a slow breath, cautiously unspooling his body and slipping beneath the covers. The bed was cramped, warm only in patches where Jesper’s body radiated heat. Jesper shivered faintly beside him.
Even with the covers, it was clear he was still cold. Keith hesitated. Then, wordlessly, he pulled his spare blanket from the floor, fluffed it out awkwardly, and laid it over both of them.
Jesper shifted slightly, barely a breath, but said nothing. Keith could feel that he was awake. Jesper was a lot of things, but a good fake sleeper wasn’t one of them.
Still, neither of them spoke. They simply lay there, the shared weight of the extra blanket pressing them down into a slightly warmer cocoon. Little by little, the chill retreated from their bones. Little by little, their breathing evened out.
The fire downstairs crackled low, the faint scent of woodsmoke wafting up the stairs.
In the silence, without a single word spoken, a fragile sort of peace settled between them.
Neither of them moved away. Neither of them wanted to be the first to.
And eventually, sleep took hold.