"Father, the harbor has fallen completely. We need to leave through the secret passage now. We can go to the North, or the Reach, and find Uncle Victarion and Asha. We'll still have a chance," Theon said breathlessly.
The last flicker of hope still shone in his eyes, and his hands unconsciously clenched, as though he already held a lifeline.
"A chance?" Balon sneered and asked Theon, "A chance at what?"
His voice sounded hoarse and cold, like the bitter sea wind sweeping over the reefs of the Iron Islands in winter.
"A chance to regroup. If..." Theon's voice grew quieter beneath Balon's increasingly icy gaze, and even his lips trembled with fear.
"Regroup?" Balon stared hard at him and said coldly, "Every ship that tried to leave has been burned by the dragon. The harbor is destroyed. More than half the Ironborn may be killed or wounded today. What do you expect me to regroup with? These ruins? These corpses? Apart from the ships we sent out long ago, what do we have left?"
Theon opened his mouth but could find no words. He could only lower his head, not daring to meet Balon's eyes.
"Go," Balon said. Seeing Theon fall silent, without even the courage to look him in the eye, he felt disappointed once again in this son who had grown up in the Green Lands.
He turned toward the burning harbor and continued, a trace of weariness in his voice, "Find yourself a boat, then find somewhere to hide for now. Once Viserys and the Reach's fleet have left, look for a chance to get away."
"Don't worry about me." By the time Balon finished those words, he seemed to have exhausted all his strength. Even his shoulders sagged a little.
"No, Father," Theon suddenly said.