Ambient Music

The mead hall was, for the first time since the winter-end feast, full of people.

Conversation, chatter, and laughter abounded. Merriment rang warmly through the air, and it only mounted when the Magnar of Magnar entered with his guests. Joramun could not contain the smile blooming on his face.

Thank you, my Gods, for allowing me this sight.

Directing his guests to the large roundtable placed strategically in the middle of the mead hall, he sat them down by him and his wife, before leaping onto the table with an audible thud, Srelly giving him an exasperated look as he did so.

Joramun should probably not enjoy jumping onto tables as much as he did, but, well, where was the fun in that?

His action did not go unnoticed, however, for they never did, and the hall fell silent, as was customary. The Magnar raised his hand, three fingers held aloft in the silence. Three announcements, it meant.

And then he spoke.

“Skaggofæddur,” Joramun began, voice solemn. “I have failed you.”

Almost immediately, there was a roar of denial at that, and it heartened him to know that his people did not blame him (though the same could not be said for himself) but the Magnar shook his head and continued. “I have failed you! I left this land to seek news of the south and the mainland, and Stonegrove-by-the-Fjord paid for it. I failed to protect its people, and now the suffer.”

“Hestaskítur!” a woman swore from the crowd. “You’re not a greener, Magnar, you had no way t’ know!”

“Aye!” another yelled. “It’s the fuckin’ wildlings, that’s who! Them fuckers beyond the Wall!”

Raising his hand to quell the cries, Joramun nodded. “Aye, twas them who did us insult-- and tis them who shall pay for it tenfold! We shall forth and do to them as they did the people my wife hailed from!”

There was an angry, acquiescing cheer at that, and the Magnar of Magnar’s voice grew louder, angrier. “We sail for the True North, aye-- to find out people and bring them home! And to those who sought to make slaves of our people, I promise to you this-- I promise you SKANE!”

The cheer turned into a roar, hoots and warcries aplenty resounding. “I promise you a feast unseen for a millennia! I promise you a banquet so rich with blood, the Gods shall be made full for a moon!” He was shouting now, Joramun realized, yet he did not stop. “I PROMISE YOU VENGEANCE! I PROMISE YOU BLOOD! I SWEAR IT BY EARTH AND WATER, BY BRONZE AND IRON, BY ICE AND FIRE!”

His people were howling now, baying for the fulfillment of the promise he had just given.

Joramun would give it to them.

But, not today, he reminded himself, suddenly aware of his wife’s hand in his. Soon, but not today.

So, calming himself, he raised a hand for silence once more, and the cries for vengeance faded.

“All the might of Skagos has been gathered here for that purpose, that promise, aye,” the Magnar continued, “but we will not go alone.

My journey to the south, and back again, has borne fruit. I have made connections, and friends, in abundance. Some of them have come here, to join us in our quest. Some of you have come from the far corners of our island home, from Deepdown to the Driftwood. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge them!”

Grasping his meadhorn, the Magnar brought it up to his lips, wetting his dry throat before continuing.

“I introduce to you, people of the Kinghouse, our guests!” Nodding as Sigorn first, Joramun continued. “My nephew, Sigorn, Magnar of Crowl, who now rules Deepdown as his own! May he be luckier than Theon and better than Brandon!”

There were hoots and cheers at that, Sigorn’s people the loudest amongst it, and Joramun smiled softly. It was good to know his nephew had surrounded himself with people who cared for him. I’ll look after him, cousin. Rest well.

Shaking the thought aside, the Magnar of Magnar continued on, turning towards the two women from the mainland. “The Ladies Jeyne and Lyra of Peat!” he introduced, “kin from the Neck, fellow followers of the Old Way! They come here to seek the Lands of Always Winter, driven by the Gods themselves!"

Then he turned to the last guest.

“Ahmad, the sellsword, who came upon request, asking for no gold or silver! Though he will not take with him treasure, mayhaps he shall take the friendship of Skagos! Aye-- all you three, while strangers to our shores, shall be counted as friends, here. The Kinghouse will always have a place for you!” He raised his meadhorn in acknowledgement, the rest of the hall following. Then he drank from it, tossed it aside, and took a breath.

Then the Magnar, still on the table, knelt, and the hall quieted, awaiting his last announcement.

“And last,” Joramun began, “but surly not least--” Joramun beamed, abruptly scooping up his giggling wife in a princess carry, and, standing once more, raised her as high as he dared, eyes alight with merriment and pride.

“The greatest news I have had the pride and joy of sharing with you all-- There shall be a heir for the Stone Throne! MY WIFE IS WITH CHILD!”

The silence lasted for perhaps a moment longer.

And then the hall erupted-- commoners and chieftains and thegns and thanes alike filling the air with hoots and chants and cheers far louder than the ones that had preceded them. Soon, the near-senseless noise reformed into coherence, the cry of “MAGNARERFINIGI!” taking precedence and echoing throughout the building. Mugs and meadhorns pounded against tabletops, spearbutts thudded the stone floor beneath their feet. Soon enough, word would spread to all of Skagos-- the Gods had once more blessed House Magnar with a new member.

(Joramun still almost could not believe it himself.. A child. His child! Their child! Theirs to hold and nurture and love, to teach and guide and watch grow--

Was there truly a greater joy in the world?)

Srelly, bless her, seeing him lost in his joyous thoughts, spoke out from her place in his arms, addressing the hall.

“Thegns and thanes, huskarls of our household! Systursonur minn! Lady Jeyne, Lady Lyra! Ahmad of the East! People of Kinghouse-by-the-Bay!

Winter is coming, aye-- but let today be a good day! Eat, drink, and be full! Sate your stomachs with our bounty, and may your swords be sated with blood! SKÅL!!!”

“SKÅL!!!” the people returned, all of them bearing grins and beams, and Jormaun knew in his heart that his people truly welcomed him home.

Srelly turned back to him, then. “I love you, Joramun,” she said suddenly, voice nearly a whisper, and the Magnar lost himself in her eyes.

“And I, you, Srelly” he murmured in return, bringing his forehead to hers.

And then, simply because he could, Joramun leaned further down and kissed his wife, deaf to the round of cheers that arose at the sight.

(Welcome to the King's House.)