The night was inky dark when I left the makeshift infirmary, the cries of the wounded trailing behind me like mournful echoes, their anguished voices a haunting reminder of the horrors of battle. The battlefield had been a nightmarish symphony of war, where the clash of steel and the desperate cries of men had painted a gruesome tapestry of suffering and death. I had to hurry, knowing that Lord Tully's summons brooked no delay. The weight of his gaze was something I couldn't bear lightly, especially not with the lords still bearing their armor.

The war had taken its toll on all of us, from the lowest foot soldiers to the great lords themselves. The nights were filled with the groans of the wounded and the stench of blood-soaked earth, a constant reminder of the price we paid for our ambitions and loyalties. The lords, in their battle-worn armor, seemed like titans burdened by the weight of their titles, their shoulders slumped with the gravity of the decisions they had to make.

Outside the tent, Lord Bracken awaited me, a stalwart figure whose face bore the marks of countless campaigns and years of command. His countenance displayed a mix of curiosity and concern, a sentiment mirrored in the furrowed brows and determined eyes of the lords assembled within.

"Oros," Lord Bracken spoke in a low voice as I approached, "stand tall, and answer truly. Remember whose squire you are."

I nodded, grateful for the veteran lord's presence and sage counsel. Lord Bracken had seen his fair share of battles and political maneuvering, and his guidance was invaluable in these troubled times. Together, we entered the grand tent, a cavernous structure that seemed to swallow the torchlight, casting eerie shadows that danced across the stern faces of those within. The air was thick with tension, as if the very fabric of the world hung in balance.

At that moment, I realized that I stood among the most powerful lords in the realm—Lord Hoster Tully, the master of the Riverlands; Lord Eddard Stark, the unyielding lord of the North; Lord Jon Arryn, the stern and calculating Warden of the East; and Lord Robert Baratheon, the boisterous and hearty lord of the Stormlands. Their presence alone was enough to make even the bravest man feel a twinge of apprehension.

I strode forward to the center, sparing no time for pleasantries. "You summoned me, my lords," I said, my tone blunt; it wasn't lost on me that I was here to explain my interference on the battlefield—a battlefield where great houses and kings had met their fates.

Lord Tully's gaze, a piercing blue, bore into me. "Oros Whitewater," he began, his voice measured, "you prevented Ser Lyn Corbay from delivering the final blow to Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard. Explain yourself."

I stood firm, unyielding. "Ser Lewyn is a member of the Kingsguard and a scion of House Martell, my lord," I replied, not bothering to conceal the impatience in my voice. "Killing him in battle wouldn't have ended the war, but taking him prisoner might."

Lord Arryn, a man of stern disposition, bristled at my tone. "You would do well to show more respect, boy," he snapped, his beady eyes narrowing.

A gruff chuckle emerged from the corner of the tent, where Lord Baratheon, recently patched up from his own wounds, stood with a broad grin. He raised a tankard of wine to his lips and quipped, "A squire with a bite. I like him." His mirth was infectious, and despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but smile slightly. Lord Baratheon's humor was a balm to the tension in the room, and it served as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was room for levity.

Lord Stark, ever the stoic, did not comment on my tone. Instead, he gazed at me with an inscrutable expression, his words held in reserve.

Lord Tully's steely resolve, however, remained unshaken. "Your actions may have far-reaching consequences, Oros. Ser Lewyn Martell is a valuable hostage. House Martell's loyalty to the Targaryens could be our leverage in securing peace. Or, if needed, they shall pay dearly for his release."

I met Lord Tully's gaze with unblinking eyes. "I understand, my lord. I stand by my decision, and I'm prepared to face the consequences."

The great lords deliberated in hushed tones, discussing the implications of Ser Lewyn's capture and the potential political maneuvers it could yield. As they did, Lord Bracken, standing at my side, gave me a subtle nod of approval. His support was a comforting presence amidst the weighty matters being decided.

I couldn't help but recall the limited encounter I'd had with Ser Lewyn in the past. He was a skilled warrior, of that there was no doubt, but his prowess with a bow had been a subject of jest during the great tournament at Harrenhal. In a friendly archery competition, I had bested him, a fact that had earned me a sly grin and a begrudging nod of respect from the Kingsguard knight. It seemed a lifetime ago, and yet, here I was, tasked with overseeing his captivity.

The thought of Ser Lewyn's reaction to our reunion brought a wry smile to my face, and I couldn't resist a quip when Lord Arryn, the stern and calculating Warden of the East, turned his piercing gaze toward me.

"Ser Lewyn Martell, my lord?" I began, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Well, aside from being a member of the Kingsguard, scion of House Martell, and a passable archer, I can't say I know much about the man."

Lord Arryn's brows furrowed deeply, and his voice took on a sharp edge. "Your insolence is ill-placed, boy. Show some respect for the gravity of the situation."

I nodded, chastened by his admonishment. Lord Arryn was not a man to be trifled with, and my attempt at humor had clearly fallen flat. However, I couldn't help but notice a hint of a smile on Lord Stark's face, the unyielding lord of the North. It was a small, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips, but it spoke volumes. Lord Stark, a man of few words, seemed to appreciate a touch of irreverence in the face of adversity.

Lord Bracken, standing nearby, let out a low groan, though there was humor twinkling in his eyes. He understood that my remark had been born out of nerves and the surreal nature of the situation, rather than outright disrespect.

And then, there was Lord Baratheon, the boisterous and hearty lord of the Stormlands, who found my comment so amusing that he nearly choked on his wine. He sputtered and laughed, thumping his chest to clear his airway. His laughter was contagious, and despite the tension in the room, a few chuckles escaped from those gathered. "Gods, lad, you've got a tongue on you!" he exclaimed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Lord Tully, on the other hand, remained an enigma to me. His piercing blue gaze was inscrutable, revealing nothing of his thoughts or feelings. It was as though he were a stone, unmoved by the currents of emotion that flowed through the tent.

"Try again Whitewater," Lord Arryn began, his voice measured, "What do you know of Ser Lewyn Martell?"

"Ser Lewyn Martell, my lord," I began, "is a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the royal family. House Martell of Dorne, the Lords Paramount of the region, boasts a long history of loyalty to House Targaryen. Ser Lewyn is known for his unwavering dedication to his duty and his martial prowess."

My response seemed to somehow still rankle Lord Arryn, who was known for his meticulous attention to detail and preference for decorum. "Your sarcasm and arrogance do you no credit, boy," he admonished, his tone stern. "This is not a jesting matter."

Eventually, Lord Tully spoke again. "Oros Whitewater, you have demonstrated quick thinking and a sense of strategy. For now, you shall have the task of gathering men and leading the watch over both Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Barristan Selmy. We must ensure their safety and secure our advantage in this war."

I nodded, my heart heavy with the burden of responsibility that lay ahead. To be entrusted with the care and oversight of two members of the Kingsguard, renowned for their skill and loyalty, was no small task. As I turned to leave the tent, I couldn't help but glance back at the council of great lords, still deep in discussion. The fate of kingdoms hung in the balance, and it was a responsibility none of them took lightly.

Outside the tent, Lord Bracken fell into step beside me. His grizzled features held a hint of a smile. "Well done in there, lad," he remarked. "You've earned the respect of some powerful men today."

I nodded, grateful for his words. "Thank you, my lord. But the real challenge lies ahead—keeping a watchful eye over the likes of Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan."

Lord Bracken chuckled. "Aye, that it does. But remember, you have friends and allies who believe in your abilities. Use that support wisely."

As I made my way toward the healing tent where the two Kingsguard knights were recovering, my thoughts turned to the task ahead. It was a night fraught with unanswered questions, and I couldn't help but wonder how much change to the future as I knew it would occur by my saving Ser Lewyn. Like ripples on the surface of a pond, my actions had set something in motion. Now, I could only watch as those ripples turned into waves, altering the course of history in ways I could scarcely imagine. The weight of my choices and the responsibility entrusted to me weighed heavily on my shoulders.

As I entered the healing tent, my mind began to race with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Barristan Selmy, were legendary figures in their own right. Ser Lewyn, in particular, was a man of significance in the tangled web of Westerosi politics. He was not only a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the royal family at all costs, but also a scion of House Martell, the Lords Paramount of Dorne.

Dorne had always been a realm apart, known for its unique customs and fierce independence. House Martell's loyalty to the Targaryens had been unwavering, even during the tumultuous times that had seen the Iron Throne change hands. Ser Lewyn's capture was a potential game-changer in the war, one that could tip the scales in our favor or escalate the conflict to new heights.

My decision on the battlefield had set in motion a chain of events that would undoubtedly reshape the course of the war and the fate of the realm. The night was far from over, and the wounded warriors around me served as a stark reminder of the sacrifices made in the pursuit of power and honor. The path ahead was uncertain, and the ripples of my actions had already begun to spread, creating waves that would reshape the destiny of the Seven Kingdoms.