[ For half his life, Theon has done his best to keep his true emotions shuttered up tight, hidden behind a wall of sly smiles and cruel japes that came at the expense of others. But he can’t protest a word of what Jon says. He can do nothing to brush off his pride or even defend his actions. Jon knows him too well, and that terrifies him.

He can do his best to pin the blame on someone or something else; on his father for bruising his pride, on Asha for humiliating him and leaving him with less than a handful of men, on Ramsay for manipulating his mind, on Robb for sending him home at all. They played their roles, but In the end, all those things just trickle right back down to Theon and his own actions.

Gods, he wishes he could spit out the bitter taste in his mouth, wishes he could undo what’s been done, wishes he had turned back around and returned to Robb when his father denied the proposal to ally with the North, but he can do none of that. All he can do is laugh, and play his only card. ]

He never named himself Ramsay Bolton. Not even Ramsay Snow. Reek, he told me his name was.

[ Another bark of laughter. It’s his only tie to sanity right now. ]

I should have killed him all the same. I should have killed him from the start.