"Theon. Lord Balon’s heir," he corrects, his gaze growing even icier as the rest of his good humor slips away. Of course. Another Baratheon and another false king to add to the never-ending list of them. Teeth clenched in a cruel smile, he briefly grips Renly’s hand to return the greeting, if only to check for weapons. He’s grown more mistrusting over the last few months, and while he shouldn’t blame Renly for what his brothers did (after all, hardly looks much older than Theon himself), he can’t help but taste that same bile in his throat when he hears the name 'Baratheon'.

“You proclaimed yourself King in the South and now you proclaim yourself less controversial than your brothers?"

He lets out a bark of laughter. It doesn’t even occur to him that he has absolutely no idea what alliances Robb formed when Theon was shipped off to Pyke, but surely a Baratheon wasn’t one of them. Theon knows only what he knew when he left, and nothing more.