They are all convinced she is a princess queen. Val Daenerys looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess queen, Jon decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.
“Theon,” they seemed to whisper, “Theon.” The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. “Please.” He fell to his knees. “A sword, that’s all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. “I was ironborn. A son…a son of Pyke, of the islands.”