The moon, not completely whole yet perched high, cast its radiance upon the field below. Crisp was the air and black was the evening sky, free from cloud or mist, though it was pierced by stars twinkling bright, ancient witnesses accompanying the merriment of celebration. Recently cleared grounds, which had once known battle and destruction, were now filled with renewed life, people and festivities just outside the White City.
Autumn had arrived. The Pelennor Fields now brown, yet, the land was dappled with colored canvas tents and makeshift wooded stands situated in somewhat organized rows. Compared to the looming nearby walls of Gondor they looked miniature in stature yet each tent, each vendor, had something special, some unique item that people certainly could not live without.
Once again it was a festival of the senses. The wafting aroma of charring meat mingled with the rising dough from baking breads and pleasant aromas of spices from distant lands. Laughter, conversations, and music all contributed to the joyful festivity along with the faint cheers for the enthusiastic dancers towards the edge of the encampment. Meanwhile lively women in radiant dresses eagerly maneuvered through the aisles, checking the wares for sale as well as the handsome knights who, with guarded interest, occasionally passed by.
Any and all could be found here, for it was the annual fall festival put on by Gondor and the very King himself! An act of remembrance and reflection for the many souls lost during the War of the Ring, but it served also as a celebration of joy, gratitude, and ultimately the victory. Some attended regularly, every year, while for others the White City, much less the Autumn Festival, had not been seen for a great many years. Then there were those who were present, fortunately or unfortunately, those who found themselves in the City of Ecthelion’s Tower, now, at this time, whether they wanted to be or not…
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