'm a big fan of languages and Magnar is one of the few words we are told of the Old Tongue, and I'm a bit of a Night's King fanatic... So yes, I must admit I too have considered this angle. While the Skagossons are suspicious and enigmatic, I don't think we can associate House Magnar or its bannermen too closely with NK.
I swear, at some point I'll come back to actually talk about the thread itself, but until then...
I think that maybe SlyWren and @morrigansraven are actually thinking about the Thenns from way up north with their leader called Magnar and not the actual Magnar family on Skagos.
Okay, I know I'm late on this one, but while looking for something else, I found another time Jon references the "Dornishman's Wife" As Mance is being burned.
Jon found himself remembering a song.
Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, the Dornishman's taken my life, But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!
Val stood on the platform as still as if she had been carved of salt. She will not weep nor look away. Jon wondered what Ygritte would have done in her place. The women are the strong ones. He found himself thinking about Sam and Maester Aemon, about Gilly and the babe. She will curse me with her dying breath, but I saw no other way. Eastwatch reported savage storms upon the narrow sea. I meant to keep them safe. Did I feed them to the crabs instead? Last night he had dreamed of Sam drowning, of Ygritte dying with his arrow in her (it had not been his arrow, but in his dreams it always was), of Gilly weeping tears of blood.
Jon Snow had seen enough. "Now," he said.
Ulmer of the Kingswood jammed his spear into the ground, unslung his bow, and slipped a black arrow from his quiver. Sweet Donnel Hill threw back his hood to do the same. Garth Greyfeather and Bearded Ben nocked shafts, bent their bows, loosed.
One arrow took Mance Rayder in the chest, one in the gut, one in the throat. The fourth struck one of the cage's wooden bars, and quivered for an instant before catching fire. A woman's sobs echoed off the Wall as the wildling king slid bonelessly to the floor of his cage, wreathed in fire. "And now his Watch is done," Jon murmured softly. Mance Rayder had been a man of the Night's Watch once, before he changed his black cloak for one slashed with bright red silk. Dance, Jon III
Is it just me, or does Mance seem like an echo of Arthur Dayne?
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.