A cup of gold, a cup of iron

Just because he understood the role of marriage in their society did not mean that his crew did. Or maybe they did, but just could not help themselves. Not everyone could handle alcohol well. Plus, being in the presence of other men only increase one’s ‘valour’ in situations like this. For a bit, he wondered if he should do something about it. After all, he was responsible for those under his command. But on the other hand, the barmaid was likely used to it anyway.

It was a bit of a conundrum, but fortunately, it was solved by someone else for him. A young lady appeared and showed herself clearly disgusted by the display. She was armed. Now, she was not exactly a threat regardless. Being of a rather small frame, she most likely did not have enough raw strength to win against even two of his men at once, let alone the whole group. She might be able to stab one, but that was about it. And no, that was not him being a misogynist. That was him being a realist. Even though Dalton was not the most prolific raider there was, he did surround himself with killers and thugs, like all Ironborn captains.

And if a girl of all people attacked them, well, that would not end too well. However, that was unimportant. They Greyjoy was able to clearly see that golden mane and could put two and two together. If anything happened to that girl, everyone would blame it on his people – regardless who escalated things.
Thus, he whistled. Without getting up, he whistled. It was not the loudest sound one could make, but it was sharp, cutting through the air. The other patrons would likely be disturbed by the young captain’s sudden and seemingly unprovoked noise, but he did not care. His beleaguered men understood. It was a call to attention and he felt eyes upon him right away. A simple shake of heads after and grumbling was returned.

Words were not needed, as the message was clear. And those under his command knew better than to refuse it, even in a situation like that. The besieged maid gave him a look as well, but one more of gratitude. He lifted his cup at her, nodding. Then, he gestured with it towards the newcomer and the server understood. A bottle and a new cup, so to speak. The Lannister was not a peacekeeper, she had come here to drink and there were not many options to her. Best to not sour her, least his own experience would be worse. “My lady. I hope that my men have not irked you too much. It is their way of coping with the good king’s demise, I guess.”

“Beasts and men share a lot of traits when it comes to things like this,” he easily and swiftly retorted – even though he had never actively thought of it as such. Therefore, what he was doing was kind of musing to himself, but packaging it as a truth for his little guest. “I can’t be seen arguing with my men, just like I could not argue with a wild lion,” he continued, not choosing that animal by chance. “And on the battlefield, one needs to make quick commands that an enemy would not understand, so it makes sense. But the most important part, really, is that a sound like this is alien to the talk and singing that is already going on. Oftentimes, the only way to get people out of what they are doing at a given time is something that just doesn’t fit in and breaks the monotony.”

Yes, that made a lot of sense in his mind too. But it was only secondary in levels of interest to the young lady accepting his invitation – and almost spilt her wine in doing so. Apparently, she took quite the liking in his description and volunteered more of her identity. A member of the small council, he had heard of this. She had to be the young woman who everyone said had bought that spot with a considerable gift to the reigning house. Of course she had. She was a Lannister.

But then again, her words had some truth to them. Leisurely, Dalton took his own chalice and lifted it, as if for a toast. “What is dead my never die,” he spoke, much louder than the normal conversation, and it was swiftly echoed by the men he had brought there. It was a somewhat honest expression, but likely not something that a Greenlander would just understand. Especially one who was the epitome of a perfumed noble.
“Maybe he was such a man, maybe not. I never met him personally. Everyone says how good he was, but little of that found its way to the Isles. Still, that which did makes the passing regrettable.” He took a sip from his wine to accentuate these words. “But death is death. Good people die every single day and we don’t put the realm on hold for it. That’s why we Ironborn tend to be done with such things rather quickly. The best way to honour the death of good men is by living, my lady, not by pretending to be dead yourself like many do when they mourn. That’s not what the dead would have wanted, either.”

Oh, the lady Lannister knew how to respond? Interesting. It was rare for Greenlanders to know those words in particular. The first part of the saying was known much better. The rest of it though was maybe a bit obscure to them. Nevertheless though, it had been recited correctly, which he appreciated. “Indeed, indeed. It seems that you are quite knowledgeable, my lady. But I guess one has to be when counselling a king. For what it is worth, I have never heard any complaints about your work. Only a few about how you got the position in the first place.” He laughed, shooting back a little there. As far as he knew, there were some in the Seven Kingdoms who assumed that the lady either bought her way up or had slept with the right people.

Personally, Dalton neither knew nor cared. He simply drank tonight and so did the blonde. They both had come here for that purpose, even though it was odd to see a lady all by herself in a place like this. Then again, Yuliya seemed as if she knew what she was doing and could handle herself.
But, of course, her opinion of their former regent was much higher than his own. “The realm does not halt its happenings. We do. But we are doing the least things, aren’t we? The least and yet the most meaningful. Bakers still bake, fishers still fish. It is only those of us who can easily miss a day’s work that can truly mourn.” Well, and those in their entourage. But strictly speaking, those were working as well. Her guards were not halting their vigil either, unless they were left behind as they had apparently been today. A lesser Ironborn would have seen that as a chance. He just saw it as something almost normal.

“But yes, there is some time for mourning. Us Ironborn just go back to doing what needs to be done swifter than other. Maybe because our lands are much harsher than yours and our work more dangerous. I would not know.” He shrugged, briefly, before taking another sip from his chalice. “I almost envy you for never having had to face either a battlefield, nor a wild lion. Though, admittedly, the lion part was on me back then.”

“Ah, yes, I hear that you Lannisters always hear your debts. In fact, one hears that much more often than your actual house words. I guess that only makes sense. A reassurance is always more welcome than an attempt at intimidation.” He gave a loud laugh, after having said that, putting his goblet down again with a force that could have almost been considered slamming. But only almost. “But hear me talk about it. My own words are a barely veiled threat. And kind of an assessment of the resentment many still have for the good house Targaryen.”

And how could they? Some of the things that literally everyone criticized about Ironborn was a direct result of what the dragons had done to them. It did make their words ring hollow though. They did not sow. But they also could not sow. It took neither strength nor effort to not do the impossible.
It was not meant to insult either house, of course. Dalton was simply the kind of person who just assumed that others thought in similar ways than his, that if he could discuss the shortcomings of his own house, they could also discuss those of others. It did not work out very often, but that was fine as well. Usually, those who could not see beyond their house’s words were not pleasant company to begin with.

This one was though, at least so far. There was genuine curiosity in a clear and bright voice, despite the alcohol involved. He could get behind that. “And yes, an actual lion. Don’t ask how that came to be. Just know that it involves a drunk Dothraki, sheep skin and a necklace made from ivory.” He just left that hanging momentarily, while sipping a little more. The Lannister certainly was drinking more and faster than him right now. “Though to be honest, that lion does not compare at all to the woman of a lion I tamed a few years ago. A salt wife of mine, but really just more of someone I can’t properly marry but like to spend time with when our paths cross. Much more cunning and way more ferocious.”