Sidestory:
The Morning After the Attack:
"I must apologize for what happened."
"You keep apologizing for matters outside your control, Lord Stark," Lord Fairchild's voice carried a familiar air of amusement glaringly absent the night before, "Once you start apologizing for the horrors of the world, you will find little time for anything else."
Under the shadow of the Great Hall, the Warden of the North stood beside the Master of the Workshop. Sporting a clean wardrobe, the younger lord had approached the western gate at daybreak. Were it not for the terrified horses trailing behind him or the set of bloodstained swords the Hunter held, Rickard would have thought the previous night a dream.
"Is Lady Evetta well?"
The Hunter nodded, "She looks forward to resuming her lessons with your daughter. As for your sons, please inform them they have the next two days to themselves."
Something unreadable passed behind his eyes, and–for a moment–the Hunter did not appear so entertained. Rickard found no desire to argue nor words to offer. He instead turned his gaze to the grim contents of the Hunter's hand, no doubt once belonging to the poor fools he found at the camp, "I had hoped you would have left some alive. It would have made matters easier."
"Would it now?" Some levity returned to the young lord's voice as he arched a brow and regarded the warden with doubt, "I must disagree, Lord Stark. You have no evidence, no leads, and the testimony of your guards will not hold against those of high birth. Right now, there is little you can do and no need to act. Evetta and I see no reason for that to change."
The Hunter beckoned a guard forward, handing over the bloodstained swords as a stablehand led the horses away, "I live in the woods, so I encounter bears and wolves aplenty. Yesterday was no different: I chanced upon beasts without fur or fangs but beasts all the same. Those men died for their intent, not the threat they posed."
The Hunter bowed and made to leave, "Put this matter out of your mind. I trust the upcoming feast will occupy enough of your time."
"Lord Fairchild," The warden's eyes bore into the Hunter's back, "I request you take no action against those responsible. Not yet."
The Hunter turned enough to meet his gaze, "I promise to do no more than I already have, Lord Stark."
TBC
Just a small snippet of what the following morning looked like. As you can imagine, it takes about two days for ravens to travel from the Dreadfort/Highpoint to Winterfell. So doing the math...Cyril ends up being a surprising honest eldritch horror.
