Arameor celebrated the way it did everything — loudly and with complete commitment.
The great hall had been transformed overnight into something that made the Hall of Sultan look modest by comparison. Every torch was lit. Every table was full. The kitchens had apparently decided that this was the occasion to use everything they had been saving and the result was a spread that made several of the younger soldiers genuinely emotional when they saw it, which nobody mentioned out loud but everyone understood. These were people who had been eating camp food in a valley three days ago. The sight of a roasted something surrounded by things that smelled like butter and herbs was doing something to their faces that war had not managed to do.
The noise of it was enormous and warm and alive in the specific way of people who had looked at the alternative recently and were now very deliberate about being grateful for the version they were currently in.
