The very moment Lady Sunderland was revealed to be the one responsible for the soiling of Lord Manderly’s attire, Joramun decided that it was time to go.

“Norðurmenn do not fare well in the South, little Magnarerfingi,” Ylva had told him once, when the nights were long and the cold mists lasted even longer. “Eddard of Stark went south to serve a Stag King, and he died. The Young Wolf went south avenge his father, and he died as well. Do you know why?”

He hadn’t, and he had wasted no time in asking his surrogate mother why. She had smiled sadly, then, as if reminiscing.

“They died, Joramun, because they remained too long in the south,” she told him. “We of the Norður are a hardy, cold people, but spend too long in the south’s sun… and we melt.”

Joramun had never forgotten those words, never. They had weighed heavily on his mind when he had made the decision to sail south, had loomed over him when the port of King’s Landing had come into view. He had felt their weight on his shoulders when his household entered the Red Keep, growing heavier the longer they remained in this land, forsaken by the gods of him and his. He had done his best to ignore it.

No longer.

Hostilities were openly aired. Sunderland was at Manderly’s throat.

The possibility of war in the Bite had gone from rumor to certainty in a mere instant.

And Joramun knew it was time to leave.

“Ivar,” he spoke quietly in the Skaggatungu, “We leave. Now. Get the others.”

Knowing his Aðalvörður would do what he asked immediately, the Magnar turned his attention to his wife, who was enraptured by the ongoing chaos. “Srelly,” he started hesitantly, before she nodded abruptly.

“Aye, love, I know," she said quietly, a small, sad smile on her face. Joramun hated the fact that, while not truly his fault, he had played a role in it being there. "Forgive me," he whispered, and Srelly giggled. "Nothin' to forgive, 'Mun. It’s a shame, though… I really liked those Manderladies. Nice lasses, those ones. And I don't think I'll get to eat such good food again-- gods, I feel like a fattened einhyrningur!” she exclaimed, holding back laughter.

Then her smile faded, her eyes became guarded, and gently, she took Joramun’s hand. The message she conveyed was clear to the Magnar, and one he shared.

Let us depart from this place, before it forces our lives to depart from us.

So, standing up and doing his best not to draw attention away from the commotion (and to himself), Joramun and Srelly made for the exit, Ivar and the rest of the Magnar household closing ranks around them as they did so. Neither the Stag guards nor the golden-cloaked warriors barred their path, thank the gods-- and, under a moonlit sky, the Skagosi departed from the Red Keep, not once looking back.

And, when the sun rose the next day, the ships of Skagos sailed for home.