Minas Tirith, the Lord's Mansion.
The former temporary command post had been transformed into a grand and magnificent banquet hall.
The sounds of lutes and bagpipes echoed through the hall, accented by the melodies of harps and hand drums, weaving together a hymn for warriors.
The air was a mixture of the charred aroma of fat dripping from whole roasted sheep, the rich malty scent of rye beer, and the sweat of several hundred boisterous men.
Torches blazed from their sconces, illuminating every inch of the space as if it were day. The dancing flames made the shadows look as if they, too, were celebrating the victory.
Thirty long tables were joined together, stretching from one end of the hall to the other.
This naturally divided the hall into three sections.
