He steered the horse northwards along a narrow dirt road until the dimming light made it too difficult for him to navigate. The only people he had encountered on the way were a couple of peasants, pulling along their handcart loaded with winter crops. Forewarned by the creaking of wheels, he pulled the horse off the road and hid in the bushes, then watched from his cover as the unheeded men travelled past and disappeared further down the path.
Ramsay secured the mare to a tree and trekked a few hundred yards into the undergrowth, settling himself on the forest floor. He was still sore, his head throbbing from the attack. Remembering how the two soldiers had sneaked up on him earlier in the day made him jittery and he hardly dared to close his eyes and drift off even though he needed sleep badly. The mare was not in the best condition, starved and overworked as she was, but if he avoided putting the beast under too much strain the next day or two, he figured she could still carry him the rest of the way to the Dreadfort. At last his body gave in to exhaustion and he fell asleep on top a bed of spongy, soft moss. Thankfully, his downtime was without interruption; no uninvited ghosts or perverted Stark soldiers turned up to torment him.
The following day's journey passed uneventfully, enlivened only by the occasional sighting of one of the forest's inhabitants. When the damp of dusk started creeping out from under the surrounding trees, Ramsay decided to halt near a creek. He made sure the horse had water and gave her most of the dried fruit left in the sack. Building a small fire, he allowed himself half an hour of blissful warmth before stomping out the flames again. The heat thawed his frozen body which made him drowsy and relaxed. Ramsay laid his head down staring into the dying fire, savouring the glow from the last embers on his face and soon he had dozed off.
When the dawn came they rode on again. The scenery changed from woodland to open fields as they neared the Great Lake, and after a few hours ride the mass of water appeared over the horizon. Halfway there. Ramsay sighed with relief and snapped the reins making the mare trot faster. The lake and its surrounding area was a hive of activity for fishermen, merchants and travellers alike. It provided not only fertile soil to the many farmsteads placed around its shores, but also large amounts of freshwater fish to most town markets in the North. By the lake's southern end, a river emanated leading water to the seas down south. A bridge had been build there and served as passage for travellers heading in either the east- or westward direction.
Save for crossing by boat or travelling around the lake, the bridge was the only way to cross from one side to the other. The river itself was a roaring terror of swift water and deadly current and Ramsay dared not cross it by foot, even though using the bridge could risk him exposing himself to other wayfarers; if there was one place he was in real danger of being discovered for who he was it would be on that narrow crossing. There was no reason to pull up the hood of his cloak or try to otherwise hide his face, acting evasive would only make people more suspicious and attentive of him. Instead he washed himself in the river, appearing less scruffy and exhausted than he felt. The trick to hide in plain sight was to come off as colourless and ordinary as possible.
He was surprised to find that the only travellers on the bridge were some old fisherwomen and the bridge tax collector. Ramsay threw a gold coin in the collector's basket and the man, busy skinning an eel for lunch, nodded his head giving Ramsay the clear to pass the bridge, no questions asked. He trotted across the cobblestones past a group of women, moving sluggishly along carrying baskets full of fish. One of the old birds gave him a dull stare as he rode by, the rest never even looked up from the ground. When he reached the other side of the bridge, Ramsay let out the second relived exhalation of the day.
I might just make it, a smile played on his lips, by this time tomorrow I will be soaking in a bath, getting ready to take on the world again. He switched direction heading east towards the Dreadfort. The mare was close to exhaustion when he finally halted around noon. He fed the horse the leftover fruit and ran his fingers gently through her tangled, coarse mane. "Don't give up on me, old girl!" A cheerfulness had entered his voice, and for the first time since the dreadful siege had begun, Ramsay felt enormous gratitude at the prospect of soon being within his own walls, safe from harm and with a grand new chance at reconnecting with his allies and conquering the North once again.
At the break of dawn, they set off for the last time. The mare seemed to have regained some strength over night, as if she knew they were close to their journey´s end. Ramsay picked up speed, ignoring the soreness he felt from not having ridden a horse in months and the bruises he had earned from the encounter with the Stark soldiers. The woods east of the lake were dense and made an effective cover from prying eyes. He met no travellers on the road which left him a bit puzzled, but then the area surrounding the Dreadfort was not the most well travelled piece of land in Westeros and it was nearing winter time. Commoners seemed to go to great lengths avoiding going anyway near the Dreadfort, especially in the colder months when the occupants within the castle were bored out of their minds. As well they should. The thought of his kin's gruesome notoriety made Ramsay smile to himself.
When the castle appeared above the treeline covered in morning fog, a feeling of great joy swept through Ramsay's heart. He put his heels to the steed's sides and galloped full throttle down the narrow road, leaving behind him a trail of dust and whirling leaves. The Dreadfort in all its enormity, towered dim and silent above the bleak landscape. On the road beneath it, its long lost Lord was finally returning home.