279 AC — Age 7
The first time someone told me I was too young, I believed them.
The second time, I learned it wasn't about age at all.
At seven, I was old enough to be trusted with small things and young enough that no one expected them done well. That was the narrow space Maege preferred to put me in—where mistakes were survivable and attention was constant, even when it pretended not to be.
"Hold it there," Gerren Holt said.
I held it there.
The wooden practice sword was heavier than it looked. Not heavy enough to be impressive, not light enough to forget about. My arms trembled slightly as I kept it raised, elbows locked the way I'd been told.
"Still," Gerren said.
I stayed still.
We were in the yard, but not the main one. This was the smaller space along the inner wall, where drills happened when the weather was bad or when Maege didn't want an audience. The stone underfoot was uneven, worn smooth in places by years of boots turning in the same patterns.
Harlon Stone leaned against the wall nearby, arms folded, spear resting beside him. He wasn't here to teach. He was here to watch me.
That mattered more.
Gerren circled slowly, boots scraping softly against stone. He was broad where Harlon was spare, shoulders thick from years of hauling rope and shield rather than standing still. His hair was going gray at the temples, though his movements hadn't slowed.
"You're thinking too much," he said.
"I'm not thinking," I replied.
"That's thinking," he said immediately.
My arms dipped a fraction.
"Up," he snapped.
I forced them back into place, teeth clenched. The wood bit into my palms, the grain rough where I'd rubbed it smooth too many times.
This wasn't training the way I'd imagined it in another life.
There were no lines of boys sparring. No shouted encouragement. No sense of progress measured in hits landed or opponents beaten.
Mostly, there was standing.
Standing. Holding. Repeating.
It was boring.
It was also exhausting.
"How long?" I asked.
Gerren stopped in front of me. "Until you stop asking."
That wasn't an answer.
It was also exactly the kind of answer Bear Island specialized in.
I stayed where I was.
My arms burned. My shoulders ached. Sweat ran down my back despite the chill in the air. The yard smelled of damp stone and old iron, familiar and unpleasant in equal measure.
I thought about lowering the sword.
I didn't.
When Gerren finally told me to rest, my arms dropped immediately, blood rushing back with painful intensity. I shook my hands out, fingers tingling.
"That was nothing," Dacey announced from the steps, where she sat swinging her legs.
She was four and already convinced of her own superiority.
"You weren't holding anything," I said.
"That's because I don't need to," she replied.
Gerren snorted. "You'll both be holding things soon enough."
Dacey brightened. "Like shields?"
"Like buckets," he said.
Her face fell.
Maege watched from the gallery above, half-hidden by the stone railing. She hadn't said a word since I'd arrived, but I could feel her attention the way you feel a change in the wind.
That was new.
Training didn't happen every day. Not formally. Maege was careful about that. She didn't want me shaped too early, didn't want bad habits set before my body could support them.
So most days, my "training" was errands.
Carry this message. Sit here and wait. Walk with Harlon. Watch how people moved when they thought no one important was paying attention.
Today, though, was different.
Today, Maege wanted to see how long I'd hold something that hurt.
"Again," Gerren said, handing me the sword.
I took it without complaint.
This time, he corrected my stance before the ache could set in. A tap to my knee. A push to my shoulder. Subtle adjustments that made everything harder and easier at the same time.
"Don't lock your elbows," he said. "You'll tire faster."
"You told me to lock them," I protested.
"I told you to keep them steady," he replied. "There's a difference."
I adjusted.
It helped.
Not enough.
Harlon shifted where he stood. "He's compensating," he said.
Gerren nodded. "I see it."
I didn't like that they were talking about me like I wasn't there.
But I stayed quiet.
They corrected me again. And again. Each time, the movement grew smaller, the corrections subtler. Less about strength, more about balance.
That part felt familiar.
I'd done this before. Not with swords, not with stone underfoot, but with posture and repetition and the quiet understanding that your body learned faster than your mind if you let it.
The thought unsettled me.
"Stop," Gerren said suddenly.
I froze, sword still raised.
"That wasn't for you," he added, irritated. "Put it down."
I did, heart pounding.
Maege descended the steps then, her boots echoing softly in the enclosed space. She stopped a few paces away, eyes on me, expression unreadable.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Good," she replied. "That means you're listening."
She turned to Gerren. "Enough for today."
Gerren inclined his head. "He didn't complain much."
"I noticed," Maege said.
That wasn't praise.
It also wasn't disapproval.
We didn't leave the yard immediately. Maege gestured for me to sit on the low wall while Gerren and Harlon spoke quietly nearby. I pressed my palms against my thighs, feeling the residual tremor in my muscles.
Dacey hopped down from the steps and joined me, peering at my hands.
"They're red," she said.
"They'll stop," I replied.
She poked one experimentally. I hissed and pulled back.
"Still hurts," she concluded.
"Yes."
She smiled, satisfied.
We walked back inside together later, Dacey skipping ahead, Maege setting the pace, Harlon bringing up the rear. The keep felt warmer after the yard, the air thick with familiar smells.
I thought that was the end of it.
It wasn't.
After the midday meal—thick stew and coarse bread—I was sent to the armory.
Not inside it.
Outside.
"Sit," Maege said, pointing to a bench near the door. "Watch."
That was the instruction.
Two guards were there, stripping down leather armor and checking straps. They worked methodically, laying pieces out in order, repairing what needed repair before setting it aside.
They didn't acknowledge me.
That, too, was intentional.
I watched.
I watched how they checked buckles in the same order every time. How one of them replaced a strap instead of mending it, muttering about weakness traveling along old leather. How the other nodded and handed him a new piece without argument.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was important.
After a while, one of the guards noticed me watching and paused. He glanced at Maege, who stood a short distance away speaking quietly with someone else.
"You see something?" he asked.
I hesitated.
"No," I said honestly.
He nodded and went back to work.
That was the lesson.
Not everything needed commentary.
Later still, when the day had settled into its late rhythm, Maege sent me to fetch water from the well in the inner yard.
A bucket.
Half-full.
Harlon watched.
The bucket sloshed with every step, water threatening to spill over the rim. My arms protested immediately, the earlier strain making itself known in unpleasant ways.
I focused on keeping the bucket steady.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just steady.
When I reached the other side without spilling more than a few drops, Harlon took the bucket from me without comment and handed it to a servant.
"You compensated less," he said.
"Yes."
"That's improvement."
It still wasn't praise.
By the time evening came, my arms ached in a deep, lingering way that didn't fade with rest. I sat near the hearth, Dacey leaning against my side, Alysane somewhere nearby, fussing quietly.
Maege passed by and paused.
"You'll be sore tomorrow," she said.
"Yes."
She considered me for a moment. "If it hurts too much, you say so."
I blinked. "I thought—"
She cut me off with a look. "Pain teaches. Injury delays."
I nodded.
That distinction mattered.
That night, as I lay in bed, muscles humming with unfamiliar exhaustion, I realized something that unsettled me more than the ache.
I had expected training to make me feel stronger.
Instead, it had made me feel smaller.
More aware of where I ended.
More aware of how much of the world existed beyond what I could influence.
Sleep took me anyway.