[ His homecoming had been dreary and disappointing. No one cared who he was, he was looked down upon for forgetting the ways of the ironborn, and he failed abysmally as a captain. All his life, he dreamt of the day he would return home. He and Robb were the only ones who ever spoke of it. They were just two boys back then, two boys who spoke of what would happen “when I’m lord of Winterfell” and “when I’m lord of the Iron Islands”, but Theon was as good as dead when Balon shipped him off. The old man never anticipated that his son would actually be returned to him and instead built his daughter into his heir.

Theon isn’t naive. He knows it, deep in his heart, but It’s something that no one wants to accept. He’s tried to blind himself to it, just as he tried to blind himself to the fact that it was Balon who chose to give him away. He growls through his teeth, frustrated as he swipes a sleeve across his eyes to stave his oncoming tears. Weakling, he scolds himself once more. What are you, really? ]

Lying to me will do no good. The Starks want nothing to do with me, and Asha and I could hardly stand to be in the same room as one another when she was awake.

[ He has Maximus, it's true, but their friendship isn't a replacement for the years-long friendship he formed with Robb. Is Claire a friend? He hasn't even considered it, really. ]