(Taking place during the events of "Lights in Arnor - Part 11")
First came the pain, starting from the brand in her side until it enveloped her entire body. Everything was painful as the world around her seemed to twist and fade out. She felt as if she were fainting. And then… it stopped.
Her vision slowly cleared, like opening ones eyes after a long sleep. How strange it was to feel connected and yet disconnected at the same time. About her was the walls of what looked to be a throne room of sorts, festooned with red curtains. She blinked through her disorientation and confusion, searching for any sign of life here other than herself.
At the far end of the room was… herself. Yet, it was not herself; of that she could be certain. This Finchley walked in a manner far more confident than she ever had. And, when she spoke, her voice echoed with wicked intent.
"Well... How fitting that we should finally meet."
Finchley's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward to meet the 'other her' despite the horrible feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. "You… What did you do? Where is everyone?"
Aganalu laughed. "What did I do? Silly little slave, I won. The ‘others’? Your sad little friends? Well, they are coming to grips with the new reality."
Finchley stopped short and set her feet, refusing to cower. "I am no one's slave. And you haven't won, else I wouldn't be here. And, so long as I'm still here, then, I still belong to me and no one else. Not even you... And you'd best leave my friends alone."
"To be honest I have no idea why you are here," scoffed Aganalu, looking vexed. "You shouldn’t be. I have taken command of that shell of yours. Even now it is exacting my vengeance while I am distracted prattling away with you."
"Then why don't you just give it back?" said Finchley. She took a deep breath and then smiled a bit, though her hands were shaking. "It's my body, not yours. I told you no several times, aye?"
Her request was promptly ignored. "You led me a merry chase, Zîrânaphêl. But, you have always been mine... I claimed you even before you were born. You exist for this purpose and this purpose alone; to bring me back to life. What possible difference can you make in this world, while I-… I will impose the Mandate Infernus over the entire world! You are nothing. Simply a glove that waited for my hand. And now... you should be gone."
Finchley grit her teeth and shook her head, starting to feel anger course through her. She crossed her arms and glared at her adversary. "No. My name is Finchley and I'm gonna travel the whole wide world with my friends and see all the things I've ever wanted to see and then some... So, no. Go away and give it back."
As she spoke she realized that one of her hands was not empty. She lifted it and found a small bouquet of flowers. The exact same flowers you had left on her Grams'—No, Moyna’s grave all those months ago. Along with her abject confusion she felt the familiar pang of grief all over again as Aganalu cursed, gnashing her teeth together with rage.
"That meddling hag did this. She tied you to this world, to this body... Very well then. If need be, I will force you out myself."
Finchley stumbled backwards as the sorceress lunged forwards, reaching for her throat. She tossed the flowers at Aganalu's face and the distinct scent of burning flesh filled the air as the sorceress screamed, her voice becoming harsher, sounding less and less like Finchley’s and more and more like something inhuman.
"I will not have this torn from my grasp, when I have worked so long and hard for this moment! I deserve it! It is MINE!!!"
Finchley stepped backwards and shook her head. Reaching to her belt she found that, in this place, she was indeed armed with one weapon at least. Her fingers closed about the hilt Iaew, the dagger Lif had given her. "You had your chance!" she yelled back. "You had a whole life and you used the lot of it to do horrible things to people. So, you don't deserve a single thing! This is my life and my body. So give it back!"
She looked on in horror as Aganalu snarled and lashed out again, her face, so very much like her own, distorted with hate and evil; her beauty ruined by evil, decadence, and arrogance. She drew out her dagger, holding it defensively in front of her with a shaking hand. In that moment, she almost felt sorry for her. Almost. But, it did not outweigh the fear or the anger. She brought the weapon up to block a blow, wincing as she felt the sorceress continue to grow in power and control. Whatever stay Moyna had given her was rapidly weakening and failing.
But just then, clear as day, she heard another voice; this time, a man's voice. "No... We sacrificed so much to save you from this; from her. Run! Run away, my daughter, and find a quiet corner of your mind. Hide there, away from her."
"Who are you?" asked Finchley as she barely managed to block blow after blow, being forced to slowly retreat backwards. "I can't run. What is she doing to my friends while I'm stuck here?"
"I do not know," was the voice’s answer. "Time is different here and there. But there is blood. She is slaying, as is her way. You must run somehow."
She retreated back another step. "But... If I run and somethin' happens to them, I'll never forgive myself for runnin' and not tryin'. I love them."
“Love yourself more, please... I am your father and you must survive. We gave up everything for you to survive.”
She hesitated, features pinched in confusion. "I... have a father?" The idea had never really occurred to her before but she took it as a sign. She turned on her heel and ran, not really knowing where she was going, searching for some corner of her own mind to hide in. But only temporarily, until she figured out what to do. "I hope you're right, cause I'm not hidin' forever. I can't do that."
Behind her, Aganalu howled. "I will find you! You cannot hide in my mind! I will find you and force you you to watch them all die! You will see the elf breathe her last! Surrender! Bargain for her life!"
But, Finchley kept running. "No, you won't. Cause you were just put here. This was my mind first and it still is." She staggered through the unknown corridors of what she assumed was, indeed, her own mind until she sudden found herself in the familiar valley of Rivendell with the roar of the Bruinen echoing and the leaves of green trees surrounding her. She glanced around herself in confusion, wondering why her mind would count this place as a peaceful one when so many of her memories here were filled with solemn sadness.
And yet, there was an undercurrent of gentle security to be found here and Finchley took a moment to rest, taking in a deep breath and then letting it all out at once. "Just hold on everyone," she whispered to herself as she looked around her once more. "I'll figure it out... What would Addie do?"
Just then, she heard a bird of some sort squawking in fear and pain. But, it wasn’t just any bird. She would know that raven’s voice anywhere. At once, she dashed toward the sound, panic racing through her. "Gavlra?!"
When she came to a clearing in the trees she found Aganalu standing there, waiting for her. “Your lover died once. And now your bird. Everything you touch dies badly, hating you. Why keep fighting? You were born to be mind and only mine.”
The sorceress hurled the dead raven at Finchley’s feet. Looking horrified, the girl knelt down and picked up the small, feathery body of her friend, her cheeks already soaked with tears. "You did this, not me. Why’d you have to kill him? He did nothin' to you!"
"He had to die because of you, don't you see that?" sneered Aganalu, growing more angry and desperate. "I will burn everything you ever loved as long as you defy me."
Finchley let out a few sobs as she set Galvra's body aside amongst a pile of leaves. "How... dare you? You did this, not me. You killed him ‘cause you could. If everythin' I touch dies, it's all your fault! All because you want what isn't yours..." She looked up and glared at her nemesis through her tears. "And now I really won't give it to you quietly."
It was as if the world stopped, grinding to a halt under the pressure of her own defiance. A woman’s voice, young yet rich sounding, whispered in her ear. "You truly are the daughter of my soul, the daughter of my heart. He is wrong. We--...I did not sacrifice myself so that you would merely live. I sacrificed myself so that she would die. You have the strength and the heart to avenge hundreds of thousands and to protect a million more... My child, wealthy in love and honor, courage and compassion... You are all I dreamed you would become when we sent you to wake the Witch."
Finchley looked around, though she knew she wouldn’t see anyone else. "Who are you, then?"
"My name is Averill. They could not steal my name from me after all. I am she who was your mother. I was Averill and your father was Bên. We loved you like the stars in the sky."
"My mother... You loved me?"
"With all my heart. You are every dream I ever had."
With a teary smile, Finchley nodded. She had been given no small amount of courage to continue on. She turned to face Aganalu as time moved forward again. "... Okay. Don't leave me then, both of you. I'll try and finish what you started," she whispered as she set her feet and adjusted her grip on her dagger. "Give it back. Don't you get it? You failed to get rid of me. Because of you they died. 'Cause of you my neighbor died. And you killed Galvra... But you still failed. No matter what you do, I will not stop. I'll fight and defy you to the very end."
Time and space around them began to spin and swirl as Aganalu became less and less human looking, screeching in rage. Then, as quickly as things were lost to confusion, they were set right again. This time, she found herself standing nearer to the forges of Rivendell where a rhythmic pounding filled the night air. Finchley looked around and noticed that the weight of her dagger at her hip had gone.
A girl stood there. No, not a girl. An elven lass, though she looked to be a mere teenager. Her hair was cut at an odd angle, as if done hastily with a knife. She stood over the forge, hammering molten metal, forging a small blade, tears running down her face. "Iaew… Iaew…" she whispered over and over again, voice made hoarse by crying, sounding as if it would break any moment. As the dagger took shape it seemed to hum and glow with power. "Into you I pour my enmity. Into you I pour my hatred. Into you I pour my defiance. Into you… My scorn is made real."
Finchely stepped closer, already moved by the girl's tears. She seemed familiar to her. Almost instinctively she reached out slowly and rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something but found she was lost for words. But that served her well enough when the elven lass turned to face her.
"Now… Finish this. NOW," said the young Xandilif as she handed over blade she forged. Finchley took it in hand and recognized it for what it was. Iaew, the dagger Lif had given her months ago.
"I love you," said the elven lass. "Come home."
"I'll do my best... You'll be waitin' for me, aye?"
"I will always be waiting for you."
Before Finchley could so much as thank her, the scene shifted again, faster now that she began to gain the strength to resist and fight back. Yet, it seemed, so too did Aganalu. The smell of smoke filled the air as she stood down the path to the cottage that she shared with her Grams for all those years. It was in flames. Two soldiers pulled an old woman from the fire, swiftly and cruelly beheading her in the mud.
"No... It didn't happen like this," she cried as she ran toward the house. Hot tears of pain and anger poured down her face as she looked left and right for the sorceress. She paused when she nearly tripped over another body. A man with thick locks of black hair, an iron arrow in his skull laid there, a weeping baby in a blanket near his outstretched hands. He had failed. Finchley immediately picked up the baby, holding her close to her chest though she did not look at her face. She didn’t need to look at her face to know who it was.
“It didn't happen like this! I know what you’re doin’. Quit changin' things just cause you're not gettin' your way… No more tricks. No more hidin' behind your own cruelty. You want my body so badly, then you'll have to get rid of me as I am first. I'm worth more'n underhanded things like this. You want a fight? Fine! H-Have it your way! You can have a fight!”
A figure stepped out of the burning cottage, the soldiers kneeling before her. She looked almost unrecognizable now; regal, terrible, and utterly debased. "Very well. Are you prepared to settle this once and for all? Here, where your whimpering parents cannot help you? Where my vacillating waste of a sister cannot meddle? You realize that by the end you will never see that elven jester you lead around again? I don’t think you have the courage for it."
"Oh they're still here. Even if you've killed them off. I carry 'em with me. You're the one who can't seem to do anythin' without forcin' folks to do it. Or trickin' people to do it. Even your own sister was tryin' to stop you. Since you've really got no one in the end, wouldn't be better for you to give up?" said Finchley, holding the baby tighter as she thrusted Iaew out in front of her with a shaking hand. "Last chance. Give it back."
Aganalu snarled and drew back her hands, purple light coursing up and down her arms… Then, she screamed in anger as the light went out and the cottage behind her stopped burning and became good as new again, as if it had never been burned.
The scene changed one last time and, this time, it looked like something Finchley could finally remember and recognize. The sun was shining in a blue sky with white clouds. It was noon in the forested hills of Breeland in high spring. She remembered this day; the day she finally climbed the biggest tree she could find and saw the whole world from the top of its branches.
She turned suddenly when she felt someone’s hand hold her own. Standing there was a smiling Catalinna… No, it was Grams? Cat? Somehow it was both? "As it was foretold, so it is done. The Witchfire is purified and reborn. It is time to send my aunt back to the past. Strike, for all those before and after you."
"... Okay. But I'm not gonna like it. I'll never like somethin' like this. But I've got no choice, aye?" responded Finchley, feeling a few more tears escape her. Sadness, love, determination, exhaustion; all these seemed to fill the space in her chest, spilling over through her eyes. The baby was gone but the dagger, Iaew, rested in the palm of her free hand. She looked toward Aganalu again and thrust it between them, the tip of the blade glinting and sharp. “I'm sorry. I can't give you any more chances... So, give it back! You hear me?! Give it back! I told you no and I meant it! Get out!”
Aganalu looked up at her, confused as her own form seemed to slowly change, reverting to a time when she looked more like her sister, Moyna; a time when she was a mere sad, scared girl. "I had won," said Fayna, as she was once called. "How could I have been defeated by all this filth? I had won. I sold everything to be immortal..."
"You never won," said Finchley as she took a step forward. "And you'll never be immortal. We ain't elves. We get one chance. We get one life and then we die and go somewhere. You wasted yours... I'm sorry, but I'm not givin' my one shot to give you a second chance. Besides, I have folks waitin' for me."
Sheer hatred crossed Fayna’s face as she lunges at Finchley, claws bared. But, as their eyes met, it was clear in that moment that the sorceress knew exactly what she was doing. She impaled herself on the edge of the blade and slumped to the ground. "Finally," she whispered, sighing with relief.
Finchley felt the ground underneath her give way as the entire world went white…
When she awoke, she was lying on the stone floor of the crypt, now devoid of bones and the shade of Aranarth gone. As her vision began to slowly clear she realized that, for the first time in forever, she felt no hidden pressure inside her. Aganalu was gone…
She was free.
