The Last Treasure!
The axe whirled towards Damian, and he could have effortlessly dodged it by leaning to the right if not for Dacey and a few other men, mostly mormont standing directly behind him.
In the blink of an eye, as the deadly axe zoomed towards Damian, a tense hush filled the room. Time felt like it had slowed down. Damian's eyes locked onto the twirling weapon, his instincts and sharp focus combining in a well-coordinated dance of anticipation.
With a controlled exhale that echoed the stillness around him, Damian's hand shot out, fingers gripping the axe's handle with a skill that seemed almost unnatural. The room held its breath, witnessing an extraordinary show of ability as Damian, without a second thought, spun on his heel.
The energy from catching the axe shifted seamlessly into a smooth movement as Damian, now wielding the very weapon meant for him, confronted Dagmar's figure escaping. The glint of resolve flashed in his eyes, reflecting the polished steel of the weapon in his grasp.
Dacey and the Mormont warriors, frozen in their attempt to dodge, watched in amazement as Damian, in a calculated arc, unleashed the airborne payback. The axe whizzed back with greater speed towards Dagmar, who was already bolting towards the window in a bid to escape them.
In a cinematic climax, the spinning axe hit its target. The weapon struck Dagmar just as he jumped out of the window, severing his left arm in a dramatic spray of blood against the backdrop of the open sea below.
The scene unfolded in a brutal yet grandiose manner, Dagmar's figure outlined against the sunlit day as he plunged into the sea, his fate unknown. The echoes of the impact reverberated through the hall, leaving an enduring mark on the witnesses. Dacey, in that frozen moment, couldn't help but look at Damian in awe and so did the other witnesses present in the hall, both the Mormont soldiers and Ironborn.
"Tch, I missed," Damian remarked, a touch of frustration in his voice. His original aim had been for the axe to strike Dagmar's head, not his arm.
Outside, Ace circled around the water where Dagmar fell, keeping a keen eye to discern any signs of life. If Dagmar resurfaced, Damian intended to instruct Ace to tail him.
Meanwhile, the soldiers formed a path, parting in front of Damian as he made his way towards the Seastone Chair. One of the soldiers retrieved Balon's severed head by the hair, presenting it to Damian. He gave it a brief glance and ordered, "Bring his body to the center and place the head above his neck."
"As you wish, my Lord," the soldier bowed, and others promptly followed his instructions. While his soldiers were rearranging Balon's body and head, Damian redirected his attention to the Seastone Chair. The chair was situated on a raised dais with seven steps, ironically.
Damian ascended the steps to reach the chair and examined it up close. Instead of the Seastone Chair, it should be called the Kraken's Dark Throne, for the entire seat was intricately carved in the shape of a Kraken, with its formidable tentacles extending outward. Six of these appendages served as both chair arms and legs, while two extended outward, adding an extra layer of ominous grandeur. The throne, colossal in size, stood at least thrice the height of Damian.
"So this is the last remaining treasure, the Seastone chair," Damian mumbled to himself. The Treasure map of the Iron Islands had depicted three treasures of great value. Damian had already found a mana-generating stone from Old Wyk, gold and silver jewelries along with bronze weapons from Lonely Light, and a shapeshifting ritual and a mysterious slate whose purpose was yet unknown. Now, he stood before the last treasure marked on the map.
"Many people have sat on this throne and have not found anything special other than what it's made out of. Let's see what makes you a treasure," Damian thought as he turned and sat on the throne, his arms resting on the intricately carved tentacles.
...Nothing happened.
Dacey, initially indifferent to Damian sitting on the Seastone Chair, noticed his frowning expression and the rapid tapping of his finger on the chair's arm, as if deep in thought. Her curiosity piqued as Damian stood up, looking back at the chair and examining it once again. Like a maester on the brink of discovery, she observed Damian touching all over the chair's surface, moving from the back to the front with his expression growing more contemplative.
"What's amiss, Damian? You look like a maester drawn to studying a relic. You did the same back in Old Wyk, exploring Nagga's bones and all," Dacey inquired as she approached Damian.
"Well, yeah, and I've got a keen interest in delving into such things," Damian replied, his gaze fixed on the chair. Unfortunately, he could not find anything magical or useful about the Throne. The only conclusion Damian came to was that the oily black stone itself was the treasure, much like the meteorites that could be turned into spectacular blades, such as the Dawn of House Dayne.
Suddenly, a multitude of footsteps echoed through the hall, the sound unmistakable to the soldiers stationed at the doors.
"His Majesty King Robert Baratheon!" bellowed the Mormont soldier.
Robert, Tywin, Eddard, and other nobles entered the hall, greeted by the sight of several men kneeling, a lifeless body sprawled on the ground, and Damian standing before the Seastone chair.
"It's Balon," Tywin stated, drawing the attention of all present to the prone figure on the floor, its head evidently severed.
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