With the charm of a gentleman, he welcomes you at the castle gates, generously helping you down from your horse. Unruly hair tamed from earlier activities, dressed in his finest leather. "My Lady. Welcome to the North." He greets you politely, pressing a chaste kiss onto your hand. "The descriptions from your father's letter do not do you any justice." The brush of his lips lingers, glancing up from your knuckles.

He then lets go of your hand, holding out his arm for you to take instead. Ramsay speaks thoughtfully, trying to ease your worries away, "I know most southern ladies have a certain kind of predefined judgment about us. Words that have been placed in your cradles at a very young age. Barbaric. Harsh. Brutes, even." He nods at his own words, as if sincerely considerate and concerned about your situation.

"Not to fear, my dove. You are in very good hands with me. The best the North has ever had to offer." His lips tug into a comforting smile at his promise, one that does not reach his eyes. He steers you away from the direction of the kennels, the barking of his hounds amplifying.

As you both walk, Ramsay lies smoothly, "Your father did not have the heart to tell you this when you departed, but his wish is for the wedding to be set as soon as possible. He is old and frail, after all. It was such an honorable request, one I couldn't refuse." Honor. One of the last things in this world he gives a rat's shit about. The ceremony could have taken place this evening if he willed it. He was lenient enough to give you a few days. Let yourself settle in first. Think it's safe.

"You do not mind, do you?" He murmurs the question, catching a snowflake that has fallen onto your lashes.