[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli stopped berating Aimè (who she wasn't that upset with, since he had just saved her, but it was the thought that counted, she always said, and she thought that anyone who'd kill someone who smelled as good as Mardil, in girl-friend-defense or not, deserved not only a run-on sentence but a good superfluous rant) as soon as Mardil came back to life and Anakron lost his.

She stood in shock as Panakeia knelt in the same sort of mental state. She turned to Aimè.

"Did Anakron just die?"

He nodded.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded again.

"So by nodding, you mean to tell me that Anakron's corpse is sitting right there..."

He nodded one more time.

"Damn. How do we fix him?"

Aimè stared blankly, at a complete loss for words. He'd just dealt with two werewolves. His job was to kill them, not to bring them back to life.

"Okay, I've got it." she said, rubbing her hands together. She walked over to Anakron and nudged Panakeia out of the way. Opening Anakron's mouth, she pulled an absurdly large bellows from her miraculously recovered bag. Jamming it inside, she started pumping. Slowly but surely, Anakron's chest began to rise and fall gently. Panakeia looked hopefully at him. A moment later, Alli pulled the bellows out and Anakron's surprisingly mobile dead body remained a dead body and ceased being mobile. She put the bellows away and went back to Aimè, brainstorming a bit more.

Forever later, but really only about thirty seconds, she sighed melodramatically.

"I've got nothin'." Aimè nodded. He was as utterly bereft of nothing as she was. In fact, due to bad grammar of that odd turn of phrase, he logically and obviously ended up having something.

"Illamatar."

"Pardon?"

"Illamatar. We have the One on our side."

"Oh yeah. Illamatar, I need you!" Alli shouted to the wind. The wind did not shout back. Nor did it bleat back, baa back, or even bray. "Um... I think Illamatar turned his back on us."

"Alli," Aimè preached, "Perhaps Illamatar didn't really turn his back on you. Perhaps you turned your back on him."

She turned around. Whoodathunkit, but Illamatar was right there looking as llamaesque as ever, black eyes staring everywhere at once, and standing absurdly tall.

"Ooh, hi Lord."

"What do you want now, Alli?"

"Well, I'm having some trouble keeping my slain werewolves properly slain, but really, the trouble in this case is that we just slayed one and I kind of want him back."

"So you're complaining that Mardil came back to life? I thought you were all over him like white on rice."

"What!?"

"My apologies... I have recently heard the phrase and felt as though using it in this situation would appropriately convey your attraction. Was I mistaken?"

"Um... no, not really. But I really need Anakron back. We can't leave Mordor without him. And... well... I kind of want out."

Aimè looked crushed. Alli hastily kissed him reassurance.

"I mean... I want to come back and all... but... well... I guess I kind of have a request list."

The Allmighty looked at Alli in wonder. Could she really be so arrogant that she would think presenting a list of desired deau ex machinae would result in them actually happening?

"Yes."

"Baa."

"No, seriously, that's what I want, Illamatar. The look on your face... it's obvious you're contemplating smiting me for having the cahones to tell you what I want and expecting you to do it. Basically, to put it simply, I want all of the werewolves Aimè and I killed that came back to life to stop being werewolves. You can't make me a Seer and Aimè a Hunter and then, each time we kill our enemies, bring them back to life. That's so beyond unfair.

"And I want Aimè to be able to come with me when I leave Mordor.

"And I want Anakron to come back to life."

Illamatar looked at her and looked to the devastated Panakeia, still weeping over Corpsakron. He looked at Aimè and then looked blankly at nothing. Alli assumes that he was using his absurdly bulbous eyes to look through space and see Mario et. al. He baaed.

"Alli of Those Destined For An Interesting Life, I will grant you one of your wishes. Choose carefully which, for all plans for a sequel may have to be changed if you make a mistake."

She looked at him in shock. "The sequel depends on... me?!?!?"

"And me. And many others. Choose now, Miss Umfuìl."

She considered. She could simply kill Mario again and again, annoying though it may be. If she played her cards right, Anakron could release Aimè. She might have to get him really drunk in order to beat him at poker, but it could happen. But she'd already tried to breathe new life into Anakron. It didn't work.

"Anakron."

"Bless you."

"No, Anakron. I want Anakron back." Illamatar smiled. Before her he changed, becoming more majestic than ever, his power exuding from every pore. It smelled a little odd, but she was appropriately awed, so the powerful smell wasn't as over-bearing as it could be.

"ANAKRON ISTKON VAYOR!" he boomed. "COME BACK TO THIS WORLD!!!"

The world went black and flared brightly with clear light. Blinded, Alli hid her eyes in Aimè's shoulder. As the world came back to what could only be described as [really impossibly ab]normal, a disembodied voice whispered in the now perfectly healthy and standing Anakron's ear.

"Whatever you do, don't get drunk and play cards with Alli. Baa."