Since King Jon and Queen Daenerys had arrived in Winterfell along with Daenerys' council and her Dothraki and Unsullied armies, for Podrick, Winterfell had become stiflingly busy and loud. He could never seem to find a moment of peace and quiet anywhere, except in the chamber he now shared with Brienne, having had to give up his own room because there were so many people in need of somewhere to sleep.
After a long day spent making battle plans – with a greater sense of urgency now that the Wall had fallen and the Night King, mounted on the dragon he had resurrected, and his army were on the move – Pod was trying desperately to hide the tremble in his hands from Brienne as he unfastened her armour, but knew he had failed miserably when she turned her head to fix him with stern blue eyes.
"Pod?" she asked.
His fingers stilled on the strap he was attempting to loosen, and he looked up at her from beneath dark eyelashes before averting his gaze and half-heartedly fiddling with the strap.
"Podrick," she said again, more firmly this time, "what's wrong?"
"It's nothing, my lady," he mumbled. "Truly."
She didn't look at all convinced. "Let me finish with my armour myself, and then we'll talk," she said, leaving no room for argument. She dragged the chair that was tucked neatly under her desk over to face the bed, and then gestured for him to sit. Resigned, he sank down heavily and propped his elbows on his knees, looking anywhere but at her.
Brienne silently removed her armour (Pod was grateful for the brief reprieve from having to talk) and then sat down on the bed opposite Pod. "Well?" she asked.
Pod took a deep, shuddering breath, his stomach in knots. "I'm frightened, m'lady. Of the army of the dead. The White Walkers. The Night King. I'm frightened that I'm going to die."
Brienne sighed, looking as if she was thinking very hard about how to respond. After a moment that seemed to Pod like an eternity, she spoke. "You don't have to do this, Pod. You don't have to fight in this war. I could send a raven to my father asking him to allow you to continue your training at Evenfall Hall. If you wanted to, you could ride for White Harbour in the morning, and should I survive, I would join you on Tarth once the war is won."
"But you don't have to fight, either, my lady," Pod said. "Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are home and as safe as they can be. Littlefinger's dead. Lady Sansa's released you from your oath to her. You don't need to stay here anymore. You could go home right now and you'd be safe from the Night King, for now at least."
"You know I can't do that," Brienne said. "This war is everyone's war, and if we're to defeat the Night King and his army, we need as many people wielding Valyrian steel as possible."
Pod gave her a small, fond smile. He could have guessed what her response would be. "Then why should I get to run away while everyone else fights?" he asked. "If you're staying, I'm staying, my lady."
Brienne could be very stubborn, but so could he, and he could tell that she wasn't going to argue with him. "Then use your fear to keep yourself sharp on the battlefield," she said. "I don't want you to die, either. I've become quite accustomed to your company."
Podrick chuckled, and then his face turned serious. "And I've gotten used to yours."
Pod wasn't sure what to do, then. She had not often openly expressed affection or concern for him, and he knew that she had come to expect only ridicule and scorn from the world, most especially from men.
Should he kiss her hand? Her cheek? Embrace her? After a moment spent awkwardly staring at her while she stared back curiously, head cocked to one side and her brow furrowed, he decided on extending a hand for her to shake, which she took in one of hers, placing her free hand on top of it.
"Get some rest, Pod," Brienne said. "We've still got plenty of work to do before we go to war."
Having unburdened himself, and with Brienne's words on his mind, Pod slept more easily that night than he had in weeks.