Ragnar led Beorn towards the Guard Barracks. It was situated near the inner walls of the city. It was much like the one in Banehallow except much bigger and very occupied.

The Guard headquarters were a hive of activity. He saw trainees in full armour beating on wooden dummies with wooden swords on the right end of the huge walled courtyard in front of the guard keep. The sparring grounds in the center contained men wearing padded gear, grunting while swinging blunted iron weapons at each other. A crowd of onlookers cheered on the combatants, and Beorn's sharp eyes noticed a few coins swap hands.

To the right, stretched an archer range with conventional targets and straw dolls, placed at the end of it. Guards wielding crossbows were practicing. A few of the trainees were running a circuit around the field encouraged by the shouts of a big and loud bear of a man running behind them. Ragnar took Tyvjyo's reins and passed it to a groom who took him into the stables.

"Don't worry, Sir Beorn, they'll rub him down and have him ready once you're done meeting with the Captain. Let's head into the keep."

"Don't call me sir," said Beorn automatically. But as usual, it was ignored by the squire.

Ragnar motioned towards the intimidating-looking building. Many people called out Ragnar's name as they made their way past the training fields and into the main keep. As they entered it, Beorn noticed the inner walls were thick and solid, like a castle redoubt, but their arrangement and the windows at the front and back of the building allowed air to flow through and kept the place from seeming stuffy. The air had the fetid stink of mud, horseshit, and human sweat about it, but Beorn fared much better than before with the mental exercise Wilhelmina had given him.

The inside was even busier. They passed a chamber from which wafted the smell of onions and hot bread that Beorn assumed to be a mess hall. Beyond the door to the mess, Beorn saw a corridor crowded with dozens of petitioners held back by stout ropes looped through iron rings in the walls. They all cried a variety of complaints each trying to outdo their neighbour by shouting louder or shoving them aside. A knot of guards stood on the inside of the rope barricade and held the melee at bay. It looked to Beorn as if the refugee problem were more serious than he'd previously thought.

From that corridor, they passed into a vast chamber about the size of the Manor's dining room. The room was much more administrative, furnished with desks like those used at the Town centre. Shelves lining the walls were chock full of scrolls and ledgers, along with piles and piles of papyrus, parchment, and vellum. The usual torches were replaced with essence lamps presumably to avoid the occurrence of stray spark starting a huge fire.

A portion of one wall was crammed with hundreds of portraits and drawings, some hand-drawn, some printed by woodcut, a select few even painted in full color on vellum or some other sturdy surface. Beorn picked out some monsters he recognized, a Kikimora, Arachnae, and a Basilisk. He wasn't sure but he guessed this where the bounties were posted.

In the administrative chamber, the guards seemed much more relaxed than the ones controlling the crowds outside. They had an ease about them, being out of the public eye. Beorn even saw a stout guard that only came up to his waist tapping his armoured boots impatiently as he gave orders to a group. He had an ornate helmet, unlike the usual guard sort, covering the upper half of his face with the lower half concealed by a magnificent beard with braids that were tucked into his belt. He wore an axe on one hip and a maul on the other.

Beorn's eyes widened as he recognized the guard to be a dwarf. He'd never seen one before. They were notoriously loath to leave their underground cities, it was surprising to see one so far from their mountains and working for the guard no less. He tapped Ragnar on the shoulder and whispered, "There's a dwarf in the guard?"

Ragnar noticed where he was looking, "Oh yes! Stragmor's been part of the Guard since before I was born, but no one will tell me exactly how long. He's the Vice-Captain of the Guard."

"Oh…," Beorn had more questions but Ragnar quickened his pace.

"Come on, just through here."

He led Beorn into a corridor at the back of the chamber. It led to a big wooden door with Captain Torsten lettered on it. Ragnar knocked on the door, "It's Ragnar, Captain Torsten. I'm here with Sir Beorn Draigkyn of Banehallow"

"Send him in," answered a tired voice from inside.

Beorn gave up on correcting Ragnar and stepped into the office.

A middle-aged man sat behind a desk in the standard armour of the City Guard. The only addition being a golden clasp at the shoulder with the Fort and Tree of Ingoldtshold. Captain Torsten looked like a hard man, with a bald head and a clean-shaven chin. He had eyes that pierced into one's mind and a mouth with thin pursed lips below a sharp nose. His brow was set in a permanent scowl which Beorn presumed was made more severe by the multitude of sheets that haphazardly covered his desk. Beorn noted his wiry arms with whipcord muscles. He also felt pressure emanating from the captain similar to Silas. He did not look like someone that sat behind his desk all day.

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His scowl loosened as he stood up and greeted Beorn with a handshake, "A pleasure to meet you Beorn. We were notified you'd be heading here a short time ago, but you weren't expected so soon. Most of the preparations for your identity are already, I only have to confirm it."

"Can I see your ring?"

Beorn nodded. He took it off from his left index finger and handed it to him. He was curious who had arranged his entry, and asked the captain, "Who informed you that I would be coming to Ingoldtshold?"

Torsten examined the ring as he answered, "No idea, you'll have to ask the Castellan that. Didn't Ragnar inform you of your meeting with her tomorrow?"

"No?"

"Must’ve slipped the boy’s mind. Well, at least now you're prepared for it. I'll send Ragnar around to guide you to the fort tomorrow morning."

Torsten examined the dragon sigil on the face of the ring and felt its weight before handing it back to Beorn.

"All right, now that that's in order."

He sat back down behind his desk, took a quill from an inkpot, and wrote onto a clean sheet of parchment. He folded it, melted a bit of wax, and sealed it with a stamp. He called Ragnar who was standing outside.

"Ragnar, come in here."

Ragnar stepped in with a salute.

"Yes sir?"

"Take this and pass it to one of the couriers. Also, take him to the Golden Goose. Tell Grant to send the bill here.”

“Yessir. Let’s go Sir Beorn.”

Ragnar turned on his heel and opened the door. Beorn thanked the captain before heading out.

***

Ragnar guided Beorn to the Golden Goose, an expensive-looking Inn some distance inside the Inner Walls. He led Beorn inside and talked in hushed tones to the owner over the din of the tavern. Grant looked like what one would imagine a tavern owner would; long hair with drooping moustaches, a Potbelly, and a tendency to wipe his hands with the rag he carried around on his shoulder. Despite that, he was dressed in finely tailored clothes with decorative stitching.

Beorn noted the interior, it was smaller than the Whole Hog, no hunting trophies decorated its walls, instead, it was panelled wood, and framed paintings hung from it. Beorn noticed the lack of usual torches in favour of essence lamps to provide light. The tavern was quite full despite the sun not setting yet. Soft music and melodic singing could be heard from the stage at the end of the tavern.

Ragnar approached with the owner in tow, "Grant here owns this fine place. He'll take care of all your needs. Have a good rest, sir. I'll be here in the morning to guide you to the Castellan.," with that, he bade Beorn goodbye and left.

Grant, the inn's owner, was very welcoming to Beorn bordering on the verge of obsequiousness. No doubt helped by the fact that his stay was paid for by the Guard.

"What a pleasure to have you, sir. Will you be having dinner first or would you like to refresh yourself in your room, sir? "

The delicious smells wafting from the kitchen reminded Beorn of the Whole Hog. His stomach demanded immediate attention, "I'll have dinner first."

"Excellent choice. We have the finest steak and sauce made from mushrooms specially imported from the dwarven cities of Y'thgar. And our specially brewed mead is made from honey imported from the elven capital of Illyria. I'll show you to your table if you'll follow me."

He took him to the left of the main tavern and through a partition. It was a long corridor with alcoves in the wall set with dining tables and chairs and shielded by curtains to provide privacy to the occupants. All sound except the music was muffled once they entered the place. He noted the expensive decor, finely carved wood, essence lamps shaped like flowers, and a ceiling that had dotted lights emulating the night sky. Looked like Grant was taking full advantage of the guard coffers, which made Beorn all the more puzzled as to why he was being treated so well.

'Guess that's one more thing to ask the Castellan tomorrow'

'Are you sure it is not because of your family? Are the Draigkyn not Wardens of the North?'

Beorn chuckled, 'Nobody has cared for the Draigkyn or Banehallow for a few centuries now.'

'My condolences, I am sure you will be able to revitalise the family name especially with my help.'

'I need to find Arwen for there to be a family in the first place.'

'Do not worry mortal. This princess will help you find your brother, I am sure I can perceive his position once we reach that tower you keep mentioning.'

Beorn felt warmth at her comforting, 'Thank you, Wilhelmina.'

Grant led Beorn to a table near the end of the corridor pouring him a glass of the special mead before asking him to wait for his food. He pointed to a brass button on the table, "Please press this if you require anything."

Beorn enjoyed the sweet liquor, he was on his second glass and feeling a bit fuzzy when the curtains were parted and the biggest steak Beorn had ever seen in his life, piled with mushroom sauce and a side of freshly baked bread was placed in front of him.

It took nearly an hour for Beorn to finish the meal. He sat still for a few moments feeling drowsy before deciding to press the button and call for someone to clean up. He didn't have to wait for long before a waitress with a pleasant smile cleared the table, Beorn decided to follow her and get the keys to his room before he could fall asleep. He was walking through the corridor when two hooded figures entered. He made to slide past them, but the cloak of the leading figure snagged on the hilt of his dagger. Beorn moved to unhook it while apologizing, "I'm really sorry."

Struggling with the hem of the cloak with his clumsy fingers, he pulled slightly causing the hood to fall off. Beorn caught a glance of olive skin, luxurious brown locks of hair, and flashing black eyes before the hood concealed the woman's features again. Her companion tensed, reaching inside his cloak, but was stopped with a sharp nod from the hooded woman. The movement hadn't escaped Beorn's notice, his heartbeat accelerated, driving off the drowsiness and sharpening his senses. But he continued acting slightly tipsy, finally managing to untangle it from the hilt. He bowed clumsily, slurring his speech a bit, "I really am very sorry, I had a bit too much to drink. I recommend the house mead, by the way, it's absolutely delicious."

Bowing once more he sidled past the duo, more mindful this time, the two figures watched him until he left through the door. Beorn released a breath after he closed the door behind him.

That was close. Very suspicious...

Beorn shook his head rapidly and clapped his cheeks, deciding to leave well enough alone. He approached Grant behind the bar and asked for his keys and directions to his room. Beorn hurried upstairs before he could get into any more trouble.