Note: I wrote this last year after viewing fireworks over the Rhein for Johannisfest. That's where my inspiration stemmed from.

Three tall figures were watching the goings-on of Hobbiton from a stand of trees on a high hill. A bustle of activity was centered around a great tree in the middle of a clearing. The tree was hung with lanterns, and many lights were being lit on the ground to scare off the darkness of the approaching night. There were many tents with tables beneath them, heavily laden with food and surrounded by chattering hobbits. A small band played a cheery, fast-paced dance and the dancers swirled about.

The smell of hobbit food drifted up to the figures in the trees and caught the nose of the youngest of the group. His stomach gave a loud growl. One of the others, Halbarad, laughed softly.

“Well, that won’t do,” Halbarad said, smiling in the growing darkness towards the offender. “When viewing a hobbit-party, one must do as hobbits do. Feel free to eat.”

The youngest, Falborn, blushed furiously. “Thank you, sir.” At a mere fourteen years, still very early in training, he felt quite embarrassed and quite awkward around the older, more experienced Rangers, especially those like Halbarad and the Captain. He took a bit of dried fruit from his pack and sat on the hillside, eating as quietly as he could to avoid attention again.

Falborn was unsure as to why he had been called to join these two to a journey to the Shire. He was the youngest Ranger in training, and he couldn’t help but wonder. Was there going to be trouble for the Halflings?

While he was pondering these things, the two other Rangers seated themselves and waited.

“Do you think we should tell the lad what we are doing here?” Halbarad said quietly to the Captain.

“No,” the Captain said. “Don’t you remember your first time seeing this? Would you have wanted to have everything spoiled by knowing what was coming?”

“No,” Halbarad admitted. “No, I would not have wanted that.”

The last rays of the sun finally vanished, and night settled in like a dark blanket.

“Ah,” the Captain said, his keen eyes picking out a tall grey figure moving amongst the hobbits, “it is time.”

Falborn heard this. “Time for-” he began, but was cut off by a loud whistle and a bang! He leapt to his feet and his hand flew to his dagger at his belt, but the Captain reached up and caught his hand.

“Peace,” he said calmly. “There is nothing to be frightened of. Look at the sky.”

Falborn stared at the explosion of bright white against the night sky in awe until it faded away.

“What is it? Has Earendil knocked a star from the sky by accident?”

Both Halbarad and the Captain laughed at this. “It is not that,” Halbarad said. “Mithrandir’s fireworks are a sight to see, and are always strange and magical when you first see them. Come; join us back on the ground.”

Falborn lowered himself down, still staring at the place where the white light had been. “Will they all be like that? White explosions?”

“No,” the Captain said. “Mithrandir told me himself that there would be fireworks tonight, and I am guessing that he sent up a simple one to let us know that he is going to pull out his real tricks soon.”

Sure enough, another rocket flew into the sky shortly afterwards. A burst of song accompanied this one instead of a jarring bang- scintillating birds flew in a flock and swept about the large tree in the clearing before vanishing as the first white light had. The next was equally stunning: a forest of green trees with sweet-smelling flowers that fell from the branches nearly to the ground. Falborn could smell the lovely scent as the wind carried it to him. He found himself wishing that he was among the hobbits so he could cheer, clap and laugh along with them. He gasped as bright butterflies fountained up, allowing himself to relax the sense of guardianship he had already begun to grow, staring in awe like a child again.

Next to him, Halbarad smiled. He had reacted in exactly the same way when he had first seen Mithrandir’s magic, and he had been nearly twice Falborn’s age. The amazement never really wore off, he thought to himself as pillars of roaring fire became eagles, swans, and ships. Mithrandir’s fireworks were never the same. He made each so that they would be entirely different from the next, and that was what made it truly astounding. Halbarad nearly leapt out of his skin when one firework exploded with the sound of a raging army with a forest of spears. So did Falborn. They looked at each other and laughed at their foolishness.

The Captain, having known Mithrandir for years, had seen the fireworks many times before. He had never seen the fireworks reflected in water, however. He watched, fascinated, as a red cloud spilled golden rain, and then looked at the Water to see the reflections, mesmerized by how the slightest ripple made the reflected cloud shiver, break apart, and reform again. He almost didn’t notice the next firework until Halbarad grabbed his arm.

“Aragorn!” he breathed, “Look!”

He wrenched his eyes away from the Water and looked up at the sky. There was a white tree, leafless and dead. Then, small buds appeared and opened, raining a shower of white upon the hobbits below. Seven stars formed above the branches, and seven stones beneath the roots.

“Thank you, Mithrandir,” Aragorn whispered, staring at the Tree in awe.