When Victarion first had the prospect of getting a wife from House Lannister, he was rather ecstatic, as ecstatic as a man such as himself could be anyhow. Victarion had heard the Lannister women were great beauties and the thought of having one of his own, completely his, was enticing.

When she arrived at Pyke she was a curious woman, and just as beautiful as he had expected, if not more. However, over time, Victarion began to realize that nobody told him just how yappy she'd be. He didn't think he'd mind a wife who talked alot and rambled, it'd keep things from getting dull.

But his wife didn't ramble. She complained. Every single day. Victarion couldn't escape her complaints whether it was about him or the enviroment that the Iron Islands had, even if he tried to escape them. Many Ironborn, including his own family, seemed suprised he hadn't lashed out at her yet. He always had an ill-temper.

Victarion found that he couldn't lash out at his golden-haired wife, not even when they currently sat at dinner and she began complaining about how gloomy and cold the Iron Islands were and how much she hated it. Sure, Victarion shoulders visibly slumped in annoyance whilst his face contorted into a scowl, but he made no move to cause her any harm. Not even yell at her. But he did speak.

"If you dislike the iron islands, why don't scurry off back to Casterly Rock."

Victarion grouchily huffed, tightly gripping the edge of the table. Of course, he knew what even if she did try to leave, he'd drag her back kicking and screaming. Victarion didn't quite enjoy losing his prized things, his wife being one of them. Victarion didn't understand why his wife did not beg and plead for her father to not have her married to Victarion if she was going to despise the very place he was born and lived.