She looked at her silent father beside her, only to find a light in Balon's eyes that she had never seen before.
It was neither madness nor despair, but something... how could she put it? He looked like a drowning man who had seized the last piece of driftwood.
"Victarion." Balon turned to his younger brother and asked evenly, "How many ships in the Iron Fleet can put to sea right now?"
"About two hundred and thirty longships," Victarion answered without hesitation. "We have enough sailors, too, but we're short on weapons."
"Then have the smiths work day and night," Balon said firmly. "Load every longship with supplies and have them ready to sail at any moment."
He turned to Asha and said gravely, "Contact the lords of every house. Tell them all the Ironborn are to stop fighting among themselves. If anyone causes trouble at a time like this, I'll throw him into the sea to feed the crabs myself."
"Yes, Father," Asha replied. Balon had already begun handing out orders. Even if she still wanted to object, it would do no good. All she could do was carry out her own task.
"Theon." Finally, Balon turned to the son who had begun to impress him and said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Requisition those merchant ships at the docks and convert them into longships. We need more ships. Even if they're inferior, they can still give us an advantage in numbers."
Theon nodded and turned to leave, but Balon called him back.
"One more thing." Balon's voice grew quieter, carrying a barely perceptible weariness. "You've been back for some time now. How do you feel?"
Theon stopped and turned, fixing his gaze on Balon's gray-blue eyes. He knew what his father was asking.
"I'm a Greyjoy