[Celuien]

Two wide eyes gazed after Anakron’s cloak and settled into a disbelieving stare as he came to a stop atop his pedestal. The Grand Anakronist had asked her to stay in Mordor? With him? It was beyond comprehension. The weather grew gusty. He turned a few times; clothing fluttering dramatically in the wind, white hair blowing behind him. Panakeia was sure he was posing. Anakron looked back in her direction and she quickly stared at the ground. Her cheeks were burning, and she knew she looked pinker than any scalded lobster.

What could Anakron be thinking? Was he serious, or was this a new test? She didn’t know. Anakron was always so austere, distant. The very idea of his proposal (what kind of proposal was this?) astounded her. Panakeia never imagined that he could have such thoughts, although she was deeply flattered that of all the Party, indeed, of all the folk in Mordor, Anakron had chosen to address them to her. And what did Panakeia think of the forbidding figure in black? That too was a muddle. Her first thought, only a few days before, was that she hated him. But that had been after her initial failure in the Celebrity Hunt, while she was still in a high dudgeon over the Shatner fiasco.

Did she have any other reason to dislike him? Yes. There was the matter of all the tests, of Mordor in general. Then again, that wasn’t his fault. Mordor was torture. Anakron couldn’t change that. And of a sudden, it seemed to her that the tests weren’t meant to be malicious. Panakeia’s mind drifted back to Dol Gaurgauroth. The point of that exercise had been not to harm the other villagers, regardless of provocation to do otherwise. Was Anakron trying to teach the would-be escapees a lesson in morality? And no one, not even the fish, had really been harmed in the end. Had all of the tests been meant to teach the Offending Party something important? That seemed likely. She thought she saw him in a new light, and that light was favorable.

Still, there was the whole business of A Slan. Everyone seemed so certain that A Slan was good and conversely, that Anakron was evil. But if A Slan was a mere anachronism, did he matter? Panakeia didn’t think so. And she couldn’t see Anakron as a total villain. Ruthless and overly dramatic at times, yes, but evil, no. Not too long ago, the adjective 'ruthless' had been applied to her. She had changed since then, thanks to...Anakron. She owed him for that. And then it occurred to her that they were akin in some way. Two lonely people, unhappy with the world, trying to muddle through as best they could. But she still didn’t know if she could accept his extraordinary offer. There was a part of her that wanted to stay. At the same time, from another corner of her mind came a cry to go. She didn’t need anyone, especially not Anakron. He was certainly a rogue. No, she didn’t really believe that. She chided herself for the thought. She never really did hate him. Slowly, she realized that her feelings had been more of a respect from afar all along. And she was so very, very lonely.

Her eyes fell on Valde. Here, at least, was one decision she could make. She approached the actor, Anakron watching hawk-like from his perch.

“Hello, Valde,” she said.

Valde seemed deeply absorbed in some train of thought. It took him a moment to respond, and when he did, he sounded as if he didn’t want to be bothered. “What? Oh, it’s you. Hello.” He gave her a look of ennui that told her to be off and quickly.

She looked him up and down, annoyed with Valde’s self-absorption. How could I ever have been so infatuated with him? For indeed, she recognized her earlier feelings as mere infatuation, and they had faded like autumn leaves in the winter wind. Still, she was determined to let him down gently. Panakeia was convinced that he returned her earlier attachment and she didn’t want to hurt his (probably highly fragile) feelings.

“Well…umm…well…well…” Her voice trailed off, bringing a questioning glance from both Valde and the Anakronist. “Looks like we’re going to different places. We may never see each other again.”

“Yes? And?” Valde’s patience was already wearing thin.

Why, that trickster! He never cared at all! She reconsidered. Well, no. It wasn’t a trick on his part. Just my own deluded vanity. And I couldn't see it. She fumbled for a way to end the conversation without causing herself further embarrassment.

“Well, what I wanted to say was that…was that…was that I was going to offer you a job with my sales company. The new one I was going to start outside Mordor.” Anakron’s attention was drawn to the ‘was going to start.’ She would stay! “All legitimate products, of course. Cosmetics. They always were genuine. One of my only genuinely functional products." The irony of her rare genuine products being used to create artifice was not lost on her, or, from the faint curve to his lips, Anakron. "I didn’t think there’d be much demand for Lead Tragic Actors out there, but acting is part of selling. I figured you’d make a great salesman. So I was going to ask you if you wanted to go into business with me. But there’s not much point now. Offer stands, though, if we ever meet again outside.” Anakron drooped. Outside. She was going to leave.

Valde crinkled his eyebrows. “Yes. It’s a generous offer. I’ll think it over.” Panakeia took that as a polite 'no' and silently gave thanks for her escape. Then she went to Anakron, who looked rather dejected on his solitary pedestal.

“Have you decided?” His voice was flat and proud.

“Yes. Yes, I have. This is all so sudden, Anakron. One minute, you’re giving me tests and the next you’re asking me to ‘walk your path’ and such. Why, I hardly know you! And you hardly know me, really. But here’s what I say. I can’t join you.” Anakron raised a hand to silence Panakeia. She clasped the hand and pulled it downward. “Wait. I’m not finished. I can’t join you yet. But I’m not leaving Mordor either.” Panakeia couldn’t believe what she was saying. To stay in Mordor, for Anakron of all people, after all the trouble he'd just put her through to earn the right to leave, was more than inconceivable. And yet here she was just the same. “It’s only that this isn’t how things are done. Properly. I’ll stay in Mordor. Go back to my little hut. Get to know you better. Then, after a while, if you still want me to stay and if I think we get along, then I’ll ‘walk your path’ as you say. I’m not making any promises, but we’ll see what happens.” She smiled, and was shocked to find that she still held Anakron’s hand in her own. As she stood beside him, it seemed to her that the stiff breeze grew a little less cold.