The distant sound of a horn announced someone was nearing the gates, and only moments later Ramsay received word that a party of Stark men had arrived. Taking his sweet time, he dressed himself and slung a bow over his shoulder. No doubt the wolves were there to offer up some kind of ultimatum although they held no leverage over him. Perhaps they thought, as the credulous simpletons they were, he would trade himself in return for his captured men. If that indeed was the proposal Jon Snow was about to make him, he was even dumber than he looked and evidently not aware of whom he was dealing with. The notion of the bastard's vast stupidity made Ramsay snicker to himself as he adjusted his doublet with a final tug, then headed for the door, leaving his chambers. Outside, two guards snapped to attention and followed after him down the stairwell and into the courtyard.
In the morning sun it seemed almost empty. A few clusters of men had gathered around small fires, stealing occasional glances at their Lord and only saluting him when their eyes met his. Ramsay climbed the stairs alongside his remaining knights, taking in the sight of Winterfell's ravaged landscape that gradually unfolded before him as he ascended. On top of the wall the breeze was cool and fresh. He stopped for a moment, enjoying the wind on his face before forcing on a wide smile and walking up to the rampart.
Looking down he saw Jon Snow glaring back at him, his dark eyes were filled with rage and promise of a reckoning. By his side were the two men Ramsay had threatened the day before with having their eyes and balls fed to his hounds. Sansa was nowhere to be seen and Ramsay cherished her absence; he was not ready to face her again so soon as the wound he had suffered by her ploy was still too fresh. "So, bastard, have you burned your little brother yet?", he beamed, " Rickon really was quite the disappointment...easiest kill I´ve ever made". He paused to relish in Snow's anger; the expression on the man's face was growing darker still. Sure enough, the taunting was getting under his skin challenging him to act carelessly. Even though he had barely begun demonstrating his wide and varied arsenal of insults, Ramsay could already sense the struggle going on within Jon between his vengeful heart and his better judgement; one the latter was about to loose.
From a very young age Ramsay had perfected the discipline of toying with people, poking holes in their minds armour until a weakness sprang forth. It truly was thrilling to drive daggers through men's flesh, but even more so to get inside their heads and tear them apart from within. No two men were the same and therein lay the challenge, although in this particular case the weakness was painfully obvious and banal. All people had certain common factors when it came to being provoked and it shouldn´t take much effort to rile up the Lord Commander given that he had just shot an arrow through his brother's back. "Maybe if he´d run from side to side a little it would have been more fun...", Ramsay tilted his head and smirked. It was almost too easy.
Silence filled the air. Jon was staring Ramsay down as forces inside him were stabbing daggers into his mind, telling him to storm the castle and cut off the murderer's head. He wanted to lose his temper, to scream back obscenities at the monster smiling down at him; that smug, little beast whom not only had taken his home and family away from him, but also was the one responsible for the deaths of thousands of Stark men, allies and civilians. Fortunately, Jon had a good deal of experience remaining composed under the most challenging of circumstances, so he held his tongue and stayed collected, reasoning with himself that any rashly made decision brought on by Ramsay's vile taunts would only add to his amusement and ultimately his gain. Jon was not about to give him that satisfaction.
When he finally spoke his voice was calm and balanced. "Rest assured, Lord Bolton...my sister and I will have justice for our brother as the North will have their justice for the many lives you have taken. You come down from that wall and the two of us will settle this like men." Ramsay's face split into a grin. "Oh, I don´t think so! That would be pretty silly of me, would it not? With me having the upper hand and all", he chuckled, shaking his head, "can´t wait to hear what other great propositions you´ve thought of, bastard, 'cause that one was not very impressive...has the cold already numbed your brain, I wonder?" A heavy sigh escaped Jon's lips "What is the upper hand in all this, Lord Bolton? Please, tell me" The voice was cold and flat. Damn him. It made Ramsay's expression freeze up in wonderment for just a second before returning to his usual appearance, part smug, part manic.
"Well if you can´t figure that one out by yourself there is no fun at all in playing this game with you. Tell me...is it Eddard Stark or your whore mother who is to blame for your simplicity? Perhaps Lord Starks wit did improve when the Lannister's cut off his head!" Next to him some of his knights started chuckling. Snow sat motionless on his steed. Ramsay´s eyes were fixed on his, irking him to act carelessly. Come on. Come on…bite, and see what happens, you dumb cunt! As much as his fingers itched to nock an arrow and send it flying over the wall, Ramsay knew attacking the enemy during a parley would turn even some of his own men against him; it was after all considered an outrageous breech of war etiquette to dishonour the white flag, and he'd better not give in to the temptation even though he longed for nothing more than to see the Lord Commander with a feathered stick piercing his annoyingly pretty face.
Jon seemed to remain resolute despite all that he had thrown at him, so instead Ramsay hawked up a large glop of phlegm, spat it over the wall and down on the Stark party below. The guck hit the unsuspecting wildling on top of his head, and he whipped his face towards Ramsay, giving him a resentful scowl when the realization of what had just hit him finally dawned. Ramsay snickered as the redhead wiped away the saliva, cursing under his breath. He might have missed his intended target but at least he had gotten one of them good.
"Very well then, a siege it is. If you surrender now, no harm will come to your men. They may return to the Dreadfort and I will grant you, Lord Bolton, a quick and painless death". Ramsay rolled his eyes." You really do amuse me, Jon Snow. Look around you! You don´t have the men, shelter and certainly not the provisions for a siege." The bastard shifted in his saddle but remained silent. "I, on the other hand have all such commodities. I have grain to last more than two years and a nice comfortable castle filled with wine and cunny. So if you are in for the long wait...please, oh please...be my guest! Stay and freeze your balls off."
The actual grain status was only half that or less but it mattered none. The wolves would be either dead or gone by the time a shortage of food could pose a problem. "Winter is coming, remember? When my wife feels the cold gnaw at her bones, tell her that my warm bed and loving arms awaits her." The two men locked eyes and Ramsay silently mouthed now fuck off. Before steering his horse around, Jon Snow sent him one last glare. The party rode across the battlefield towards their camp. When they were gone from sight, Ramsay's smile faded.