[Encaitare]

She was an old woman, and she'd spent a good fifty years in the barren wastes of Mordor. Ever since the ATM had selected her name, practically all she had thought about was getting out of the wretched place. But now that she was free to go, Wilhelmina Brochenbach had a few things to say to some of her comrades.

She made her way over to Fléin, whom she knew looked quite pleased somewhere under his beard. "Congratulations, my dear," she said, grinning as she noticed Mârtha Stewârt's hand-painted, virtually indestructible beaker poking out of his pack. "If you and Ketchupkin should ever find yourselves wanting some licorice and ferrety company, do drop in sometime in Ithilien." She gave the Dwarf a quick hug and bid him adieu.

Noticing Anakron standing off to the side staring wistfully off at Panakeia's retrating figure, she headed in his direction. "Hey, Anakron!" she called. His gaze flicked over to her as if he had been snapped out of a daze.

"Yes, Wilhelmina?"

"Well... let's just say I never liked you much. But I guess you're really not so bad. Maybe the Dweomer is an acquired taste... like sushi, or Wagnerian opera. After all, you did get us out of here. So, I suppose what I mean to say is 'thanks'."

"You're welcome," Anakron replied sincerely. "All in the Grand Anakronist's day's work."

Wilhelmina turned and strode towards the last person -- or creature, rather -- she wanted to talk to, but called over her shoulder, "And I hope it works out with Panakeia, too! Maybe you can talk her out of that horrid Pearie Ockcide Potion!"

Suddenly, there was a kamura in her face -- it was her kamuraorc, who was asking her--

"What awe woo going to do fiwst now that wou'we fwee to weave Mowdow?" he lisped.

"Er... I don't really know," she said puzzledly. She'd focused so much on the things that wouldn't be in the world outside Mordor that she'd nearly forgotten all the nice things that would be there. She could go walking in the forests of Ithilien, go to market whenever she wanted without nearly being run over by Orcs... maybe she'd even meet a nice gentleman, and they wouldn't have to go on dates to bowling alleys.

"I don't know what exactly I'll do first," she admitted to the kamuraorc, whom she found, like Anakron, she didn't entirely hate anymore either. "But I hope the reality show gets good ratings. It had better, after all these escapades. And if it does do well, you know there'll be remakes and an infinite number of seasons... Now if you'll excuse me..."

There was just one more to talk to.

"Yoo-hoo! Queenie!" she called loudly to the gigantic ape, who was still loitering about. "Would you mind terribly taking Mr. Swanky and myself for one last trip?" Queen Quon seemed to grin, and she picked Wilhelmina up and placed her (and Mr. Swanky) on her back.

"The Black Gate, please," Wilhelmina said happily. "One way."