Whisper was almost amazed he made it to the wall without fainting. What an introduction that would have been for the bravest of the Hadju warriors; unconscious on the floor like some underfed dog. He only just managed to catch Wheat Tongue’s smirk before it flickered from his face, but he could easily tell his father was greatly enjoying his discomfort. Whisper had stepped into his world, a world of words and politicians, of political motives and world spanning schemes, and was finding he did not have a taste for the air here.<br/><br/>Their guide escorted them to the table at the far end of the room, and the closer Whisper came to his new bride, the more emotions warred inside him. She was pleasantly plain by western standards, her dress did not show off shapely curves, her face was not particularly pretty, but not ugly in any way either. She lacked the golden ringlets that were so popular among western nobles, instead she had a blaze of orange/red hair that had been set in a sensible, pleasant fashion. The only real shocking, or even remarkable features she possessed were her eyes, as shocking a blue as his were green, made even more so by her blue dress. He’d have to remember to ask Demui’re to add some blue accents to the Al-gui pelt.<br/><br/>“-And may I present my son, Yodiki-Gotdu-Garrama.” Whisper had been so focused on her that he had neglected to pay attention to the conversation Gatekeeper and Wheat Tongue had just had. He gave Kaived a nervous smile and bowed again, completely unnecessary for this stage of their greeting, but Whisper was too nervous to keep the order of greeting correct in his head.<br/><br/>He numbly took Kaived’s hand and shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing, “Ehr, Gatekeeper, Ehr, Lord Kaived, honored to be here.” Whisper’s accent wasn’t so thick that it was hard to understand him, but the sing-song, harmonic quality that marked Hadju language was clear in his voice. Several other people at the table turned to look at him as he spoke, clearly delighted, or at the very least curious, about the exotic way his lips shaped their words.<br/><br/>Whisper, for his part, was trying very hard not to sweat as so many eyes turned to watch him interact. Those blue eyes locked tight on his again, somehow cementing him to the spot. She had to think him a fool, standing so rigid and uncomfortable at a clearly formal occasion, his manner like that of a rabbit thrown in a wolverine den. “Good evening, Lady Falena.” His accent lending a musical quality to the name, along with an excessive amount of vowels  “Fai’len’eia.”<br/><br/>With introductions exchanged and Whisper still on his feet, Wheat Tongue beckoned gently, but firmly to the empty chair reserved for Whisper and took his seat. Whisper carefully dropped into his chair, aware that the traditional Hadju method of falling into a seated position was not acceptable to Westerners. Whisper found himself seated between a grizzled old general named Count Corvosis De’fuega, and a middle aged noble named Barron Cabiano, whom Whisper had never met. The general, who prefered to be called General De’fuega, was someone Whisper was familiar with but whom he had never met. The man had clearly been elevated to this rank, not born into it. His hair was darker than most of the nobility, his face round and lacking the elegant curves of western aristocracy. His nose had also been broken several times throughout it’s history, and had that squashed quality Whisper associated with brawlers. It was also clear that this man was about as comfortable in this company as Whisper was. He had, however, a coping mechanism clearly in place, a large quantity of wine well into his system before the festivities had even properly begun. While he was far from belligerently drunk, he was also clearly just a little too friendly for such an occasion.<br/><br/>“Quite the collection of metal on y’er chest there my boy!” Whisper blinked at the man for a moment or two, then realized he was talking about the strange little pins stuck to his coat.<br/><br/>“Oh, yes… Erh, yes.” Whisper finished lamely and tried to think of something else to say.<br/><br/>“Earned them in the war with the north did you?”<br/><br/>“Uh, yes, I-”<br/><br/>“Cap off master Whisper, S’not polite to wear it at the table.”<br/><br/>“Oh, sorry.” Whisper quickly snatched the officer’s cap from his head and put it in his lap.<br/><br/>“Under yer chair, that way you don’t drop food on it.” Whisper was aware that he was flushing with embarrassment, and that he was being watched by most of the other people at the table. With a sigh he quickly pushed the cap under his chair and ran a nervous hand through his hair. De’Fuega was clearly trying to help, but his ill timed instructions were shaking the last of Whisper’s resolve.<br/><br/>“Could you, explain what some of these mean?” Whisper questioned.<br/><br/>General De’fuega gave him a soft laugh,“Why, you don’t know what earned yer own metals?”<br/><br/>“Ehr, no. The Hadju have but one honor, to be given a name. I’m unfamiliar with, how westerners give honors.”<br/><br/>De’fuega, clearly warming to the topic, grabbed Whisper by the chest and studied the collection of ribbons and medals for a moment, then sat back. “Well, that one’s for service and duty. Usually means you volunteered for something no one else wanted to do. That one’s bravery, means you fought against bad odds and won. That one’s for skills, mean you did something someone was really impressed with. The owl there’s for night, means you did something impressive in the dark.” The General raised an eyebrow with a smirk and continued, “The heart is for aiding a wounded ally, that yellow stripe down the middle of it means it was an officer, the little red dot in the middle means it was a noble, someone who appreciated it enough to put your name in to get it. That one’s for seige craft, everyone here’s heard the story o’you blowing up that trebuchet...  And that one…” De’fuega squinted for a moment before replying. “I’ll be buggered if I know what that one is. Never seen it before.” Whisper looked at the one being indicated, a ribbon, solid black with two stripes of red and a stripe of purple.<br/><br/>“Civil Honor.” Cabiano said from Whisper’s left, “For those who have been injured while protecting civilians. Quite the honor Master Whisper. Very few Western soldiers have ever even see one.” The man cast a smirk over Whispers head at De’fuega, who was still sober enough to feel the insult.<br/><br/>Whisper rubbed the scar on his right shoulder and bit his lip. He had just been doing what any other reasonable person would have done. The fact that he had been unlucky enough to take an arrow for it hardly seemed like a fitting reason to be given a special reward. Really all of the things on his chest felt that way. They were simply him doing what needed to be done. His name had been a way of thanking him for his contributions to the war, but individual events hardly seemed worthy of special mention. that was the thing about being Named, you had to live it every moment of your life. With these things, they simply were given, and if you turned out to be a bastard afterwards, you still got to keep the shiny trinkets.<br/><br/>The conversation had moved on by the time Whisper surfaced from his deeper thoughts, and he found himself sitting quietly and listening to the idle chatter around him. He was aware of Falena somewhere to his left, but didn’t dare turn his head to look at her. He wanted so desperately to get a better measure of this woman, but this was clearly not the time. He also desperately wanted a meal, but clearly this was not the time either. They had been sitting for half an hour and not a single whiff of food had reached his nostrils. Gods he was hungry. In Hadju culture, you didn’t eat the day before a feast, all the better to stuff yourself sick during the festivities, but here this ideology was clearly working against Whisper now. There was a tall glass in front of him with some sort of long pistoned flower standing in it. Could that possibly be food? What had Wheat Tongue called it? A meal before a meal. A snack to keep people from launching themselves upon their meals like carrion birds on a ripe corpse. An… Aperture? Appetise?<br/><br/>Hunger winning out over common sense, Whisper gently plucked one of the flowers from the vase and brought it to his face. The smell was pleasant enough, something akin to Vanilla. Perhaps it was food? He plucked an experimental petal from the white bloom and popped it in his mouth. De’fuega and the noble to Whisper’s left watched with keen interest, so did a good deal of the table, all save Wheat Tongue and Kaived, who were having a heated conversation about the value of Saffron.<br/><br/>“Uh, that ain’t for eatin’.” De’fuega muttered as Whisper spat the chewed petal into his plate.<br/><br/>“More tasteful than your conversation I’d hazard.” The noble chuckled and watched as Whisper replaced the flower. “How was it?”<br/><br/>“Bitter.” Whisper answered, not quite sure if that had been the most intelligent thing to do. “It does not make a very good Aperture.”<br/><br/>The noble was clearly trying to contain his mirth, so were several of the other people at the head table “I would hazard not.”The noble offered, De’fuega simply frowned. Whisper ignored the two of them, somewhat aware that he was being made the butt of a joke, and studied the silverware on either side of his plate. There was an array of metal tools that had Whisper wondering what these people ate that could possibly merit so many little instruments.<br/><br/>Some were clearly knives, for meats, Wheat Tongue had explained. Hadju usually ate with knives, Whisper was familiar enough with this practice. Wheat tongue had warned him that using a knife to bring food to your mouth was incorrect. One was supposed to use the other tools for that. The knife was simply for cutting. Or spreading, if cream or something was offered for breads. Whisper wondered why there wasn’t a special tool for this.<br/><br/>Spoons looked like little curved mirrors on the ends of long handles, or very poorly designed shovels. Whisper owned a signal mirror, one with a concave side that focused the sun enough to set leaves alight, and a flat side for signaling other scouts, but this tool looked considerably more delicate, and wasn’t shiny enough to properly reflect with. He studied it for a moment, watching his reflection change shape in it, then set it back down. for scooping things, puddings and soups and such. In Hadju society, anything that couldn’t be handled with one’s hands was served in a mug or a bowel. Whisper wondered why the extra step.<br/><br/>Forks looked like little hay forks, with varying numbers of tongs. Whisper had spent a lot of time in the stables during the first few months of the seige, and was familiar with the use of hay forks. However, he had spent most of his time watching the great black beast they called Maredon cave in stable boys’ heads. Whisper had always wondered why they never sent people with quicker reflexes to deal with the animal. This was the tool for bringing food to your mouth, Whisper had practiced with it for almost an hour while Wheat tongue looked on and smacked him with a spoon when he did it wrong.<br/><br/>The others were, well Wheat Tongue had said they were just for show. Apparently having lots of little tools for eating made one look powerful in Western society. a couple looked like lock picks and had something to do with nuts, some had little swirly metal spikes at the end, for pulling something soft out of… something. A bottle perhaps, Whisper had seen Western wine bottles in action before. This looked like a miniature version of the tool for those.<br/><br/>Whisper studied them with curiosity, his natural tendency to explore overwhelming any sense of wrongdoing that might have otherwise warned him of the mild attention of aristocrats around him. He was not overly obviously with his curiosity, but instead ran his fingers over them and tested the edges of knives, the points of forks, the depth and broadness of spoons and other tools.<br/><br/>While it all seemed entirely pointless to Whisper, it was none the less a source of entertainment to distract him from his still empty stomach.<br/>