Contains spoilers for season six episode nine, Battle of the Bastards
When we first met Ramsay Bolton – then Ramsay Snow – in season three of Game of Thrones he came in the guise of a rescuer, promising poor tortured Theon (Alfie Allen) that he would lead him to safety. It was, of course, a ruse, and a supremely sadistic one, that blended innate psychological expertise (Ramsay knew how to mess with people’s minds) with twisted childish glee. The diabolical playfulness of the whole thing – the “Surprise! I tricked you!” element – was essential.
All in all, it was a perfect introduction to the man who went on to be the show’s nastiest villain. Throughout his time on Game of Thrones, Ramsay was one of the most irresistibly watchable characters, even when engaged in acts of near-unwatchable depravity.
His hobbies – castrating a man then tucking into a sausage in front of him, for instance, or feeding a newborn and its mother to a pack of ravenous hounds – were all firmly in the “don’t try this at home, kids” box. Actor Iwan Rheon’s impish grin and sparkling blue eyes only made the character’s malice even more unsettling.
Crucially, however, Ramsay wasn’t just the show’s nastiest villain – he was its nastiest human villain. Like Patricia Highsmith’s Tom Ripley, or Jean-Baptiste Grenouille in Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, he was someone you couldn't help secretly rooting for and even occasionally identifying with.
In season four, when his father Roose finally granted him the legitimacy he’d been craving, it was hard not to sympathise with Ramsay’s pleasure, relishing the way in which the long-overlooked bastard had successfully risen to true Bolton son.
A scene in season five, in which Ramsay raped his bride Sansa (Sophie Turner) on her wedding night proved more controversially unpleasant than much that had gone before. Personally, I found it disturbing – arguably all fictional depictions of rape should disturb – but appreciated its importance to Sansa’s storyline.
Another advantage of the scene’s inclusion, however, was that every loathsome facet of Ramsay's character was thoroughly exposed. His sexual predilections, we learnt, were every bit as twisted as the rest of him. Even his relationship with kennel master daughter’s Myranda – arguably his one soft spot – was founded on a mutual love of torture.
Now, after Ramsay's inevitable (and appropriately gruesome) demise, there’s a risk that the show will lose some of its colour and flair, replacing one of its most interesting evildoers (the other is Cersei Lannister) in favour of the much more conventionally horrifying White Walkers.
There's nothing wrong with so-called high fantasy: Tolkien's orcs and hobbits and elves have captivated generations, and will continue to do so. But one of the best things about Game of Thrones is the fact that it shows us that people – depraved, flawed humans – can be as deadly as any monster.
Yes, the Others are frightening – and yes, there have already been hints that they’re perhaps not as straightforwardly evil as they appear. But as they gear up for their murderous sweep southwards, you get the sense that they’re just not having as much fun as Ramsay would, were he in the same position.
Supernatural scares are one thing, but there was something much more authentically terrifying – more skin-crawlingly intimate – about Ramsay’s personal brand of horror.
I can’t be the only one secretly wishing that, for the good of the show, the charismatic Bolton could have stayed with us – and flayed with us – just a little longer.
Ramsay Bolton: the true hero of Game of Thrones?