I was ironborn.

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. “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.”

-A Ghost of Winterfell [A Dance with Dragons]

Theon drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray, and looked for home.

-Theon I [A Clash of Kings]

“I have been too long away to know one man from another,” Theon admitted. He’d looked for a few of the friends he’d played with as a boy, but they were gone, dead, or grown into strangers.

-Theon II [A Clash of Kings]

You could be my man...

“Help me” She clutched at him. “Please. I used to watch you in the yard, playing with your swords. You were so handsome” She squeezed his arm. “If we ran away, I could be your wife, or your … your whore … whatever you wanted. You could be my man.

-The Prince of Winterfell [A Dance with Dragons]