A Frightful Chill
Twenty Third Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
You nod firmly in agreement with the sentiment, but your thoughts race onward to fit more of the pieces of the past few months in place. "My lady, you said that Lord Hoster and you did not trust in omens and portents alone, but there were such signs you interpreted as bringing peace to your two Houses through your union?"
"Hoster did, I prefer to keep to more... earthly concerns," Lady Catelyn replies, likely unsure of how to politely express a wariness of magic to a gathering almost entirely made up of sorcerers. "The storm
was strange though, it came so suddenly." She shivers in memory of an old fright.
"I see," you answer thoughtfully. "I do not mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but I would look upon your recollections of that day if you would allow it, my lady, to ensure that no malignant power has clouded or altered them. Too often what is taken for sign or portent is a sign of darker things at work."
"What a dreadful thought, you do not believe in sweetening unpleasant truths to fit a lady's palette do you, Your Grace?" Thankfully the words are said in jest, not reproach.
"No more than I would to any other," you answer plainly. "Time and again I have found supposed feminine weakness to be more a manner of expectation than any inherent distinction, a fact which present company bears out."
Dany gives a cheerful wave to exercise the point while Rina merely smiles. Though Lady Catelyn soon joins her, her expression is more wistful. You cannot imagine she has many such confirmations of her worth. Hopefully young Lord Hoster is one, she has a good head on her shoulders for one thrust so young into the world of Westerosi politics.
As you had done with Joran to spy his supposed mentor you look back through the lady's memories for that fateful day in the Greenwood. There is no blurring of sights nor muffling of sounds save that which the passage of time would account for with the scene coming into terrifing focus when her palfrey charged headlong through the underbrush only to shatter a leg in a mistimed jump and trap her beneath its dying form, her own ankle twisted too badly to support her weight even when she manged to crawls free. Easy enough to see what might have inclined her to charity even towards a Blackwood who would mend the wound with a single seemingly miraculous touch, but it is not that part of the day that concerns you.
Again and again you return to the moment that the horse first spooked, a difficult prospect as memories are not arrayed as the pages of a book or letters upon a page, the weight of future-fear and future-pain impinges upon the recollection.
There... not sight not sound but a feeling, a shiver down the spine not from fear but from a sudden and unnatural chill. Alas, however, as much you strain to sense more Lady Catelyn's memories of the moment can offer no further answers.
"No one has altered your memories, but there is something that might mark a subtle hand manipulating events,"
as Bloodraven does, you think but obviously do not say. However, much as the lady might be willing to forgive House Blackwood she would not doubt share the unease of most of Westeros knowing that a particular Blackwood heir yet lives. "Is there anything else unusual about that day, anyone who suggested that you might go riding on that path at that precise time?"
She shakes her head. "I was visiting the smallfolk in Copperidge, that's about six miles north of here, with food and medicines. Mother used to do that years ago, but she says she is too old these days and 'that's why she went to all the trouble of having so many daughters'." From the smile that accompanies the words it is clear her relationship with her mother had not suffered as much as that with her father.
"Why did they need food and medicine specifically then?" Rina asks before you have the chance to do so.
"There was a bout of Sweating Sickness, though a mild one, thank the Mother," Lady Catelyn replies. "You don't think someone could have caused that just to..."
"In ill hands magic can sicken as easily as heal," Dany confirms gravely. "Though it would probably be simpler to feign a mild case than a fatal attack, a physician might be able to tell the difference from the bodies." From the look she gives you it is clear that the notion of a physician looking over the bodies of dead smallfolk is not really what made her worried.
A full blown sweating sickness epidemic might have distracted Lady Catelyn from her budding ill-fortuned idyll.
So warned you peer into the future and the past for answers reflected in the dreams coiled around history like a serpent around a latter twined. Answers you get, but none that are easily untangled:
Ware the touch of twice dead hands
A guest unbidden in the shadow stands
The victim turned thief at last
The Bane of those made Outcast
Whatever had struck Copperidge had not been Sweating Sickness, and something is plotting to turn the rivers red with the blood of Blackwood and Braken both.
What do you do?
[] Travel to Copperidge to investigate further
-[] Write in
[] Seek out the guards who rode with Lady Catelyn that stormy day, perhaps they noticed something she did not
-[] Write in
[] Make use of magic to directly see the storm
-[] Write in
[] Split up
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: Sorry this took so long. As always divination verse causing trouble, though in this case I feel it was worth writing up in full instead of summarizing. For anyone interested Sweating Sickness is an actual historical illness for all its bland name.