Outside it was windless and bone-chillingly cold. The night sky had a strange glow to it as if the gods had decided to paint over the blackness and shimmering stars with a brush sparse of green. Taking his time, inhaling deeply the clean, crisp winter air, Ramsay walked a few steps in front of Grey Lorren which the guard strangely enough let him do at his own pace.
Due to his present bodily state he wasn't considered much of a flight risk; a truth he figured would have angered him under normal circumstances before he found himself in captivity, but as he was spiritually in this moment just helped to add to his feeling of imminent doom. He was a man in utter decay; the weeks he had spent in the Dreadfort's dungeon had undoubtedly weakened and changed him for the worse, evident both bodily and within his own mind.
He felt a strange sense of gratitude then in that it would all soon be over. In a few day's time Sansa would trot though the gates of the Dreadfort, no doubt flanked by Jon Snow, with her copper hair blowing in the wind and her horse neighing furiously. The Starks would surely hold a trial of some kind because that's what the ever so honourable Starks did, and Ramsay would be found guilty of treason and loose his head. It would be as he has so grimly imagined it back when he was still at Winterfell and held the title of Warden of the North.
A small flake of snow landed on his cheek and Ramsay stopped in his tracks. He turned his head towards the skies and for the first time in his life he truly prayed. He prayed silently to the old gods and the new that he would be allowed peace in his final days from the Kraken's gruesome games, that his death would be swift and without adding further disgrace to his name and his house. That he would remain the Lord in spirit he always he knew he was even back when he was just a Snow and considered not worthy of Westeros' notice.
There was a silent moment then, it was short but it was there, between captor and captive when Grey Lorren allowed Ramsay the time to appeal to the gods, keeping his distance as he did. Then, Ramsay felt a light shove in the back. "Move, prisoner!" The dark-hued man ordered and pointed towards the Dreadfort's eastern tower.
Ramsay no longer had any doubt in his mind of where they were headed. The tower housed multiple key rooms such as his own chambers but it was also home of the castle's baths. Ramsay felt an iciness spread from his stomach up to his chest, bowed his head and walked the designated course.