AN: Under the advisement of my beta, the rating has escalated due to saucey passages in later chapters.
Old habits died hard. Now that he wasn't painfully exhausted, Harv found himself waking up at the crack of dawn, the sunrise melting into a brilliant white light. He pulled back the curtains, a cloud of dust mimicking the heavy snow fall outside. Cold air seeped through the glass, a grim reminder that Harv would soon find himself in the thick of it again. He sighed and looked over at the pile of old boxes. Ornate trinkets and golden bells poked up out the tops of them, covered in dust after they had been shoved away so unceremoniously. There wasn't much to do while he waited, though he could start gathering what little things he had brought with him.
His gear!
He exited his room and ran down stairs despite being half dressed. A handful of bells trembled as he roughly opened the front door. Snow was packed tight through the iron gate at nose height. All he could think about was his livelihood buried under the ice. The leather straps were bound to be soaked through and there was no way to dig it out safely without inviting in the weather.
From upstairs there was a flurry of clatters and bangs as Finn readied a crossbow and aimed it at the door from the top of the stairs. Harv turned, the last thing he was expecting to see was his host armed, wearing nothing but a sheer feather robe and lacy briefs. Finn breathed a sigh of relief when he realized no one was at the door.
"Harvey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" He lowered his weapon and leaned against the wall. "I thought someone broke in."
"I don't think anyone's getting in here for a while." Harv looked back at the wall of snow.
"Oh..." Finn didn't sound disappointed in the least. "Well, there's no amount of staring that will change the weather." Harv slowly closed the door. "I don't know about you, but I've worked up quite the appetite." He set the crossbow down on a runner table in the hallway and made his way downstairs. Harv looked up at the ceiling. The robe and lace left very little to the imagination, more sky-blue accents then clothes, especially since Finn hadn't bothered to close the robe before grabbing a weapon. It was rude to stare directly at people's bodies, even if they were decorated in pretty sheer fabrics and lace. Finn came up next to him and looked up at the same spot on the ceiling. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing." Harv took in a deep breath and looked back at Finn's tousled hair and inquisitive eyes; somehow this was leaving him just as flustered.
"Alright... so, food?" Finn raised his brow with a wry smile. "What?"
"Nothing." Harv shook his head. "I'm just." He couldn't remember where the kitchen was from last night. Finn kept looking at him with this goofy grin like there was some joke only he was privy to. "I'm sorry, I never meant to force you to shelter me for so long."
"What are you apologizing for? You have no more say over the weather than I do." Finn crossed his arms. "Do I look put out to you?" Harv glanced down at his frame and he had to agree, Finn was very comfortable in his own home.
"Then quit apologizing already. You're not the unwanted company you seem to think you are."
"Oh." Harv was almost touched, then Finn turned around to start walking toward the kitchen and Harv immediately had to look at the ceiling again. There was no safe place to look, it seemed. He managed to follow his host by keeping his eyes trained at the ground and navigating by sound. He was thankful for the excuse to immediately sit at the table in silence while Finn fetched things from the kitchen out of sight. Finn returned with an assortment of biscuits and tea, not the most filling of breakfasts, but there was only so much one could do in this scenario. He kept his eyes firmly on the woodgrain of the table until he heard Finn take a seat at the head of the table. "How long do these storms tend to last?" He asked once he was confident his voice wouldn't waver to an odd pitch. He had heard in the past of people getting stuck at inns for weeks at a time in colder regions.
"I think the longest around here was five days?" Finn hummed as he nibbled on a shortbread. "Hard to say, I'm not terribly outdoorsy even when the weather is pleasant." That was way too long, too much food and resources to devote to someone who lifted an ax for a few hours.
"Is there anything else you need done?" He'd heard the way the doors creak and seen the dust pile up in all corners of the house. There was just no way for one person to upkeep a home this large and work all the time. Some things were bound to have slipped through the cracks.
"I guess the floor could use some sweeping if you're that bored." Finn hummed, so used to the decline of the house it didn't register as something in need of fixing. "You really don't have to." Harv was all too aware of every slight movement Finn took as he sipped at his tea and realized if he had nothing to busy himself with, he very well might go stir crazy.
"There has to be something else I could do." Every time the feather lining of the robe shifted; the image burned itself into a place in Harv's mind. Not from horror or scandal, but definitely with the intention to replay the moment on loop once Harv was alone. "Anything at all."
"I mean you're more than welcome to poke around and tidy up, just don't move things without asking first. The last thing I need is my things being put away for safekeeping. I always forget where things are once they're out of sight." That explained the vast assortment of untouched boxes. "Oh, and there are a few rooms I'd rather leave untouched for sentimental reasons." For a brief moment it felt like Finn was some place far in the past. "I'll put ribbons on the handles.. Something bright... It's easier to just leave them be." He took a moment to breathe and pulled himself back to the present. "I should probably take advantage of the unexpected extension and actually write something." He stuck his tongue out. "If you're working and I'm lazing about I'll feel bad. No time like the present I suppose."
"Aren't you going to get dressed first?" Harv choked out, quick to look back at his biscuits before Finn could step away from the table. He could hear Finn snickering and biting his lip.
"I will if you do." Finn started laughing once Harv looked down and realized he never bothered to fetch his tunic from the bedroom floor. "Oh, but I do have so many nice things I've barely had a chance to wear. It would be a shame to waste this opportunity." As long as it covered half of Finn, Harv was certain he'd be able to hold a normal conversation again without feeling so self conscious. "You know, now that I think about it, there may be some things that fit you in the old boudoir. I completely forgot about mother's little trophies." Harv didn't have the heart to ask what Finn meant by trophies, more distracted by the mention of a lady of the house.
"Should I greet her, or-" Harv started to stammer, but quickly cut himself off when he saw Finn's smile fade.
"That's very thoughtful of you, but I'm afraid you're a few years too late for that." Finn sighed. "I think she would have liked you." He clapped his hands together and tried to shake off the morose feeling once more.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine, like I said, there are some things we have no say over."
The state of the house started to paint a clearer picture to Harv as he busied himself greasing hinges and throwing away all the useless evidence of life that had been set down and walked away from. Harv's father had always said there were certain roles caretakers and wives took on that tended to crumble by the wayside if a man was left alone with no instruction. Finn's mother's passing had been sudden in nature, not that Harv felt comfortable prying. He could feel it in small ways throughout the house. The bottles in the bathroom that he wasn't allowed to touch the first day were her's, there were books that had been set down in odd places with intact layers of dust on the covers, empty cups sat on end tables and forgotten; it was as if time had frozen in these small parts of the house. The boxes in his temporary room were full of yuletide decorations that hadn't been put up, not because the holiday had passed, but because Finn hadn't seen the point in decorating an empty house.
The trophies Finn had dug up were random articles of clothing from ex-lovers of her's over the years. Finn was actually able to cobble together a few ill-fitting outfits from the things that had been left behind.
"You'd be surprised how quickly a man could run out that door the minute a child walks in asking if he's going to be their new father." Finn chuckled. "It was devastating the first time, but the older I got the funnier it became." He handed Harv a blank tunic, no matter how he looked at it, it must have belonged to a knight of some kind. "You can keep them. I really have no use for these things." A gift given on 25th was usually an omen of the year to come. Harv had no clue what second-hand goods would foretell. He looked at the detailed embroidery, even though it was dated, it was nicer than anything anyone in his family had worn.
"I wanted to show you something." Harv led Finn into the sitting room where the bells and greenery had been strung up. Fresh candles flickered in clean holders. "I wasn't sure where exactly everything usually went, but I tried. Did I get close?" Finn shook his head, keeping his hands in front of his face to hide his expression. The small sniffles and swallows he made were more than enough to tell the bard was close to tears.
"No, it's all in different places." Finn put down his hands and smiled at Harv. "It's perfect. Harvey, you really didn't have to do this." Even with all his years training to channel emotions into lyrics, Finn struggled to put into words the rush of emotions having so much new life in the house made him feel. He was happy, he felt guilty, it was like breathing for the first time after being underwater and fearing if he'd sink back under far too soon. It was silly to have the house like this when everything would just have to be put away in less than a week, but that week wouldn't be spent by himself in the dark. It was all so much to take in at once.
"Is there anything else you need help with around here?" All day Harv had been running around trying to fix things, as if he hadn't done enough yet.
"Did you pick up anything about song writing on the road?" Finn loathed how thick with emotion his voice sounded, his nose threatening to drip. He felt so gross all over his face, but Harv still looked at him with kindness.
"Not in the slightest." Harv shook his head. "I'm the last person you should ask to write something if I'm perfectly honest."
"Darn." Finn said without an ounce of ill will. "Guess I'll have to do my job."
"You didn't get anything written?" Harv asked with concern. He'd had half the day.
"Well, since we're being honest." Finn rolled his eyes. "I haven't written much of anything in a few months, and the stuff I have has been nonsensical drivel. I mean, really, the worst hodge podge of cliches and chords I could muster up. Not that anyone's minded. New songs are new songs, no matter how derivative they are." He had blinked away the last of his tears, finally feeling like himself again. "Of course, now I have a few ideas, but you should have seen me a few hours ago, I was in a fierce staring match with a blank page."
"Maybe you should take a break."
"You're right, tapping a dry well won't produce more water." Finn pondered a bit. "You should too. You're stuck away from home during the holidays, surely there's something your family used to do that you wouldn't want to miss. Why don't we do that?"
"Finn, you really don't have to..." Finn grabbed him by the arm and gave him a little shake.
"I want to. Come on, dig deep."
"Can we keep the fire going?" Harv looked at the roaring hearth, a reflection of the flame dancing on every bell and glass decoration. Finn was a bit taken aback.
"That's it?"
"I mean, it's tradition," Harv felt awkward trying to explain it, "you just keep the fire lit until the holiday's over. It's symbolic." Finn gave him a hearty pat on the back.
"As long as you cough up the firewood you can keep the fire burning as long as you want Harvey. But I was thinking of something a little more activity based." There were two things that immediately came to mind. One was a game of 'The King Who Does Not Lie', which given the morning they had, Harv wasn't quite comfortable putting himself in a position where fibbing was off the table. Even if forced truths always made for entertaining stories around the fireplace. The other involved using the kitchen, which Finn was cautious about letting Harv into.
"Mom used to make these little cakes around this time." He saw Finn wince.
"Do you know how to make them, because I'm rubbish in the kitchen. My skills extend to putting a kettle on and that's about it."
"I mean, I think I could." Harv felt like he knew the answer to his next question. "What ingredients do you have?" This time, it was Finn's turn to look at nothing on the ceiling.
Harv had always grown up in a two-room house, not having the space to put things in designated rooms. He'd never been in a noble's home like this, so he wasn't entirely sure what everything was. He recognized basic things like workspaces and knife blocks; but there was nothing in the fire pit. Instead, the long counter had two boxes built into it with hinges and a set of four black coils with knobs. Dishes were tucked away on shelves, but the only food items Harv could find was sugar and buns that had been delivered to the house.
"Oh, you're not going to find anything out here." Finn walked up to a white set of double doors and opened one of them. There were various uncovered full plates, but everything was already prepared and plated. "What do we need?" Harv looked between the strange cabinets in bewilderment.
"Eggs, milk, flour, and yeast." Harv muttered.
"Milk might be a tricky one." Finn closed the door and wandered to a different door with a slate hanging on it. Finn picked up a piece of white stone from a bowl. "But for dry goods this should do fine." He wrote a word on the slate and then opened the door. Snow covered hills greeted them. Finn slammed the door shut and whipped the dust off the slate. "Fickle thing. It used to work fine, but nowadays if I don't spell it exactly like the other person, I get nothing. Let's see, how would you spell flour?"
"Finn, I told you, I don't really write."
"That's what I'm counting on."
"How about, F-L-A..." Harv frowned. "W-R?" Finn scribbled each letter on the slate with a frown and opened the door again. Large bags of flour were sitting on neatly spaced shelves.
"There we go! See, I wouldn't have thought of 'A'" Finn started collecting stuff and setting them down on the counter. There were more cauldrons in the kitchen than cookware. Most of the jarred goods had odd labels even though they contained different kinds of roots and seeds. Finn didn't have a cooking staff because the food was delivered by magic. Harv felt like such a fool. Of course, the house decorated with ravens in the middle of the woods belonged to someone that practiced magic. And the bottles in the bathroom didn't just look like potions, they were potions.
"You're a witch." Harv said with dawning horror. Finn looked up from his arrangement of eggs with a confused frown.
"No?" He said it with such conviction, Harv wanted to believe it. He couldn't though, not with Finn sticking a lit match into one of the large boxes that turned nothing into a roaring flame with wire racks. "How hot does the oven have to be for a cake?"
"You put a pan on a baking stone once the fire starts to ash." Harv said slowly. "I don't know what an oven is." Finn frowned and pointed at the box filled with fire with a questioning look. "That... is witchcraft Finn." Harv said.
"Are you sure?"
"I am quite sure. Sometimes the baker has a large kiln to protect the baking stones," he kept his tone even, "but that thing doesn't act like any kiln I've ever seen." He watched Finn puzzle between him and the oven. "The um, the closets you keep pulling stuff out of, those too."
"Well of course that's magic, but the oven?" They were going to be together for a few more days, if not weeks. Harv couldn't afford accidentally offending his 'not a witch' host with thoughtless comments fueled by fear. "It's only a few years old, maybe you just haven't seen this model?" He really wanted to believe Finn wasn't a witch, that Finn had grown accustomed to the odd things in the house much like the creaking doors. But he had names for the oddities, he knew how to work them too well.
"My mother's recipe says to put the pot in the fire once it's a quarter full of ash. If we do it any other way, it won't be right." He saw Finn shrug and turn a knob that doused the flame.
"You're the boss." Finn smiled at him.
"One last question, where do those things come from?" Harv pointed at the pile of ingredients, slowly suspecting they were stolen if not spoiled.
"I don't know; around." Finn shrugged. "So, what do we do first?"
Harv walked him through the recipe and decided Finn would be the one to taste test everything, just in case. If the food from the 'pantry' and 'fridge' were cursed in any way, he'd already eaten enough to kill a horse. So, clearly it wasn't overtly harmful, but it made Harv feel better to see Finn fearlessly tasting the batter off his fingertips. Anything the bard felt was safe to eat clearly wasn't that dangerous. Going through the motions of something familiar also helped put him at ease once more. He went to get firewood for something that looked similar to a cooking pit, but Finn grabbed his wrist.
"Not that one, just in case." Finn seemed hesitant in the face of potential fear. "The one in the sitting room, that should do, shouldn't it?"
"Sure." Harv sighed.