Theon tries to keep his head above the waves of darkness that keep threatening. He knows he should try to stay awake; somehow he is still alive, and Neil's said the battle continues. They put a needle in his hand and if he were able, he'd jerk away. He's had all sorts of needles in him before, and he hates them.

Before he can struggle, a wave of distant calm washes through him. The pain starts to subside, but he's having a more and more difficult time reaching for thought, for words. "Neil," he calls, his voice wet. "The godswood is undefended now." He's going under the waves again, warm and dark. "The crypts. Sansa."

Then the ocean swallows him.