Fireworks.
The sharp multi coloured explosions sparkled overhead, outshining the brightest of stars, before twinkling out of existence. I returned my gaze to the earth and was welcomed with the sight of my fellow hobbits, dancing under the magical blaze that illuminated the ground in all the colours of the spectrum.
Petals.
Looking out across the unblemished form of Minas Tirith, adorned anew. Hand in my beloveds, we both glided through the gathering of my cheering people. Light white petals gracefully fell upon us from above, snow from the heavens. Landing on our faces, so softly, the felling of a new age.
Victorious.
We all raised our cups in unison. In our hands were mere challises of mead but to us it was the honour of a fallen, their spent blood, the victorious fallen. The warm fuzzy like liquid poured down my throat, alighting a new vigour within me. Hail the victorious dead.
