The spring rain had stopped.
In the central square of Minas Tirith, the damp flagstones reflected the lead-gray clouds.
The people streamed in from streets and alleys in every direction, like streams flowing into a lake.
They crowded into the square, gazing up at the raised stone platform in its center and whispering among themselves.
At one side of the platform, Caroline stood beside Veylin, the sea breeze stirring her silver hair.
She watched the sea of heads below. Their faces showed neither the fear nor the numbness of war's aftermath, but an anticipation they could barely contain.
"You summoned everyone." Caroline spoke softly enough that only Veylin could hear. "I thought I would be seeing a sorrowful memorial service."
"Mourning is necessary, but not now. Right now, they need to see hope more."
As the bell rang, Tristan stepped onto the platform.
He wore an immaculate, crisply tailored administrative uniform.
Through a small sound-amplifying magic array, his clear voice reached every corner of the square.
"Citizens. From laying the first foundation stone to completing the harbor, and then repelling the invading enemy, we have defended our home with our own hands and courage."
"Today, our lord will award everyone who contributed the honors they deserve."
Under the crowd's gaze, Veylin walked to the center of the platform.
His eyes swept over the people below before he picked up a list.
"Ora Stonebeard."
Ora strode onto the platform, his prized reddish-brown beard swaying against his chest. He removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm, and bowed his head to Veylin.
Veylin opened a wooden box. Inside lay a heavy silver medal shaped like a shield, with the thorn emblem of the Gray Marsh Fief at its center.
"Ora Stonebeard, in the battle at the deep-sea Coral Camp, you slew