The Iron Hound

2.2

Author's note: I have some severe reservations about this scene. It's pretty lengthy for starters. This leads on to my second issue with it, the first half of the scene lacks pace, or at least I worry that it does. I've considered cutting the first half, although I'd lose some character development and world building, but it wouldn't be a complete disaster for the story. Feedback on this pretty please! Keep it as is, cut it, somewhere in between?

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The evening's last bell rang out from the guard house, signalling the final watch change before the day started anew. The grand hall lived every bit up to its name. Its arching ceiling reached up and up, lost in gloom that the guttering lanterns on the walls had no hope of touching. The heavy double doors closed behind Ahn with a resonating thud.

The long, sturdy dining table sat unused in the centre of the hall, chairs pushed neatly up against its carved woodwork. Thick, round pillars supported a gallery that wrapped itself around all but the front of the building. The chronicler headed for the spiral staircase that would take her up past the Tutelar's private chambers and to her own. The proposal sleeve was heavy and she had to shift it to the opposite arm not for the first time.

The steps creaked as she trod upon them, echoing noisily in the abandoned hall. Passing two sets of doors, she turned onto the walkway that spanned the building. The Tutelar's quarters extended along the entirety of one side of the structure. One door led to his private chamber, and the other to a study that often doubled as a reception room that allowed some privacy from prying ears.

A circular window adorned the far wall of the grand hall and Ahn often took advantage of its view to appreciate the impressive scenery that surrounded The Dincroft. The window faced east, allowing sight of the edge of the Wornwood. In daylight, one could easily see to the foothills of the Carnac mountains, but the dark of night had crept in and Ahn could barely make out the walkway upon the outer ward wall.

A glimmer of light bobbed upon the battlements, the only sign that a guard walked his patrol route.

Making her way up the other side of the gallery, Ahn glanced out an identical window set into the opposite wall that revealed a small section of the courtyard below. Still, there was no hint of the Tutelar's return. Ahn pursed her lips, but the thought was soon forgotten as she laid her eyes upon a neat stack of packs, chests and bags. She was relieved to see her belongings upright and in order.

Pushing on the varnished door that led into her chambers, it swung inwards silently and with ease. She smiled as the familiar scent of camphor enveloped her.

Ahn peered down at her boots. As much as she had endeavoured to keep them dirt-free, traces of her journey remained scattered over the grey leather. The Tutelar's housestaff had worked hard to keep the place spotless while she'd been gone.

With a silent apology, she hefted the proposals from under her arm and into both hands and trod as lightly as she could as she crossed the soft, pale carpet. A long desk with rounded, bevelled ends sat against one wall, and it was there she headed. The cloth partition, that separated the bedroom from the large living area, hung open and the sight of her bed had her very nearly making an immediate course correction.

Staying strong, she heaved the leather sleeve onto the desktop and took to leaning against the polished wood for support. Her arms ached, her back protested with conviction and beads of sweat speckled her skin. Strands of her hair had pulled loose of the tight bindings wound through it, and had plastered themselves flatteringly to her forehead. She pulled one away with disdain, and then, realising the futility of the situation, let it fall back into place.