Whisper had opted not to bother with sleeping, as he knew it would never come, and instead joined the city’s complement of scouts, who he had spent most of his time with during the war. Where they had once numbered almost a hundred competent woodsmen and spies, there were now only twelve. War was a hard time for everyone, but no one more so than the person who must stalk an army across the landscape and do everything in his power to avoid being caught. One pair of eyes praying it isn’t seen by ten thousand.<br/><br/>Those that had survived were hard, capable men who valued their solitude, but occasionally got together to raise a glass to those who had fought and died with them. The Hadju, normally non partisan to the idea of women doing what men did, would not allow women to be scouts. Wars were won and lost by good scouting, and a captured scout could expect to see the worst his enemies could offer in hospitality. After all, nowhere was it more likely that a single man could swing the tide of war one way or another. It was a fact they all knew, and a fact they all accepted. The Hadju had only seen three scouts survive the war, and while Whisper’s legacy meant that soon others would follow in his footsteps, for now it was only him, and a pair of twins named Objui and Yoncsta.<br/><br/>They had crowded into the Fairway Inn on the edge of the fairgrounds that was owned by one of the western scouts, a man named Brock. He had retired at the end of the war, bought the inn with his comission money, and married a Hadju woman named Kodju-Adani. In that time he had grown a massive belly that wobbled comically when he laughed, a mustache and beard that quivered when he chuckled, and a sense of humor that saw both of his physical traits constantly in motion. Whiper was having a hard time maintaining his somber mood with Brock’s constant laughing at his own jokes, and soon he was well into his cups with the rest of them, chuckling and cracking badly made jokes while Kodju-Adani brought them mug after mug of hot Hadju spiced wine.<br/><br/>The conversation had started melancholy enough, but with enough drinks in them the scouts fell into the swing of celebration and raised a glass at nearly every opportunity.<br/><br/>“To warm places to sleep!” Objui stood up and raised his glass.<br/><br/>Yoncsta stood and raised his glass as well. “To warm women to sleep with!”<br/><br/>The others stood, some on unsteady feet, called a “Hear Hear!” and drained their mugs. Kodju-Adani brought another tray of mugs, and as she turned to leave, Brock caught her around the waist and dragged her giggling into her lap.<br/><br/>“Warm women indeed!” Brock yelled, and his laugh sent his belly into a jumble of quivers that had Whisper laughing so hard tears ran down his face. His mood soured again though, seeing Brock and his Wife happily smiling at each other. They had married for nothing more than mutual attraction and general love. There was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t find either of those in his new wife.<br/><br/>“What’s crawled into your tree and died Whisper?” Alex, a relatively young western scout asked. He had been no more than sixteen when the war had started, but even now still looked a boy. His looks had served him well though, as he had managed to escape the notice of the Northern hordes several times by pretending to be a farm hand.<br/><br/>“Did’ya not hear the news?” Yoncsta asked, his Hadju accent, combined with copious drink, making his intonation bounce like a warbling bird.<br/><br/>“Whisper’s going to get himself a wife!” Objui interrupted.The table erupted into a clamor and Whisper sighed and put a hand over his eyes.<br/><br/>“That’s no such look of a near married man!” Kodju-Adani said with a smile and hopped up from her husband’s lap to head to the bar.<br/><br/>“Who is she? What’s she like?” The scouts implored, and Whisper gave a helpless sigh.<br/><br/>“I have no idea, I’ve never met the girl. She could be a polic in a babre (hadju female underclothing, very revealing, usually used for husband’s birthdays and wedding nights) for all I know. Wheat Tongue planned the whole thing. I had no part in it.” The celebratory mood dropped somewhat, and the men returned to their chairs.<br/><br/>“Erh, who is it then?” Dockson, a short portly scout who was missing most of his teeth, asked.<br/><br/>“Gatekeeper’s daughter. It’s some sort of political alliance.”<br/><br/>“Kaived’s daughter? You must mean Lady Falena!” There was a collective shocked silence as the others mulled this thought over. “Thats… very interesting.” One scout lamely concluded and fell quiet.<br/><br/>Whisper was suddenly morbidly cusious. “What is she like?”<br/><br/>The westerners in the room paused to consider this, then finally Brock spoke. “She’s, well she’s quite the beauty.”<br/><br/>“Great flowing red locks, bright blue eyes the color o’the sky.” Someone else added.<br/><br/>“Kind of a plain woman.” Someone added, and someone else cuffed him on the ear.<br/><br/>“She’s his second daughter, her younger sisters rightly hate her.”<br/><br/>Whisper started, suddenly worried. “Why do they hate her?”<br/><br/>The speaker put a finger on his lips. “Cause she ain’t married yet.”<br/><br/>Whisper felt he was missing something. “Yes?”<br/><br/>“It is a western tradition. For a woman to marry, her elder sisters must first be married.” Kodju-Adani interrupted as she set a blue glass bottle on the table and produced fifteen small crystal tumblers. She opened the bottle with much reverence and poured out the amber colored liquid into each glass. When each glass was full, she took the bottle in hand and smiled. “And it is a Fairway Inn tradition that the announcement of a marriage must be met with the best drink in the House!” She held the bottle up, and the others raised their glasses. “To Whisper and the Lady Falena! May you have many children, many good hunts, and many good years!”<br/><br/>The others gave a hearty “Hear Hear!” and drained the small glasses. Kodju-Adani drained whatever was left in the bottle, and the group fell about, smacking their lips at the tangy aftertaste of the most excellent spirit.<br/><br/>Whisper was in full swing of this conversation however, and did not allow the distraction to derail the topic. He was after all, a scout. Good scouting was the secret to good futures as far as he was concerned. “What is she like?”<br/><br/>“Erh, a pleasant enough girl, always polite, always well mannered. She doesn’t do much traveling like her father does. She takes more after her mother I think. Dunno, never see much of her.” Dockson admitted and set down his crystal glass. The others murmured their agreement and returned to their mugs.<br/><br/>“She spends a lot of time around that big fella, What’s his name? Criminal O’some sort, wears his hair like a northerner, carries Remmon’s mark. Galarion I think.”<br/><br/>“Oh, you mean the watch dog. Yeah, hear he did some sorta heinous crime out on the fields.”<br/><br/>Whisper was confused, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach was in no way getting looser. “Criminal? Who’s Remmon?”<br/><br/>Again, Kodju-Adani came to his rescue. “Remmon, goddess of punishment, like Kota’ but less fangs. I’ve seen him. He has a big red hand burned on to his face to warn people he has done something bad. Big man, he kind eyes. I do not know what he did, but if Gatekeeper lets him near his daughter, it must not have been too horrible.” The others considered this, and a quiet chorus of agreements followed.<br/><br/>Whisper didn’t know what to think of this, but Kodju-Adani was right. Gatekeeper had shown himself to be capable in all things he put his hand to. Why would raising his daughter be any different? Still. Whisper wished he could find someone to give him a better picture of this woman. Red hair and Blue eyes weren’t very much to work with.<br/><br/>********<br/><br/>The following day was a flurry of activity, only slightly ruined by the titanic headache last night’s wine had produced. Wheat Tongue came looking for him at dawn, and when Whisper wasn’t fast enough getting out of his Hammock, he Wheat Tongue flipped him with far more grace than should have been possible, and dumped Whisper into the mud with a grunt.<br/><br/>He spent most of his time in Wheat Tongue’s yert, the old chief cramming his son’s head with so much information Whisper was certain his head would explode as soon as he stepped through the gates. The headache wasn’t helping to dispel that worry at all. He learned how to bow, how to eat with all the little metal tools that westerners used, how to walk, how to stand, how to sit in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end, how to pretend that his eyes weren’t threatening to fall out of his head, and how to greet a westerner without looking like a complete idiot. Whisper avoided eating, it was considered rude to eat the day of a feast, especially if someone else was hosting it, and Wheat Tongue promised that Gatekeeper would put on a good display of food. Around noon they took a trip into the city<br/><br/>“Good Afternoon Gentlemen!” Demui’re called as Whisper and Wheat Tongue stepped through the door of the little shop. Whisper winced at the man’s voice, which made his head throb , and the riot of colors he was wearing did nothing to help.<br/><br/>“Good afternoon Master Demui’re!” Wheat Tongue replied. Whisper was certain the extra volume in his voice was for Whisper’s benefit alone. He bowed stiffly, to show Wheat Tongue that he had been paying attention, and straightened with a grimace.<br/><br/>“Come come Master Whisper, I have everything you need ready, I just need you to put it on and ensure it fits.” Whisper had no idea what he was talking about, but Wheat Tongue had sufficiently chastised him into compliance with the entire spectacle, at least for today.<br/><br/>Demui’re lead the two Hadju into the back of his shop, where several mirrors circled a small podium. Demui’re spent several hours prodding and arranging things, adding more room here, tightening here, until Whisper felt as if the scratchy clothing was a second, itchy skin.<br/><br/>********<br/><br/>Whisper had felt less nervous heading into battle than he did right now. As he and Wheat Tongue stood before the oak doors that opened onto the dinner hall, he felt as if they were marching to their dooms. Every Hadju had heard the old stories, of small bands on truly legendary heroes going into battle against impossible odds and monsters of old, to die in a glorious tide of death. Whisper had never liked those stories. He was not the sort of person to step into his own death if it could he helped. This felt very much like the beginning of one of those stories.<br/><br/>The Doors creaked on ancient hinges and the spill of light and sound that washed over what Whisper was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The room smelled of burning candle wax, people, and perfumes, the scents mingling together to form something that almost took physical form. The staggering number of candles overwhelmed Whisper, who had only just gotten over his headache an hour before, and threatened to bring it back. The other Hadju were equally overwhelmed, all save Wheat tongue, who sauntered into the hall like he ate here every evening.<br/><br/>The Hadju were the last to arrive, the guests of honor, and the man calling their names clearly had been saving up for this moment. So had the crowd, from the looks of it. The Hadju were a people of stories and feasts, surely this would inject a level of entertainment usually absent from these dry occasions.<br/><br/>“Wheat Tongue! Named for securing the alliance between the Hadju and our illustrious nation!” Wheat tongue stepped into the middle of the red carpet and bowed low, much to the approval of the gathered nobles. Wheat Tongue straightened and took up a position off to the side of the Hall, his back straight, his hands folded behind his back.<br/><br/>Wheat tongue had insisted on dressing as western soldiers did for formal gatherings, to appeal to the sensibilities of the western court. That soldiers had different clothes for special parties baffled Whisper to no end, but he had gone along with it nonetheless.<br/><br/>Finally it was Whisper’s turn. He adjusted his uniform fiddled with the mass of metals on his chest, and stepped into the room.<br/><br/>Whisper was a tall man of obviously Hadju parenting. He had the dark skin and dark hair of his people, but some quirk of genetics or some long lost western ancestor had given him eyes the color of sunlight filtering through the leaves of a tree. His features were also a little finer than the average Hadju man, perhaps another sign that somewhere in his ancestry was mixed heritage.<br/><br/>He wore a crisp white officer’s uniform with a mass of metals on his chest. Apparently they each represented something he had done in the war, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to actually ask what they meant. An officer’s cap was crammed down over his short black hair which, unlike most Hadju men, he kept short. Nothing was worse than getting your hair tangled in a branch when trying to be quiet.<br/><br/>Whisper stepped to the spot where Wheat Tongue had stood, bowed low, again the aristocrats applauded. Whisper wasn’t sure if this was the applause of a group of people welcoming another person to the party, or a group of people watching an exotic animal do a rather complex trick. He raised his head and straightened, and in that moment caught a pair of impossibly blue eyes staring right at him from the table at the head of the room. It was her, it had to be. A mass of scarlet framed her face like a wreath of fire, those eyes staring with intense curiosity and no small amount of worry. Whisper stared back.<br/><br/>She sat off to the left of her father, a man Whisper would have known in his sleep. There was an empty chair next to Gatekeeper, one surely reserved for Wheat tongue, and another further down for himself. Why had they not placed him next to her? What sort of awkward conversation could you have across the heads of four people? Oh that’s right, Western sensibilities. Women weren’t allowed to sit next to men unless they were married to them. Whisper congratulated himself on remembering this, then realized he was still halfway out of a bow. He quickly straightened and took up position next to Wheat tongue where they waited to be escorted to their seats.<br/>