Distress: Day 12

Word Count: 72,001

Summary of Events:

Having collected the last supplies she needed, Olwyn set to work tending to the prince's wound; as she suspected, there was a piece of a weapon embedded in his chest, but to her surprise it was a spearhead, not an arrowhead. Although his wound proceeded to heal nicely, Olwyn found nothing carved on the spearhead, otherwise hidden in the wound, or even hidden in the woad on his chest that told her how to revive him, which she wanted to get done before the Queen got back so that they could escape before being found out . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Sighing, Olwyn shook her head. She would have to just keep thinking and see what she came up with, but for now she’d spent much more time with the prince than she’d meant to, and it was about time she left and went back to doing a bit more visible activity with the other ladies who’d been left behind.

Before she could leave altogether, however, Olwyn realised there was another place she might find a clue as to how to revive the prince: he had a sword, and she’d seen that it had writing on its blade.

Returning to the pedestal, Olwyn drew back the curtains and found the sword in its sheath. She drew the sword out and turned its blade to the light. The text wasn’t normal writing, but an old form of writing that had been more conducive to carving into wood than the modern letters were, as the modern letter had curves, where wood was much more taken to accepting straight lines.

Thankfully, as a part of her thorough education — almost half of which had come secondhand from Nuaða, who’d wanted her to know as much as he did so that she would be ready to become queen if such was what it came down to — Olwyn had learned the old text, and she could at least sound it out, even if she might not understand all of the words.

The first word Olwyn sounded out was Þorin, which was a name; the next word was cleaver, followed by legions. Based on her knowledge of the old language, that text meant Þorin, cleaver of legions, or legion-cleaver.

More words followed, and Olwyn roughly translated them to say: May the Prince Bryn be well served.

Olwyn recognised that name; when the warrior of Sygæðelwulf had been telling the story of the fall of his homeland he’d constantly referred to the prince as the Prince Bryn.

She looked up at the unmoving man laying on the pedestal above her, his name was Bryn; likely Bryn, son of Urien, son of . . . whatever his grandfather’s name was, like Uncle Elaþa was Elaþa, son of Brynþan, son of Nuaða; Father was the same, while Nuaða was Nuaða, son of Finþan, son of Brynþan.

Turning the sword over, Olwyn looked to see if there was text on the other side, and upon determining that there was, Olwyn read it, to see if it was different, but found that it was exactly the same, it identified the sword as Þorin, cleaver of legions, and contained the hope that the sword would serve the Prince Bryn well.

“Bryn,” Olwyn said aloud, wanting to hear the sound of the name. “Prince Bryn of Sygæðelwulf.”

Pronunciations:

Þorin: Thorin

Brynþan: brihnthahn

Finþan: fihnthahn