282 AC — Age 10
No one announced the change.
That was how Bear Island handled most things that mattered. There were no horns, no proclamations nailed to doors, no gathering of voices to explain what everyone already felt in their bones. The keep simply… adjusted. And if you were paying attention, you adjusted with it.
I noticed it first in the mornings.
The day didn't start earlier, exactly. The bells rang when they always had. Servants moved through the halls at the same hours, fires were lit in the same order, bread baked on the same schedule. But there was a tension threaded through it now, subtle enough that it could be ignored if you wanted to.
People checked doors twice.
Not slammed—checked. A hand on the latch after it closed, a pause to make sure it held. Guards didn't lean against walls as often. When they spoke, it was in shorter bursts, sentences trimmed of anything unnecessary.
The sea sounded the same.
That, somehow, made it worse.
I was ten, which meant I was old enough to be present and young enough that no one explained why. Maege didn't summon me to the solar to discuss threats or maps. Harlon didn't suddenly change how closely he watched me. Nothing about my routine shifted sharply enough to draw attention.
Instead, the margins tightened.
"Go with Harlon," Maege said one morning, glancing up from the table. "You'll walk the southern path."
"Yes," I replied.
She hesitated, then added, "Slowly."
That was new.
The southern path ran closer to the shoreline than any of the others, dipping low enough that you could smell the salt and rot of seaweed even when the tide was out. It wasn't dangerous in the way cliffs were dangerous. It was dangerous in the way open things were—exposed, patient, unconcerned with you.
Harlon waited until we were halfway along before speaking.
"Keep your eyes up," he said.
"I always do," I replied.
He glanced at me. "Up doesn't mean ahead."
I adjusted my gaze, scanning the horizon instead of the ground. The sea stretched out gray and indifferent, broken only by the occasional dark shape of a distant rock or the faint movement of birds.
I saw nothing.
That was the point.
We walked for a long time without speaking. The wind tugged at my cloak, persistent but not strong enough to be dramatic. My legs warmed, then settled into the familiar rhythm of movement without urgency.
About a third of the way along, we stopped.
Harlon rested his spear against a stone and folded his arms. "What do you smell?"
I frowned and breathed in deliberately. "Salt. Fish. Rot."
"Yes," he said. "Anything else?"
I inhaled again, slower. Something faint caught at the back of my nose. "Smoke," I said.
Harlon nodded. "From the keep."
I waited.
"And if it wasn't?" he asked.
I thought about it. "Then it would mean someone lit a fire where they shouldn't."
"Yes."
That was all.
We continued on.
When we returned to the keep, nothing looked different. Boats bobbed in the harbor the way they always did. Fishermen argued about nets. A child ran laughing across the yard before being scolded for it.
Inside, Maege listened to a report with the same expression she wore every day. When she saw me, she didn't stop talking. She didn't gesture. She didn't ask questions.
She did, however, say, "You're back."
"Yes."
"Good."
That was the entire exchange.
The next day, she sent me with a message.
Not an important one. Not sealed. Just a folded scrap of parchment with a few lines of writing I wasn't meant to read.
"To the dockmaster," she said. "You walk. You don't hurry."
"Yes."
Harlon came with me, as always.
The docks were louder than the keep, even on calm days. Water slapped against wood. Ropes creaked. Men shouted to one another over the noise without sounding angry about it.
The dockmaster took the parchment, scanned it, and nodded once. "Tell her it's done."
"Yes," I said.
That was it.
On the way back, we paused near a stack of barrels waiting to be rolled onto a boat. One of them had a fresh mark cut into the wood—deep enough to notice if you looked, shallow enough that it might have been accidental.
I stopped.
Harlon stopped too.
"That wasn't there yesterday," I said.
"No," he agreed.
"Does it matter?"
He considered the barrel. "Not by itself."
I waited.
"But if you see three more like it," he continued, "it might."
I nodded.
That night, the wind picked up.
It rattled shutters and pulled at roof thatch, loud enough that Dacey complained about it before falling asleep anyway. Alysane cried twice, more from discomfort than fear, and was soothed each time without fuss.
The keep held.
The next morning, Maege canceled something.
Not publicly. Not dramatically. She simply said, "Not today," when someone brought up a routine trip along the coast. The men involved nodded and adjusted without comment.
That, more than anything else, set my nerves on edge.
Things were being decided that I wasn't meant to hear.
Which meant they mattered.
My tasks didn't change.
I walked circuits. I carried water. I sat where I was told to sit and listened to what drifted past without straining to hear. Harlon stayed close. Maege watched without hovering.
People spoke around me more carefully now—not quieter, just… tighter. Words chosen, then released.
One afternoon, as I waited near the armory, I heard a name I recognized from my other life.
"Greyjoy," someone muttered.
It wasn't shouted. It wasn't emphasized. Just spoken and then discarded like something unpleasant you didn't want to hold onto.
I didn't react.
That was deliberate.
Later, when I was alone with Maege long enough to ask, I chose my words carefully.
"Is the sea angry?" I asked.
She looked at me for a long moment. "The sea is always angry."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know," she replied.
She returned to her work, then added, "Nothing is happening yet."
That word again.
Yet.
The waiting stretched.
Days passed without incident. Weeks, almost. The tension didn't ease, but it didn't spike either. It just… sat there, pressing lightly, like a hand on the back of your neck that hadn't decided whether to push.
I learned the signs during that time.
Which boats returned early. Which ones didn't leave at all. How many guards were posted near the inner gate after sunset. How often Maege's messengers rode out—and how often they came back.
None of it meant anything by itself.
Together, it formed a pattern I didn't like.
One evening, as I helped carry supplies back into storage, a man I didn't know well nodded at me and said, "Be careful out there, lad."
I paused.
He'd never said that before.
"Yes," I replied.
He didn't elaborate.
That night, the wind died suddenly.
The silence was worse.
I lay awake listening to the absence of sound, the sea unusually calm, the keep settling around me like it was holding its breath.
In the morning, Maege sent for me.
Not to the solar. To the small room overlooking the water, the one she used when she didn't want to be overheard by accident.
"Sit," she said.
I did.
She stood by the window, hands clasped behind her back, gaze fixed on the horizon.
"The raiders haven't come," she said.
I waited.
"But they will," she continued. "They always do."
My stomach tightened. Not with fear, exactly. With inevitability.
"When?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
That answer mattered more than any other.
"You won't be fighting," she said, turning to face me fully now. "You won't be near the shore when it happens. You'll do exactly what you're told."
"Yes."
She studied me carefully. "You understand that doesn't mean you're useless."
"Yes," I said, and meant it.
She nodded once, satisfied.
The conversation ended there.
After that, the keep moved as if the decision had already been made.
Boats were checked more often. Supplies shifted closer to where they'd be needed. Guards rotated on schedules tight enough that no one stayed exhausted too long.
No one panicked.
No one celebrated.
I continued my routines inside that tightening world, aware now of what they were preparing for without being told directly. The knowledge sat heavy, but it didn't change what I did day to day.
That was the point.
When the raids came—and they would—they wouldn't arrive to a keep scrambling in surprise.
They would arrive to one that had already decided how to respond.
And I would be exactly where I was supposed to be.