[Celuien]

Panakeia stood glaring at Anakron, red-faced, furious, humiliated. For the second time today, he had treated her roughly. He had no right to do so, Grand Anakronist, Servant of the Blue Istari, or whatever else he chose to call himself.

But still, she wanted to scream at him. How could he be so incredibly blind to his own heart? They'll find themselves another Anakron, one who will not stave off the worst of the dweomer. He still cared about what happened. He still cared about doing what was right. That, Panakeia thought, was not not the mark of an evil man, nor yet one who wished to become evil, but rather the sign of one struggling against the dark.

He was so infuriating! Determined to stumble along to evil, mistreating her, and refusing to admit any choice in the matter. But not evil. Not yet, as he said. And everything she did went amiss. She was burning. So she did the only thing a lady in her position could do. Panakeia stepped toward Anakron, cheeks still flaming, her right hand outstretched. Anakron glared down at her, defying her, daring her to act on her thought.

Panakeia dared. In a swift motion, she snatched Anakron's staff from the ground and slapped the inert Sylvester silly.

"Stupid Dweomer! I hate you! I hate you!" She shouted it over and over, until, in a last fit of frustrated rage, she hurled the staff into a pile of garbage in the alley.

She then stared back at Anakron, despairing and unhappy. "You showed me something, Anakron. You showed me something important. If only you would see it yourself. You're right. If you walked away, the Istari would merely find a replacement. But consider this too. If you turn evil, the Istari will also dispose of you. They won't risk the possibility of your attempting to set yourself in their place. As they fear you would. If they didn't why would they have told me to keep you in line? So long as you remain in fear of them, serving their will, but not going too far, they'll keep you. But it won't solve the Dweomer problem. The only way for you to save yourself - and to satisfy that part of your conscience demanding that you keep the Istari in check - is to break the Dweomer. I don't know if it's even possible, Anakron. I don't pretend to understand con...konveyances or the power behind them. But I do understand that it's making you something you aren't. And that it's evil. And that Middle-earth would be better off without it. You should destroy it if you can. I was under the influence of the Dweomer when I said it first, but I believe it still.

"There's something else too. I see now that I'm not helping you. I don't understand why. I've tried. Maybe you can't or won't hear me now. Or when you do listen, it only makes things worse. I wish it weren't so, but I'm afraid it is."

Panakeia bit her lip, repressing the tears that threatened to well up again. Why, after everything he'd done today, after her resolutions to leave, did Anakron still have such a hold over her? But she went on, carefully avoiding Anakron's gaze, hoping he would maintain his stony silence, but hoping even more that he would at last understand and turn from this madness. That he would speak kindly to her at last.

"And so, Anakron, I'm taking your advice. I'm going away. Not to Ithilien, at least not yet. But I think it would be better for the both of us if we had some time apart. I'll be here, in Lost Angles, until the morning. Then I don't know where I'll go. I haven't decided. Think of what I've said, and if you find it in yourself to hear me, come! Please, come!" As a sudden wave of tenderness swept over her, Panakeia reached for Anakron's hand. But, almost as if her touch burnt him, he withdrew it. She bit her lip again, and stared at him, both questioning and sorrowful.

"Good-bye, Anakron."

Her head bent, she turned and walked away. Anakron retrieved his staff and started back to Mount Doom.