In Ser Norbert's guest room.
"Ser, I've examined your injuries. Although your ample buttocks have blossomed like a flower, fortunately, the fat is thick enough that the rod didn't break any bones."
Maester Hubert finished cleaning Norbert's wounds, a few specks of blood staining the cuffs of his grey robes.
"You should be able to walk in two or three days, though you will certainly be left with scars."
"Th-thank you, Maester..."
Norbert's voice was weak and faint, sounding like a man on his deathbed.
"Thank Lord Arthur and the vows I swore as a maester. Otherwise, I would have no desire to treat an envoy from House Redwyne."
Maester Hubert pulled a small vial from his wide sleeve and placed it on the bedside table. "This is milk of the poppy. If the pain keeps you awake at night, this will help you sleep."
"May the Seven... bless you, Maester Hubert. If... if it is possible, could you call my squire, Pagg?" Norbert winced in pain as he lifted his sweat-drenched round face. "The boy with the freckles. I haven't seen him since I left the reception hall."
"I will have a servant find him." Maester Hubert packed up his tools and left the room.
Norbert wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, letting out a groan of pain.
Being bedridden meant he couldn't move around to gather intelligence himself. However, his squire could help him complete the mission.
People were often unguarded around children. Perhaps Pagg could stumble upon some unexpected information.
"I must wait for Pagg to return and give him his task."
But as time ticked by, the throbbing pain from his back and buttocks became torture.
Just as he was about to give up and drink the milk of the poppy, the door creaked open.
"Ser, you called for me..." Pagg walked in looking somewhat dejected. "Gods above! What happened to you...?"
The boy gasped, staring wide-eyed at his master's bandaged buttocks, spotted with blood.
"Close the door. Come here." Once the latch clicked shut, Norbert lowered his voice. "Is anyone outside?"
"No, Ser." Pagg shook his head, his flaxen hair sweeping across confused eyes. "Who beat you like this? Did you do something wrong?"
"I made no mistake. These are the medals of a warrior." Norbert grimaced as he adjusted his position. "Never mind that. Where have you been?"
The boy suddenly clutched the hem of his tunic. "I went to the banks of the Torrentine with Penrose and the other squires my age."
Norbert asked with concern, "Did those children bully you? Did they hit you?"
"They didn't hit me, Ser." Pagg's eyes dimmed slightly. "They played a game with me. They made me play the Redwyne man.
"Each of them took turns announcing that they spared me, because the warriors of Starfall aren't like the men of the Arbor who hurt innocent children, old people, and women."
"As long as they didn't hurt you, that's good." Norbert forced a kind smile. "Besides playing games, did you hear anything interesting from those squires?"
Pagg thought for a moment, and then his eyes lit up.
"I remember during the game, the son of the master armorer said his father is forging a weapon on the orders of the lord—a weapon that can defeat the Redwyne Fleet.
"He said that if the Redwyne Fleet dares to enter the Torrentine, they'll make sure they never leave!"
"Impossible."
"The Redwyne Fleet is the largest in Westeros. Two hundred warships alone, plus five times that number in merchant carracks, wine barges, trading galleys, and whalers."
Norbert shook his head. "He must be lying to you. Unless dragons return to the world, there is no weapon that can destroy the Redwyne Fleet."
Pagg nodded in agreement. "I don't believe it either. Penrose and the other squires didn't believe him."
A flicker of curiosity crossed his eyes. "But the armorer's son promised to take us tomorrow to see the weapon being forged with our own eyes. Ser, may I go see it tomorrow?"
Norbert instructed him carefully. "Go if you wish. But you must promise me: speak less, observe more. Tell me everything you see.
"And do not tell anyone about our conversation."
After the boy promised repeatedly, Norbert drank the milk of the poppy and fell asleep.
When he woke again, it was noon the next day. The pain had lessened considerably, but he still couldn't get out of bed.
Norbert was trapped in bed until evening. Aside from the servant who brought food and the maester who checked his wounds, he saw no one.
Not a scrap of useful intelligence all day.
Fortunately, Pagg returned in the evening with a wealth of information.
The squire used his hands to gesture a size about as big as a head. "The weapon that can defeat the Redwyne Fleet is a bunch of very thick, heavy iron rings that link together.
"Aside from that master armorer, almost every smithy on the other side of the Torrentine is forging these rings."
Norbert frowned. "Iron rings linked together?"
Having grown up on the Arbor, Norbert knew the methods for dealing with warships.
At sea, it was rams, grappling hooks, boarding claws, and planks.
Rams were obvious. Grappling hooks could tear rigging or secure enemy ships. Boarding claws and planks facilitated boarding actions.
On land, it was large siege engines like scorpions, spitfires, and trebuchets. He had never heard of iron chains defeating warships, let alone ensuring the invincible Redwyne Fleet would never leave.
Iron chains... Never leave...
Norbert's beady eyes suddenly widened, and the fat on his face went rigid.
An image of the narrow mouth of the Torrentine River flashed in his mind. If the Redwyne Fleet sails into the Torrentine... and the Dornishmen raise an iron chain across the river mouth to cut off the retreat...
Cold sweat trickled down his double chin and dripped onto the sheets, leaving dark stains.
"Ser? You look terrible..."
Norbert suddenly grabbed the boy's wrist. "Pagg, you must... No... I cannot appear too eager to return."
He took several deep breaths to calm himself. "Carry on as usual. Listen more, speak less."
Another day passed like this. The news Pagg brought back was trivial and irrelevant; all of it combined wasn't worth a fraction of the intelligence about the chain.
Just as Norbert was burning with anxiety to return to the Arbor, his opportunity finally came on the fourth day.
"Your wounds have scabbed over." Maester Hubert examined the injury. "Although it will still affect your movement, you should be able to walk."
"Maester, I think I could have walked yesterday."
"Your constitution is indeed different from ordinary men; you've recovered well. But I wanted to ensure the wounds wouldn't tear open again," Maester Hubert explained.
"Lord Arthur instructed me to bring you to him once you were sufficiently recovered. Try to get out of bed."
Norbert was overjoyed. "Maester, thank you truly for your care these past few days."