A Toast, in Wine and in Word

by openmeadow

A new Age has started, and with it comes a night of rejoicing, but also of grief. A scribe's herald to the Fourth Age.

Wild horses race across the highlands in the golden light of a glorious sunset. Man throng the streets, reveling and calling out extravegant toasts to one another, drunk with joy. No matter which country, save one, its inhabitants are rejoicing this night. Rejoicng perhaps, but many of us grieve as well as we pay tribute to our comrades who will not join us this night. Such a strange combination-sheer joy and grief at hte same moment- but it is one that we are all to familar with. To you, my beloved comrades who paid the ultimate price to protect all that is good and right, to preserve our freedom- to you I raise my hand in toast, and with my other, pen these words that you might not be forgotten with the passing of time.

-Quethal, Scribe to the King Elessar,
Minas Tirith, the Fourth Age