[Celuien]

The protest march had only gone a little way Speakeasy Corner when they were intercepted by the Blue Istari. A few turns past the Mottled Arch (or whatever it was called - Panakeia was far too distracted by the dreadful news she had just heard to remember properly) had been the total of their journey. But even that brief distance seemed to be greater than the ends of the world to our heroine in her rush to return. She hoped - dimly, it is true, but with all the hope she could find in her heart - that the Istari had only been having a cruel joke and that she would find Anakron alive. They might have been joking. It was certain that Anakron had finally given up his role as Grand Anakronist. The wizards might have found it amusing to torment her with false news of Anakron's death out of some twisted idea of revenge on her for leading him to that decision. Panakeia told herself that must have been the case. She had not parted with Anakron on good terms, and the thought of never being able to tell her one true love the right of things (if he were actually dead) was unbearable.

Out of breath and filled with anxiety for Anakron, Panakeia rushed into Speakeasy Corner. Anakron wasn't there. A deep sigh escaped her and she whispered, "Not here. They must have been joking. He's not here."

But then loud sniffles and wailing came from behind a tree. Panakeia looked up and spotted Lûgnût noisily blowing his/her/its nose into a pink and yellow checked handkerchief. In that same moment, Lûgnût spotted Panakeia and ran over blubbering.

"He's dead. The Gee-Ay is dead. What will I do?" Finding the handkerchief soaked through, s/he grabbed a flowing flap of Panakeia's sleeve and rubbed its eyes.

Feeling as though she had been crushed under all the weight of the Spam walls of Potted Ham Court Station, Panakeia stood speechless and numb. All was lost, then. Lûgnût sniffled.

"Where is he?" she finally managed to ask.

"I made all the arrangements," Lûgnût hiccoughed. "They came and took him off to...to...bury him." S/he sobbed again.

His last thought was to leave Mordor. Panakeia recalled those words. And now Anakron would be here forever. She couldn't allow it

"No!" she cried. "Not here. Not here. He wanted to leave. He should go back to Umbar." Then, grief catching up with her once more, she joined Lûgnût in tears.

"But it's too late," Lûgnût whimpered.

Then a tap on the shoulder caused Panakeia to whirl around. The two hippies - or former hippies, for when the ISMs were dispelled, these two seemed to have abandoned their counter-cultural appearance as well - had caught up with her. Panakeia glared at the shorter of the two, who had tapped her while the other looked down from his great height.

"Excuse me," the first said with a bow. He spoke with a slight accent.

"Yes?" she stared coldly through her tears.

"I could not help but overhear. You are in need of help?" Panakeia nodded, and he bowed again. "We will help you. My friend and I. Maybe your Anakron is not dead."

Lûgnût broke in. "He is."

"We do not know this. He had much to live for." Another slight bow was offered to Panakeia. "Even if he is, we will help you to bring his remains from this place."

Panakeia looked suspiciously at the pair through tear-stained lashes. "Who are you?" she asked.

"My name is In Ego Toyota and I will aid you. Come, we have many plans to make."

The four huddled together in a corner to think, until, with their plans settled at last, they set off in search of Anakron.