The small graveyard was located in a quiet grove of trees in the northern fields of Bree. Most of the headstones were simply made, scattered within the stone fence, casting small shadows as the afternoon sun began to set in earnest. All was still and peaceful here. Unlike the fearsome Barrow Downs, there was nothing here to disturb the peace of the departed.
Finchley slid off of her horse, Destiny, as she approached, the wreath she had woven together with the last of the summer flowers that Asmalinde had brought to her from the Shire still held in her hands. Those who had chosen to accompany her on this important errand – Hawk, Xanderian , Nethrida, and Eduwiges – followed suit, allowing the horses to graze freely as they waited. As the group drew nearer, they noticed yet another person sitting on the fence, drinking grog from a bottle with two shovels lying haphazardly on the ground nearby.
"About feckin’ time," barked Xandilif from her perch on the fence as Eduwiges gave her half a wave in greeting with Nethrida following behind, silent and stoic as one might be at a graveyard.
Finchley paused and then smiled softly, the Elf’s presence here meaning more to her than she could say. "So, you did come. Thank you."
The Champion snorted softly. "Another fifteen minutes and I was gonna begin digging for jewelry."
Xanderian and Hawk both glared at Xandilif, noting several shovels close at hand.
However, Finchley merely snorted softly herself, un-bothered by the wisecracks. “Not like there's much here to be found. Folks laid to rest here weren't rich.” She shook her head and let out a quiet sigh before entering the graveyard, passing by headstones with a quiet gait to respect the dead. She made a beeline towards one grave in particular, obviously having come here many times before, and stopped just before it. The headstone, like many others here, was simple and unadorned. But, unlike the rest, there was no name upon it; only carefully etched Westron cirth stating: ‘Here lies one loved very much by her granddaughter, Finchley.’
Xandilif pulled a cloth from the pouch at her hip and knelt down to clean away any excess dirt or dust that had built up from the past months from the headstone. Xanderian stepped forward and took Finchley's free hand and whispered, "You are dearly loved." The little woman smiled and removed her hat, which Hawk took to hold onto before he also stepped back.
A soft, autumnal wind blew through the area, disturbing a few branches in the surrounding trees. A few dried petals that had lingered by the grave, remnants of the last wreath of flowers Finchley had made for her Grams, were blown away only to be replaced as by the new wreath she propped up against the stone. The woman was silent for a short while and then stepped a bit closer. She then gestured to each of her companions in turn as she spoke as one would to someone still living. "Grams, I'd like to introduce you to my friends and family now. This is Xanderian who is sister to me."
"Hail, worthy one," spoke Xanderian quietly in greeting.
Finchley then gestured to Hawk with a soft smile. "And this is Hawk, who I love." Hawk looked on in respectful silence, expression unreadable as he nodded once.
"And this is Xandilif, who is very dear to me. I think you'd give her a run for her money too..." Silent as the grave itself, the Banshee merely looked on, lending silent support.
Finchley then gestured to the two women who stood behind her. "And look, here's Eduwiges of Faldham. That's all the way in Rohan. Rohan, Grams! And Nethrida of Gondor. Fancy that! You meetin' folk from far and wide."
Nethrida smiled and bowed while Eduwiges crossed her chest with one arm in salute.
Silence was their answer once again as the light breeze died down once more. Finchley moved forward again and sat down upon the ground before the grave, as if settling down to have a casual conversation, and gestured to her wreath. "These are for you, just like I promised. No red ones... I'm sorry I kept you waitin' for so long this time. I've been so very far away."
Xanderian stayed back, listening, one tear escaping her. Xandilif, however, stepped up to stand behind Finchley's shoulder, face cold and immobile. Hawk merely looked on, compassion and something else coloring his expression. Finchley smiled as she rested her hands casually in her lap, occasionally raising them to gesture as she spoke on.
"Well, I went to go get him, Grams. All the way to Gondor. But he was gone afore I could get there. But, don't worry! He's not gone anymore. I don't think I've ever been happy in my entire life. I think it's because I was so sad afore."
Finchley was met with silence once more as Hawk’s expression crumpled ever so slightly for a mere second. She continued on as Eduwiges’ own tears began to fall as she remembered speaking to her father’s grave outside of Faldham. The society of orphans could be such a lonely organization.
"So much I've seen and places I've been, just like I wanted. There has been a lot of sadness too but, I think, because there's still so much that is good and fair in the world, that I'm okay with it." She paused for a moment as her shoulders slumped. A sigh escaped her as her normally cheery voice rapidly became somewhat choked with emotion. "... I wish you had just told me, Grams; every secret you kept from me... Why'd you keep it from me? Did you think I'd stop lovin' you? Or maybe you were afraid?... I never thought much of it but things've changed, Grams. I wish you had just told me!"
Xandilif reached out to rest her gauntleted hand gently atop Finchley’s head as the woman reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek, breathing in deeply before continuing. "And all this about bein' a witch? And Angmar? What did you know? You weren't a fool and you didn't raise one either. But now you're gone! You can't say anythin' or tell me anythin' anymore. You took all those secrets with you and now I have to find them as best I can. Why could you have just told me?" Her tears began to fall in earnest now even as she tried to wipe them away. "You know it wouldn't've scared me off. I loved you so much, Grams. I would have understood. Or, if I didn't, I would have tried to. You could have shared your burdens with me but you never wanted to. You never did."
Finchley sat there for a while, silently crying as her companions struggled to hold back their own tears. The graveyard remained silent as ever in response. Eventually, she took in another deep breath and let it out slowly, looking at the headstone intently. "... But that's just it, innit? You wanted to bear all those things alone so I wouldn't have to, aye? I understand. I'd do it for those here with me too in a heartbeat... I've been doin' a lot of thinkin' since things went all wrong. You lied to me. You lied about that birthmark. You didn't tell me anythin'. You kept the truth from me... But you did it because you loved me, aye?"
Xandilif nodded silently and pet Finchley’s hair as the woman sighed sadly and reached forward to lay her hand upon the headstone. The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a small smile even as the tears still came. "So, I forgive you,” she spoke definitively, her forgiving heart’s decision on the matter made plain for all to hear. "For all of it. I forgive you, Grams."
She rested her hand upon the front of the grave, fingers brushing across the simple etching upon the stone… and then suddenly gasped aloud, pulling her hand away from it, as if burned!
There on the grave, another etching appeared slowly, as if being carved out by someone unseen. Finchley let out a small sound of pain, clutching at her left side as she jumped to her feet. She stared, green eyes wide with fear and shock, as the etching was completed. Glimmering with red light was a somewhat crudely circle with three uneven lines running through it.
Ever at the ready, Hawk, Xandilif, Eduwiges, and Nethrida drew their weapons as Xanderian tilted her head, uncertain as to what this meant. A warning of some sort? A threat from a new foe? The work of the spy at the Prancing Pony?
A horrible ringing noise filled the air around the graveyard as the wind in the trees grew stronger. The new mark upon the grave pulsed with red light and then, as if drawn up by something unseen, the light left the etching completely, rising into the air, high above their heads. A piercing yell of anger was heard as a skeletal specter appeared with a bow and nocked arrow in his hands. However, upon closer inspection, the shade appeared to be small like a child no older than ten and dressed in rags of some kind.
"NO! NO MERCY! NONE! THERE IS NO WASHING THE BLOOD FROM HER HANDS!"
Finchley put one hand to her ear and clutched at her left side, staggering backwards into Hawk and gasping in pain.
“Now, what fresh hell is this?” muttered Xandilif.
(continued in "Dearly Departed - The Second and Final Part")
