Closed starter for @benblvckwood Setting: During the Litha festival in Riverrun. Context: After years of preparation, Vilde was officially named a sálþyrja (sin-eater/soul cleanser) when she was fifteen. At the time, Lord Samwell Blackwood had just died and she was summoned to carry out the rituals for Samwell Blackwood, Ben's father.
The Litha celebrations were lovely, but foreign, and her attention had focused so much on the newness and difference of it all. She observed intently, craning her neck, peering through feasts and balls and fights. Vilde had not really considered participating in the competitions when she arrived at Riverrun in the morning, but by midday, her name was on some of the lists. The young woman had felt restless and ended up walking to the camps and open grounds by the Red Fork River, signing up for some of the matches.
A little bloodied and a little bruised, the Northerner managed to play for a time to reach some finals. It didn't hurt her ego to lose. Much to her father's dismay, there was in fact little ego to The Harclay's daughter. Any elevated self-perceptions she could have developed had been violently shattered many, many moons ago.
“Your damned brother beat me,” Vilde murmured with a smirk as she sat down next to Benjicot Blackwood. “Not this,” she scoffed, pointing at her own face; a cut on her nose, brow and lip. That had happened in some of the hand-to-hand combat matches. “Archery”.
